We’ve moved on up (to the Eastside), weeks have passed, boxes have been unpacked, and The Boy and I are now more or less settled in our new place. So far, so good (though SXSW really threw everything into upheaval there for a couple of weeks; sheesh). I’ll be honest, I worried about it for a bit, not because of the gravity of the whole ‘moving in together’ event, but because my own domestic incompetence sometimes scares me. Prime example: this fine job I did at my old place involving a simple lightbulb replacement above my bathroom vanity. I didn’t bother to write down a serial number or take a measurement of the lightbulb I needed, figuring I could just eyeball it. This was the result:

  Pretty big fail, there.

Given my poor history with homemaking shenanigans, I wondered what The Boy would think once my lack of domestic skills became not just my problem, but our problem. My worries quickly faded when his own shortcomings were revealed: hellbent on starting an herb garden on our balcony, he purchased a basil plant to start us off. Behold, the poor thing just 24 hours after bringing it home…

Womp, womp.

When it came to combining our respective belongings and finding a place for everything to go, we were lucky enough that we only had to make a few major purchases like a washer and dryer (The Boy found a used set at Alberto’s Appliances that we’ve been very happy with) and a coffee table (we settled on this one from West Elm and absolutely love it!) A few shots of my favorite things in our new place:

Each of us have our own preferences and idiosyncrasies, and we’re slowly figuring things out and settling into a groove. He likes to cook, I really don’t. I’m completely and unapologetically OCD when it comes to organization and putting things away, and he’s, well, not. We’re off to a great start, though, and I feel so very lucky to have found someone who not only agreed to have my framed lotería cards in our place, but who painstakingly measured and marked where to hang them on the wall so they’d be perfectly centered and equidistant from one another (love his engineering brain). Home is where the heart is, and he’s got mine. (I know, I know… barf.)

Have a great moving story? A tale of a complete and utter moving disaster? By all means, do tell in the comments!