I’ve emerged from the inside of many cardboard boxes in time to catch our plane to Nova Scotia, to reunite with my sprawling family and kick back in a cottage on the beach. I’m two plane rides away from summer.
One final thought on the moving process: I’m hoping it’s like labour, where you quickly forget the pain you went through to arrive at the prize. We are a lighter, streamlined version of our former selves. We now call a smaller house with a pretty Japanese garden home, in a hood filled with children and dog walkers. In three days I was more intimately acquainted with our neighbours than in three years at our other house, and children are knocking at our door all day long, wanting to play with my kids.
My back breaking work is paying off. Now it’s time to eat lobster and drink beer with my favorite people in the world – those remaining boxes can wait.