I was thinking the other day about a list I'd read one time of the most stress-inducing events in life and I was pretty darn sure moving was atleast number 3 or 4 on that list. However, I've just been doing a little research and found out that, in fact, Marriage is number 3 and Jail Time is number 4. Moving didn't make the list. However, I've decided that it makes MY list of most stressful life events after these past 2 weeks in what I like to call "moving hell." In fact, I'd put it right up there with giving birth and losing something really important (like a kidney or your car in the parking lot at Walmart after dark).
Atleast, that's how I felt the other day after Matt had gone to work and I was left in our little cottage on the mountain with an almost one year old and one. million. unopened. boxes, which for a Type A, overachieving, OCD stressball, is the ultimate recipe for a potential meltdown. But, I really thought things would be ok until after a quick trip to the bathroom (during which Sam was "safe" in his walker, which keeps him from getting into anything), I found Sam with a shiny dime in his little mouth, fished from a box that he was able to reach with his go-go-gadget baby arms. Lightning-fast, I snatched it out of his mouth just as it was about to be swallowed. And then, I sat down and cried.
That was the breaking point. So, Sam and I quickly got dressed and left the house, which I dubbed a "baby minefield" in a Kardashian-worthy dramatic phone conversation with my mom soon after the dime incident. Later, Sam and I made visits to Target and Chic fil a, which made life a teensy bit more manageable.
Anyway, we've come a long way since that day, but I will admit to having considered running away on more than one occasion. It's not been pretty. I think I may have even aged 9-10 months. In the process, I've also discovered that I'm wound a little too tight. Oh, who am I kidding. I already knew that along with anyone else that has known me longer than 3 minutes. "Wound too tight" might actually be putting it mildly. I make energy drinks nervous.
Moving Progress Report:
1. Sam is still alive, despite having developed a taste for paper products and indulging in a little toilet paper/paper towels/cardboard box when I'm not looking. I think this might be his way of coping with stress.
2. Matt has hooked up our internet and we have now gone wireless. I feel so 21st century despite our lack of cable.
3. Our little 953 square feet looks and feels pretty much like home these days. (So, come visit. We'll pull out a rug for you.)
4. After a small oven fire involving a baked potato, I have baked 2 batches of cookies and eaten most of them myself. I've needed the extra sugar-induced energy for unpacking boxes, obviously.
I'll be honest, moving has taken it out of me and so I've made the decision that we're never going to move again, which means I can mark that off my list of stressful life events. Now, I can concentrate on avoiding stresser number 4: Jail Time.
This just in:
While doing a little more research, I've found a list that acknowledges what I already knew. Moving IS one of the most stressful events in life. If you're interested, and you're probably not, here's the article that proves I'm less crazy than my husband thinks I am:
http://www.ourtownamerica.com/press_room/pdf/Background-Movpsy.pdf
Showing posts with label moving. Show all posts
Showing posts with label moving. Show all posts
Wednesday, December 8, 2010
Wednesday, October 6, 2010
Home is Where the Crown-Molding Is
I lived in two different dorms in college and then in a lake house for a semester and for that last semester and a half I lived in a restored old house across the street from school. I had approximately 7.5 roommates during that four years and a summer term.
After college I moved to Nashville where I lived in a house with a family for a year, in West Meade with two girls and two cats, a condo on West End Avenue for a summer, a dollhouse with a friend in Green Hills for a little less than a year and then finally in a house not far from that last house with two other friends and no cats. The last room I lived in had red curtains for doors.
Then there was my fabulous, obsessively neat 70 year old studio apartment in Knoxville's Sequoyah Hills. This ranks up there as probably my favorite abode over the past 14 years. Possibly because I was the only occupant and could order things according to my OCD tendencies. I could also watch endless Felicity and Gilmore Girl marathons with no one to judge me. I lived there for a little over two years and I still miss it.
In 2007 I got engaged and got married that fall. We moved into a two bedroom up the street from my beloved studio. It was like the studio only bigger. Plus: Hardwood floors, big windows, high ceilings. Minus: No central heating or air, no washer or dryer, no dishwasher, occasional camel crickets (my personal nemesis). It was a lovely place for the year that we lived there. I've driven by it since then and tried to pretend that I could waltz in the front door and everything would be the same as it was 3 years ago. But, the current tenant has posted a concrete head sculpture on the front porch and that's effectively ruined my daydream.
For 9 months we lived in Clemson. That wasn't my best year so I won't say much about that. I will say that the duplex we lived in was tainted by the morning sickness I endured soon after we discovered Sam was joining our family.
And then there was Knoxville again. We moved into my in-laws' upstairs, which had been an apartment at one time. I have to say, I really loved living in that upstairs and was able to create a sweet little nursery for Sam who was born while we lived there. I have great memories of that year living with my husband's parents. I also unexpectedly miss the 58 inch television with its one million channels. I didn't think I would, but I do.
That brings us to now. We moved to Chattanooga roughly 3 days ago and some dear friends are letting us live in their downstairs apartment until we find our own place. To sum up: two bedrooms, one bath and a view that no camera could ever do justice.
But, I have to admit something. I'm tired of moving. I'm over packing up boxes, storing things in storage, starting over in new houses with different ovens that bake at differing temperatures. I want to move somewhere and throw out all the boxes because we don't plan on using them for a long, long time. Maybe even have a box burning in the back yard.
In a word, I want STABILITY. And I don't care who knows it.
I drove around today after Bible study exploring the area where we're living for the moment, visiting the local Starbucks and marveling at the beautiful houses and breathtaking views along the way. And in the midst of all that, I couldn't help but wonder when Matt and Sam and I would have our own home. Not a big fancy house, but a real home where we could create traditions and memories. I realize that I could possibly be idealizing (or maybe even idolizing) the concept of home. In my mind there's this perfect place full of natural light and the smell of gingerbread where I can set our hundreds of books on bookshelves, bake mounds of cookies in my kitchen, have pizza and movie night with Matt (and Sam, once his bedtime gets moved up past 8), invite friends over for dinner and conversation and game night, and the list goes on of all the things I dream of doing in this place called Home.
I'm wondering how much of this desire for a home is about being female and wanting security and a place to settle and nest and nurture children. Do men dream about home the way women do? I kind of doubt it. I think Matt dreams more about Red Zone and camping trips and Papa Murphy's pizza. (If you're reading this, Sweetie, I know there's more to you than that).
The other thing I'm wondering about is the reality of a home requiring a down payment and a mortgage and homeowner's insurance and maintenance. All those things don't figure in to my daydreams very well. I hope that in my desire for a home I'm not simply imagining the current cultural trappings of the American dreamhouse, a la granite countertops, stainless steel appliances and hardwood floors. Obviously, I appreciate all those things, but I'm trying really hard not to believe that the having or the lack of having those things can keep me from creating a home wherever it is we end up living.
How do I keep myself from confusing crown molding and double bathroom sinks and walk in closets with the makings of a real Home? I keep getting lost in the details of wanting a perfect space but I also feel conviction knowing that I don't NEED all those things to have a happy home.
Sigh.
Another sigh.
In the meantime, I'm scouring Craigslist for affordable rentals and hoping to find something that doesn't require bars on the windows or double deadbolts.
After college I moved to Nashville where I lived in a house with a family for a year, in West Meade with two girls and two cats, a condo on West End Avenue for a summer, a dollhouse with a friend in Green Hills for a little less than a year and then finally in a house not far from that last house with two other friends and no cats. The last room I lived in had red curtains for doors.
Then there was my fabulous, obsessively neat 70 year old studio apartment in Knoxville's Sequoyah Hills. This ranks up there as probably my favorite abode over the past 14 years. Possibly because I was the only occupant and could order things according to my OCD tendencies. I could also watch endless Felicity and Gilmore Girl marathons with no one to judge me. I lived there for a little over two years and I still miss it.
In 2007 I got engaged and got married that fall. We moved into a two bedroom up the street from my beloved studio. It was like the studio only bigger. Plus: Hardwood floors, big windows, high ceilings. Minus: No central heating or air, no washer or dryer, no dishwasher, occasional camel crickets (my personal nemesis). It was a lovely place for the year that we lived there. I've driven by it since then and tried to pretend that I could waltz in the front door and everything would be the same as it was 3 years ago. But, the current tenant has posted a concrete head sculpture on the front porch and that's effectively ruined my daydream.
For 9 months we lived in Clemson. That wasn't my best year so I won't say much about that. I will say that the duplex we lived in was tainted by the morning sickness I endured soon after we discovered Sam was joining our family.
And then there was Knoxville again. We moved into my in-laws' upstairs, which had been an apartment at one time. I have to say, I really loved living in that upstairs and was able to create a sweet little nursery for Sam who was born while we lived there. I have great memories of that year living with my husband's parents. I also unexpectedly miss the 58 inch television with its one million channels. I didn't think I would, but I do.
That brings us to now. We moved to Chattanooga roughly 3 days ago and some dear friends are letting us live in their downstairs apartment until we find our own place. To sum up: two bedrooms, one bath and a view that no camera could ever do justice.
But, I have to admit something. I'm tired of moving. I'm over packing up boxes, storing things in storage, starting over in new houses with different ovens that bake at differing temperatures. I want to move somewhere and throw out all the boxes because we don't plan on using them for a long, long time. Maybe even have a box burning in the back yard.
In a word, I want STABILITY. And I don't care who knows it.
I drove around today after Bible study exploring the area where we're living for the moment, visiting the local Starbucks and marveling at the beautiful houses and breathtaking views along the way. And in the midst of all that, I couldn't help but wonder when Matt and Sam and I would have our own home. Not a big fancy house, but a real home where we could create traditions and memories. I realize that I could possibly be idealizing (or maybe even idolizing) the concept of home. In my mind there's this perfect place full of natural light and the smell of gingerbread where I can set our hundreds of books on bookshelves, bake mounds of cookies in my kitchen, have pizza and movie night with Matt (and Sam, once his bedtime gets moved up past 8), invite friends over for dinner and conversation and game night, and the list goes on of all the things I dream of doing in this place called Home.
I'm wondering how much of this desire for a home is about being female and wanting security and a place to settle and nest and nurture children. Do men dream about home the way women do? I kind of doubt it. I think Matt dreams more about Red Zone and camping trips and Papa Murphy's pizza. (If you're reading this, Sweetie, I know there's more to you than that).
The other thing I'm wondering about is the reality of a home requiring a down payment and a mortgage and homeowner's insurance and maintenance. All those things don't figure in to my daydreams very well. I hope that in my desire for a home I'm not simply imagining the current cultural trappings of the American dreamhouse, a la granite countertops, stainless steel appliances and hardwood floors. Obviously, I appreciate all those things, but I'm trying really hard not to believe that the having or the lack of having those things can keep me from creating a home wherever it is we end up living.
How do I keep myself from confusing crown molding and double bathroom sinks and walk in closets with the makings of a real Home? I keep getting lost in the details of wanting a perfect space but I also feel conviction knowing that I don't NEED all those things to have a happy home.
Sigh.
Another sigh.
In the meantime, I'm scouring Craigslist for affordable rentals and hoping to find something that doesn't require bars on the windows or double deadbolts.
Friday, September 24, 2010
The Bitter and the Sweet
It's a bit surreal to be typing this, but we are officially moving. To Chattanooga. Next Week.
Matt came home early today after resigning from his job and suddenly, everything is moving very, very fast. I'm packing up Sam's room and looking at our things and wondering which we should put into storage for now and which should come with us. For someone with borderline clinical OCD (this hasn't been officially confirmed by anyone with credentials), the prospect of moving is taking my breath away a little bit.
And yet, it's exciting. The thought of a new life in a new city, just me and Matt and the babe, is rather exhilarating. I'm wondering who our friends will be and what parks we'll frequent and where I'll do our grocery shopping. I'm already mentally decorating a house/apartment/condo that hasn't materialized just yet. And best of all, we get to start this new life in The Fall. Moving our stuff in 65 degree weather while leaves fall on our heads. Perfect.
Matt starts his new job This Monday, which is making our heads spin a little. I'll be staying this week to pack up our things and take care of some of the details of closing up shop here. And that's where the bitter part of the "bittersweet" nature of this transition comes in. Saying goodbye. I don't really want to. I already feel somewhat heavy with the thought of leaving dear friends and places that I've loved being. I'm pouting over The French Market being 2 hours away already. Is it wrong to be emotional about crepes? I'm not sure. I kind of want to stop in and say goodbye to those crepe-makers who've made it worth getting out of bed early on a Saturday morning. Ok, so I won't actually shed any tears over a restaurant, but I might over the lovely downtown here in Knoxville that Matt and I have wandered through on quite a few date nights.
As I'm typing this, I'm volunteering at our church that we have loved so much. Redeemer has been such a significant part of our life here in Knoxville and we are going to sorely miss it along with the dear friends and pastors who have enriched our lives in the relatively short time we've been here. I miss it already and we still have nursery duty this Sunday.
Oddly enough, I will miss living with my inlaws more than I would have expected and I'm guessing they'll miss us quite a bit as well. Who would have guessed last summer when we moved in that over a year later I would a. still be living with my inlaws and b. be sad to move out. They've been so incredible during this weird transition time in our little family's life and having them around to help with Sam has been huge. I wish we could buy them something big to show our thanks, like a hot tub with all the bells and whistles. But, I think we'll have to settle for a gift card to Home Depot.
Lastly, I will miss all the marvelous friends that have been in our life this past year. I won't even try to list them because I'd leave someone out and also because you probably don't want to read a list of people that you don't know. It would be a little like a blog version of the biblical Book of Numbers. Specifically, though, I have to mention Molly and Leigh Ann, my dear neighbors on our lovely little street, who I've spent the most time with during this season of Sam. We've walked and talked and had playdates and shared baby info and braved consignments and been witness to the first year of each of our children's lives. I am seriously sad to leave these two fellow mamas and their adorable little mini people.
Ok, now I'm getting sad. I must remind myself that Chattanooga and Knoxville are not far from each other and that I could be up here in time for a crepe on any given Saturday morning. Whew. That thought made me feel better.
Knoxville, you are a better city than I gave you credit for 6 years ago and I'm proud to have called myself a Knoxvillian for a little while.
Chattanooga, here we come.
Matt came home early today after resigning from his job and suddenly, everything is moving very, very fast. I'm packing up Sam's room and looking at our things and wondering which we should put into storage for now and which should come with us. For someone with borderline clinical OCD (this hasn't been officially confirmed by anyone with credentials), the prospect of moving is taking my breath away a little bit.
And yet, it's exciting. The thought of a new life in a new city, just me and Matt and the babe, is rather exhilarating. I'm wondering who our friends will be and what parks we'll frequent and where I'll do our grocery shopping. I'm already mentally decorating a house/apartment/condo that hasn't materialized just yet. And best of all, we get to start this new life in The Fall. Moving our stuff in 65 degree weather while leaves fall on our heads. Perfect.
Matt starts his new job This Monday, which is making our heads spin a little. I'll be staying this week to pack up our things and take care of some of the details of closing up shop here. And that's where the bitter part of the "bittersweet" nature of this transition comes in. Saying goodbye. I don't really want to. I already feel somewhat heavy with the thought of leaving dear friends and places that I've loved being. I'm pouting over The French Market being 2 hours away already. Is it wrong to be emotional about crepes? I'm not sure. I kind of want to stop in and say goodbye to those crepe-makers who've made it worth getting out of bed early on a Saturday morning. Ok, so I won't actually shed any tears over a restaurant, but I might over the lovely downtown here in Knoxville that Matt and I have wandered through on quite a few date nights.
As I'm typing this, I'm volunteering at our church that we have loved so much. Redeemer has been such a significant part of our life here in Knoxville and we are going to sorely miss it along with the dear friends and pastors who have enriched our lives in the relatively short time we've been here. I miss it already and we still have nursery duty this Sunday.
Oddly enough, I will miss living with my inlaws more than I would have expected and I'm guessing they'll miss us quite a bit as well. Who would have guessed last summer when we moved in that over a year later I would a. still be living with my inlaws and b. be sad to move out. They've been so incredible during this weird transition time in our little family's life and having them around to help with Sam has been huge. I wish we could buy them something big to show our thanks, like a hot tub with all the bells and whistles. But, I think we'll have to settle for a gift card to Home Depot.
Lastly, I will miss all the marvelous friends that have been in our life this past year. I won't even try to list them because I'd leave someone out and also because you probably don't want to read a list of people that you don't know. It would be a little like a blog version of the biblical Book of Numbers. Specifically, though, I have to mention Molly and Leigh Ann, my dear neighbors on our lovely little street, who I've spent the most time with during this season of Sam. We've walked and talked and had playdates and shared baby info and braved consignments and been witness to the first year of each of our children's lives. I am seriously sad to leave these two fellow mamas and their adorable little mini people.
Ok, now I'm getting sad. I must remind myself that Chattanooga and Knoxville are not far from each other and that I could be up here in time for a crepe on any given Saturday morning. Whew. That thought made me feel better.
Knoxville, you are a better city than I gave you credit for 6 years ago and I'm proud to have called myself a Knoxvillian for a little while.
Chattanooga, here we come.
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