Calm Before the Storm

Tonight, our house is empty.  The furniture that came with our condo was moved out today.  No more rock-hard beds.  No more comfy leather sofa and shaggy zebra rug.  No more fake flowers; all three lovely arrangements of those are gone.  

The few plates and bowls and "real" silverware are out of the kitchen; only the plastic forks with bent tines remain.  Who knew they'd melt so easily? The TV is still here, and the empty living room has proven to be a great place for cars and trash trucks and bulldozers.  We're sleeping on air mattresses tonight.  

Doesn't it look so spacious?  Proof that looks are often deceiving, in case you answered yes. And it's loud.  Really, really loud.  

Just wait.  Just wait until tomorrow when our container completes its 7 week sea voyage and finally arrives at our door. Wait until there are boxes and boxes and crates and boxes and furniture too big to fit.  

We'll have things we've missed dearly and needed in the nearly seven weeks we've been here.  Favorite books.  Shoes that fit a growing girl's feet.  Baking dishes. (The cooking has definitely been a little on the boring side; there are only so many things you can do with a cheap pizza pan.) Pillows. Lots of pillows.  Blocks and cars (and more cars.  Yay!).  Two doll houses. A tall ironing board (we usually sit to iron now; the one we have is so short). Ben's coffee maker (because he's over the instant stuff).  Sewing machines.  I could go on and on. We're looking forward to having our stuff back.  I know that it's only stuff. But, it's my stuff. Our stuff.  Stuff that we sorted piece by piece, deliberated over bringing or leaving.  Stuff that we decided we couldn't live without or just might need one day.  Familiar and comfortable.  

Mostly.  I'm sure there will be more than one thing that we wonder why we brought it.  I'm just hoping that pile is small, because every scrap of space is spoken for.