Whew! Glad the move is over. Though “over” is a relative term, since there are still plenty of boxes to be unpacked, pictures to be hung, and stuff to be put away. And we’re not done with the townhouse yet, either: there are a lot of stragglers we need to bring over and cleaning to be done. This move will be an ongoing process for awhile yet. But at least the worst part is over.
Thankfully. I’m tired of being tired, and sore, and sweaty. Even with a professional crew doing the majority of the work, it’s still been exhausting. Add “professional mover” to the list of occupations that aren’t for me.
Actually, go ahead and add “professional unpacker,” too.
The fun began Friday morning, when Tara and I loaded our cars and made the first of three trips between the townhouse and the apartment. After fueling up with a hearty breakfast, we got the keys from the leasing office and climbed those three flights of stairs for the first time ever (a feat that was repeated approximately 50 times over the course of the weekend, most often while carrying heavy boxes, so the novelty wore off quickly). We eagerly opened the front door, nervous because we hadn’t even seen our future home before that moment. Luckily, it didn’t suck. Actually, it was quite nice: our top floor unit has colored accent walls, a gas fireplace/mantle, vaulted ceiling in the living room, outdoor deck, and a nice picture window with a view of the tall Douglas fir trees separating our building from the next. I figure, if we have to live in an apartment for a couple of years, it might as well be a nice apartment. And this one definitely is.
Have I mentioned we are on the THIRD floor?!
Anyway. We hired professional movers for the bulk of the move, since I am eligible for relocation expenses through the short sale process. Even if I hadn’t been, we probably still would have done so. Three flights of stairs and all. They showed up right before 9 AM on Saturday, and were friendly, courteous, and professional throughout. They even accommodated a special request – taking our refrigerator to my parents’ house, since we couldn’t bring it to the apartment – without hesitation, and were kind enough to move their old one out to the garage and hook up the new one. Watching those guys make multiple trips up three flights of stairs, carrying heavy items on their backs without complaint, was inspiring. Altogether, the move took about nine hours with the detour to my parents’ house, and they were finished by 6 PM. After resting for a bit (it’s hard work watching people haul things up three flights of stairs), we walked around the corner to Sweet Tomatoes for a late dinner, then came home and crashed.
Fun fact: when I moved into my townhouse, a guy named Marty drove the truck and helped with the move. When we moved into the apartment, a guy named Marty drove the truck and helped with the move. What are the odds?
Sunday was spent unpacking and sorting. I was able to hook up the cable, BluRay player, and wireless router without incident, so I’m proud of that. The lava lamps and record player were set up, and Sunday evening Tara and I put on a jazz record and listened to it while kicking back in front of the fireplace. After a busy and tiring weekend, that felt almost magical. And Monday night after dinner we spent a glorious half hour soaking in the hot tub next to the pool. Goodbye, sore muscles! I should point out, these are amenities that I never had in the townhouse, so despite the fact that we are now merely renters, there are some positive things about apartment living, to be sure. And some negatives – I hate the tiny fridge and having to use ice cube trays again, and the walls are thinner than those we had before – but it’s all a tradeoff. Not being saddled with a hefty upside-down mortgage any longer more than makes up for a few minor inconveniences.
Now ‘scuse me, I’ve gotta run. There’s more unpacking to do…