I have to tell you: moving house is srs bsns. Not that I didn't know this already; if I hadn't moved about fourteen times and experienced it previously myself, my Mum's experience -- something like twenty-four moves, give or take -- would have enlightened me anyway. Nevertheless, I still forgot to prepare myself for broken fingernails, bumps and bruises, sore ankles, confusion brought on by multiple box-packing, brain-deadness, cleaning, mouldy curtains, and the inevitable tears that seem to accompany any transition stage in my life. So there's that.
However, I also forgot to prepare myself for happy discoveries, the slow falling in love with a new place, the sense of overwhelming generosity of my parents, the struggle to articulate anything remotely approaching the right level of thankfulness, the kindness of a treasured friend (--bearing lasagna, no less!), the happy feeling of melting into bed each night, and the chance to actually pull forgotten treasures from my glory box and set them out in the new wee kitchen.
^ Also, there are red and white tiles.