We have just moved for the 7th time in our married life. Only this time it was not cross country, it was just across the neighborhood. From a little condo that we bought years ago, when we had only one baby and were excited to have a brand-new home where we could choose all our finishes and so didn't care that it was short on living space. To a much larger home up the hill, where there is room for everyone to spread out and have their own projects going on, without sitting on each other and going deaf from the decibel level.
It's been stressful and chaotic, as all moves are, but more so because this time the Navy wasn't packing us, so we had to do it ourselves. And we had a hard time getting on the same page, so to speak. It became clearer than ever before that we don't work well together. I am not patient with him and he doesn't take suggestions from me. I won't elaborate, but I am ashamed, deeply ashamed, to confess that my 5-year-old now knows all the swear words.
I began taking carloads of stuff over to the new house a week before the big moving day, and enlisted my 8-year-old to help. He was painfully reluctant. Whiny. Begged and moaned to be released from unloading. The second day of carloads, he cried on the way over to the new house, and I was beginning to think it wasn't about the work. It was about leaving his home, his room, his street of friends.
As we pulled up to our house, we found four boys on bikes and scooters on our lawn. They didn't move when we parked inthe driveway, so I announced it looked like we'd be meeting some neighbors. My son was already bent over in the passenger seat, wiping his face to erase his tears. We got out and he let me do the talking at first while we unloaded. I found out their names and ages, they all went to my son's school and were close in age. All very friendly. One said he knew my son from playing soccer at recess. Next thing I knew my son had disappeared with them into the garage, showing them his nerf guns.
Soon we had to close up and head back to the condo. My son asked if on the next run we could bring over his scooter.
I said sure.
And then he said he thought he was going to like the new house. I looked over at him, and he was smiling. Not a tear about moving since.
And the pack of boys on our street is indeed a wonder to behold. They drag out our ramp on a Saturday morning and circle around jumping it in turns, loud choruses of CARRRR! shouted down the street if a car turns down our way.
This was a good move.