You're moving...AGAIN?

As any of my friends and family who have been around me since my college days will tell you, I'm a bit of a nomad. I calculated it out the other day, and I've moved 23 times. Given that I'm only 34, that's quite an average. My friends all stop talking to me about every 1.5 years for fear that I'm going to ask them to help schlep boxes once again. So, I consider myself to be a bit on an expert. The saddest part, is the thrill is gone.

Not this time.

This time, I built my own house. This is an accomplishment of epic proportions. And not just because I didn't kill my husband or any of the building personnel in the process.

2 years ago, my husband (David) and I, relocated from Ann Arbor, MI to Madison, WI due to his job. My only experience with WI was about 12 years ago. My first job out of college necessitated me flying out to Manatowoc, WI. Let me tell you, the most interesting thing about Manatowoc, WI is that the population of cows FAR out numbers the population of humans. If there's ever a cow uprising, Manatowoc, WI will become the capital. On the plus side, they have some kick ass steaks.

Anywho...this experience, while delicious, did not exactly place WI as the epicenter of social activity in my mind. But, I love my husband, so off we all went.

Of course, moving to WI necessitated selling our house in MI. The house that I loved. The house that I swore I would never leave. (Seriously, we had 3 acres, and I already had my burial plot marked out back). I was married, I got pregnant and had a kid, and settled down in that house. My roots were cast. My gypsy days were over.

Yeah. Not so much.

Selling the house in MI was a bit akin to being pecked to death by a duck. We were in the midst of the worst recession and in Michigan of all places. I actually laughed at our Realtor who sold our house when he told me the price I was going to put it on the market for. Laughing soon lead to weeping, and 6 months later, lead to down and out sobbing as I wrote out the biggest check I had ever written to SELL my house.

I vowed to never get involved in real estate again.

By this time, we were renting a house in WI. I was happy. The dogs had a place to run, my son had kids to play with, and when the furnace broke on a Sunday, roof leaked, or washing machine started making a noise like a mating cicada, it was not my problem. I called my landlord, and like magic, the fix it fairies appeared and made everything better. All without me seeing one invoice. I was convinced I had found nirvana. "Why would anyone buy?" I asked my husband. "Fools. This is much better."

My husband, being with me for many years now, has learned that the proper tactic when I spout off such knowledge is just to tell me I'm pretty and change the subject.

Winter rolled around, and I was still feeling confidant about my new found epiphany. I had survived many years of Michigan winters. Wisconsin couldn't be all that different. And, in reality, it really wasn't.

Oh, except that I was living in a sieve.

My rental house was lying to me. It seemed shiny as a new penny, but in reality it was swiss cheese covered in loose plastic wrap. I tried everything. Weather stripping, tacky plastic wrap on the windows (There are 31 windows in this house. I never did the measurements, but I'm pretty sure there's more windows than walls), spray foaming the cracks in the fireplace, but every time I sealed one point of entry, the wind and cold found another way in.

I was sitting on the floor in the living room, drinking my 3rd glass of wine, admiring how my hair was bouncy and flowing in the air currents, when my husband, nonchalantly, suggested that maybe we could just go "look" at some houses that were being built over on the east side. "Sure" I said (come on...3rd glass of wine). "Why not look?"

Bastard. He knew once he had me look at a brand spanking new house, I would be hooked. Well played, honey. Well played.

So, we started exploring the possibility of building our own house, and found that it was actually pretty affordable. The building company we used did everything from land purchase to closing. So, it was like a one stop shop. We picked and modified the floor plan (wait until you see my shower. Seriously, I bought the entire house for this shower), picked carpeting, and every freeking screw, and wha-lah! A house!

So, now we need to move into it. And moving day is tomorrow.

(before you ask, I'm so excited about moving, that I am finding it impossible to sleep, hence the blog)

I should take this time to state, that when we moved to WI, my husband's company moved us. So, they packed us, loaded the truck, drove it, and unpacked the truck. I was in awe. I'm no spring chicken anymore, and I have a toddler, so I have many more things than I did back in my single college days. My days of schleping boxes are over.

My once piece of advice is this....If you are moving, pack and un pack yourself. but, do whatever you need to - sell stock, possessions, go into debt, sell your body, give up wine - WHATEVER it takes, to hire a mover to move the boxes to and from the truck. It will transform your life.

So, here I sit. 11pm at night. Everyone else in bed, and surrounded by what resembles an explosion at a cardboard factory. My worldly possessions are all packed, except for the necessities (underwear, toothpaste/toothbrush, and wine) and awaiting transport tomorrow.

Oh my God. I'm moving tomorrow.

I think I need more wine.

Blogging? Sure...I have the time...

I'm terrible about doing things on a consistent basis, but I'm tired of having this running dialog with myself (usually out loud...which worries my husband, and amuses my dogs), so I thought I would try and having it with you. (you know...my friends in the computer).

I'm horrifically busy, but I like to waste time I don't have reading all the amazing blogs that are out there, why not write one?

What makes me qualified to write a blog, you ask? My life is funny.

No. Seriously. Like, Monkey funny.

(Those of you who don't think Monkeys are funny can sign off now...You're probably dull anyway...)

I am a 34 year old mother of one toddler son (3), married to my second husband, have 2 dogs and a cranky old cat. I work full time, some crazy person (me) talked me into going back to school for my masters degree, and while I grew up in Michigan, I now live in the great state of Wisconsin (where the beer and cheese are plentiful). If all of that isn't good fodder for some pretty pee your pants funny stories, I don't know what would be. (ok. Except for ACTUAL monkeys)

So, sit back, relax, grab a beer or glass of wine, and enjoy the hilarity that is my life.

I'm moving this week, so that alone should be good for a good snort or two.