The Baby has been very interested in this move. I guess I never thought about it, but even though we’ve packed and moved more times than I’d like to count in his lifetime, this is the first one he’s really old enough to care about.
The last time, he was the wise sage who reminded all of us that “if we all sleep in the same place tomorrow night then that will be our home.” Seriously. He was three and a half.
This time though he’s curious about where his toys will be and if his bed is coming. We read our standard book together, Meg and Jack are Moving, the other night. Thank you to my friend Lauren who handed that book down when we left Maryland, never knowing we may need it twice more in the three short years!
The book is about a brother and sister who move and the little sister is quite concerned about the entire thing. It wasn’t even a conscious decision to read the book this time. As with most things, The Baby has been taken for granted with this move. The other two are so used to it their questions are as deep as, “do we get to eat at Friendly’s again”? So, I just assumed he was fine with it too. Then the other day while he and I were packing his room we came across that book and I plopped down and started reading it aloud. Sure enough, he slunk over and crept into my lap, entranced by the entire story. This boy does not like reading together. He’d prefer his nose hairs plucked to sitting still for an entire book. But Meg and Jack’s story sucked him right in.
He thought it was funny that Meg packed carrots. He understood why she might be worried that her toys would get left behind. The book, as any great children’s book will do, inspired a conversation. He wondered how we would know where to put the boxes at the new house. Would he still sleep in the same bed? Where would the Wii be? Would he still share his brother’s room?
Thank goodness for that book. Thank goodness the world knocked me over the head and reminded me to take care of my baby and stop treating him like he’s fifteen for a minute. Of course, he had questions and I nearly forgot to check in and see if that were true. I assured him that we’d keep his toys and that we’d do our best to make it seem like his house as quickly as possible. I explained that moving can be an adventure but that we were hoping this would be the last time we’d do it for a while. I think I sold him on his new basement and our new backyard that would still have a basketball hoop. I allowed him to be nervous about the change, but I tried to assure him it would all be just fine.
It must be hard for my babies-being kids of my restless soul. I hope for them my restlessness will ease with this move. Surely, I’ve been looking forward to making this next house my own. I’m starting to get weary of living in borrowed spaces and being ready to bug out at a moment’s notice. I’ve got home projects planned and I get visions of celebrating graduations in this next yard. I’ve never seen that far ahead before. It’s terrifying to a girl who does her best not to see into the future but rather just hang tight to what she has right now because that is all she’s promised. I hope this part of me isn’t taking something away from my kids. I hope I’m teaching them flexibility instead of uncertainty. I hope they get the best of my gypsy spirit instead of the worst. I hope, I hope, I hope.
I reminded The Baby (and maybe reassured myself a little too) about what he pointed out to me a few years ago; the house number doesn’t so much matter, quite frankly, neither does the town. Really, location is secondary for wherever we all are-together- that is home.
For The Husband-thank you for taking on this Crazy Gypsy. She may just be feeling her roots begin to grow.
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