A Fresh Start

Moving is such a curious event.

On one hand, you have all the ingredients for a fresh start:

• A new house which has not been dented, peed on, puked on, or otherwise damaged by your darling family (yet).
• A new neighborhood full of people who have never heard your boring repetitive (according to Hubby) stories and still think your kids are uncommonly cute (Ha! Cute little terrors!).
• A new area full of new restaurants and grocery stores and boutiques and places to check out.

But on the other hand, all these "new"s come with an inherent backlash. The new town is confusing and humongous and about a gazillion miles from Banana Girl and the rest of my family. I don't know the new neighbors enough to know whether my kids are bugging them or if I should just offer them a margarita already. And worst of all, the new house doesn't feel like home yet.

I stub my toes at night on the way to the toilet. We are startled by strange lights and mystery noises. I haven't found my favorite spot to read a book or cuddle up and watch TV or even figured out the new dishwasher. And the house is bare. It is bare of belongings (for now), but even worse, it is bare of memories.

Here, in my "new" house, I cannot stand at the kitchen sink and think of how Peevers was born right here, indelibly staining the rug, but making our house that much more ours. Here, I cannot remember Quinlan taking her first steps and saying her first words. Here, I cannot sit on the back patio and think of how Gabe tripped over Lucy (our old Dog) and fell and broke his wrist. And then how Hubby raced around frantically trying to comfort Gabe (who was totally fine by then), while really just trying to do something to calm himself. I will not scrub the toilet and remember (oddly nostalgically) all the times I hunkered down in that very spot for HOURS while pregnant with Peevers.

I think of the birthday parties and holidays and nights up late on the sofa with a sick kid or a too pregnant self that were shared with our old dear bungalow in Iowa and I am sad. The bungalow had a warm and cozy character from the moment we moved in. The house felt like it had sheltered many a happy family before ours. It just felt like a family house, from its location across from the city park, to its pleasantly cozy bungalow proportions and glowing woodwork.

Our new house is new construction and doesn't carry the spirit souls of other families and other happy times. This house only remembers construction workers and realtors. This house is probably freaking the hell out right about now as my crew has been here for almost a week without mercy and I am unceasingly alternately painting its surfaces and cleaning up the disasters of water splashed and food sprinkled and dirty footprints and handprints my children have been stenciling about its every corner.

So, it's a fresh start all right. I know we will be happy here. We've just got a lot of work to do in order to make our place here and be Home again.