You may be wondering what I’ve been up to since transitioning Richmondmom.com to new owners Brian and Christa, huh?
Well don’t you worry, I’ve not had a minute to slack–I’ve been packing up my family-of-five to move to our seventh house and dealing with crying/moaning/pain (and that’s just my husband) resulting from cleaning out/packing away/giving stuff up.
And, yes, that just said seventh house. In fifteen years.* I should be a pro at this, but apparently I haven’t learned a darn thing and I’m still a candidate for hoarders, and after this long weekend I learned that’s not necessarily a bad thing.
Here’s why, even amidst the sore muscles and angst, the moving process has actually been positive to date:
10) I DID give up several bags of my old clothes to the Goodwill, but my paper-thin twenty+ year-old t-shirt from my alma mater was not one of them. There’s just too much history woven into its yellowed fibers; every time I look at it – I see a sunny day with one hundred thousand or so really fun people huddled around Beaver Stadium and fall leaves rustling – and that just makes me smile.
It’s like a time capsule of tailgating goodness.
9) I found over twenty dollars in old purses, holla!
8) Sorting through my kids’ school pictures and artwork provided me with much-needed mental breaks and inspiration. Priceless.
7) The massive pile of unmatched socks in a basket in my laundry room finally met its maker, sock monster BE DAMNED.
6) My baking dishes are now nicely nestled away, cushioned between bundled sheets of packing paper, so surely my family will not expect a home-cooked meal anytime before our move date in ten days.
5) Unearthing my dad’s sweater from my closet was like hugging him tight again, even though he passed away twenty-five years ago.
Dad’s sweater, here as a reminder of him after twenty-five years.
It made me picture his dark curly hair, moustache, silly grin. You can’t imagine how many times I have folded and packed up this sweater, and I will continue to do so, for as long as I live.
My first serious boyfriend’s sweater, circa 1989.
4) Unearthing my first serious boyfriend’s sweater. He gave it to me when I left as an exchange student when I was sixteen. We broke up soon thereafter, but he was always my first love and I just couldn’t part with it. A few years ago, he died tragically in a car accident, so it reminds me of him as I knew him, full of life, fun, mischief.
Really, I don’t have a problem. can stop anytime I want.
3) Lining up my boot collection, feeling the smooth leather on them and looking forward to fall just so I can put them on again. I get excited just thinking about it . . .
2) Purging games with missing pieces. Need I say more? The feeling is exhilarating.
1) Reaffirming that everywhere we’ve lived keeps a tiny bit of who we are, and who we are changes with every single place we lay our head, for better or worse.
And these things, they are just things. It’s the people in our lives that make up our memories that matter. What they give us cannot be neatly packed away or wrapped up; they become a part of our being and no miles or bricks or fences can separate us from them.
*If there is a diagnosis for this disease, please alert me. I refer to it as freakisitis movalotagus, but there’s surely a more clinical term.
Personal: Kristy, this one’s for you.
