Loose Ends

These last two weeks have been... hard. There's really no other word that comes to mind.

Moving is never easy, especially for someone who's rather change averse like me. I love this cozy little house. This is where M and I lived our first years as a married couple. This is where I first brought home C and then Little L. This is where my babies became little girls. And yes, this is where we weathered challenge after challenge, struggle after struggle, taking comfort in the familiar space that we've filled with love over the years.

Seeing the rooms filled with boxes and the shelves empty of memorabilia and things has been hard for me, but it's been exponentially harder for the kids. C has almost daily meltdowns. Little L has regressed and is wetting the bed during nap time. (Even the cat is out of sorts.) They're cranky, volatile, snapping at each other and at us all day long. So I've had to push aside my own unrest to help them through this, their first move.

I was doing great until Susan passed away two weeks ago. It wasn't unexpected, but it still knocked me off my game. I'd been powering through the packing, managing the kids' emotional roller-coasters, I was even doing a great job on Splash. And then I ground to a halt.

For a week I sat, numb, on my couch. I tried to do... stuff. But I don't think I got anything done. I just kept thinking of Susan's sons, of her husband, of her friends, of all the people who prayed for her and hoped beyond hope that she'd beat cancer a fourth time. Everything else felt... futile.

Last week the fog started to lift and I started getting back on track. I'm still sad, but of all people, Susan wouldn't have wanted me to squander any more of my life. I channeled her energy last week. I scheduled the movers. I went to networking events. I even sent out a number of queries for my book. And I packed.

I love this little house with its bright walls, funny ceilings, and endless quirks. I cherish the memories we've created here -- both good and bad. But I'm so excited about the new place and I can't wait to get there so we can start filling it with sounds of life and love.

The new house has majestic Redwoods in the garden and a little creek that runs through the back-yard. The house has entire walls made of glass and when I stand in the living room I feel like I'm in a peaceful haven.

Even as I struggle through tying up loose ends, packing up the odds and ends, sorting, donating, purging, and managing everyone's angst and stress, I can't help but feel hopeful. This feels like the start of a new chapter for us, a chapter that promises to be amazing.

Lost in the move

We moved a few times when I was little. First from Paris to NY the summer I turned 7. Three years later from NY to London, and three years after that from London back to Paris.

That's a lot of packing and unpacking in a six year period and a lot of opportunities for things to get lost in transit, which is undoubtedly why I grew up hearing that whatever that thing I was looking for had probably "gotten lost in the move."

I never doubted my mom when she said that. I could all too easily imagine how a box could have not made it onto the truck, how a book might have fallen out, how some beloved toy might have been misplaced. I truly, honestly, always believed that movers aren't the most attentive people and that stuff had just gotten lost.

And then I started packing up my house to move.

Many things have "gotten lost" this week. Broken toys. Things the girls never play with. Books that have seen better days or are brand new because no one ever took a liking to them. Clothing I hate or that simply no longer fits. Just stuff that can't be categorized and therefore is challenging to pack.

I'm not telling the kids that these things are making their way into trash bags or donation bags, I'm just putting them there and assuming that they won't notice in the general chaos that is our house this week.

Yet I know that once we're settled, once we've unpacked and the novelty of having a shiny new playroom has worn off I'm going to start hearing plaintive little voices asking "Mommy? Have you seen..." or "Mama? Where is my..."



And I know that I'll look them right in the eye, shrug, and say as innocently as possible "I dunno, must have gotten lost in the move..." all while silently forgiving my mother for doing the same all those years ago.

Just like their mom

Lights out is around 7:30pm. I'm pretty strict about it. Even with such an early bedtime both girls struggle with waking up at 7am, and C has trouble making it through a full school day without needing to rest at school.

Recently though I found myself confounded. Instead of being their usual well rested selves, the girls were waking up more tired than ever.

I actually went so far as to call the pediatrician.

Little L? That I could understand. She's still up a couple times a night. But C? There was no good reason behind the bone tired exhaustion she was claiming.

Scary, scary words were flung around, so before I subjected C to a battery of tests, I decided to have a little chat with her first.

In all innocence she revealed that...

she reads under her covers until she's "sleepy."

Mystery solved.

In fact, mystery solved for both of them. This under the covers reading is something they've both been doing.

A few weeks ago, in an effort to give them both a little more night-time security I purchased some press-on LED lights for their beds. With the push of a button C can climb down from the top bunk without falling. With the push of a button Little L can locate the lovey that's fallen on the floor.

I thought $8 would buy me a little more shut-eye. Instead it bought my kids the ability to adopt one of my own childhood habits. 

I remember the thrill of pulling the covers over my head, of turning on the flashlight, and of opening a book. I was (and still am) a voracious reader. I read late into many, many nights. Somehow books are better when read in a dimly lit little blanket cave.

I've had to put the kibosh on C and Little L's late night reading. I did it somewhat half-heartedly. The reader and writer in me is doing jumping jacks about their budding love of reading. I would love nothing more than to have given birth to a couple of bookworms. But the mom in me is winning out. These girls need to sleep at night.

They'll just have to do their reading during the day... until they're grown-ups and can get away with reading until all hours of the night like their mama.

Source: flickr.com via Tiphanie on Pinterest

We got here somehow

The last three weekends have been a blur of packing tape, cardboard boxes, and trash bags. Progress was slow the first two weekends, but this weekend the shelves are finally starting to look bare. And yet, everywhere I look there are more books, more toys, more things that need to be packed up.

It's never ending.

This isn't my first move. It's not even my first move with M. And yet, it's like I've never done this before.

I don't remember vetting movers in the past. Did I really just call one company? And who were they? I mean, we didn't have much when we moved into this house, but we sure didn't move it ourselves. Or did we?

And what about all this stuff? Do I really have to box it all?

How do you move what's in the fridge?

Why do we have not one, not two, but three Candy Land games? 

Why is there packing tape on the bookshelf?

How do we figure out how big the new rooms are so we can figure out what furniture goes where?

Where do I stack boxes when I run out of space in the hallway?

WHY, why are there so many books? 

If only one of us can carry anything, how am I supposed to deliver the TV I promised to a friend?

What am I going to do with the bunk beds and changing table we no longer need?

Who's going to deliver all these unwanted books to the public library?

The questions are as endless as the stuff.

I have no doubt that we're going to figure it all out. I have even less doubt that it will entail more than a few trips back and forth in the car, even after hiring professional movers.

What is questionable is whether I'll make it through with the rest of my sanity intact. But that's OK; our new home is a haven of tranquility and I'm getting to be a pro at ignoring the chaos of living among boxes.