Moving Day, but Not Today

July 1st is known throughout the country as Canada Day. But here in Québec, it is also known as Moving Day. As their lease ends on June 30, thousands of families take this day off to pack their things in cardboard boxes, pile them up in rented trucks and move to a new house or apartment. Thousands of families cannot enjoy the day’s celebrations because they are too busy trying to fit their huge plasma t.v. through a very small door. We don’t know for sure when and where this tradition started, but it’s been going on for quite a while.

I used to dread July 1st. Back when we had no kids and used to live in small apartments, my man and I used to move every year. I’m not even sure why, but it was like that. And I hated it. I hated boxes. I hated packing, I hated unpacking. I hated wrapping my plates and bowls and glasses in newspaper. I hated cleaning the previous renters’ mess. I hated when the place smelled like a stranger. I hated living in boxes for weeks because we had no time to unpack. I hated having to look through all those stupid boxes to find a pen or a toothbrush. Did I mention I hated boxes? Well, I really did.

And I hated having to do it all over again came next June.

When we bought the house we are now living in, we thought that was it. We would be staying here for a long time. No more moving. No more boxes.  Every year, I look at all the numerous moving trucks I see on July 1st and think “Yes! We did it, one more year without moving! We’re doing great!”

When we moved here 5 years ago, we had no kids. We had stopped the fertility treatments for a while, until we were settled and relaxed. It was hard. I was longing to paint a baby’s room. I was hoping with all my might that one of our offices would soon be painted blue or pink, and would be decorated with small frames with pictures of lambs or frogs or something cute. I had a dream where I was hanging tiny pajamas on my clothesline in my backyard. A long row of teensy tiny clothes, drying under the sun. Silly dream, wasn’t it?

Or maybe not. Five years later, here we still are.  Plus two kids. Lots of tiny clothes hanging under the sun. I love this house. It’s where we became a family, where my sons took their first steps, where I started my business, where I made new friends. But things have changed. The house we once thought was big enough now seems very small. The house I once kept clutter-free and decorated to my taste is now filled with horrendous multicolored plastic toys. The house we bought thinking it would be perfect for a small family suddenly seems way too crowded. But we love it still and we can’t help but feel our heart break a little when we think about selling it. But we will have to, one day, soon. Especially if we want more kids (which we do), unless we move one in the garage (which we don’t even have). We will have to pack those kids, with their tiny pajamas and million toys and move to a bigger house. We will have to take that summer day off to be part of a great Quebecois tradition where the only celebrating part is the one where you eat pizza after moving the last box into the new house.

But not for at least another year. Until I wrap my head around the idea of living in boxes and crumpled newspaper and scotch tape all over again.

This is an original Canada Moms Blog post. Kiwi also blogs at Les Pépins de Kiwi.