Last week, we said goodbye. Goodbye to our condo. Goodbye to the place where we met. Goodbye to the place where we fell in love. Goodbye to the place we first brought our little girl home and figured out how to be a family of three. Goodbye to the place where we had friends over to share laughs and food and drink. Goodbye to home.
As far as goodbyes go, it was a pretty smooth, easy one. We had been trying to sell the condo for two years and, after all that time, had begun to feel as if our lives were on hold. There were so many things we were planning to do...once we got a house. As our to-do list grew, our patience waned. Depending on other people to swoop in and save the day was not at all a comfortable position for us to be in, so we were incredibly relieved to close on the condo just last Friday. Our very own independence day celebration consisted of putting Sofia to bed early and indulging in champagne. It was glorious.
Along with all of our belongings (box after box of things now stacked to the ceiling in our storage unit), we brought with us our memories of the place that was our home. We also brought with us an incredible amount of hopefulness and excitement for our future. Visions of new appliances and freshly planted gardens regularly dance through our heads. We eagerly welcome the challenge of making our new house a home, bit by bit, wallpaper panel by wallpaper panel. It will be a true labor of love.
The "we" I keep referring to here is me and Chris. The two of us understand completely the undertaking of moving our storing our stuff, temporarily staying with his parents, moving our stuff again, unpacking it all, and beginning to live in our forever home. Sofia, however, does not. On our first night at Grandmom and Grandpa's house, she wailed at bedtime, "I want to go home to my house." And just this morning she requested that I bring her home to West Deptford so that she could play with her toys. I reminded her that last week she walked through the empty condo and saw that all of her toys were gone. She seemed to understand what I was saying, but I expect there will be another request soon to return to the place that is no longer ours.
Instead of focusing on having Sofia say goodbye, we have been trying to excite her about saying hello to all of the new opportunities she'll have. When we tuck her in at night, we tell her to have sweet dreams about riding her tricycle around our driveway, running around in our fenced-in backyard, playing in her big girl room, swimming in her pool, catching fireflies at night. We promise to take walks to Nana and Pop's house and the library in the wagon rather than driving in the car. We rattle off all of the creatures she'll be able to see wander through our big, nature-filled yard. We predict that she'll make great friends with Patches, the stray cat who patrols the property. We guarantee that she will eventually become a wonderful big sister who will share everything she knows with her little brother or sister.
More than anything, we want Sofia to share in our joy at the childhood she'll have there, one that we hope will resemble our own. We want her to feel safe and loved and happy in her new home. At least for now, Sofia isn't concerned about any of those things, though; she would settle for having all of her toys in one place again and taking inventory. I suppose we should be relieved that her biggest worry is their whereabouts rather than anything more existential about being uprooted. We might even go so far as to consider that a small parental victory! Now if only she'd use the potty...
Showing posts with label moving. Show all posts
Showing posts with label moving. Show all posts
Monday, July 27, 2015
Saturday, June 20, 2015
Mission: Find a Yard
When we were discharged from the hospital just a day and a half after Sofia's birth, like all new parents, we cautiously packed her tiny frame into her car seat, arranging her and rearranging her. While Daddy drove the car, Mommy sat in the back next to the baby, certain that her newly honed mothering skills would be needed during that 25 minute drive (for the record, they weren't). When we arrived at our destination and the car was parked, we made the trek, the long, oh-so-public trek up the wind tunnel that passes for a sidewalk to our condo building, past unit after unit of other families who had done the very same thing at some point. We made our ascent up the flight of stairs, which suddenly seemed so mountainous now that we were holding such precious cargo. We reached our landing, shared with our neighbors from three other units, punched in our key code, opened the door, and stepped in. We were home.
Our condo has served us well. It houses Sofia's toys, clothes, and books, all of which seem to multiply nightly while we sleep. It contains our wild beast of a house cat, Rufus. It gives us a place to relax, rewind, reset. It has been our home.
Within a couple of months of bringing Sofia home, we put our home up for sale. Our goal was to move into a single family home. A place with our own driveway, fewer immediate neighbors, and a yard. A yard filled with trees. A yard to plant flowers and vegetables. A yard for squirrels, chipmunks, and bunnies to frolick (species which are exotic around our condo thanks to the lack of large trees). A yard for Chris to mow and rake, shovel and blow. A yard for barbecues and parties. Most importantly, a yard for Sofia to run and play and scamper. A yard for her to have the kind of childhood Chris and I both had, one filled with the simple pleasures of swinging in the sunshine, riding bikes up and down the driveway, catching fireflies. A yard.
Of course, we were quite hopeful at first that our condo would sell by that fall and that we would share our first Christmas as a family of three in our new home. Summer, fall, and winter passed. Spring came, and we were still in the condo. This time, we were cautiously optimistic that our condo would sell by the fall and that we would get to have our second Christmas as a family of three in our new home. Again, the seasons passed, and still we found ourselves in our condo. By this time, Sofia was running and jumping and yearning to be outside. So, outside we would go, walking to two little playgrounds within our complex or drawing with chalk out on the shared sidewalk. All the while, we were dodging piles of dog poop ignored by their owners, side-stepping sticky puddles of unidentifiable liquid spilled by other children, and picking up and disposing of lots of trash - Sofia just couldn't help but to pick up bottle caps, wrappers of all colors and sizes, broken toys, abandoned snacks, and the like. It was as if the trash beckoned to her.
After nearly two years on the market, the pressure of keeping the house tidy at all times, the seemingly endless parade of prospective buyers coming through to assess the condo, FINALLY, we received an offer, and we gladly accepted. We were free to hunt for houses! We looked high and low, near and far. We drove around to scope out different neighborhoods and to size up potential neighbors. We examined tax records and school districts. We studied listings and photos posted online of home after home, certain that the right one was somewhere out there. For reasons too numerable to list, each one fell short of exactly what we were looking for. Until today.
Today, we saw a quaint, tidy house, the exterior reminiscent of a gingerbread house. Inside, it had two full bathrooms, beautiful hardwood floors, three bedrooms, and a space to be used as a playroom. It had lots of floral, grandmotherly wallpaper and dark pink bath tubs and toilets. It had a smallish kitchen with decades old range and dishwasher. It also had a yard. A glorious, lush, green yard with lots of trees and flowers, a small pool, a sturdy white fence around a good portion of the back yard, a beautiful deck, a treehouse, a detached two car, heated garage. A small toad crossed our path as we wandered around and reminded us that a creek was just a short ways down the road, so likely much more wildlife regularly traverses the yard. The birds were chirping and the breeze was blowing. We envisioned our vegetable garden off past the pool. We staked out a spot for a swingset. We could see Sofia learning to ride her bike in the driveway. We knew we were home.
Our condo has served us well. It houses Sofia's toys, clothes, and books, all of which seem to multiply nightly while we sleep. It contains our wild beast of a house cat, Rufus. It gives us a place to relax, rewind, reset. It has been our home.
Within a couple of months of bringing Sofia home, we put our home up for sale. Our goal was to move into a single family home. A place with our own driveway, fewer immediate neighbors, and a yard. A yard filled with trees. A yard to plant flowers and vegetables. A yard for squirrels, chipmunks, and bunnies to frolick (species which are exotic around our condo thanks to the lack of large trees). A yard for Chris to mow and rake, shovel and blow. A yard for barbecues and parties. Most importantly, a yard for Sofia to run and play and scamper. A yard for her to have the kind of childhood Chris and I both had, one filled with the simple pleasures of swinging in the sunshine, riding bikes up and down the driveway, catching fireflies. A yard.
Of course, we were quite hopeful at first that our condo would sell by that fall and that we would share our first Christmas as a family of three in our new home. Summer, fall, and winter passed. Spring came, and we were still in the condo. This time, we were cautiously optimistic that our condo would sell by the fall and that we would get to have our second Christmas as a family of three in our new home. Again, the seasons passed, and still we found ourselves in our condo. By this time, Sofia was running and jumping and yearning to be outside. So, outside we would go, walking to two little playgrounds within our complex or drawing with chalk out on the shared sidewalk. All the while, we were dodging piles of dog poop ignored by their owners, side-stepping sticky puddles of unidentifiable liquid spilled by other children, and picking up and disposing of lots of trash - Sofia just couldn't help but to pick up bottle caps, wrappers of all colors and sizes, broken toys, abandoned snacks, and the like. It was as if the trash beckoned to her.
After nearly two years on the market, the pressure of keeping the house tidy at all times, the seemingly endless parade of prospective buyers coming through to assess the condo, FINALLY, we received an offer, and we gladly accepted. We were free to hunt for houses! We looked high and low, near and far. We drove around to scope out different neighborhoods and to size up potential neighbors. We examined tax records and school districts. We studied listings and photos posted online of home after home, certain that the right one was somewhere out there. For reasons too numerable to list, each one fell short of exactly what we were looking for. Until today.
Today, we saw a quaint, tidy house, the exterior reminiscent of a gingerbread house. Inside, it had two full bathrooms, beautiful hardwood floors, three bedrooms, and a space to be used as a playroom. It had lots of floral, grandmotherly wallpaper and dark pink bath tubs and toilets. It had a smallish kitchen with decades old range and dishwasher. It also had a yard. A glorious, lush, green yard with lots of trees and flowers, a small pool, a sturdy white fence around a good portion of the back yard, a beautiful deck, a treehouse, a detached two car, heated garage. A small toad crossed our path as we wandered around and reminded us that a creek was just a short ways down the road, so likely much more wildlife regularly traverses the yard. The birds were chirping and the breeze was blowing. We envisioned our vegetable garden off past the pool. We staked out a spot for a swingset. We could see Sofia learning to ride her bike in the driveway. We knew we were home.
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