Moving mountains, never mind they are just boxes

Well, it’s been another 7 months, so guess what time it is? Yes, that’s right – it’s moving time. Joe and I are moving to our own place. Again. A decision that has not come lightly and I am both loving and hating it the same time.

I hate it because…

Packing. I hate packing. I absolutely despise labeling and putting stuff in boxes, and making lists, and throwing stuff out and deciding what to throw out and what to keep. I don’t like packing, and organizing, and EVERYTHING ABOUT PACKING.

The actual moving is HORRIBLE. Something always goes wrong, something is always forgotten, and someone usually gets upset at least once. It is always a long day, and it’s always so tired, and after things are moved into the house, it takes days, weeks, months to unpack every single box…and sometimes things never get unpacked.

Although it is time for Joe and me to move out, I am going to miss living with Hanna, Josh, and Justin. They are good people and are awesome for letting Joe and I have a landing spot for a while. So that does go on the hate list.

AH! I'M SURROUNDED!

AH! I’M SURROUNDED!

Things I love about moving?

I have missed being able to be financially responsible enough to be able to afford to move out again and being able to have a home again. I am not saying that our current house is not a home, but that’s the thing, it is a home. It just isn’t my home. Our home. This is going to be a home for just Joe and me and that is something that we have waited so long to have again. I can’t wait to have all our kitchen stuff in the places that we want it, to be able to move furniture at 2 o’clock in the morning and not disturb people (yes I do that).

I miss being able to walk around not fully clothed. I, like Jacqui, do not like pants, so they are generally the first thing that comes off when I get home. But you cannot just take your pants off when you walk into a house that has 3 other people living in it…it would get VERY awkward.

Overall I hate the process, but as someone who has moved A LOT this is going to be the last time for a while…or so I hope. Wish us luck – I’m going to go pack another box.

~ Andreah

Days like these

If you had asked me when I was younger what my life would look like in my 30s, as a mother, as a wife, I would never have been able to guess it would be this.

That my house would be a complete disaster every single day, unless company was coming over, and then it was a minor disaster to be put on hold for a small number of hours.

All the dishes. All the time.

All the dishes. All the time. (That dishwasher is there purely for aesthetic.)

That I would go to bed thinking about all the laundry I need to fold, wash, put away…yet never ever get to.

How many loads of clean laundry can I hide behind my couch?

How many loads of clean laundry can I hide behind my couch? (That chair is tipped over because Isaac likes to climb).

That I would be a stay-at-home mom, walking babies to school, cooking all the meals, in charge of all the cleaning, and watching my hard-earned degree gather dust on our wall.

Have you tried cooking dinner with acrobatics happening at your feet?

Have you tried cooking dinner with acrobatics happening at your feet?

That I would be forced to negotiate with the most unreasonable creatures on the planet just to put on their shoes so we could go to the park FOR THEM, or eat their food because they were the ones sobbing at my feet hungry, or to go to bed and sleep because all of the hysterics that they are currently stuck in are because they are tired.

Waiting for snack time...weirdly patiently.

Waiting for snack time…weirdly patiently.

That I would not get a hair cut in over a year simply because I would need to orchestrate a child-care/salon hours/extra time formula that only works once every 15 months or so.

Can you see my kitchen table? I haven't either.

Have you see my kitchen table? I haven’t either.

That I would donate all of my dress pants, skirts, blouses because I don’t need them anymore – my uniform consists of durable material, wash-and-wear ensembles with denim being the star.

Dress pants are no match for a breakfast thrown by Isaac.

Dress pants are no match for a breakfast thrown by Isaac. And the random dirty sock.

That we would not go to church in months simply because we are too sick/too exhausted/too worn-out to get to one more place on time.

That sitting on the couch and zoning out for an hour, followed by an early bedtime is my idea of the perfect night.

That eating hot food is an anomaly so rare that I regularly burn my mouth whenever the opportunity does present itself.

That I would drink and seek out and need coffee to fuel my day, every day.

Sweet nectar that makes all of my efforts in futility possible.

Sweet nectar that makes all of my efforts in futility possible.

That the feeling of not having a body on me or near me or touching me would be more alien than having three children piled on and around me.

That sleep would be the most precious and most scarce commodity in my life, so much so that on days where the babies are overnight somewhere, sleep is all I can think about.

That when planning our 10-year anniversary trip, that it’s a legitimate toss-up between Europe and an all-inclusive tropical resort because all I want to do is SLEEP.

That I would be fulfilled by the feeling of a smooth, not sticky counter, kitchen table, coffee table, floor.

That I would find pleasure in finding miracle cleaning products that worked instead of just made me work.

That I would write more, clean more, cook more, and walk more with babies hanging off of me, screaming at me, crying on me or asking a million things of me, than not.

He's not really a fan of this blog post.

He’s not really a fan of this blog post.

That I would love my babies more fiercely than anything ever. That I would do all of the above and more for them because it’s ingrained in my DNA that they are mine and I must fight for them.

That I would get up and repeat over and over and over again, regardless of the fact I make no money, have no sick days, and no vacation time.

If you had asked me then, I wouldn’t believe you. And yet, it’s the most natural thing today.

~ Julia

Boys

So, we have someone staying with us. Joe works at a shop as a first year apprentice mechanic. His boss is an awesome guy who treats Joe and me like family. When Joe’s cousin Mike was having trouble at his old work (he is a fully licensed mechanic), Joe and I invited him to come over for the weekend. Joe usually works or hangs out at the shop on weekends, and his boss has told me countless times that I am welcome to hang out whenever. So with that fateful weekend, we all went to the shop, and Mike and Joe worked on an intake for a van, and Mike had a job offer.

It seemed perfect – Mike was cool with picking up Joe in the morning and they carpool to work, and we were all good with Mike staying with us when he wanted. I didn’t think this one through completely.

I love Mike – he is a great guy, treats me like family, and I can talk to him about anything. It’s easy semi-living with him.

The hard part is me. As my sisters can agree, I am not a joy and sunshine to deal with or live with. I am difficult and sometimes very uncaring towards other people. I have worked on this greatly since high school when I last lived with them, and moving out in college and living with strangers helped this. I have worked on being more patient with people, and while I don’t mind having him around, it’s more I don’t have a chance to actually be my morning self, which is less than the upbeat person I am after a coffee, or at least a tea. I am not a joy in the mornings, and most likely all you will get from me is a grunt. The first day I woke up and wandered out to the living room, I was immediately bombarded with questions about if I was okay, if anything was wrong, if Mike could help in any way, and then he looked to Joe completely worried. Joe patted his cousin on the shoulder, shook his head, and said, “Welcome to Andi in the morning.”

The other thing is that now I spend quite a bit of time alone. I like hanging out with friends, or spending time with people, and I miss the alone time that I used to get with Joe. I miss our dancing in the living room when dinner is just finished cooking. I miss getting the singular play by play of the day, but now I am treated to the double whammy of Joe and Mike both telling me the same story, and often more than once because they seem to be getting more forgetful.

Now, I am complaining a bit here, but on the other hand, I love having Mike around. When I don’t feel like playing video games Mike is always up for another round. When we all have gone out grocery shopping, the boys don’t let me carry anything up to our apartment, or out to the vehicle. It is also really nice that I have more than one person enjoying my cooking.

So, while it is an adjustment to having another body around, and another person to talk to, and another person to hang out with, it is bittersweet. I get to know Joe’s favourite cousin more with each day, but I still half-miss the nights alone, just me and Joe.

In the end, though, it comes down to the fact that I get to spend time with some new family, and I get to see Joe enjoying having his cousin around.

Now, if I could only stop worrying when they start beating each other up and when they gang up on me, then everything would be awesome.

*sigh*

~ Andreah