Friday, November 22, 2013

moving, move, moved.

Last week was a big week. Boxes were dropped off on Friday. Jon was sent out of town for work on Saturday. I packed up our little house Sunday, Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday. (Jon returned late Tuesday evening, thank goodness.) Thursday we took down six trees--the first of many steps to prep for our pop-up (hooray)--just in time for both Cecile and I to fall ill with some disease that involved a fever and some pretty impressive green boogies (boo). On Friday, packers came to the house to help with the things I didn't get to (namely, the attic), and then on Saturday we moved. 

Holy Moses, we moved. We've been in our rental house for nearly one week now. Things are mostly unpacked (it's amazing how much easier it is to unpack than pack), pictures are on the wall, and Cecile and I are almost over our nasty colds ... but yet reality still hasn't sunken in. When I wake in the morning, it takes a half second or so to remember where we are, and more than once I've started driving to our old house on the way home from errands, only to have to turn around at the last minute and head in the opposite direction toward our rental. We'll be renting six months or more, so I'm certain I'll get the hang of our new digs sooner or later. But I just didn't anticipate how emotional this whole process would be ...
Yes, I am excited about our plans. Tremendously so. And, yes, I realize how fortunate we are to be in a situation where we can even consider financing an addition to our house, let alone actually doing it. But I guess it never occurred to me that amongst all the excitement and planning that I could simultaneously be so very upset. We lived in our little rambler more than three years, after all--longer than I've lived in any one place since high school. So much of our lives unfolded within its walls. We bought it just before getting engaged. Jon carried me through the threshold after we returned from our honeymoon. It's the place we found out we were pregnant and where, nine months later, we brought our baby girl back from the hospital. And in six months, after all the construction, when we return, we will not be using the house and its space in the same way. It will have the same address, but will be an entirely new house. And that makes me a little sad. Our house is and was our home, after all. And "home," I've discovered, is such a loaded word.
Construction begins the first week of December and, now that everything seems to be really, truly happening, I'm so excited to (finally) share our plans in the coming days. (I didn't want to jinx it!) I'll be forward-thinking from here on out, promise. But goodbye to our little house. You were a great home to our little family, and we cannot wait to return to your doorstep in the springtime and continue to grow with you. 

In the meantime, everybody please wish us luck ...!