When you first move into a house, you end up with a lot of rooms that look like this:
And your head wants to explode at the Tetris like challenge of figuring out how to get all this stuff into this new space that suddenly seems way to small for two and a half people to live in.
And then you have to start carrying things upstairs to the bedroom or downstairs to the basement and your back starts hurting and you feel tired and sweaty and gross and moving seems like such a gigantic pain in the ass that you start to vow to die in this house.
But then you start getting to boxes that have been packed away in storage for a year and a half and you start finding things like this:
One of your favorite pictures
And your very bright and cheerful pitchers and bowls that you got when you got married (and your friends correctly realised that you LOVE you some color when it comes to kitchen gear)
And then, finally, after 4 straight days of moving and unpacking, you get this:
(Side note: I think the corner protectors on the coffee table are butt ugly but until a certain short person stops flinging himself at the furniture all the damn time, they remain)
We’re not totally done yet. We still have an office (that inexplicably smells like cat pee) to unpack and a few items still remaining at the old house but we are done enough to start calling this place home.