for the love of alice

Moving house.  That’s what they call it when you move in these parts.  I call it a pain in my ass and why do I have so many tube tops? 

We moved house again last weekend.  That’s four times in under sixteen months.  Do not do this.  It takes a lot of time and too many boxes and there is almost always regret on the other end when you unpack something you never should have packed in the first place.  That list is long for me, and always begins and ends with a tube top.  

When we moved to Auckland from Los Angeles in September 2010, we had a plan.  One to two years in New Zealand (for husband’s career and family belly fluff) and then we’d come back to the States (for my career and Target). 

In January 2012 we shoved that plan into one of my stretchy bands of cloth that I always pack and never wear, and moved it to Sydney.  The plan was not happy.  Our bank account was livid.  By the time February rolled around, aka the month we realized money doesn't grow on magical trees, we were paying rent on three places to live.  Do not do this.  If Zagat reviewed housing decisions, it would look like this.

1.  Auckland home (NZ).  They gave three months’ notice two months before they left.  $$$

2.  North Sydney high-rise (AU).  They broke their lease two days after they started it.  $$$
3.  Temporary tiny in Balmain (AU).  It was temporary and tiny but mandatory since they broke a lease with two kids and had no car yet to sleep in.  $$$

$$$ + $$$ + $$$ =  Lots and lots and -- let me really stress this part -- LOTS of dollar signs, right out the window.  

But that was then and dumb, and this is now.

And now!  We are done moving house.  We found a great house to call home.  In the same neighborhood as temporary tiny so school, friends, standing order at local coffee shop all remain intact.  My tube tops are all unpacked and put away never to be seen again (or until I become ridiculously redundant and move again).  And my boys?  They have won the kiddie lottery.  This house has a huge giant attic bedroom for my guys to share.  Hugely huge.  And I rent so this isn't bragging.  It's reporting.  They run laps in this cavernous room.  A whole corner is devoted to who-can-make-the-tallest-Lego-tower contests.  Stomp rockets are launched on a daily basis.  That's not to say this room isn't without its problems or closets.  My sons only wear folded clothes and if you're anywhere near the outer perimeter of the room and you're taller than an eight-year old, you will hit your head on the sloped ceiling forty times a day.  But a few shirt creases and a couple of head bonks are worth it.  It's a great room and one that would make Greg Brady and his bead door wish they never made that episode.

And in the end, isn't that what life is all about?  Having better life episodes than those bunch of Bradys.  I think so.  And I'm pretty sure Alice would agree.

On one side, Max's corner.

Way, way, way on the other side, Charlie is off the grid.