The calm before D-Day dawns

According to a newspaper poll conducted a couple of years ago, moving to a new house is one of the most stressful and challenging events you will face in your lifetime. Apparently, it triggers more anxiety than a relationship breakdown, redundancy or starting a new job.

So, with only just over a couple of weeks to our personal D-Day (D for departure), I’m quite surprised how calm I still am. Or maybe my emotions have just frozen into a tight ball.

Shifting can obviously put a strain on your relationship with your spouse – what to take, what get rid of, who gets to commandeer the new house’s walk-in wardrobe, for instance.

I quickly capitulated on the last because I’m not a dedicated follower of fashion and I can easily store my regular items of attire in a cardboard box, if necessary. Which gives me an idea. I may just not bother to unpack them.

So far, Jill and I have not suffered any blow-ups about the move, which is not surprising given that my wife’s calendar of tours, fixed before we embarked on this upheaval, has meant she has been overseas for much of the time. She will be on an expedition cruise to the Antarctic on the day of the big shift. She’s not been abrogating responsibility for any of this, it’s just that events have conspired against us.

In fact, I was the one to find our new home while Jill was leading a tour group in Spain.

Quite wisely, I didn’t commit to its purchase without her consent but I bombarded her with photos and when, coincidentally, the vendors reduced the purchase price significantly I got an early morning phone call urging me to put in an offer on the house before someone else did.

I was still loath to make that commitment without Jill having seen the property, but she was adamant. However, as I knew she was making the call while enjoying a pleasant evening sharing a few tempranillos with clients, I asked her to repeat the purchase instruction and then checked the names of the people at her table in case I needed witnesses later.

Fortunately, when Jill did see the house, she was as smitten with it as I was.

The die was now cast, of course. Our present house had been sold and now a removal date could be fixed – one that inevitably meant Jill would be overseas because on Thursday she arrives home for just four days before leaving for the Antarctic.

However, in true Jillian fashion I have already been furnished with a comprehensive list of where everything is to go in the new house. I shall pass this on with alacrity to our removal company.

The best decision we have made was to employ professional removers, who will swoop on our house, pack everything and then uplift and reassemble in the new home. I can only imagine the stress I would suffer if I were solely responsible for the safe passage of Jill’s china, for instance.

There are, of course, many things for which I cannot avoid responsibility, such as notifying utilities and businesses of our change of address. It’s amazing how many there are when you finally come to cut ties with a home you have occupied for 20 years.

I’ve already embarked on this job and it’s surprising how easy – or difficult – some companies make this supposedly simple task.

Mercury Energy, Sky, Spark and our banks proved a breeze, but I was half way through filling in an online NZ Post redirection form when the site suddenly froze and wouldn’t let me go any further.

I think I can feel the stirrings of the first chrysalises that will become the butterflies in my stomach as the move gets closer.