Our house.

We are fully moved in to our new house.

Holy moly, you guys, we have a lot of junk.  Oddly enough, it is MUCH easier to get rid of it on this end that it was at the old house.  As we unpack, I find there are things I just don't want in my house.  Car loads continue to goodwill. Every now and then, though, when I send something to Goodwill, it just doesn't make it out the car door on that round.

Recent example: Amy's giant hooded, lined poncho that Mom and Dad had made for her.  She'll never wear it again.  It was great as kid, but adult Amy won't be caught dead it in ( it covers all of her and her tray and hangs done over part of the chair and makes her look like a floating head).   It takes up a ton of space to store (full garbage bag).  And as Annie reminded me: mom didn't make it, she had it made (same applies to jumpers, but I'm keeping those).  Still, when I look at it, I can visualize Mom and Dad in the kitchen at 408 deciding on it's construction, and then dressing her in again and again, and when we were a complete and happy family is so close I can taste it and I want to grab it back.

I just realized that as I'm getting rid of this stuff I can't got thrifting because seeing objects having belonged to my mom or that I connect with my mom is hard for me.  For instance, since our wedding, we've MEGA upgraded the photobooth, and the wood cabinet is no long needed, so it went to the Re-Store.  But that wood cabinet was bought by my mom.  It was from IKEA, and she agreed to go pick it up.  I vividly remember being knee-deep in grad school muck, and getting the call from her as she struggled through IKEA that no one would help her (I had called and they said they would.  Grrrr.) and that everyone was yelling at her for having Zoe in the store -- Zoe the DOG.  WHAT?!  I said.  You have the dog in the store, of course their pissed. Well of course I do, I couldn't leave her in the car -- ZOE.  GET BACK HERE.  She not only had Zoe in the store, she had her not in her purse, but running around leashless.  God I love my mom.  I don't need the wood cabinet, I don't want the wood cabinet, but I still don't want to cross paths with it in the thrift store.

Last time we moved, it was from the upstairs of a house to our own rental house.  It was a mega-step up, motivated by needing a place my mom could get in to, and with space for her to live there, too, when the time came. I was SO excited, and wasn't even sad to be leaving the old place because the new place was so great, and then a week in I was like DAMMIT, WHAT HAVE WE DONE?  Our stuff didn't feel right there, and there was so much work to be done.

I was so excited to be moving in to our new house that I was sure I would not have that little fit again.  Right.  That's where I was at yesterday.  I've recovered for now.