I’m sitting at my old desk in my new home – and I now have a view of the harbour that makes me swoon. Surrounded by boxes and drinking my coffee from a breakfast bowl because I can’t find my favourite mug, my entire body is groaning from muscles given the kind of workout you want 12 months to recover from. Because over the weekend I packed up all our belongings and moved house – our second move in 10 months.
On the Saturday morning, I accessorised with a packing tape dispenser and permanent marker to add a real-world edge to my French Connection overalls which I ‘may’ have got especially for the occasion.
The boys helped with packing, by packing themselves.
By Saturday’s end, having run out of packing tape and with the removalists due at 7:30am the next morning, I’d switched to wearing my cranky face with complementary accessories from the kids’ dress-up box. Needing a change-up, I necked a beer and watched a few episodes of Sex and the City. Ahhh, that’s better. But seriously, has anyone in the history of the world ever been ready for the moving guys?!
After a loooong Sunday afternoon with removalists who operated at the pace of a kid eating broccoli, items that hadn’t been wrapped or boxed were just being Tetris®-ed into the back of the family truckster. Awful. Amazingly, I was able to keep my cool by focusing on the dinner my lovely friend Annie had cooked for us and was bringing over later on.
She also bought a beautiful bottle of Pinot – cheers! “
Sure, I may not have showered for two days while clocking a grand total of 10 hours sleep, had a heart attack when the shifty removalists charged me $276 for bubble wrap (!!!), and wore the same overalls the entire weekend, but YAY it was finally done!
And when the boys arrived back in the afternoon, they bounded inside like the little pups they are and declared that our new home looks like a palace, boxes ‘n’ all.
We’ll miss our little home of the past year. Near the beach at Rose Bay, regular readers and followers on Instagram will have witnessed my love affair with that spot, playing on the beach and going ga-ga over the spectacular sunsets.
I’ll miss my old neighbours too, especially Lydia, who cares for the 98 year old man next door. She’d greet me each morning by calling out “Good Morning Miss America!” – naming me that after she heard I was in New York earlier this year. Her infectious smile and positive energy always charged me up for the day.
But even though the location was amazing, I never got that attached. Kinda like The Transitional Man – the one that’s good to get you through, but you know is never going to be The One.
Fingers crossed we have a longer, more profound relationship with this new home.
When was your last move, and were you ready for the removalists when they arrived?
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