I have got to stop marrying successful men. Want to know why? Because successful men get promoted and you find yourself cleaning out drawers and closets that you were sure you could leave for your kids to deal with after they pilfered through your good jewelry.
During my first marriage, I moved seven times in 21 years. At one point I considered just cutting holes in the moving boxes and making them into furniture so I could be ready for the next move. It would be bedroom dresser brought to you by Bekin Moving Company.
Our last move was to our current home in Commerce and I vowed to stay put until the kids were graduated high school. I unpacked boxes, painted walls colors other than relocation beige and made a wonderful life for myself.
When my first marriage ended I kept the house because the thought of moving made want to lick my emergency Xanax. It worked out great. My children stayed in their home and it made the divorce less traumatic and I didn’t have to clean out my junk drawer. It was a win-win! Less trauma for the kids less drama for this hoarding mama!
Then I went and remarried a very intelligent and successful man. What in the world was I thinking?
My husband is beyond wonderful and has put his career on hold for several years while our youngest Michael finished high school and started college. It was a sacrifice for which I will be forever grateful.
Then one day I get a phone call and he announces we are moving to Missouri. We had discussed the possibility but I had chosen to bury my head in the clutter of my life and pretend it would never really happen.
So I find myself now on a speed moving version of downsizing in 90 days or less. When I tell you I have a ton of stuff, that would be an understatement. I have my children’s first locks of hair, baby teeth, school artwork, the shirt I wore to the Kentucky Derby in 2000 and every other thing my kids touched that would spark a memory.
So I am inviting you on this journey with me as I leave my home, the job I love, and my family, to start a new adventure. I warn you that it might not be pretty. There may be a video of my ugly crying as I say goodbye to stuffed animals, I may be chained to furniture or chanting “Hell no, I won’t go” on more than one occasion. I need you all to be there for me to talk me off the ledge and speak softly to me until the men in the white coats arrive.