I know. I KNOW. I can’t believe it either. The movers are booked. Boxes are … OK, so they’re mostly unpacked, but it’s totally cool because WE ARE FINALLY MOVING!
Our apartment, which has one teeny closet, floors that give you splinters if you walk on the wrong spots, and a shit-ton of charm – our home in Wicker Park for the last 17 months – is officially available for rent, and I can’t believe we’re leaving. I mean, I’m THRILLED, but I’m also weirdly sad because this was a great place to call home.
Also, it’s across the street from Big Star. So, yes, the location is primo for late-night taco cravings.
So, in honor of the impending move and our last few weeks of being Big Star’s neighbor, here’s the full tour of our beloved apartment. Not pictured: James chasing the cat out of the pictures & the mountain of boxes we moved out of the way, constantly.
Living room, which only had one mantle-decorating session before we got lazy and forgot to ever do it again.
The office, AKA the cat’s room, AKA the room that is now full of boxes and rolled-up rugs and Lord knows what else.
The dining room, which will look TOTALLY DIFFERENT in the new house, with new chairs and a cool vintage rug and that old C sign we bought at a closing Ace Hardware FINALLY hanging on a wall instead of propped up against one.
The bedroom, which is getting all new bedding + decor in the new house and I AM SERIOUSLY COUNTING DOWN THE DAYS. More posts on this later, because I’ve been waiting 17 months for this to happen.
The hutch, which you guys have seen before.
Our tiny bathroom, which was short on storage but ultimately inspired our new bathroom’s design. The subway tile, you guys. I fell in love.
The kitchen, which is pretty similar to our new kitchen’s size and layout.
Spare bedroom, which really had no purpose other than giving the cat a soft place to sleep and being a generally dark room full of clothes that didn’t fit in our SINGLE apartment closet. This room won’t exist in our new house, because it will be a BABY ROOM. WITH A CRIB. AND CUTE SHIT HANGING ON THE WALLS.
And there you have it. Our home for 17 months – full of a bunch of mix-and-match crap that I hauled from one tiny apartment to another tiny apartment – in all its glory.
There’s something that feels so much more permanent about living in our VERY OWN PLACE, and that something makes me want to get rid of everything I own and buy a bunch of new stuff. I can’t be the only one who feels that way … right?