The Two Houses

Having two houses and the time to transition was all fun and games – until it wasn’t. It was wonderful to have a week to work in the new house and get it ready for us to move in. It was less wonderful to continue to deal with the remnants and responsibilities in the old house once we transitioned our lives to the new neighborhood.

For the final week of school, every morning, Mike, the kids, and I schlepped ourselves over to the old house so the kids could catch the bus. Because real truth, I was not adding “change the bus stop for a week” to my to-do list. [Fun fact: writing this reminded me that I need to call the school so that we are assigned to the right bus stop in the fall. Yikes!] Once they were off to school, we typically loaded a random assortment of things into our cars, toted it over to the new house, unloaded, and then went about our actual jobs for the day.

Then every night, usually around 9pm after all evening activities had ended and the kids were tucked in, one or the other of us would head back to the old house to continue packing, patching and painting, mowing, or cleaning. It.was.exhausting. And truly felt like we had no time to spend settling into the new house because whoever was left at home was paying bills or doing laundry or other such “keep daily life afloat” tasks.

By Wednesday night, we were mostly out of the house, Mike had patched and touched up walls and finished the yard work, and the dumpster (to his great chagrin) was still sitting in the driveway [it was supposed to be picked up on Monday. It was not.]. So it was my turn to head over after the evening sprint to do the cleaning. The final walk-through was Thursday afternoon, so I wanted things to look nice and tidy.

By the time I ran a couple errands and caught up with our neighbors, it was 10pm when I started. I buckled down and made good progress. I had just finished vacuuming the basement and planned to load up my supplies so I could mop myself out of the house. As I was eying the things to load, I decided to grab the last few things in our house – which were my houseplants – so we didn’t have to deal with them in the morning. I grabbed one of the plants and turned to walk to the car. Unbeknownst to me, this vine-y plant had intertwined itself with another vine-y plant and the two had become one. But I only had one. So other plant went toppling off the ledge, spilling plant, leaves, and dirt across the newly cleaned floor.

I was too tired to either cry or swear. I simply picked up the mess, re-vacuumed the basement, and successfully transported the rest of the plants to the car. Then, as I went to load up my vacuum, I somehow knocked the canister out of it, dumping everything I had cleaned up all over the floor. Again. WHY!?!?!

Against all odds, I managed to finish up without destroying the house. But since the dumpster was still there and Mike and I have been talking for a couple years about needing a new vacuum (we bought the current one when we got married), my vacuum and I broke up. Target loaded a shiny new one into the back of my car the next morning and by early afternoon, the old vacuum and the dumpster had disappeared from our house. Just in time for the final walkthrough. 

In the midst of all this bouncing between houses, Mike managed to bring our old living room couch and love seat up to a donation warehouse in Bloomington to help out lower income families furnish their homes. And he found a great charity called Keys 4 Kids, where we were able to donate our old piano. We had really struggled with what to do with it and were both so delighted to find it a new home. Hooray!

Meanwhile, I contributed by calling the garbage/recycling place no less than five times in order to transfer our service from the old house to the new. And not a moment too soon. Because we were up to our armpits in garbage and recycling at the new house. Where there were no containers. And we didn't want to be paying for service at the old place - where they had neglected to pick up the containers. 

For so many reasons, we were delighted and relieved on June 11 when our realtor stopped over with a large check and official word that the sale was completed. We loved our old house. But that last week really helped us all mentally (and physically) transition to the new one. We are ready to make new memories here and hope that the new family makes a wonderful life in the old house. 

Now if I could just find an unpacking fairy ...

The Move

When Mike and I discussed the actual move logistics, we quickly decided that hiring movers to carry the big stuff was well worth the money. I had no interest in helping move our giant sectional or hoisting the grill off the deck. Then after we lined up the movers, our sweet next door neighbors offered us their piano - meaning I had even less than no interest doing the heavy lifting ourselves. [It took two movers plus Mike to move that piano, so movers were a great call!] 

Moving day came and brought sweltering temperatures with it. The radio later told me was the hottest June 5 in 96 years. It was too hot to blink. So thank goodness we weren't relying on the strength of our friendships to move our crap. No one should have to be that good of a friend!

The movers showed up just after 8am Saturday morning. They were ... unorthodox ... to say the least. We are 99% sure that they were drinking on the job - but they were really hard workers and very careful, so we are going with it. While Mike had hired them to only move the big heavy stuff, they did so much more than that. Which was both good and overwhelming. We were not prepped for them to basically grab anything not nailed down. Mike finally told them to hold up in the garage - because they were throwing random things in random boxes. We will have to fully unpack every single thing. I finally found the rain coats tonight - buried under beach balls and bike helmets. We still can't find the levels. Sigh.

My favorite movers story comes courtesy of Thurman. Thurman was a tall, lanky guy. Probably 6'3", maybe 160 lbs. He was 60 years old and had a heart attack last year. Honestly, he looked like I should be lifting heavy things for him. Mike and I have a two-drawer file cabinet. It is heavy and takes both of us to move it. So when Thurman wheeled it into the new house on a two-wheel cart, that made perfect sense. Then he looked at the stairs to our basement and the 180 degree turn he needed to make at the bottom of it, decided that wouldn't work, crouched down, lifted the dang thing all by himself and carried it down the stairs! You are probably thinking "yeah, but you emptied it first." We did not. Moral of the story: don't mess with Thurman.

Once the movers were done, Mike, Gpa V, and I headed over to the new house to put beds back together and make sure things were ready for us to sleep here for the first time. Meanwhile, Auntie had come down to visit and was spending the afternoon in the tiny blow up pool in our old back yard with the small Vs. Turns out, hose water can be quite refreshing! It was an emotional day and the kids needed the fun that only Auntie can bring.

Sunday morning in the new house was interesting. We hosted an underwear scavenger hunt. Because the kids now have their own rooms, we have a bedroom furniture shortage. F got my dresser, Q got the big shared dresser, and D got the other shared dresser. M's dresser was built into his old closet. So if you are keeping up with the math, that leaves Mike and me with zero dressers between us. 

But I hadn't yet had time to switch the dresser contents. So ... F's underwear was in D's room. Her clothes were in Q's room. Q's clothes were in D's room. My underwear and shorts were in F's room. And M's underwear was in a suitcase. We lived like that for a week. It was a very happy day when I re-aligned the dressers. Unless you are older than 11. Then your underwear is still in a suitcase. Or sitting on the shelf of a bookcase, which is doubling as a makeshift dresser. [Have we had time to go buy new master bedroom furniture yet? Nope.]

Since we got rid of or redistributed all our master bedroom furniture, night one in the new house, we slept on a mattress and box spring on the floor. Like we are 19 again. The movers accidentally switched our mattress with the guest room mattress - so Brad was invited over on Sunday to help with a mattress swap. Because if we are going to sleep on the floor like college kids, we at least want to do it on our own mattress.

The New House

We closed on our new house on May 27. Since that day, our lives have been peppered with statements like “there are swimsuits in a yellow bowl on top of a pile of boxes in the living room” and “does anyone know where the Philips screwdriver is?” Facts: the swimsuits were in the yellow bowl. Why? No one knows. And it is virtually impossible to keep track of screwdrivers in a house where the previous owners must not have owned any. I’ve never in my life tightened so many screws.

Mike and I took the 27^th off of work. I would love to say that after we closed, we got so much done. We did not. Pretty much all we did was wander around aimlessly, feeling overwhelmed – feelings that were not aided by the rainy, gloomy day outside. But we got that out of our system before we picked up the kids at the bus stop and brought them over to finally see the house [because we had to move so quickly, the kids had not actually seen it in person].

The timing worked out so that we closed right before the Memorial Day weekend – which meant we had an extra day to work without having to burn down vacation. And holy smokes did we work. I spent the weekend painting Fiona and Quinn’s bedrooms while Mike and three of the best friends ever moved our playset over to the house. Thankfully the weather was perfect for hard labor outside and our friend J has moved many a playset over the years, so his expertise and muscles were invaluable.

F’s room painting went very smoothly, which put me in the dangerous position of over-confidence. The color was stunning from the get go, there were no major drips, spills, or mishaps, and we could almost get away with one coat (we did two because it just looks better). So naturally, Q’s room did not go smoothly at all. Yellow is such a tough color and after one coat, it looked terrible. Like it made me question my painting ability less than 24 hours after F’s room went just fine. Ultimately, Q’s room took three coats – and other than feeling like you are on the surface of the sun, it looks good. There are a couple spots that could maybe use a fourth coat, but I think only Mike and I and our sun-blinded eyes can see them. Most importantly, Quinn LOVES it.

By coat #3 of Chickadee Yellow, my over-confidence had been shattered and reality set in. We had made great progress over the weekend. But not enough. So we called in the pros – and Gma and Gpa J headed down on Tuesday with their paint brushes in tow to help out. First up with the Dude's room. He had been quite patient while the sisters' rooms transformed, but the lower lip was getting a bit out of joint as the days went on. So Gma and Gpa painted his room on Wednesday, to his great delight. It is Smoked Turquoise, which you may or may not remember is the same color their old room was. He is delighted. Then the grandparent painting team tackled the kids' bathroom on Thursday to get rid of the cave-like almost black navy blue color in there. It is now a happy gray and is much more cheerful.

Grandma also washed some walls and cleaned out my kitchen for me, so it was ready for me to unpack as soon as I packed it up in the old house. Gpa started mowing our new lawn ... and promptly joined the dark side, known as Team Mike, in the great We Need a Riding Lawnmower debate. Shortly before lunch on Friday, Gma and Gpa headed home while Mike and I continued moving things over and packing up - as the movers were due to show up first thing Saturday morning. 

Were we feeling ready? Not quite. Was it happening anyway? All one can do is buckle up.

Fiona's room: before and after

Quinn's room: before and after (coat #1)

Declan's room: before and after

Kids' bathroom: before and after