It's a funny thing...moving, that is.
It's this whirlwind of a process that is months in the making and then in a matter of a day or two you have relocated everything you own into a million piles and boxes in a new place that you are now supposed to call home. It's exciting and scary and exhausting. It's something that I never want to do while I have children with more toys than Toys R Us living with me ever ever again.
It's been a long week.
Don't get me wrong...our new house could not be more perfect for us. And without the amazing help of my family, there is no way I would be able to be taking the time to write for months, let alone the week we actually moved.
But it has still been a long and tiring week...and as of yesterday, when I spent a couple of hours cleaning the old apartment, it has become very emotional.
There is a saying that was painted on a picture frame that I had hanging in my kitchen with a picture of the four of us being goofy that read "It's not the house that I love, but the life that is lived there."
