Because packing is no fun at all...

For every box I pack I spend an equal amount of time not packing. Every box is color coded with the room it's contents contain. In my mind I have already unpacked at the new house and everything has its place. Every object I wrap up in newspaper and every book I box up has its own spot. The Seattle Worlds Fair glasses that Jenny & Robin gifted us from their wedding are perfectly arranged on the display shelves in the kitchen. The curtains I've picked out have been hemmed and hung in the kitchen. Our honeymoon polaroids will live above our desk in the office and all of our records, books, notes and records will be stored in the custom built in my dad & I will design on the opposite wall. My mason jars full of cotton balls, Q-Tips, make-up brushes, and earrings will sit in order on the bathroom shelf. My corkboard will hang in the kitchen by the fridge. The living room will house all of our bigger books, our best pictures and a new tv. But I digress, I've already wasted time by planning our guest bedroom and typing this post. All of my fabric and sewing supplies are awaiting boxes (they will end up in the basement on my soon to be sewing station) and they won't pack themselves.

Second times a charm.

Buying a house is complicated, exasperating, anxiety ridden, scary, amazing, exciting, uncomfortable, surreal and did I say amazing? You cross your fingers and toes and ask everyone you know to do the same and its not enough. Our first offer was rejected and it felt like heartbreak. We tried to see other houses, they looked promising on the outside and yet closer inspection showed us that none of them lived up to our first love. We decided to take another look, we couldn't help it. It was love at first, second and third sight. As we finished our walk through another broker walked in the door and I panicked, my heart was racing and I was overwhelmed with anxiety. This was/is/will be my house! How could anyone condescend to think that they could walk on my floors and open my doors? Erik & Rick begged me to relax, but I knew that we needed to act quickly because we would regret it if we lost it. Just thinking of anyone else living in this house made me horribly uncomfortable. Within an hour we had made a second offer and fifteen minutes later we got the call. ACCEPTED! And in a couple of weeks (hopefully less) we will have signed each and every single paper that says we are committed to every square inch, every pine floor board, every leaf on every tree and every small corner in our new small house for 30 years plus interest. Our inspection the following weekend went so well it was almost too good to be true, I fear that we will drive up with our moving truck and find that the house doesn't really exist at all. It was built in 1930 and has been loved ever since then, and will be every second that it is ours.

And if everything weren't overwhelming enough, we now face the business of moving. Deciding what parts of our history in this house will be just that and what will move with us. We have years of memories tucked away in every spare corner, piles of pictures, projects, ill fitting clothing, well read books and well worn records. The idea of choosing what stays and what goes is both exhilarating and terrifying. I want to simultaneously throw it all away and keep it all forever. I am bound to run into memories I have long since forgotten. I have boxes and boxes of letters & notes from Erin dating back to middle school, how can I possibly put those in the recycling pile? This weekend we start with the garage. It has become a safe haven for all of the forgotten aspects of our bigger projects. Tarps are draped over things we haven't seen in months, remnants of summer poker games lurk in the most unlikely places (an unopened Sparks can in box filled with art supplies?), and things whose origins date back years before we ever lived here are mixed in with our camping gear. Packing will take a long time, we want to do it right. Everything we bring into our new home will be intentional and well thought out, a luxury we have never been afforded before. Look for the yard sale signs soon.