We're onto our second skip bin of pre-move dumpage.
It's very confronting moving from a large house into a tiny cottage. You suddenly have the requirement to assess every item you own for functionality. We've culled considerably.
I've made some questionable choices. Do we need six smallish-but-unstackable plastic cauldrons for Halloween? Undoubtedly! But an exercise bike? Naaaaaahhh...
It's a very virtuous feeling to have a house free of clutter. I've scoured out all the "man-drawers". (Well, except two, a boy does need a dumping-ground, and one upstairs and one downstairs is actually a preventative measure. It gives defined limits to the spread of used batteries, old library cards from other states, locks without keys and keys without locks, and a web of ipod earphones.
Here, Michael McIntyre knows what I mean:
Meanwhile, the mass clear out has been confronting for the children, too.
We had to give away the trampoline. It would have taken up more than half the outside space of the cottage, and it wasn't even particularly large. Luckily we could offload it to a good friend who just moved into the neighbourhood. The gaining and losing daddies made quite the spectacle carrying it off down the middle of the road, and as the three year old watched it go, a little sob or two escaped...
I thought "here we go" (she hadn't reacted negatively to the move at all yet) and knelt down to comfort her. Her bottom lip was quivering, but she was trying to hold it all together. She looked at me searchingly: "Mama, but... I don't WANT to give Daddy away!" Poor kid! Once she realised Daddy would be home again in five minutes, she was totally fine, happily waved goodbye to the trampoline and headed inside to play.
So our house feels empty. We're rattling around inside it, and we're ready to move. Roll on Tuesday!