We bought a house about a week and two months ago, and I’m happy to say that the laborious process of moving out of the house we were renting is complete. 50% of the move was more making sure we had the new place in mostly functional order (updating some hoses, redoing the floors, painting some rooms). 50% of the move consisted of packing and hauling. Another 50% consisted of trying to keep both places clean. And the last 50%? Half of that was trying to get my car up here (removing the head, replacing broken bolts, realizing we don’t have time to replace the head gasket and giving up and calling a tow company).

With help from family, it’s all done though and we no longer have any ties to our old place. Normally when we move I’m filled with a sense of melancholy as we pull out of the drive way that one last time, but this time? After two months of moving? After a year of packing and storing and living in what was functionally a real estate show room? As the tow truck pulled away with me in the passenger seat, I don’t even think I looked back.