It’s officially been a week since my sabbatical started — at least according to my employer. In reality, we spent the week at a friend’s cottage for our annual summer getaway. It was wonderful. Every year I’m struck by how much the kids have grown, what new things they’re into, and how fortunate we are to use the space to build our traditions together. It was relaxing, grounding, and a great distraction.
And then we came home.
Within minutes, the peaceful cottage glow evaporated and I was confronted with the harsh reality that we leave in two weeks and our house is… well… full of stuff. Today was Day 1 of “real prep,” and it left me worried, exhausted, and somehow still unable to sleep.
I started with what should have been the easiest room in the house — the spare bedroom. It’s been mostly empty ever since Emmalyn decided she wanted to share a room with Isabel over a year ago. I figured it would be a quick win. A confidence booster.
It took five hours. And technically, I’m still not done.
When we first moved into this house, it was during COVID. We had a toddler, I was pregnant, and we very happily paid someone to pack everything we owned and move it all for us. At the time, we simply didn’t have the capacity to dig through our belongings and question what should come with us. And while I don’t fault that choice — it was survival — it means that five years later we’re living in a big house full of questionable, dusty, and long‑unused items. Prepping the house for this trip feels like our chance to finally reset, to keep only what makes sense for our family now and in the years ahead. But wow… it is a lot of work.
In the next two weeks, I need to repeat that process for the other eleven areas of the house — all of which are more complicated, more cluttered, and more emotionally loaded. On top of that, I’m helping at the kids’ half-day camp, keeping them fed and out of trouble for the rest of the day, and our homeschooling journey is supposed to start next week.
Right now, the sabbatical is definitely feeling like a race against the clock. But I guess this is part of the story too — the messy middle before the adventure begins.
Update: This week was… a lot. Every morning I was at the kids’ half‑day camp, and every afternoon I came home, already tired, and spent five-plus hours tearing through the house. In seven days, I cleared out around ten large bags of donations and an equal amount of garbage. Once the kids were asleep and I couldn’t physically convince myself to clean anymore, I’d switch gears and spend another three hours researching destinations, confirming bookings, and tightening up our plans.
Then I’d crash, wake up, and do it all again.
By Saturday, I hit a wall. Justin had to talk me down from the ledge — reminding me that the whole point of getting house sitters instead of renters was so we didn’t have to do this level of overhaul. We’ll be back in June. We’ll still have two months off work. If part of the house reset needs to happen then, it can, without a two‑week countdown breathing down my neck.
He was right. This stretch was supposed to be part of the fun — the anticipation, the excitement, the “its finally happening” energy. Instead, I was drowning in garbage bags and stress and back pain. These last few days in town should be about seeing friends, soaking up familiar routines, and easing into the adventure… not sprinting through a self‑assigned renovation of our entire life.
So this weekend I reluctantly took his advice and slowed down. I let the house be imperfect and unfinished. I leaned into quiet moments and spent time with friends who feel like family. Our goodbyes now sound like: “Safe travels. We’ll see you in a year.” It’s surreal and sad and beautiful all at once. How lucky we are to have people we’ll miss dearly — and a house full of stuff that might not be perfectly sorted when we walk out the door.