Moving Home

I’ve moved countless times in my life. My parents moved to their current home when I was about 10 years old. I “moved” to college when I was 18. Then I bounced around from one residence hall to another, and finally to an apartment. Then, of course, I moved to D.C. I’ve had about six different homes in the 10 years that I’ve been in D.C., and with each change I became decidedly less sentimental about moving. It was always a matter of figuring out what of my stuff I wanted to get rid of and what I wanted to carry with me to the next place; never much more than that. But not this time. This time is different.

I guess it’s different because this time I’m not leaving a house or a domicile. I’m leaving the first home I shared with my husband; the first home we worked on together, to put our own individual stamp on it.

I’m leaving a home that I’ve shared with the hubby and with Parker. I’m leaving Parker’s first home, where he achieved such milestones as turning over, sitting up by himself, crawling, and walking. The funny thing is that he won’t remember this house much as he gets older. But the memories of bringing him in the door for the first time, and those first days when we were figuring out just how to be a family together, will stay with me for the rest of my life. I’ll remember where I was sitting the first time Parker did something new. I’ll remember the exact moment he stood up and walked across a room by himself. And I’ll remember where they all happened; in our first home.

But it’s not our home anymore. Our stuff is gone, carried away to the new place where we’ll spend some time figuring out where everything should go, and how we’ll live our lives in this space. On Friday, we’ll sign some papers and hand the key to our first home together, over to someone else.

It thinking about that isn’t strange enough, thinking about our next home—the one being built, not the one we’re living in until construction finishes—is even stranger. All those years that I spent hopping around from one apartment or rented house to another, I don’t think I thought any further into the future than the end of my lease. But during our recent home search, as we looked over statistics for elemetary, middle and high schools, it suddenly hit me that we were deciding where our kids were going to grow up. We were planning the next twenty years together and deciding where we’re going to spend them. And the assumption we’re making is that we’re going to be with each other through the next twenty years.

There was a time when thinking about spending 20 minutes with someone, let alone twenty years, was enough to fill me with anxiety. But now I find myself looking foward to it, and enjoying the planning and dreaming together. I feel like there is something in my life I can count on.

Through this whole move, the one member of our family who’s been amazing to watch is Parker. Through all the tumult of preparing to move, the sudden appearance of boxes and the disappearance of all manner of things into them, he’s been utterly oblivious. In order to prepare him for the move, we’ve told him countless times that we’re getting a new house. We even took him to visit the place where we’re living until the new house is built. But out explanations seemed to roll right off him without much effect.

It occurs to me that Parker really doesn’t care whether we’re getting a new house or not. I get the distinct feeling that he doesn’t care where he is as long as we—Daddy & Papa—are there with him. He knows we’re his family. And maybe he’s got the right idea about home, too. It’s not so important where I call home as it is who I’m coming home to.

It’s nearing 5pm now. I’ll probably post this later tonight, when we’re somewhat settled into the new place. As I’m writing, I’m sitting here, in the old place, with the remains of our stuff, waiting for the movers and the hubby to come and collect it and me. Then I’ll go to the new place, to be with my husband and son. In other words, I’m going home to my family.

So, I guess I’m not leaving behind a home after all. Just a house, because I know where my home is, and with whom.