31 Oct

It is the night before Halloween and we are moving in less than three days. Kaitlyn has a fever and Jackson is teething. I had to run into Target 15 minutes before closing to buy more candy since I have eaten a third of the Costco bag we bought earlier this week. I finally packed up the sewing machine and the iron. I am nervous and I feel it churning in my stomach.

Five years. We have lived here, on Hollowglen, for five years.

We moved here less than a month after getting married. We came home from our honeymoon in Mexico, stared at the tower of wedding presents like it was our very future in front of us, and said, “Now what?” So we moved. Newlyweds.

Then we had a baby. Well, not right away. But eventually, on Hollowglen, two became three. And then three became four. On Hollowglen we became a family.

We had birthdays, lots of them. We mourned deaths, and worried about cancers and the health of our loved ones. We watched Kaitlyn learn to crawl, then walk, then talk and run. She took her first steps here. My sister got married. We lost a baby. We brought Jackson home. We made friends – wonderful, amazing, dear friends. We all grew – up, out, inside.

There are fuzzy times and there are times I can recall so clearly. Like working on a puzzle with Ben in the wee hours after this past Christmas, my belly hitting the vertical blinds every time I tried to squeeze past him to find a piece. Jackson arrived three weeks later and I holed up with him in the bedroom, trying to figure out why nursing a second baby was so hard. Or bringing Kaitlyn home on Christmas day almost four years ago, and waking up every few hours to feed her and change her diaper and logging everything down because it seemed vitally important to know when she peed. Fourth of July walks to the bridge to watch the fireworks. The kids playing outside with their flashlights. Watching movies. Sick days. Just a normal family life, with our future in front of us.

So many, many memories.

Not all glamorous. There were the ants (OH! so many ants), the black widows, the mold, the asbestos. I spent a fair amount of time searching for a new place but could never find a good enough reason.

And then Ben was promoted, and transferred, and the days grew longer and longer, and we missed him. How we missed him. And I started to realize the importance of being together, no matter where we gathered.

Home is where we are. Not where we live. And I’m a mom. I can make a home anywhere.

So I will. Wednesday we will move, and I will unpack frantically, and put away the dishes, and our clothes, and their favorite toys, and we’ll slowly rebuild until we feel just as at home there as we do here.

And then we’ll stare at our new back yard, at the open space where our children can run, and play, and dig, and grow, and we’ll say, “Now what?” As if our very future was laid out in front of us.



One Response to “Home”

  1. Kelly October 31, 2011 at 1:03 pm #

    Crying. I understand. Just exactly.

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