Ok. We're about to get very real here. Brace yourselves.
It's been about a month now since we moved. From the get-go I've known that the first few months would be hard, that it takes time to settle in and meet new people. I've done this moving thing a few times, and I knew that once the dust settled and the boxes were banished to the garage, things would start to feel like home.
The dust has settled. The boxes are banished. This still doesn't feel like home.
There is so much to be happy about. Clark has employment (HALLELUJAH!). We have returned to a regular schedule, with Dad heading to work every morning, and Mom staying home with the kids. Julia started Kindergarten, and has adjusted very well. We have a plethora of restaurants in this town. We're so much closer to a number of museums and zoos. And I am very happy about all those things. I keep trying to put on a brave face, and tell myself that this will all work out, to give it time.
But this doesn't feel like home yet.
I miss MY house. Part of me wishes we could just move back in. But I know that's not possible, so I want the house to sell quickly so we can move on financially. And there is really nothing I can do about that except wait and hope and pray that someone sees it and loves it as much as we did. I miss our old routine, our old preschool, all-day Kindergarten. And most of all I miss my friends. My dear friends! Between our moving and the moving of other families we know, I've got little pieces of my heart scattered all across the country, and at this moment? I feel like my heart will never be put back together.
And then the holidays are coming up. Oh, the holidays. What on earth are we going to do for the holidays? Christmas was still a bit sad in Midland, being so far from family, but now? How do I keep that happiest day of the year from becoming my own personal pity party?
Basically, what this all boils down to is: Wah. Moving is hard. Pity me.
Surfing Sunday 05.20
21 hours ago