I kept thinking this as the second day of our pack 'n' move dawned last week. The first day was an amazing feat of disassembly. Before I'd finished shaking hands with the movers our walls were stripped bare, and I had to keep moving around the apartment to keep from getting stuffed in a wardrobe box myself. At the end of the day I figured we were almost done and I could spend the afternoon laying under the trees at Shake Shack.
But on Day Two I went downstairs to our storage room where the unwanted detritus of years of cohabitation had been stacked and shoved. The piles had been swollen with furniture and appliances we'd move to stage the apartment, and underneath lay the barrow of old tax returns, useless electronics and miscellaneous curiosities we'd ignored for what seemed like centuries. I'd dreaded this moment, hoping that the task of organizing this would fall to some amateur archaeologist or distant unborn heir.
Nope. That's our shit. And it's coming with us.
This scares the living hell out of me. We've spent the last two weeks arguing about what color to paint our bedroom (Benjamin Moore is naming a paint color after Oodgie as thanks for her patronage) and the prospect of unpacking all this unsorted debris in our sparkly new home together has about as much appeal as being a Kentucky census worker. Oodgie is much better than me at giving things up than I, but this task may be beyond even her considerable skills.
And just because we suddenly have more space doesn't mean we suddenly want to fill it. Despite what our recent credit card statements might say.
But here we are. We're committed. On Friday an 18-wheeler will fight its way through ACL traffic to park in front of our new house, bearing our dead plants and enough cardboard to construct a scale replica of downtown Denver. I can hear the conversation now:
"Armoires upstairs, couches downstairs, under-promoted business inventory in the attic. If it sparkles or has frilly things on it it goes in the room that looks like this. Trust me...you can't miss it."
"And the comic books? Oh, let me take those from you before Oodgie sees them..." Whew.
Will Bottoms Up work for my son?
Posted by: always home and uncool | September 29, 2009 at 08:29 AM
Good luck digging out from under your stuff!
Posted by: landismom | September 29, 2009 at 08:44 AM
Best of luck, Webers. May the ACL traffic part to make clear your path.
Posted by: Holmes | September 29, 2009 at 09:27 AM
always home and uncool - only when he's wearing his bro/manziere...
Posted by: Oodgie | September 29, 2009 at 09:59 AM
and crouton, don't despair. i've seen suburban garages packed tighter than that 18-wheeler.
Posted by: Oodgie | September 29, 2009 at 11:41 AM
Before I graduated high school, my family had moved 18 times.
I just recently helped my dad and mom move . . . for the 31st time in their marriage.
You want some more cardboard?
Posted by: tysdaddy | September 30, 2009 at 08:21 AM
Dude, I've seen your moving boxes before. As I recall you had more comic books and CDs that clothing and dishes. If it weren't for Oodgie, I bet it would still be that way, right? Happy home making to you! Clear out a nice guest room for us.
Posted by: ilinap | October 01, 2009 at 07:31 PM
And i will be sleeping in which cardboard box?
ECG
Posted by: Ricki Fier | October 01, 2009 at 07:56 PM
And i will be sleeping over with Cheeky on which cardboard box? Filled or empty?
ECG
Posted by: Ricki Fier | October 01, 2009 at 07:58 PM