Wednesday, August 21, 2013

Leaving The Lighthouse

We are. 

My four-year-long love affair with The Lighthouse is drawing to a close; we are farewelling tractor-town and setting up camp in central city.  And we will keep writing our family story happily there.  My mind knows this, and when I'm standing in our new place, projecting specters of ourselves doing our-family things all around me, my heart believes it.



I will always look back on our time at the Lighthouse with fondness.  The dull aching I feel when I picture us there will fade.  Warm memories will be all that remain.

The timing hasn't felt ideal.  For me, those first months with a newborn are delicious, and fairly consuming -- time and energy-wise.  And that is just in stretching and adapting to accommodate the treasured addition; rewriting how the day is done.  But having that newborn be the third in a set of three preschoolers I desperately want to smother in equal measures of love and assurance WHILST watchlisting homes, emailing enquiries, viewing properties all over town, welcoming appraisals of our own home, staging for photos, viewing more properties, and achieving "immaculate" for open homes and viewings as routine...
that's consuming.

The four-week-long illness we had multiplied by five was just a bonus.

And I haven't even included the box'n'taping, cleaning, and piano-lifting in that list.


I loath packing and moving.  Some might guess I would thrill at the organisation opportunities abounding in such an undertaking.  Quite the opposite.  I like the drawer dividers I have designed here.  I like how I have organised the space and systems.  I do not see moving as a chance to sort and clear out.  I do that regularly.   I see it as an unravelling of a world I have curated for years, that I must rebuild.  I squirm and cringe when any part of the moving process is rushed.  I agonise over getting things just right at the new place.  I am happy to reduce what we own, but labour over whom I should give each item.  I know I will enjoy nesting.  But before the nesting comes so much.  So many small decisions I take too long on.  You should see the floor layouts I've drawn in an old math book. 

But this is right.  And I am doing my best to manage my emotions, and help the girls feel excited rather than anxious about this change.  And I think it's working.

I'll miss the half acre -- with all that space to run and explore. 

I'll miss the garden -- adorned in blooms, dressed with tyre swings...
 
 ...and frequented by birds.  (Among other things. Ahem.)
The yellow kitchen -- where our girls ran laps around the table giggling and squealing.
 
The hall -- where the girls have been wheelbarrows en route to bed, ridden human-horsebacks, had tummy time, and dashed during toilet training.  The halls I paced during two labours.
 
I'll miss the rooms -- that have been filled with dancing, learning, reading, tickling, cuddling, pretend, and sunshine.
The wood cupboard, lemon tree, local park, neighbours, privacy, ceiling details, lead light windows, deck, shed, and holy heck...

...the plums.
Oh, the plums!


I'll also miss Lucius. 
Who cannot come with us, and for whom Esky wept on Haki's shoulder for as the feline left with his new owner.

But the people are what matters.  And they are all coming. 
My heart is full.
Plums or no plums.
Home is where your people are.
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