Something I both love and hate about moving is the necessity to look at each and every thing we own, and ask “Do I need this? Why am I keeping this? Where will I put this at the new house?” The love part comes from the fact that I really do long to live a simple life, and unmoor myself from all these physical belongings. The hate part comes from the fact that, upon opening a kitchen drawer and asking myself “Which of these six can openers do I really need?”, I quickly realize that I love stuff. I love buying stuff, I love owning stuff, I love having storage rooms full of stuff. My desire to own things quickly outweighs my wish for a simple life, and every time we’ve tried to purge in the last few years, we have soon given up, and said “We’ll deal with it when we move”.

And lo, we are moving, and I just want to put it all in boxes and deal with it… later. When we unpack maybe, or after the baby is born, or when we can have a garage sale, or when life slows down. (Ha!) The little house has thrown a few new problems at us (oh hi plumbing, my old nemesis), so the actual physical move has been pushed back a few days, but I’m trying to look at it as a blessing – I now have a few more days to purge the bathroom cabinets of the 4643 bottles of cheap lotion. I have time to sort and box up the clothes the kids have outgrown. I have time to look critically at each piece of clothing I own, and come to terms with the fact that I will never, never be a size 2 again. (Thanks pelvic bones for separating to let those babies out!) I have time to make sure that every single thing we are moving over has a use and a place.

I think I need to tattoo one of my favorite Thoreau quotes on the back of my hand, so each time I reach into the pile, I remember that “As you simplify your life, the laws of the universe will be simpler; solitude will not be solitude, poverty will not be poverty, nor weakness weakness.” Either that or a house fire.

(Here, btw, would be where I put a picture of the enormous pile of stuff we did donate to the ARC last week, had I remembered to take a picture. It filled the living room of the little house, and they had to make two trips to fit it all in their van. It was a huge relief to see it go, but oh the panic attacks I had after it was all gone. “What if I forgot something important in there, like my baby book? Why did I get rid of all of those patterns – I could have used one! I could have sold all of that stuff on Craigslist and made millions! Can I call them and ask for it all back? What if I find the frying pan that went with that lid? WOE!” My dear, sweet husband reminded me that I had went though it all twice, that the ARC is a great organization which will put it all to good use, and that I needed to chill the fuck out already, because we still had a lot to go through.  And if that isn’t love, worth more than all the worn out socks I’ve been keeping, just in case, I don’t know what is.)