The day before the packers arrive

You wake early. You’ve barely slept and already you feel like the weight of the world is pressing down on your chest. Your breathing’s shallow and a million thoughts race through your head faster than the kids running inside for dessert.

Quickly you throw breakfast at the family, gulping down bites of your own while shoving items in boxes before you forget why you’ve got them in your hand in the first place.

You turn off the freezer, start emptying a cupboard and then rush to the bedroom to chuck things in a suitcase. In your haste to get back to the kitchen, you thump painfully into the doorframe right before you slip on the water that’s leaked from the slowly defrosting freezer. And then you realise you’ve just packed the towels that were meant to sop up the mess.

What a crazy day this always is! Emotionally-charged, frantically busy and no matter how much you’ve planned for it, there is always a ridiculous amount of work to be done before the packers arrive. The kitchen is the worst – any plastic containers need to be washed and dried, appliances need to be squeaky-clean else you’ll be in for a nasty surprise after six weeks of shipping, wet towels need to be dried lest they go mouldy in the container. And try explaining all that to the kids!

Finally, exhausted, you realise that no matter what – everything will get packed, including the flip flops that H forgot to put in her suitcase. She just won’t see them for five-to-eight weeks which is not a problem, given it’s winter in Melbourne.

And the serviced apartment? Well, you can eat at the hawker market and if that doesn’t work, cheese-on-toast is a good alternative.

After many moves, I’ve finally come to the realisation that you can’t think of everything. What you thought you would need – you don’t. What you really do need – you never thought of. But we’re lucky that we’re moving to a country where you can buy it.

So after a week of over-planning, I’ve called it quits. We’ll deal with the consequences in Melbourne and that’s not a bad place to be.

Life goes on…and H will just have to wear school shoes for a while!

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