Seeing old things in a new way

Isn’t it funny how we look differently at things that are about to change? Things that have annoyed me for the last couple of years now only earn a shrug. When the door handle in older one’s room fell off again the other day, I just slammed it back on and told it “I won’t miss you when we move.” Same goes for the dripping tap in the kitchen. (It does not drip all the time, or we would have fixed it long ago. I can go weeks or months behaving properly, but from time to time it seems to need some leaky days.)

I am sure the new house will have its little snags too (after all, nothing is perfect), and we will discover them bit by bit, but for now everything is shining with promise. Promise of a new beginning.

I also look at our stuff differently. “Where will I put you in the new house?” is a question many items have to answer. And if the answer is not satisfactory, their chance to make it into one of the moving boxes are not so good.

It feels good to let go of things I have not used/worn for years now. Things that are just sitting there in the cupboard or hanging in the wardrobe. They did not disturb anyone, so no one disturbs them. I tended to not even see them anymore, they just blended in with the background. But now everything is taken out and down, being evaluated, there are not fixed places anymore. And now guaranteed space in the new house.

There are of course things that do not need to go through my inquisition. Some things are sacrosanct, like the boys dearest toys, the stuffed animals in their beds (although the ones hiding in some boxes have been getting some pretty inquiring looks from me lately).

It feels good to have fresh eyes, be it only for some time. I know the alertness will wear off. As soon as the last box in the new house has been emptied, the last pieces have found their place, the routine will slowly come creeping back. When I will begin to know the place, will stop having to look for things, when I will open the right drawer in the kitchen automatically, my gaze will start to slide over things again, will stop noticing things. It is a feeling of increased ease, probably of really feeling at home, but it also takes away the sharpness, the awareness.

So maybe it is a good thing that it will probably take us ages to unpack those boxes. Maybe it will keep the gaze fresh a little longer. To keep on questioning the daily routine, to keep on really looking at my life.


House of Boxes

I am living in a house full of boxes. Empty boxes. Full boxes. Made of cardboard. Empty boxes, stacked flat against the wall, waiting to be filled. Full boxes stacked wherever there is a bit of free space, waiting to be moved to the new house and there eventually being emptied again.

So the contents of our house is being moved through these  boxes. At least the lucky part. The not so lucky items get sorted out. Some go directly to the bin. Some wait to get transported to the recycling facility (broken electronics, anything with batteries in…) . Some get distributed to friends and relations (clothes/toys the boys have grown out of…). At some I look and say softly: “What will it be? Are you in or out?” Sometimes the item in question manages to look so endearing and cute that I decide (against better knowledge), to transfer it to the moving boxes instead of the bin. With a bit of a bad conscience (I do want to de-clutter, I really do), with the faint excuse that I can still decide what to do with it when unpacking at the new house. Knowing very well that the chance of throwing it away there are slight. (The item knows that too. I can hear it sniggering inside the box.)

In the meantime look around for more space to put some boxes. (I know this goes without saying, but they really do need much more space when filled than flat!) You can stack only so many of them on top of each other until the whole construction gets wobbly. Three are absolutely fine. I give it a try and decide four works well too. But I am a bit hesitant to put a fifth on top, if only because it is hard to heave them up. Some of them are quite heavy (Yes, I know you are not supposed to fill them to the rim with books. I hardly ever do. But even the soft things I put on top of the books seem to have some sort of weight, strangely. It kind of adds up.)

So instead of shelves filled with books and lots of other stuff, I now have empty bookshelves with rows of cardboard boxes in front of them. And two boxes next to the bathroom door. No, make it three, I put another one up there this afternoon. And three in older boy’s room. Luckily he does not complain (so far). I can’t put any boxes in little one’s room, because there is no space. (That’s one reason why little one is so keen on this move: he will get a much bigger room!) I could put some boxes next to the wardrobe. Just need to figure out where to put the sports bags that occupy the space now. Hmm. They are not so heavy. I could put them on top of the boxes, couldn’t I? I wonder how many boxes I can stack there – the wardrobe should give them extra stability. Will see…

(And by the way: What is the answer to any question asked in this house starting with “Where is…?” – Correct. The answers is: “Probably in one of the boxes.” If I only knew in which one. But I am sure I will remember in time for unpacking. Almost sure. Hope the funny little stickers I put on the boxes won’t fall off.)


Still there… but lying low…

Today is the first day in ages that I am back in the WordPress universe. Ok, maybe not ages, but it has been about… three weeks? Feels like ages. Tried to read all the wonderful posts that have been accumulating in my reader, but could not do it. Too many. But I think I read the ones most important to me.

I had not planned to be absent for so long. The holidays, yes, that was planned. Ten days of almost-no-internet, except for the husband’s mobile, for a quick check of really important emails. It was good, being in another world completely for that time. My great plan was to come back, blog about our glamorous holidays and then go on ranting about life, universe and the huge amount of moving boxes I have to fill until June.

So much for the plan. Coming back I first got lost in the biggest mountain of dirty laundry you can imagine (I just say two phrases: “rainy weather” – “boys playing outside a lot” and you will get the pictures). After I had tackled the mountain (“Mount Mud”), little one got sick. Just after I had the (dangerous) thought in my head: “Hey, we really came through this winter without illness (apart from the odd snotty nose and cough)!” Yep, got punished instantly by little one turning into a little heating stove  the other day. He got over it quite quickly though. Meanwhile I was frantically conjuring up to-do-lists for our move. What to pack next, who to inform when, blablabla…  Yuck.

And of course you know what happened next. Sure, I got little one’s bug. I do most times. He is extra specially cuddly when he is sick, giving me a healthy dose of his bugs via a good sneeze now and then. That plus my own stress, probably lowering my immune system. So now I am the snotty one, feeling miserable. Husband travelling. And a big bunch of family coming for a visit this upcoming weekend. Yeah!!!

But here I am, finally getting to read again. And writing down this pitiful little post.

And hoping that, when the virus and the family have left again, maybe I can finally get down to writing something about our holidays. Or my army of boxes. Or whatever.

Hope to see you then!