Just the Things We Need

Three times I’ve said: “We’re going to have more room for our Christmas tree in the new house!”

It’s not resonating with anyone. They’re not seeing the vision of Christmases future. They’re seeing last winter’s snow still hunkered down on the shadiest parts of the roof and landscape, holding on for dear life. Who can think of next winter??

I’m playing the movie in my mind. Moving a decorated tree we haven’t picked out yet to the front window in the living room, or in one of the corners I don’t have furniture for, or in the family room, or maybe the sun room. Maybe two trees! So many possibilities!!

They’re not.

They’re not seeing any of it. They’re just wondering what we’re going to have for lunch or dinner. Who can eat when we have so much to do? I can’t believe they’re still expecting meals.

“Look, kids. There’s a time and place. In 35 days, when we move into our new house, you can eat. But until then, we’re just packing, okay? Packing and cleaning and running odd errands for Mommy.”

I rounded the boys up early tonight to have some together time in front of Nova. They watched with great interest while I drifted in and out of lists and things I need to keep an eye on, like our bank account.

We paused the TV a few times during the program and made comments. Took turns dropping one liners, making up pretend dialogue for the frozen frame we’re staring at – a man with a disturbed look on his face, sitting in a room on a wooden chair, with a Siamese cat on his lap, who looks equally disturbed.

James hits pause on the DVR, and breaks into character first: “My cat is a bomb.”

Vincent says, “I pull one whisker, and we all die.”

James adds, “Understood?”

They’ve been playing a lot of video games this Spring break, and doing odd jobs we’ve never asked them to do before.

Vincent helped Skye rip out the linoleum on the workshop floor to add the ceramic tile that’s in the hallway leading up to the workshop. He cradled the crow bar in his arm and said, “Other kids at school are going to the beach for Spring break. But I’m using a crow bar!!”

His vision has nothing to do with next year’s Christmas tree. His sights are set on the first day back at school when he gets to sound badass. “Seashells? How preschool. I used a crowbar and demo-ed a floor!”

In the midst of all the changes, Vincent got a part in a play he auditioned for at a children’s theatre that he loves having in his life. In the car on the way home from the first read through, he said, “We turned lucky.”

It feels like we are very lucky. One good thing happens after another and keeps our spirits lifted while we carry eleven years up a flight of stairs, pile them floor to ceiling in a storage facility where they wait out of the way until we move into our new house. Then all eleven years can be sorted and tossed and yard saled and craigslisted and recycled and passed on to Goodwill. We’re onto year twelve now in Upper Wonderful.

You’re from a town when you move within the town. That’s what defines being from there. If you move to a new town, you’re not from there. You have to start “being from” all over again.

After Skye and I filled the storage cabinet with two truckloads of boxes, we came home and pinky shook that we would get rid of everything we don’t use from that which we just hauled away and are paying money to store. The absurdity does not escape us, which is why we pinky shook on it. We promised each other this is our last move. Like shameful drunks, not wanting to get carried away like that again.

We’ll start fresh in the new home.

“Let’s keep the Christmas ornaments,” Skye said. That’s all he wants from storage. They came from his grandparents’. They’re gorgeous antique bulbs and a 1950’s angel that holds two candles that light up.

“And the skis,” I said. Hopeful, that one day we’ll use them again. Once we roll next winter’s Christmas tree out to the curb we’ll have so few things to move around the house to occupy us throughout winter, it might free us up for skiing!!

Maybe we’ll remember how much we like skiing, and we’ll say, “Oh, my God! I could have had a V-8!” and move to Colorado!! Highly doubtful, but two weeks ago if you told me I’d be selling my house and moving, not out of state but a mile away, I’d have said, “highly doubtful.”

We were eyeing California, Colorado, New York, Oregon. And finally we realized our kids are from here. Even though we feel like outsiders here, at times, this is our kids’ town. This is where they are from. The moment I realized that I am teaching them to be outsiders, too, I decided to make it my home. Embrace this town. Attend its activities I always ignored.

I want to be a part of it. New York, New York!

Once I dropped my divider, separating “those who are from here and those who aren’t”, things swiftly shifted. We found the house of our dreams right next door to good friends. The kids get to stay in the same school. Skye gets to go to the same job that he enjoys, and we get to keep all our friends. That is unless we beg them to help us move.

Dear Dianna, It doesn’t get any better than this.

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