This is what my living room looked like on Friday morning.
By Sunday afternoon every single one of these boxes and more was packed. I spent six hours (yes six!) packing my kitchen alone. Granted I have two sets of good china and more than my fair share of wine glasses (don’t judge) which all had to be wrapped and stacked just perfectly.
I could likely outfit an entire one (or two) bedroom apartment with the things I am piling up for Goodwill and I am dropping off an entire wardrobe to the women’s shelter.
We’re good movers. This will be the sixth time I’ve moved since being with my husband and that doesn’t include the in-between houses moves in and out of my in-laws which we’ve also done at least three times.
I thought we were moving for all of these and these reasons, but then once I went back to work and my husband got a raise the whole financial stress became so much less I’ve almost forgotten about it.
But we sold our house and I am VERY excited about the possibilities of what will come next.
When I look at all the boxes, the garbage, the Goodwill piles and the sheer disaster of it all, in my overwhelming state of exhaustion I wonder who the heck thought this was a good idea anyway?