When I was a kid, we had a junk drawer in our kitchen. One, as in, a single drawer whose job it was to hold our "junk". Items such as pens, rubber bands, pencil sharpeners, batteries, tape measure, ruler...you know, basic junk. I'd ask my mom, "Mom where's the glue?" And she would respond, "Did you check the junk drawer?"
My children, on the other hand, have grown up in a world of not one, but multiple junk drawers. As I was cleaning them out the other day, in preparation for our move later this week, one question continued to come to mind: how did our lives get to a place where we have not one, but FIVE junk drawers?! How, in 22.5 years of marriage and ten different homes did our family accumulate so much junk?!
Our junk includes, not only glue/markers/batteries and three kinds of tape, but we have a junk drawer dedicated to medicine and vitamins, one for sewing and crafts (which is actually hysterical since I don't sew, and rarely do I "craft"). One is for the six kinds of batteries we [apparently] need, one for the snake den of chargers we now use in our home, and one for things like plastic corn cob holders, purse-size tissue packs, and of course travel size hand sanitizer.
Suffice it to say I am overwhelmed by the amount of junk we own. Because one of the things I am trying to work on in my life is simplification. But the junk drawers remind me that even if I want to "keep it simple", I am not a family of one, but one of five people still under our roof. And it doesn't matter if our move is six blocks away or 600 miles away, the stuff we have has to get taken from point A to point B.
(Don't even get me started on the bins of holiday wrap we have accumulated...which I did not miss while they were stored in the garage attic the past eighteen months...)
In the past week Tom and I have moved about 80% of our belongings (before the actual movers appear on our doorstep Friday morning). Wait, let me correct myself...TOM is moving 80% of our stuff before the movers arrive. I completely understand why he wants to do this (less to move = lower moving bill at the end of the day), I just don't share his energy level or enthusiasm for the job at this point in our lives.
Oddly enough I used to think the actual moving process was fun, although this feeling has waned a little each time we have had to pack and unpack. To a point, after doing it ten times in our marriage, fun is the last word that comes to mind. This particular transition reminds me of when we had Mia and I (for the most part) decided we were done having kids, so we needed to make it permanent in tandem with my third C-section.
Been there, done that, time to move on.
I am wondering how I accomplish the same permanent end in this case...burn all the boxes?
This new (to us) house will work (only over my dead body will we attempt to move again) since my mind cannot handle the chaos, mental anguish and physical drain that accompanies moving. Although I hate to admit it, I am not nearly as focused as I once was. I know this because I have gone into what I call "survival mode" much earlier than usual this time around. (Survival mode is where I carry my cell phone and keys on my person at all times so I don't misplace them. In past moves it would kick in the day before the actual move, this time around I was "in mode" last week already!)
I am however, really excited about how far our "fixer upper" has come over the past month, and I know we will be making some awesome memories in this new dwelling as we head into the holiday season. As soon as I put the last box away I'll take some "after pictures" and share them here. Until that time, it's HAPPY UNPACKING (she says with sarcasm)!