i’m writing this on my knees

There could be all sorts of titles for this blog post:

– then there’s the unpacking
– thank god i don’t have to post every day any more
– i need a light over my kitchen sink
– i need more drawers in my kitchen
– i need a bigger fridge
– it’s a lot quieter than Lampson street

You get the picture. I chose the one above because that’s my excuse for keeping this short. My 37-year-old knees won’t take a long post. I could also give a bunch of other excuses for keeping this short, but I won’t.

We slept in the new house last night for the first time, on clean sheets (sometimes I am on the ball). Amy was here too, and Elliot was still at Gramma’s. We all slept well, but the night went by too quickly. We needed some more down time!

I had an easier day today because I had Amy so I couldn’t do a lot, but Greg worked like a dog for about…well, 12 hours and counting, as he’s still at it.

One highlight of the day was our next door neighbors coming over to deliver some fresh-baked cookies and to welcome us. That’s never happened to me, and I almost started crying right in front of them. Because this house doesn’t feel like our home yet, and it won’t for a while, but if things like that keep happening then it won’t take long!

The other highlight was when I went to phone to order pizza. There was a message from a friend, offering us a home-cooked meal. All we had to do was go get it. Butter chicken and rice, and oh, was it ever good. We were so thankful. Again with the “this doesn’t feel like home” theme, the home cooking was such a better option than pizza. It was our first family dinner in the new house, and it felt special.

I said goodbye to the old house today with tears in my eyes. I went through each empty room and paused in the office (which was Elliot’s first room) and the kids’ room. Such a lot of wonderful memories. I had another pang of sadness as I was putting Elliot to bed tonight, thinking of all the times I’ve put him to bed in the old house. I know I will feel more at home soon, I go through this with every move, but it’s hard for right now.

I’m signing off. My knees hurt and there is a freakin’ mess waiting for me to wade through.

Here’s to a new beginning…a fitting end for my final NaBloPoMo post.

moving day

The movers are coming in 2.5 hours. I packed my tea thinking that I wouldn’t want a cup this morning, but I’m regretting it. A trip to Serious Coffee might be in order.

Amy woke up for a bit but is now back asleep, so we may be able to get some stuff done this morning.

My back is very sore and stiff and I’m wishing I had a better capacity for remembering my yoga poses. Although I’m not sure I’d take the time to do them this morning, even if I did remember them. I have a massage booked for Tuesday night, so I’ll get fixed up then.

I’m hoping we have a network connection tomorrow, because it’d really suck to miss the last day of NaBloPoMo because of technical difficulties. We’re leaching off of someone else’s connection this morning.

Over and out.

a bunch of lasts

A couple of nights ago Greg asked me if it felt weird that there were all sorts of things that were happening for the last time in this house, like the last time Elliot will sleep here (he’s going to Gramma’s tonight) and the last time the kids will sleep in the same room.

I hadn’t been thinking about it (my mind can only hold so many things), but now I have. It’s not just the house, too, it’s the things we do from or to the house. Like driving home along the “bump-bump” road, or walking to Macaulay Point.

Moving has always been a depressing time for me, as I say goodbye to all that is familiar and comfortable and say hello to, well, someone else’s house. At least I have recognized this about myself and can prepare for it. It doesn’t usually last very long, and I’m wondering if this time around, with two kids and Christmas to look forward to, if it’ll be a bit easier.

stainless steel would never work for me

I cleared the fridge this afternoon. For the past 15 years, my fridge has been an ever-changing photo album, always with pictures of people and dogs. A university roommate inspired me, and I’ve continued the tradition. I love it.

I love how when visitors come into my kitchen, they stop in front of the fridge, look, comment and ask questions. Many ask who people are, some ask why they haven’t made it to my fridge yet. 🙂

I love how every time I open the fridge, I see a face of someone I love.

I love how Elliot is now aware of the pictures and often asks to be picked up so he can look at them. We name our family members and friends.

I love the push pin-styled magnets that Greg got me for Christmas for two years running, making it so easy to move pictures around.

It’s a changing masterpiece. Whenever the mood strikes, I reorganize, get rid of old photos, make way for new ones, move some around. There are a few that never leave. Like the pictures of Barkley, Digger and Yoshi that are framed by dog-themed magnets. And the beautiful picture of my mother at my brother’s 1989 wedding. And the picture of my father when he was in his late teens.

I try to always have at least one picture of a few people: my son, my daughter, my goddaughter, my nephew. The rest are picked based on what pictures haven’t made it to my scrapbook, what Christmas pictures friends have sent, and what pictures I just plain love. I rarely print a picture specifically for the fridge. They just sort of appear. And there is never a shortage. I often wish I had a larger fridge.

Doing the fridge in the new house will be one of the first things I do, as it’ll be a big step toward making the new house feel like our home.

thank you, amy

Amy’s been asleep since 12:45, and I’ve had a very productive afternoon packing. Plus I was able to read a magazine while I was eating lunch, and I’ve just had a cup of tea. Now it’s back to more packing.

Of course, she’ll probably wake up now that I’ve written this.

The dog isn’t too impressed because he’s been locked outside all afternoon, as Amy is having her nap in the stroller in the front hall. His claws are too loud on the tile and wood floor.

how’s the packing going?

Lots of people have been asking me this question. My answer is that I’m not sure! Our garage is almost full of packed boxes, but the house still looks lived in.

I haven’t packed any of the kids’ clothes and only a small portion of their toys. Our kitchen is down to the bare minimum, but I suspect there’s at least an evening’s worth of packing there still. We’ve done nothing in the yard, and we have to take a fence down, clean up some garbage, and empty a bunch of flower pots. There’s also the question of the composter — i.e., what to do with it.

I’ve packed some of my clothes, but the closet still looks full. We’ve packed all our books, CDs and DVDs, but that was easy. The sunroom needs a bit more attention. The bathroom still has at least one box worth of stuff in it, maybe two. The office is maybe half done — none of the computer equipment has been disassembled.

We have a dump trip to make and at least one trip to Value Village. The basement still needs some work, but it’s hard to tell how much. The fridge and freezer contents will need to be moved, but we’re slowly emptying the freezer, so it shouldn’t take too long to pack that stuff.

I think next week will be a busy week.

and i thought he was a pack rat

A few days ago I tackled purging the contents of three boxes of stuff that I’ve been carrying around for a few years. The boxes contained letters that had been written to me by various family members and friends.

I could have been there for days had a had the time. There were hundreds of letters, dating all the way back to when I was in grade 8. That’s almost 25 years ago. I started reading some, but realized I just didn’t have the time.

Then I struggled with what to do with it all. It felt wrong to just toss it. So much history. But would I ever read it again? Would anyone ever read it again? After a bit of internal debating, I decided to keep all the letters from my mother, my father and my sister (my brothers don’t seem to write me much!). The bulk of the letters from family were from the year I was in Quebec for university, and they wrote me a lot. I decided these letters were worth keeping, even if I don’t ever read them again. But I suspect I will, most especially my mother’s letters — there will come a sad day when she is no longer around, and she is a beautiful letter writer. I’m pretty sure I’ll cherish having her words available to me to read any time I want.

I also decided to keep a diary that I wrote in grade 10. I read a couple of pages and it was pretty entertaining. I know I’ll want to read it again at least once, if only for a good laugh. It was the year I had a huge crush on one of my brother’s friends, a crush which never amounted to much, but it sure was a roller coaster year because of it.