What it’s like being on the move

Everyone who has moved from one house to another knows how magical the process is.

My in-laws recently moved into their new home and everything about their experience reminded me of when my wife, Megan, and I did the same thing just two years ago when we moved from Indy to Fishers. The prospect of starting from scratch and beginning anew stokes the flames of our imaginative souls. Here are a few of our experiences that we will forever treasure in our hearts.

Starting the process

When our second child, Pat, was born in 2021, we knew our time was going to be limited in our 1,700 square-foot ranch on the northeast side of Indianapolis. We were running out of space fast, so we had a decision to make. The problem was, when it comes to decisions, especially big ones, Megan and I have two different and totally opposite approaches.

Megan is a “let’s go all in and learn all we need to learn and get moved in by next Tuesday” kind-of-person. Don’t get me wrong, she doesn’t jump in eyes closed and hope for the best; she intensely studies the situation on the spot and gets the ball rolling on the goal within seconds. I, on the other hand, am more of a “let’s sleep on it for a few years and see where the spirit drives us” kind-of-guy.

So, needless to say, we had a meeting with our chosen realtor by the next day. Well, here we go. Nothin’ like taking the bull by the horns!

Dumpster diving

We couldn’t even fathom starting to pack until we had a major purge. We had nine years’ worth of crap in our house, garage, attic, and shed that had to go before the boxes came out. So, we rented a dumpster, watched a couple episodes of Hoarders to set the mood, and a pitchin’ we went. We were slingin’ old useless junk into that bin at record pace. I was in a zone. I was tossing stuff left and right, barely looking over my shoulder. The kids and the dogs were starting to get nervous they were going to go next.

Then I realized it was quiet. Too quiet. Where was Megan? If she wasn’t near me that could only mean one thing … she had moved on to my stuff. You know, the stuff I was clinging onto in a desperate attempt to keep everything from “the good ole days.” I immediately jumped into that dumpster and frantically looked around.

She had done it. There was a whole section of my crap sitting in there.

“Oh babe, even my shot glass collection?” Of course, I came to my senses and realized I hadn’t even looked at all that stuff in years and left it in the bin. I did save one item though. It was a money clip that belonged to my grandfather. To Megan’s defense, she had no idea it was in there. I needed to confront her on this one.

When I did, she said, “If it was so important and you didn’t want me to throw it away, you shouldn’t have kept it in a topless hula dancer mug from your college dorm room.”

Touche. Megan 1, Tim 0.

Packing

Packing is an art. An artist, I am not. We started with the best of intentions, labeling everything and sealing it up tight, putting them in specific piles. We got the kitchen all packed up and then realized … um, we have to eat. So, I proceeded to gain 50 pounds from eating out every night for a month.

It wasn’t long before we just started throwing everything in the closest box we could find, until we had packages that The Incredible Hulk couldn’t even lift. The microwave, old clothes and snow globe collection were all together on top of bags of chips and bread. Not unlike the scene in Christmas Vacation when Cousin Eddie threw the 50-pound bag of Ol’ Roy dog food on top of the package of lightbulbs. “You serious, Clark?”

Closing

Finally! Closing day is here! Nothing ever goes wrong here, right? This is the day we put all our faith in a title company to get it done the way it’s supposed to.

Surely, they understand everything is on the line, right? Days have been taken off work. Movers, alarm companies, internet and cable companies, deliveries, electricians, and painters have all been scheduled. Surely, all parties involved know and care about that, right? Right?

Movers

Well, luckily everything went well for us on this closing (it didn’t on our first house, but that’s a whole other column). So, we got the keys, and it was time to go wait for the movers at the old house. You know, the movers that were supposed to be there at 11 a.m. Well, of course they weren’t there, so I thought I might as well make a trip to the new house with some stuff while we were waiting. That turned into two trips. Three. Four. Five.

They finally show up around 6 p.m. ready to move our stuff.

I mentioned earlier that our packing became more erratic as we went. Well, once we ran out of boxes, we decided to just put all the clothes in trash bags. Apparently, I didn’t read the fine print of the moving company contract to understand that was a no-no. They told me they don’t take trash bags. I stared, wide eyed at the man and said, “Well, today you do.”

Exorcising

And we were finally completely moved into the new house. We were officially citizens of Fishers. First thing’s first. I don’t care what faith you are or what you believe, nobody wants a groaning house. So, I took a flask of holy water and hosed that whole house down. I drowned every ghost, monster, and bogeyman in that place. Now, we could sleep in peace, knowing we wouldn’t wake up to statues crying blood.

So, the next time you find yourself starting to get the moving itch, take my advice. Stop it! Just deal with what you have.

The moral of the story is … moving sucks!

Tim Rathz can be reached at 40somethinginfishers@gmail.com. Follow on Facebook or Instagram.