Moving sucks. Period. Hence why I have not been able to write or post anything. I’ve been in the weeds man.

The amount of crazy and stress that accompanies moving your crap-ola from one location to the next is quite remarkable. I feel as though I’ve been working in an Armenian sweat shop while all of the trainers from the Biggest Loser yell at me. Also, I have a random amount of paper cuts all over my body.

If the world were to hand out trophies for most transitions in a short period of time, my family would clearly win the grand prize.

Let me lay it out for you: Within the last eight months, we moved from one state, to another; stayed with family and put our possessions in storage; then we took some of that crap out of storage and lived in a grody apartment so my daughter could finish school; then we packed up the grody apartment belongings and put them back into storage; then we moved in with my in-laws while our house is being gutted; the final phase will be when we move all of our stuff, and ourselves, into the shiny new house once it is completed. At this time I hope you will all come visit me at the Betty Ford clinic.

I think we are done.

My daughter asked me the other day, “Why are we moving again? When are we going to be done?” I informed her that people move frequently all the time. They are called the Circus or the Military. She reminded me that we are neither. Also, we do not own a tiger.

Touché.

As previously mentioned in an older post, I have moved my entire life (father’s job, my job, etc.). Therefore, I inherited a subsequent skill – the relocation process.

If you have moved, or are about to, this step by step guide may be of help:

1)      The Yard Sale.  One week prior to yard sale, you must run around the house collating things you no longer need, use, or care about. If you have children, this involves some ninja selling tactics. My daughter will all of a sudden develop a fondness for an item she has not played with or seen in years. It once happened with an old nose suction thing they give you when you leave the maternity ward at the hospital.

Day of Yard Sale – People show up at your house the day before (or three hours before go time) wanting to check out your wares ahead of the crowd. Then they ask to use your bathroom, want to know what’s inside your house, and to where you are moving. I always tell people we don’t have a bathroom and we are moving to Botswana to work on my knife sharpening skills. Yard sale people are funky and make me want to brush their knotted hair.

2)      Giving away stuff.  Whatever doesn’t sell must either go to consignment or be given away. I was so tired of lugging around dresses I didn’t wear anymore, I chucked them into one of those bins of, “Donate to help animals/whales/other children/addicts/nobody really but you won’t have to look at your crap anymore.”

3)      Packing.  There are so many ways this can go. One, you hire professionals to do it for you. This is expensive, but the least amount of headache. Two, you haphazardly pack up your stuff. If you are moving directly from one dwelling to the next, within the same city, then you can afford to put some crap in garbage bags when you run out of the boxes you ganked from behind CVS. Or three, you pack up your own stuff and put it in storage, or move it yourself.  All of the above suck. There are no winners here.

4)      You get there. Get ready, because even though you have arrived, you are not done yet. Break out the scissors because now you must unpack everything. Usually, this is accompanied by moments of clarity, (Oh look, we have three colanders, or, Why did I pack all of these burnt out candles?). Also, most of your old stuff does not work in your new location. Which leads to…

5)      …Buying new crap! Even after all that selling and giving away, you will somehow end up with more stuff than before. But you will love it and wonder how you survived without it for so long.

Once all settled in, breathe a sigh of relief, give yourself a pat on the back, and crack open a beer. You made it! Enjoy your new space.

Then invite me over for dinner because I have no idea where I put all of our spatulas.