First of all, I just want you to know that Valerie Bertinelli is wearing a shirt I own in the new Jenny Craig ads. From this I can tell you with some authority that 1) Jenny Craig stylists shop Nordstrom Rack and 2) I hate that shirt on me for the same reason Valerie probably does and that’s why she has to have her hands on her hips. So she’ll have a waist.
Do with that information what you see fit. Please don’t start a riot.
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We’re moving next month. Again. This will be our third move in as many years.
All of our friends and family have already let us know that they’re “busy that weekend” without even asking which weekend we’re moving. I don’t blame them. During our last move our good friend’s liver was pinned against a doorway by my refrigerator for a good part of the day.
If I were being honest I’d admit that I’m actually looking forward to this move, to the change of scenery, to new routines, to being forced to organize and clean.
What I’m not looking forward to is the packing and actual moving followed by the inevitable living out of boxes for, oh, a year. The funny thing is, every time we move I swear to Chris that this move will be different than the others.
I say “This will be the most organized move yet!”
For our last move I came up with the brilliant idea to color code and number the boxes instead of labeling them. Every room would have a color: green=dining room, red=Savannah’s room, and so on. Then every box would be numbered.
So, instead of writing “TOYS & BOOKS – SAVANNAH’S ROOM” I would put a red dot sticker on the box and a number.
Then – are you still reading this? - I had a spiral notebook that had every room written down next to its color code along with the number and its contents.
“What’s that? You need your green sweater? Why, that’s in box red twelve!”
We were going to be so organized!
Except I lost the notebook on moving day.
And then we ran out of colored stickers.
In the end we had about 50 boxes piled throughout the new house without a clue as to what was in them or where they belonged. I’d discover the pots and pans while trying to find shoes. Savannah would happen upon the knives while getting ready for school.
It was awesome.
This time, though, I have it all figured out.
I’m hiring strangers to come pack up my crap! They’ll wrap my glasses, they’ll fold my clothes, they’ll herd my three cats into a cage. I think they’ll even carry me out on a chair. Well worth the money.
I’m really just trying to do whatever I can to calm my nerves about this move. Because this is a big one.
We’re leaving Orange county…for L.A. county.
Ouch.
I think that’s probably all I can say about that right now because my chest is feeling tight again. The idea of raising my daughter in L.A. county – even if it is a safe little suburb where we’re headed – has taken three years to get used to. But, I know it’s the right move for us. We’ll be closer to family, Savannah will be attending an award-winning school, and we already have close friends living there.
It’s really going to be an instant social life for us. As opposed to the lurching progress we’ve made here with friendships. Which I do want to write about more fully in the near future because I really must articulate my observations of Orange county and its oddly passive aggressive atmosphere or I’ll explode. I’m sure of it.
But, I’ll save that for when I have a new address. Just in case I want to name names.
So, next week we sign the new lease for our new townhouse on the golf course. And I really think this will be the last stop for us. This will be the place where we finally take root. Where we buy a house. Where we expand our family. Where we call home.
Or at least where we make new unsuspecting friends who’ll help us move again.
