A few weeks ago, as we took inventory of our spare boxes, newspaper and packing tape (aka - all the packing essentials) the hubs exclaimed, "We can't forget to buy extra garbage bags!" I immediately assumed he was finally planning to throw out all his high school memorabilia, including the cardboard crown he proudly wore as Homecoming King his senior year yet talks about it like he was just parading down main street yesterday, but I was horrified to learn that he was planning on moving his belongings (ones he wants to KEEP) in garbage bags.
Whoa, whoa, whoa.... we are not moving into a fraternity nor are we hobos planning a cross country hitch hiking trip. We are adults who are moving on up in the world and I'll be damned if I pack our things in black trash bags.
I dismissed his trash bag suggestion (I'm sure I lectured him for a while about growing up) and have spent the past week trying to cram everything into a depleting supply of boxes; beautiful boxes that shout, "we're adults and we can afford our new house!"
And now, with one more week to pack and not a single spare box left in sight, I packed up my closet last night taking what I'm calling a "hobo-chic" approach:
I have resorted to borrowing every spare piece of luggage my extended family owns and ironically reminded my husband yesterday when we were in Target that we needed to buy more garbage bags for... wait for it... packing.
Once again, this moving process has forced me to think outside the box... I just didn't think it would this literal. And while I first put my nose up to Adam's idea of hobo packing, I realized that I need to let go of what I think is a "perfect move" and come to terms with the fact that perfection flew out the window a loooong time ago and all that matters is me, my husband and the dozens of garbage bags that are filled with our prized possessions and memories... I just hope our new neighbors don't judge us on moving day.
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