moving on

Time is a funny thing. When I'm anticipating something, it can seem like the weeks, days, hours, or minutes drag by--especially if I'm waiting for spring after an interminable winter. But four and a half years can go by in a flash.

Little Mr. B...a pumpkin among pumpkins.

When we signed our first lease agreement, we thought we'd be here for one year, maybe two. We were saddened to leave the more urban community where we'd been living, but we needed to move into the suburbs to find a reasonable amount of space to raise our yet-to-be-born Mr. B. Our apartment was, and still is, old (built in 1880!) and somewhat dingy, but it was in the perfect location for Mr. Husband to walk to the train and for me to drive to my teaching job. When we realized Miss A would be arriving, we looked at other apartments but ultimately decided to stick it out in a smaller but more affordable and convenient space.

Then our kids got bigger and more active, and 850 square feet got very, very small. And shortly after we started looking for a house, we found something that would work for us in a nearby town.

So now we are elbow deep in packing. When we moved here, we had yet to acquire any baby paraphernalia. Now our belongings seem to have tripled, especially in the Lego department. The last few weeks have dragged by as I eagerly anticipate more space, more privacy, a nicer yard, a parking spot next to the door. I bounce between frazzled packing and frustration that we can't pack everything that we'll still need before we close on the house. And I ask myself, will I miss this place?

I won't miss the backyard with the falling-down fence and the dusty soil that coats the kids until they look like Pigpen. But I will miss the impromptu playdates between Mr. B and his fellow four year old friend two doors down.

I won't miss the busy street with the constant noise of cars drag racing and truck jake brakes. But I'll miss being a less than a mile from the church, the post office, the bank, and the library.

I won't miss the constant stream of garbage being blown across the street from the shopping plaza into our front "yard." But I will miss the convenience of being able to walk over to Walgreens, even in a blizzard, and pick up prescriptions.

I skipped one week. ONE. WEEK.

I won't miss the constant dinginess of the apartment, from the dust lacquered into the floor, to the awful kitchen linoleum that looks filthy even when freshly mopped, to the completely obscene graffiti adorning the crumbling walls of our creepy fieldstone basement. But I will miss being able to keep the upper floors of the apartment from looking like a crack den with very little effort.

We may not live in a crack den, but sometimes my kids seem to think that we live in a frat house.

I won't miss trying to keep two active kids from climbing the walls when it's too cold, too snowy, too slippery, too rainy, too muddy...too anything to go outside. But I'll never forget that inside those same walls I labored with both of my children, cared for them as newborns, and watched them learn to roll, sit, crawl, walk, and talk. Even Mr. B may keep some dim memories of living in our "department."

So on we shall move, ready to make new memories in a new place, knowing that the days of unpacking and settling in will likely drag on, but the years will again fly by.