Don't Throw That Away. I Can Pack Something in It.
Moving is expensive.
Like ridiculously expensive.
Truck.
Storage.
Gas.
Helpers.
Tape.
Boxes.
Wait!!!
BOXES???
I am absolutely not paying for cardboard if I don't have to.
So somewhere along the way, moving has turned me into a person who hoards garbage.
Apparently, after 50, we don't call it hoarding.
We call it resourceful.
And I have officially reached the point where if I can put something in it, wrap something with it, stuff it between something, or somehow convince myself it might be useful...
I'm using it.
Never Pay for a Box You Can Get for Free
Tell your friends.
Tell your neighbors.
Tell your coworkers.
SAVE YOUR BOXES.
Amazon box?
Mine.
Chewy box?
Mine.
Random box that showed up on your porch and you don't even remember what you ordered?
Also mine.
And then there are liquor stores.
Obviously, I know my way around anything involving wine.
But liquor stores have GREAT boxes.
They're sturdy.
They're free.
And some of them already have little dividers inside.
It's almost like the universe knew I had five boxes worth of wine glasses to move to Tennessee.
Yes.
Five.
And while you're there begging them for free boxes, you might as well grab a couple bottles of wine.
For packing purposes, obviously.
Because nothing says I've got this completely under control quite like sitting on the floor surrounded by 50 boxes, unmatched socks, mysterious lids and half your life while pouring yourself a glass of red wine.
I like to call it packing encouragement.
Some people use motivational music.
Some people make checklists.
I have Cabernet.
Apparently, somewhere between packing box four and box five, I should have stopped questioning why I own so many things and started questioning why I own so many wine glasses.
But we're way past that now.
And clearly, those wine glasses are going to be needed.
I Have Apparently Become My Mother
There was a time when I would throw away a perfectly good shopping bag without a second thought.
Not anymore.
Now I look at a paper bag and think:
Do you know how much bubble wrap costs?
Plastic envelope from Amazon?
SAVE IT.
Random piece of cardboard?
SAVE IT.
A sock that hasn't seen its partner since 2019?
DO NOT TOUCH THAT. I HAVE PLANS FOR IT.
Somewhere during this move, I became the woman who sees potential in garbage.
And you know what?
I'm okay with it.
Because every dollar I don't spend wrapping a wine glass is a dollar I can spend on something important.
Like wine.
Your Trash Is Now Packing Material
Remember when I talked about all those mysterious lids with no containers?
I FOUND THEIR PURPOSE.
Those stupid lids I've been moving around my kitchen for years are now dividers between things in my boxes.
Vindication.
I knew there was a reason I kept them.
Okay, I didn't.
But we're going with it.
And now I've discovered something else.
Cereal boxes.
Finish the cereal?
Don't you dare throw that box away.
Cut it up.
Those flat pieces of cardboard make great separators between dishes, glasses and anything else you don't want banging together on the ride to Tennessee.
At this point, breakfast isn't breakfast.
It's a source of packing supplies.
And those paper shopping bags you've been saving?
Don't throw those away either.
Wrap glasses in them.
Stuff them between things.
Crumple them up to fill empty spaces.
Basically, if something enters my house right now and isn't food, I evaluate its potential as packing material before throwing it away.
Actually, apparently I'm evaluating the food packaging too.
And Then There Are the Socks
You know the socks.
The ones that have been waiting approximately seven years for their partner to come home.
It's time to accept reality.
Their partner isn't coming back.
But don't throw them away.
They have a new purpose.
Put a wine glass in them.
Wrap something breakable.
Stuff them between dishes.
Congratulations, lonely sock.
You have officially been promoted to the Moving Department.
Even Those Plastic Shipping Envelopes
You know those plastic and padded envelopes everything gets delivered in?
SAVE THEM.
They're perfect for wrapping breakable things.
And apparently I own a lot of breakable things.
Mostly wine glasses.
I keep saying "fine china," but let's not kid ourselves.
It's wine glasses.
Five boxes of wine glasses.
At this point, I'm not moving to Tennessee.
I'm relocating a small bar.
I have priorities.
If I Can Put Something in It, I'm Using It
This has pretty much become my official packing philosophy.
Coffee cans?
Useful.
Empty jars?
Useful.
Small containers?
Useful.
I took apart most of my furniture before the move, and now I have screws, bolts, brackets, little wooden pegs and other mysterious pieces that I'm assuming are VERY IMPORTANT.
So they're going into coffee cans, jars, containers—whatever I can find.
And I'm labeling everything.
BEDROOM DRESSER.
TABLE.
BED FRAME.
Because I know myself.
If I throw all those little pieces into one giant bag and tell myself I'll remember what goes where...
I absolutely will not.
Of course, labeling everything does not guarantee that I will actually be able to put any of this furniture back together once I get to Tennessee.
That's a completely different problem.
I've taken it apart.
I've saved the pieces.
I've labeled the pieces.
I've even tried to keep the instructions and tools with the furniture.
I have done my part.
Whether Tennessee Cyndee can figure out how to turn all those pieces back into actual furniture remains to be seen.
Good luck, Tennessee Cyndee.
New life.
New state.
Possibly no furniture.
But plenty of wine glasses.
And Cheers to the Genius on Facebook
I don't know who you are.
I don't know where you've been all my life.
But thank you.
Some genius on Facebook showed me that instead of buying wardrobe boxes—or taking every single piece of clothing off the hanger, folding it, packing it, unpacking it and then hanging it all back up again—you can use garbage bags with handles.
Put a bunch of hanging clothes together.
Pull the garbage bag up around them.
Use the handles to tie it around the hangers.
DONE.
The clothes stay on the hangers.
They stay together.
And when I get to Tennessee, I can take the bag off and hang everything right back in the closet.
Are you kidding me?
Do you know how many hours of my life you just gave back to me?
Because there was absolutely going to be a point in Tennessee where I was sitting on the floor, surrounded by 900 shirts, wondering why the hell I thought moving was a good idea.
Not anymore.
Garbage bags.
Who knew?
And once again, something I normally would have thought of as completely ordinary has become moving equipment.
Free boxes.
Paper bags.
Cereal boxes.
Plastic envelopes.
Unmatched socks.
Mysterious lids.
Coffee cans.
Jars.
Garbage bags.
At this point, I don't need a moving-supply store.
I need recycling day to stay the hell away from my house until October 3rd.
Label Everything
I have become a labeling machine.
Kitchen.
Bedroom.
Bathroom.
Living Room.
FRAGILE.
And then...
Mystery Box.
Because I think moving should have a little excitement.
Will it contain something useful?
Something I forgot I owned?
A mysterious lid?
A coffee can full of screws?
Another wine glass?
Nobody knows.
It's basically Christmas morning, except you're exhausted and surrounded by cardboard.
And possibly trying to figure out which mystery box contains the pieces to your bed.
Now About Loading the Truck...
Here's where I've learned that packing cheap doesn't mean I have to do everything myself.
Could I technically load an entire moving truck myself?
Probably.
Would my back ever forgive me?
Absolutely not.
And do I actually want to?
Also no.
I'm 52.
I've reached the stage of life where I am perfectly comfortable saying:
I don't want to do that.
So I hired help.
U-Haul can connect you with local moving helpers who can load and unload your truck.
Compared with paying for a full-service move, hiring help just for the heavy lifting can be a way to save money while also saving your back and your sanity.
And I think that's something I'm finally starting to understand.
Being cheap doesn't mean I have to prove I can do everything myself.
I'll save money where I can.
I'll collect free boxes.
I'll cut up cereal boxes.
I'll wrap wine glasses in lonely socks.
I'll turn coffee cans into furniture-parts storage.
I'll reuse every plastic envelope that comes through my front door.
I'll put my hanging clothes in garbage bags.
But somebody else can carry the damn couch.
Some things are worth paying for.
And One Very Important Thank You...
I also need to give a special thank you to my daughter's soon-to-be husband, Ishmael, who has somehow been recruited into this whole adventure as the official moving-truck driver.
That's a pretty big job.
He's driving a U-Haul packed with my entire life from New York to Tennessee.
Furniture.
Mystery boxes.
Coffee cans full of screws.
Possibly furniture that will never be furniture again.
And, most importantly...
Five boxes of wine glasses.
So Ishmael, thank you.
Seriously.
You get us—and preferably all five boxes of wine glasses—to Tennessee safely, and I promise to make it worth your while.
You drive the truck...
and you can have my daughter.
Seems like a fair trade to me.
Although technically you were already getting her.
So I guess I'm the one coming out ahead in this deal.
Welcome to the family, Ishmael.
Here's the U-Haul key.
And please...
Don't break the wine glasses.
So How the Hell Do You Pack as Cheap as Possible?
You stop looking at things as trash.
Cardboard boxes become moving supplies.
Cereal boxes become dividers.
Paper bags become bubble wrap.
Unmatched socks become wine-glass protectors.
Plastic shipping envelopes become padding.
Containerless lids become separators.
Coffee cans and jars become storage for all those little furniture pieces you're praying you'll know what to do with later.
Garbage bags become wardrobe boxes.
And your friends, neighbors and coworkers become your cardboard suppliers.
Basically, my rule for this entire move has become:
If I can put something in it, wrap something with it, divide something with it, or shove something inside of it—I'm using it.
Apparently, moving on a budget isn't necessarily about buying cheaper packing supplies.
Sometimes it's about looking around your house and saying:
"What the hell do I already own that I can use instead?"
And apparently the answer is...
Everything.
Except the wine glasses.
Those aren't packing supplies.
Those are coming with me.
All five boxes of them.
Because apparently there are some things I'm willing to change after 50...
and some things are just who I am.
And if all else fails?
Pour a glass of Cabernet.
Some people make checklists. I have wine.