You've just got to laugh

Moving house - there's no attractive way to portray it. It's messy. It's chaotic and it's uber-stressful. Those who've done it are nodding; those who've done it with kids are recoiling at the recollection. So here I write, amidst a thousand boxes and packaging paraphernalia, I have the burning desire to share with you our journey.

My husband and I have always desired a tree-change from the fast-paced Sydney suburban life to the beautiful Southern Highlands in New South Wales, Australia. We thought it would be after our youngest finished school, but here we are - two teenagers and a seven year old, packing up our entire lives and filling out enrolment applications for a new house and school. As I write, I have exactly seven days to fit all of our lives into boxes before the removalist arrives (gulp).

So you can imagine what my tiny three bedroom house looks like right now. A single pathway from front door to kitchen, sideways only down the hallway thank you, and oh, when you get to the bedroom door, you'll have to do a ninja move around the other pile of boxes to actually get into the room.

Stressful enough, wouldn't you say? Well add into the mix the back deck that is currently under construction at our back door (three months overdue), half our yard dug into a mud heap, the necessity to complete several house repairs to be able to put our house on the rental market while still trying to run a household of five, three of which are still at school.

Today we reached a climax of catastrophic proportion. In our rabbit warren of a house, finding uniforms and trying to get lunches made was already a challenge of detective skills and multitasking prowess. Then the electrician arrived to talk lighting for the deck. Then the alarm guy arrived to talk about resetting the codes for tenants. Then the dog got a bit nervous about the strangers in the house and starting pacing, so I was having to dodge tradesmen, husband, dog, children trying to find uniforms. We had slept in so were already running late. The seven year old knocked over a cup of juice by accident in the only thoroughfare from front door to back door. I am cleaning while tradesmen are waiting to get through and somehow I managed to get everyone together and out the door. Juggling an armful of recycling and trying to find neighbours bins that had more room than ours, I dropped a glass jar and it smashed all over the neighbours driveway. It was then that I heard the approaching recycling truck from the next street.....

....and I laughed.