So my house is starting to look suspiciously like an abandoned warehouse, because the boxes are piling up. I know that it might be a year before I move, but I'm packing now.
Yeah, yeah. Others think I'm insane too. Here's my reasoning.
In all the moves, the husband has packed. I am not by any means blaming him, but well, when he packs boxes, it's more out of efficiency than anything else and...things get broken. Important things. So this really is kind of a slow process, but it IS a process.
What's important? Uh, sentimental things. When I was part of an ADF Grove in Houston, we had an outreach program that included inmates on death row. Before the Texas Seven, one of the members used to craft these beautiful handmade boxes of balsa wood. When my daughter was born, he crafted a keepsake box with her name on it. On the lid, there is a triskelion painting of the threefold goddess and her name is hand-carved above a small handle which opens the lid. It was the last box he ever made, because shortly after the escape, they took away his tools. So, it's important to me that it doesn't get damaged.
So in the flurry of day-to-day, on my days off, I've been meticulously packing the smaller items, using those silly free publications to shred (they're a waste of paper anyway) for packing (which will be recycled upon reaching their final destination).
So there are slow days where I fill half a box, others where I can put away 2-3 and mostly, it helps me go through and throw out what I don't need, give away what I can, and streamline things to a minimum to carry halfway across this country next year.
It's an adventure, to say the least.