We moved yesterday. Our family home is the only one the kids remember, yet I uprooted them and brought them to a new house. My kids are amazing. They totally took to it right away. My daughter has been wanting this for so long - she has too many really sad memories that taint all of the many, many good ones she has from our old home. My son is "Mr. Attachment", and I was really worried about how he would deal with leaving his home, his room, the chair he has lived in that swings from the big tree in the yard, and all that is familiar and happy for him. When I asked if he was ok, he said, "mom, jeez, home is where you and my sister are. We could live in a tent in the park and it would be home". I knew he didn't mean it, but I was so grateful to him for saying it!
It's been a crazy few days. My husband had said he was going sailing with friends near Kingston for the weekend. The night before the move, he denied ever saying that and announced he was not only not leaving, he had a full day of plans for the Saturday. My plan had been to move (and unpack and put away) the stuff that was packed and take it to our new house on the Friday. On Saturday, we'd bring the empty boxes and pack up the rest of the stuff right out of their closets and cupboards. I hadn't wanted to have everything packed up and stacked up in the dining room, knowing how hard it was for him to pass it every day. On the Sunday, the three of us were going back to clean up the house; I'd said that it would be hard enough for dad to come home to an empty house, we would at least make sure it was completely clean. Now, we were given the Friday night and that was it.
At first, I felt so badly about it. Of course, I wondered if I'd misunderstood, but knew deep down I had not. This had been a clear conversation - he had planned to visit friends a few weeks ago but had to reschedule to the long weekend because we had some legal stuff to sort out that week. At the time, I recall thinking this was a better plan for him to be away when we actually loaded up boxes and moved them away, knowing how very hard that would be for him. It's taken me a few days to get it, but I think I now realize why this happened. His entire persona is victim/martyr - this was perfect. Not only was I leaving him, and taking the kids, leaving him "stuck" with the house, but I left him with a huge mess to deal with. If things had gone the way I'd expected them to, and he came home to a clean (albeit empty) house, people would have thought I'd done something thoughtful and that he wasn't "done to".
His final shot came tonight. Because I couldn't go back to the house, I'd called a small moving service to pick up the last few things that were too big and heavy for my van (eg., patio set). I thought they'd be done in an hour. It actually took them 5. That's because he packed their truck with dozens of boxes and bins, filled with all manner of stuff (some look like he just swiped the contents of a shelf or dumped a drawer into the box) and sent it all over. This poor young guy went to open the truck door and said, "Ma'am, I don't think you're gonna like this". I just asked him to stack it all at the back of the garage and along the sides (basically fills my garage) and went away for a big cry. He is just such a mean, passive aggressive person.
Our first night in our new home, though, is like a breath of fresh air. It feels completely, totally, unflinchingly right. And as we realized when we looked up in the sky from our patio earlier tonight night, we have a blue moon - the second full moon in the month of August. A relatively rare occurrence that brought to mind the little medieval rhyme, "And when you see a moon that's blue, then we must say that it is true." This feels true, all right.
It's been a crazy few days. My husband had said he was going sailing with friends near Kingston for the weekend. The night before the move, he denied ever saying that and announced he was not only not leaving, he had a full day of plans for the Saturday. My plan had been to move (and unpack and put away) the stuff that was packed and take it to our new house on the Friday. On Saturday, we'd bring the empty boxes and pack up the rest of the stuff right out of their closets and cupboards. I hadn't wanted to have everything packed up and stacked up in the dining room, knowing how hard it was for him to pass it every day. On the Sunday, the three of us were going back to clean up the house; I'd said that it would be hard enough for dad to come home to an empty house, we would at least make sure it was completely clean. Now, we were given the Friday night and that was it.
At first, I felt so badly about it. Of course, I wondered if I'd misunderstood, but knew deep down I had not. This had been a clear conversation - he had planned to visit friends a few weeks ago but had to reschedule to the long weekend because we had some legal stuff to sort out that week. At the time, I recall thinking this was a better plan for him to be away when we actually loaded up boxes and moved them away, knowing how very hard that would be for him. It's taken me a few days to get it, but I think I now realize why this happened. His entire persona is victim/martyr - this was perfect. Not only was I leaving him, and taking the kids, leaving him "stuck" with the house, but I left him with a huge mess to deal with. If things had gone the way I'd expected them to, and he came home to a clean (albeit empty) house, people would have thought I'd done something thoughtful and that he wasn't "done to".
His final shot came tonight. Because I couldn't go back to the house, I'd called a small moving service to pick up the last few things that were too big and heavy for my van (eg., patio set). I thought they'd be done in an hour. It actually took them 5. That's because he packed their truck with dozens of boxes and bins, filled with all manner of stuff (some look like he just swiped the contents of a shelf or dumped a drawer into the box) and sent it all over. This poor young guy went to open the truck door and said, "Ma'am, I don't think you're gonna like this". I just asked him to stack it all at the back of the garage and along the sides (basically fills my garage) and went away for a big cry. He is just such a mean, passive aggressive person.
Our first night in our new home, though, is like a breath of fresh air. It feels completely, totally, unflinchingly right. And as we realized when we looked up in the sky from our patio earlier tonight night, we have a blue moon - the second full moon in the month of August. A relatively rare occurrence that brought to mind the little medieval rhyme, "And when you see a moon that's blue, then we must say that it is true." This feels true, all right.
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