After living at my parents’ house for two months, I was sure the boys would have a difficult transition to our new home. We were leaving behind wonderful home-cooked meals by Grandma, woodworking and cookie baking with Grandpa, and knowing there was always someone to talk to or play with.
Did I mention baking cupcakes with Grandma?
When we packed up our last few belongings (well, the last few until my mother called to tell us what we had forgotten), I was feeling a little sentimental. I have moved out of my parents’ house a few times before—to go to college, to take my first job out of state, to get married—and this time felt different.
But the boys were rather matter-of-fact about it.
It will hit them later, I thought. And then they’ll want to know why we aren’t living with Grandma and Grandpa anymore. And they’ll wonder why things are in such disarray.
That night when my mother called, Daniel reached for the phone.
“How are you doing, Grandma?” said our almost-4-year-old.
“Fine,” she said. “Grandpa and Aunt Shai are out and I’m all alone. It’s very quiet here without all of you.”
“Oh, Grandma,” he said. “You’ll get over it.”
Then he ran off to play.
And my mother and I were left trying not to laugh too hard. Daniel had given an appropriate response—and I believe it was kindly meant, though it was also rather direct. (And I’d love to know who’s been telling him to get over things.)
Meanwhile, Daniel’s words may just have to become my moving mantra.
Can you find the gym uniform? Me neither.
As we try to dig out of the boxes and bags and laundry baskets, it’s hard to imagine a day when this house will be even vaguely organized, when I’ll cook a meal that didn’t start in the freezer, or when I won’t be counting the minutes to trash pick-up so we can get rid of some of the unpacking debris.
Beer, soda, water, and take-out? Who is in charge of the cooking here?
I am still hunting down kitchen equipment—bowls, for example. The other night I practically wept with joy when I found my colander.
We have a lot of work ahead of us. And life feels chaotic, disorganized, and confusing—but apparently only for John and me. The boys are totally content—sleeping well, and Daniel twice today said, “Thank you, God, for our new house.”
As for me, I have two choices.
1. Get over it.
2. Join the boys in some bubble wrap fun.
Maybe I can do a little of both.