3 Cardinal Rules of Moving

I’ve moved about twenty times, give or take, in my lifetime, what with all the back and forth to college and the houses I’ve lived in since being married. And yet, somehow, I managed to ignore and or break the major rules of moving that I learned very early on.

1) As soon as you can, make your bed at the new house. That way, when you’re exhausted at the end of the day, you can just go to sleep without digging through box after box to find linens.

Did I do this? No. That’s why 12:30 a.m. on Tuesday night/Wednesday morning found me headfirst in a dishpack searching for a mattress pad. Please don’t ask why I thought the mattress pad might be located in a box designated for dishes. I’m not sure I can explain it (though that’s exactly where I found it).

2) Always pack an overnight bag with the items, like toiletries, you’ll need for the next day.

Um, nope. Didn’t do this one either. Consequently, I spent twenty minutes on Wednesday morning—already grouchy from lack of sleep (damn mattress pad) and late for work—trying to find a matching pair of shoes. All I had were the tennis shoes I’d worn the day before, not at all appropriate for work. I kept diving into the wardrobe box, hoping to find a match, but all I got were more individual shoes. Seriously, five different shoes before I found a match…and that pair of shoes didn’t work with what I was wearing (Hawaiian flip flops, though completely adorable, are also not allowed at work).

3) Designate one box or bag for important items.

Well, I tried to do this…sort of. We ended up with Joe’s thyroid medication at the new house, which was good. But the bread we use to deceive him into taking the pill remained at the old house. And my cell phone charger has vanished. I remember putting it into a laundry basket that we were using to cart items back and forth, items like the cell phone charger that we would need immediate access to. However, the basket is now empty and the charger was not in it. Rather than admit that I must have put it elsewhere (because I can’t think of WHERE that would be), I’ve decided to believe that the charger was simply not happy with the way it was being treated and has consequently gone into hiding. It is probably tucked away in some little nook in our new house, perhaps claiming asylum in the linen closet, giggling with malicious delight as I tear through more and more boxes and mutter to myself about knowing that I put it in the STUPID laundry basket so how could it be in a box?!?! Shhh. If you listen closely, you can hear the charger dragging its plastic cord tail across the ceramic tile as it scampers around, just out of sight.