I am moving next week for the first time since 2004. This is a happy thing and an exciting time dampened only by the humiliation and judgment that accompany accepting financial help from a family member. Otherwise, yay! For the first time in my 42 years, I will own a single home. Bonus: I'll be sharing it with someone I love deeply, his son (at least in the months of December and July), 2 cats, and a dog. So, we are packing.

This is difficult for me, a person who is sensitive to surroundings, comfort, and having my "things" nearby. The disorder, disarray, and extra dust flying around have me and my partner sneezing and snapping ever-so-slightly at each other. The furkids have a constant expression that can be interpreted as, "Please don't leave me here," "Please don't put me in a box (dog)," or "Please, put me in a box! (cat)." 

In acknowledging the stress this packing and moving process puts me under, I am hoping to contain the more irrational and emotional reactions that tend to be my defaults. Success varies by the hour. In the midst of packing hell, I did smile at a surprise last night: when cleaning out the contents of a low corner cabinet into which things seem to disappear (Honey, did you know we have a food processor?!?!?), I found the lid to an adorable little plastic container that fits a perfect cup of ..... whatever. The lid has been missing for sometime; turns out it was there all along, just waiting to be rediscovered.