Prepping for Box City

Talking about house


We’re about to become denizens of Box City.

Spencer and I began packing on Monday night . . . and by “began,” I mean we emptied two bookcases of DVDs into six cardboard boxes before we both declared ourselves tired and overwhelmed, then sank onto the couch to fret over just how stressful this move is going to be.

Six. Boxes. In.

When I moved out of my parents’ house last fall, I literally carted all of my worldly possessions over gradually in trash bags, duffels and those recyclable totes you get from the grocery store. It took weeks to eventually get all my stuff into our apartment, capped off by one tear-filled final drive to Spencer’s with my backseat full of childhood memorabilia.

That sucked.

Though moving was tough, I had a ready-made home to join — and had already felt like a member of the household, even if I wasn’t there full-time. All I had to bring were my clothes, shoes and accessories, plus my personal library (heavy) and various other things I’d collected over the course of, oh, 28 years. But that move was more emotionally tough than physically taxing.

This one? It’s going to be both.

The other night I literally stood staring at my paperbacks and hardcovers and boxes of photos and stationery and journals with tears in my eyes, wondering how in the merciful good gracious I was going to organize these things and schlep them to a new place — again. Along with all our furniture, all of Spencer’s things, the overflowing workshop of tools, our kitchen gadgets, the contents of our fridge and pantry . . . I mean, everything. Everything in sight.

It was too overwhelming to even consider . . . except I have to.

I kind of powered down, like a robot. A super stressed-out one.

I realize this is all very boo-hoo, you’re buying a house. But I’m sure many of you have stood in my steps and looked with horror mingling with excitement at the prospect of changing residences, so I’m hoping you’ll take pity on my weary soul.

And maybe you’ll help me.

I realize I’m in Maryland and you’re in, I don’t know, Indiana or Texas or California or maybe even England, so it’s probably not feasible that you’ll grab an end of the couch to help load our U-Haul. And that’s okay. Honestly? I feel super awkward asking for help, and I wouldn’t want to beg for your assistance in exchange for beer and/or pizza. I mean, I’m going to — at least on a local level — because we don’t have a choice . . . there is no earthly way we can move some of our furniture ourselves.

But how you could lend a hand? Give me your moving tips. Is there anything to make the transition easier? We’re a week from settlement and about a month from actually living in our new house full-time, so we have time to gather up our belongings and keep them organized . . . and I want to be as organized as possible.

But are moving and organization an oxymoron?

Am I being hopelessly naive to think this will be anything other than difficult?

Do you have any packing tips and/or tricks you’ve used to make things less ghastly?

Even if you don’t have any advice, I’ll take moral support. I’m starting to get really nervous.

I’m all ears.

If I wasn’t going into massive home debt, I’d even offer you some pizza.


Advertisements