We sold our house recently and since we are going to be building a new one, we will have to live with parents in the meantime. I am one of those crazy people that loves to move. I love new experiences, rearranging things, putting everything in it's new place, packing, etc. Of course the actual moving part is never fun, but the end result is like heaven for me. I have moved 13 times (if I counted correctly) in my lifetime so I am pretty much a pro at it by now, but this is the first time that I will actually be moving MY FAMILY with Mason. I am going to move with an 18 month old.
So far, I have learned to plan ahead (which is basically the story of my life, and something I am very good at). When we learned that we would only have a mere 3 weeks to pack up our life, find storage, and be out of our house I didn't panic. No. Instead I kind of squeeled inside. I know, I'm sick. I immediately started making lists. Things to to, people to call, what goes where, WHEN. I also immediately started packing. Since we do still have to endure the inspections, appraisals, etc. I had to walk a fine packing line. I started with the "decor" items - the things that we don't use every day, but rather look at. Pictures, shelves, candles, vases, books, misc. items. Things that could easily be put back if something should happen.
Next week I will packing what I think is the most difficult room: the kitchen. I will pack all of the things I don't use every day: extra place settings, crock pot, blender, toaster, mixer and misc. items. I am going to leave enough plates, glasses and silverware to last us that week and part of the next before we will ultimately result to paper and takeout. I will also have meals planned out so that I can pack up unparishable items from the pantry and figure out which pots and pans to leave until the last cooking moment.
My mom and I were discussing Mason and his adjusting and came to the conclusion that he will be fine. He will have his toys, bed, clothes, everything he is used to (including us). The saddest part is that he won't remember this house. He won't remember the place that he lived the first year and a half of his life. The place we brought him home from the hospital to. At the same time, he probably won't remember the moving, living with family, etc. He will remember the new house of course since we pretty much plan to die there. And hopefully he will realize how hard we have worked to get him there. How much we loved him and wanted to provide the best life possible for him. It's all part of the sacrifices we have to make. I need to keep telling myself that!