Move Day

When I started this blog, I had visions of writing comedic reflections on the reality of moving house and embarking on a 'tree change', complete with a wistful post enroute out of the city, articulating our mixed sadness at leaving, yet joy at starting our new adventure....

Move day could not have been further from this romantic idealism. I had already mentioned in a previous blog about our voluminous 'stuff' (in Six Days and Counting...) and how stressful it was to try and put it all into boxes. Added to this the renovation work needed to rent out our Sydney abode (You've Just Got to Laugh), and you have yourself an image of what moving for us has been like.

But wait, there's more.

Two days before move day, the sewer overflowed. There is nothing like the aroma of a toilet flowing down beside the house to shake things up a bit. Thankfully, the plumber was already booked to come the next day for renovation tasks, but it did mean that half of that day was taken up digging a trench in preparation (in the interest of saving precious dollars). I guess while we were digging, we weren't disagreeing about what should go, stay or how it should be packed! However, at that time, my expectations needed a swift adjustment from 'how will I get all this in boxes' to 'which of these things will be going and which shall we transport down on another day'. Sigh.

There would have been another removalist needed if it wasn't for dear friends who came over to help us pack and sort our things. Seriously, half our contents would still be in Sydney if it weren't for these devoted souls! They packed, sorted, cleaned and cleared and we are forever grateful (you know who you are).

The removalists were a stark contrast to our situation. Terribly efficient (and terribly early), they had arrived ready to load our life onto their truck. The problem was, that we weren't ready for them. Dancing around each other like the emerging dust bunnies from our departing furniture, we were frantically trying to throw things in boxes and seal them up just so the movers would take it on the truck. They had our boxes and designated furniture loaded on the truck in record time and I quickly realised I would need to leave before they'd finish if I wanted to pick up keys and try to beat them to our new house.

Driving out of Sydney was a surreal experience. With our eldest at school camp in the Blue Mountains, Master Thirteen biking around Canberra and husband staying in Sydney to finish off renovations it was just Master Seven and me, leaving behind what has been my home and my community for over twenty years. But there was no time for mournful reflections or whimsical posts on social media - only a seven year old who kept asking 'how long' and 'can I play on your phone now?'

Of course there needed to be a pit stop, and after trying to find where the real estate offices were, I had collected keys and was finally on my way to our new home. Armed with A4 sheets of paper and coloured markers to signpost each room and parts of the garage (in the name of being uber organised), I got out of the car and took a deep sigh, 'yay, I beat them'. I smiled at my own cleverness....only the see the moving truck turn the corner at that very minute and chug its way up our street. Ok, strike that, time for plan B.

I was doing quite well with intercepting furniture as it came into the house, but as the items got smaller, the faster they became at unloading them. I found it increasingly difficult to keep up. They divided forces to try and get the job finished and like little worker ants, they poured our items into both doors at once so I had a 50:50 chance of telling the respective removalist which room that piece belonged. Once all the furniture was unloaded, and quite a few boxes, I looked around and thought that this house was bigger than I thought; all our stuff in and we've still got room to move. The movers then said there were about eighty five boxes left to be unloaded from the truck.....

Never in my life have I been more thankful for a double lock up garage, which has since become a store house for packed boxes. Stacked in rows, the place where our cars should be now resembles a warehouse. It is overwhelming, but each day brings one less box in the garage as our life emerges from the cardboard.

Now there's a different kind of chaos. Instead of the chaos of packing boxes around renovations, now we have the 'which box was that in again' kind of chaos. Or my favourite 'I've seen it today but I can't remember which cupboard I chose'. The best one, was the tiny bag of attachments for the bike pump that I shifted four times because I thought I'd lose them...and then I lost them anyway.

And then I take a moment (and another coffee) and sit on our day bed on our deck. With feet in the sunshine, Master Seven, Miss Nearly Fifteen, the dog and myself all sprawl out, and just enjoy being still for a moment. No sirens, no traffic (and for a moment, no boxes). Just the sounds of native birds and a deep exhale. I realise this is why we've done it. All that stress, the chaos, the packing and the moving are for more moments, just like this one.

And then I realise, we're home.