This Spring, Mr Bows and Bentos and I were discussing landscaping ideas for our yard. We knew we wanted more planter boxes, some trees, gravel & paving stones down one side of our house – and he also pitched the idea of a fire pit. He grew up in the country surrounded by space and animals and a relax by the campfire at night was something he was accustomed to. Me? I’m a city girl and admittedly, I wasn’t interested at all.
I hate the smell of campfire smoke (which permeates every hair and piece of clothing on your body and means constant laundry on my to-do list)
Fire pits can be expensive and take up so much space in your yard (we live in an urban area and our yard isn’t huge by any means)
I didn’t want to commit to one spot for a fire pit (a firepit is usually permanent and it is so windy here, how can we know we picked the right spot)?
Obtaining and storing firewood is one salty pain in the arse (I don’t even know where to buy firewood, embarrassingly enough).
I suggested potentially looking into a natural gas firepit (you know, once of those Costco ones you can put on your deck?) – my husband told me those are ridiculous and not even real fires so he’d rather not even have one, than have one of those. The logic of a country boy….you know. We agreed to shelve the idea for a bit and think about it while we assessed the budget and considered if we wanted to make this work.
Why aren’t more people talking about the fresh hell that is moving with small children?
Long story short, our previous home (expected to take 4-5 months to sell due to a slow market) sold in 3 weeks and our new build wasn’t going to be ready for 5 months – so we sold sold/donated all of our “got this at a thrift shop for 4 bucks because we were poor university students” stuff, and packed everything else into storage and moved in with my inlaws. They have a small guest house on their property that they’ve graciously let us conduct our gypsy shenanigans in since.
Now we are 2 days away from not being homeless anymore and it is crunch time. I was trying to pack up some toys today and my 2.5 year old found a toy, covered in a thin film of filth and smelling like neglect, that hasn’t been touched in 80 years, and decided it was The Toy. The one that has to go to the potty with her. The one that has to sit beside her dinner plate. The one she takes to bed. This toy is embarrassing, and it is now her favourite. Cool. All the influencer blogs about moving said to just authoritatively talk to your kids about the importance of de-cluttering before you ditch their old toys but I am started to wonder if they were talking about human kids or fake kids because mine have taken de-cluttering as a blood oath challenge to protect what is rightfully theirs.
Then we have my almost 5 year old who is less concerned about her toys and way more concerned about the big picture. “Do the toilets work in the new house? Will it be warm? Can we bring all our clothes and blankets? Will the fridges have food in them? How will I get to school? Are we ever going to see Grandma and Grandpa again?” – she’s been inside our new house many times (that is 15 mins away from her grandparents) and yet still seems to think we’re moving away to start fresh in 1960’s Soviet Russia.
Then there’s me, wandering around looking for boxes, asking no one in particular if these are moving boxes for ants because they need to be at least 3x bigger, while my husband looks for imaginary tools to do imaginary things with – and our children just yell for more snacks. There are so many fruit snack wrappers in my garbage can right now I think I made an FBI watch list or something.
Thank GOD Past Rachel was smart enough to spring for movers to assist us (and enlist Grams to take the girls all day) because I am approximately 1 snack request away from an accident with a lighter and some extreme hold hairspray (to my stuff, not my kids – don’t call CFS on me).
I cannot be the only one in this boat – does moving with kids always suck this bad?