I hadn’t realized until this weekend how I feel about moving trucks. Our next-door neighbors sold their house and the new neighbors are moving in. So for two days moving trucks have been parked on our street and men have been loading boxes onto hand carts and pushing them down the truck ramp, along the sidewalk and through the front door.
This morning I was outside unloading the groceries when the rumble of a tractor trailer cab disrupted the quiet of our street. The movers had arrived to continue unloading the trailer. And that’s when I realized moving trucks make me nostalgic. And a little…possessive as if moving trucks are our thing, for only us to utilize in the transportation of all our worldly goods.
Moving is stressful, especially so when pregnant, when pregnant with a toddler underfoot, when pregnant with a toddler and preschooler in tow and with husband already ensconced in temporary housing in our new city. But moving is also exciting, a chance to reinvent ourselves, meet new people, see new things, explore new areas…
So I will continue to spy on the neighbors and their moving men and I will continue to imagine the chaos within the neighbor’s house as boxes are unpacked and used packing supplies are discarded. I will not, however, ask to walk into the back of the truck and hang out for old times’ sake. Even if it is tempting.