This is a small room. I mean, really. It’s a nice hotel, don’t get me wrong. Kurt’s new company has done very well by us so far. I think if it was just Kurt and me, it’d feel downright cozy. Add in two little girls and a baby, though, and you’ve got yourself a foolproof recipe for a claustrophobic frenzy on all fronts.
There’s also a certain weirdness to staying at a hotel about 5 minutes away from your own home. I know this area instinctively and as soon as I get to the car the sense of familiarity descends. In this room, though, I find my mind trapped in Vacation Mode. That means (when you have little kids, at least) that we’re in unknown territory, surrounded by strangers and probably have the whole experience bookended by two spiritually unraveling plane trips.
This time, even though I’m sleeping somewhere else, I’m surrounded by all the familiar things of my day-to-day life. We’ve had playdates, visited family, gone to the zoo, even headed to the park right next to the house.
The old house, I guess I should say.
The theoretical move to Texas of last month has become reality at last. The movers started this week and are spending today packing up the last big things. By tomorrow my house will be empty except for the leftover flotsam that lurks under furniture. (Several old binkies from Anna’s baby years were found under our bed. Also, a stash of used tissues stuffed between the bed and wall in the girls’ room. Yum.)
We moved out the night before the movers arrived. I wanted the kids to be settled somewhere away from the upheaval. And ok, let’s be honest, I wanted to be away from the upheaval, too. I avoided the house studiously the first day. Just the idea of seeing it all pawed over by strangers and packed in anonymous brown boxes— ugh.
But, after an initial wave of nausea and sadness, I managed to walk through all the rooms and survive. Which is a good thing, really, because how embarrassing would that have been if I’d puked and started crying in the middle of the empty living room? The movers would have had to walk around me, it would’ve slowed down EVERYTHING.
So now, life is more about the upcoming drive away than the packing away of my family’s things. And now, I’m excited. It’s still sad, but emotionally I’ve moved on to the next thing. I’m ready to go. That’s (more than) partly due to the nerve-boiling pressure of cabin fever. The other part is just about wanting to get started—unpack, explore, find some new haunts, new routines, maybe even (gasp!) meet some new people.
I guess that leaves the thought for the day as this: Even though so much is ending, that also means there is so much about to start. And surprise, surprise, I’m ready for it.
Especially if it gets me out of this tiny hotel room. (The girls were fighting earlier while Jack was napping and I actually yelled, “Knock it off right now or you’ll have to go to... go to... umm... go sit in the closet!”)