I Hate Moving

Really, I just don't like it.  Sure, I'm excited about this new phase in our lives, the new adventures in store, taking a leap into the unknown.  When it comes moving even when I'm excited to get to the other side, I don't like the process itself.  Perhaps you can see why:

The chaos of boxes, packing tape, and bubble wrap.  And, of course, anything I need is in the box I just packed.

As the Coffee Queen will tell you, I usually prefer one large task to a dozen small tasks, even if the small tasks together will take less time.  Moving is a hundred small tasks, so, really, not my favorite activity.

I have to remind myself of what's on the other side of this process.  I think about living close to the beach, in a warm climate where I can ride the scooter all year long.  I think about the Coffee Queen, the Little Scoot, and I finding a small beach bungalow someday.  Maybe even being in a neighborhood again where we can walk to most of what we need (one of the things the Coffee Queen and I loved about living in Highland Park after we were first married).  I will miss this house, especially after all the sweat and tears we've put into making it the best home we could, but as the boxes pile up, the walls become bare, I realize something: a house is just one big piece of stuff.  Any house can be a home, and, more importantly, any house can be our home.

Moving day is getting close now.  We made great progress on packing this weekend, so I feel good about being ready for the movers (we decided to splurge on having someone else load the trailer).  Then, once we officially close on the house, it'll be time to load up the car and point it south.  I'll be sad to leave, but I can't wait to see what new adventures God has in store for us.  And I can't wait to be done packing boxes.