You know what I learned today? Ovens can be moved from where they are. For the longest time, I thought they were, like, glued to their respective corners and that it was hard to move them, but I found out that that was silly thinking and had the chance to move my oven from its location.
What I found behind it was a ten-year-old colony of muck and grime that is going to a pain to clean out.
This is one of the most disgusting things about moving–cleaning. It isn’t the typical cleaning one would accomplish over a weekend; this is what my grandma calls “deep cleaning.” The heavy duty cleaning someone can pay to have done by “professionals” if they had the money. It’s a literal job, one I am stuck doing because I’m moving away and I don’t have the money to pay a person to do it for me.
Moving, in general, is disgusting, but the kitchen is by far the grossest part of this month-long process. It’s more disgusting than the garage, where there’s probably an army of bugs and dirt and other gross things I don’t like dealing with crawling all over my books and knick knacks. Or the stain that I had hidden under a rug that was revealed when we packed away the rug. We had to pay a cleaner to get that out, and it’s still there. It’s just a different shade of color. Great.
I have heard my grandma, who has been helping with the moving process immensely, tell everyone who lends an ear that she has no interest in moving ever again. Quite frankly, I don’t blame her. This entire process has been difficult–fitting a four bedroom house into one garage. And, of course, it isn’t over yet. There is still the kitchen and the ever so daunting moving date, meaning that we are going to put everything we own into a giant truck and drive five plus hours down south through a city and (eventually) unload everything we had packed inside the mountain of boxes.
Moral of this segment: Moving is terrible. And make sure you pull ovens out and clean behind it once a year (at least).