Moving, Phase II: Packing Begins
We have a (likely) closing date for the condominium. You know what that means, right?
Packing!
Actually, it means a lot more than that. It means calling an electrician and a plumber to come in and fix a few issues (including the fact that the bathtub in one of the bathrooms doesn't have a shower in it). It means deciding if we want to paint at all (probably not, but the issue is still under discussion). And it means deciding what to do with the flooring.
See, the kitchen, which is lovely and wonderful, was recently redone with laminate wood floors. The rest of the condo has brand new carpeting. This includes the dining area. Putting carpet in a dining area is a bad idea for a whole host of reasons, so we'd like to replace it with wood flooring that matches the kitchen. The problem is, we visited the web site for three different local flooring places, and none of them had a match for the kitchen. We finally emailed the current owners to ask where they got it from. Hopefully they'll write back soon. Probably should have done that in the first place!
We also bought boxes, more than fifty of them. Buying boxes makes my skin itch. It feels . . . wrong. I've moved dozens of times in my life, especially when I was very young, and we NEVER bought boxes. A big part of moving for my family was heading out to troll the grocery stores and the alleyways to hunt for boxes. We brought them home in triumph. Scoring banana boxes was awesome--they were strong and great for dishes. I brought home pickle buckets from the fast-food restaurant where I worked because they were perfect for plates. All these things were free!
Nowadays, though, I just don't have the time or energy to go box hunting. This means buying them. My heart jerks in agony at the thought, but here we are. Hardware stores now sell boxes, and they want a dollar each for a small one. Bigger ones cost double and even triple that. Darwin and I paid a small fortune for a bunch of cardboard we're ultimately going to toss into the recycling bin. I was grumbling under my breath the whole time.
We got them home, and I turned to my dear husband to announce, "Now we have to start packing."
Darwin gave me a bemused look. Start packing? As in . . . now?
"We have two weekends to pack," I pointed out. "This one and the next one. So you're going to be here to help me for only four days. We have to get everything packed that we can during that time."
Darwin allowed that this was true, but he wanted ice cream before we got started. I said that ice was usually a reward for AFTER packing, but Darwin remained adamant. So we went to a local twisty-cone place and got ice cream. There!
When we got back, the packing began. We packed up the exercise room in the basement (which included a two bookshelves worth of books and DVDs). We packed up the laundry room. We packed up the broom closet. We packed up the kitchen linens and upstairs DVD collection and two kitchen cupboards. At which point we declared ourselves Done For the Day.
But more packing tomorrow . . .
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Packing!
Actually, it means a lot more than that. It means calling an electrician and a plumber to come in and fix a few issues (including the fact that the bathtub in one of the bathrooms doesn't have a shower in it). It means deciding if we want to paint at all (probably not, but the issue is still under discussion). And it means deciding what to do with the flooring.
See, the kitchen, which is lovely and wonderful, was recently redone with laminate wood floors. The rest of the condo has brand new carpeting. This includes the dining area. Putting carpet in a dining area is a bad idea for a whole host of reasons, so we'd like to replace it with wood flooring that matches the kitchen. The problem is, we visited the web site for three different local flooring places, and none of them had a match for the kitchen. We finally emailed the current owners to ask where they got it from. Hopefully they'll write back soon. Probably should have done that in the first place!
We also bought boxes, more than fifty of them. Buying boxes makes my skin itch. It feels . . . wrong. I've moved dozens of times in my life, especially when I was very young, and we NEVER bought boxes. A big part of moving for my family was heading out to troll the grocery stores and the alleyways to hunt for boxes. We brought them home in triumph. Scoring banana boxes was awesome--they were strong and great for dishes. I brought home pickle buckets from the fast-food restaurant where I worked because they were perfect for plates. All these things were free!
Nowadays, though, I just don't have the time or energy to go box hunting. This means buying them. My heart jerks in agony at the thought, but here we are. Hardware stores now sell boxes, and they want a dollar each for a small one. Bigger ones cost double and even triple that. Darwin and I paid a small fortune for a bunch of cardboard we're ultimately going to toss into the recycling bin. I was grumbling under my breath the whole time.
We got them home, and I turned to my dear husband to announce, "Now we have to start packing."
Darwin gave me a bemused look. Start packing? As in . . . now?
"We have two weekends to pack," I pointed out. "This one and the next one. So you're going to be here to help me for only four days. We have to get everything packed that we can during that time."
Darwin allowed that this was true, but he wanted ice cream before we got started. I said that ice was usually a reward for AFTER packing, but Darwin remained adamant. So we went to a local twisty-cone place and got ice cream. There!
When we got back, the packing began. We packed up the exercise room in the basement (which included a two bookshelves worth of books and DVDs). We packed up the laundry room. We packed up the broom closet. We packed up the kitchen linens and upstairs DVD collection and two kitchen cupboards. At which point we declared ourselves Done For the Day.
But more packing tomorrow . . .
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