Moving Sh*t

Waiting for possession of a house feels kind of like the toe-curling excitement you get when you’re five years old, bundled up on the couch, and waiting for Santa to come down the chimney on Christmas Eve.

I’ve literally got a calendar with big black exes on the days that have gone by and a big red circle around August 16. I’ve already sketched out where my furniture will go, what paint colour I’m putting on my walls, and what I want to renovate first. Just thinking about that stuff makes me crazy-giggles happy.

The entrance hall of our new house. I'm thinking different tiles and a fresh coat of paint.

The entrance hall of our house. I’m thinking hardwood and a fresh coat of paint.

But what I didn’t quite grasp until about two weeks ago is that buying a house and relocating to a new town involves a lot of unpleasant work too. Thrilling tasks such as: decoding inspection reports, talking to lawyers, finding a new doctor, figuring out how to pile all our money together and give it to someone else, getting internet installed, paying hydro and gas installation costs, booking a moving van, changing our phone numbers, and determining what our day to day finances will look like with a massive mortgage weighing us down.

Then there is the actual act of moving. Getting all of our stuff from one residence to another. Call me weird, but I usually enjoy this process. I get a kick out of cleaning, sorting, labelling, and re-organizing my things. And when everything is in its new and proper place, the “I did that” feeling you get is such a high.

That said, this move is a little different than my past moves for a few reasons:

  • I’m not living in Toronto right now, so JF is packing up our apartment. Picture disorganized piles of loose, unrelated things being shipped out.
  • I now have a billion pound, upright piano. Normally awesome but at this moment, ugh.
  • After 10 years of renting, I am apparently millimetres away from becoming a hoarder. Though JF had rather frequently told me I have too many teacups and vases, I certainly never agreed with him until it came time to pack and move them.
Our Toronto apartment a few months ago. Looks innocuous, but I can assure you there were several truckloads of useless trinkets hidden in it.

Our Toronto apartment a few months ago. Looks innocuous, but there were several truckloads of useless trinkets hidden in it.

One thing is certain, I am doing a massive, Clean-Sweep-esque (Peter, I wish I could hire you!) sort as we unpack and settle in. And then, we will be hosting a great big, Elmvale garage sale. Maybe I’ll make lemonade and bake (read: burn) cookies to entice our new neighbours over.

In the meantime, I’m daydreaming about cream coloured walls, chrome hardware, and brightly painted dressers while trying to forget the to do list on my bedside table that seems to be perpetually growing.