Moving On

              I don't remember my first home. I was too young- moved on too soon. I don't remember the bassinet where my parents first laid me down to sleep. Or the room where I first dreamed. I don't know the address and can only dimly recollect what the house looked like from a faded picture my mother showed me once. But ask either of my parents and they will tell you the exact layout, what color they wallpapered the kitchen, the exact price they paid, and how the house first smelled when they walked in that day holding the keys ready to start the next step of their lives.

               So now, as I pack up and prepare to leave the first place my kids called home I can't help but hurt a bit knowing that they won't remember. I will have to tell them how they played in the yard, throwing rocks down the sewer grates in the street and drawing chalk pictures on the walkway. I will smile and tell them the stories of their first few days at home, tiny and new born in my arms and about how much I loved them even then.

               It's hard not to stop and re-examine your life as you try to fit everything you own into boxes. You have to take the time to decide if every object is worth carrying forward, if everything that you have spent money on, shopped for, contemplated acquiring, received as a gift, inherited from your grandmother, or otherwise ended up with, is worth the space and effort it takes to take with you. Or, perhaps more importantly, if that thing will fit into your new space. 

               We hold onto things. Some more than others or not enough. Some un-necessarily or unhealthily. Sometimes we bury ourselves in those things we don't need or find too difficult to part with, often because we have simple grown used to their presence. Often these things hold us back or get in the way of progress but once they are gone, we truly don’t miss them.  I’m finding this overhaul that comes along with moving one of the most refreshing experiences I’ve ever been through. (True, I’ve moved before, but once the kids came along the level of “stuff” at home multiplied exponentially.)  It’s making me think about what counts, what matters, what is necessary.  It’s like boiling down your life experiences into whatever weight you can carry on your back.  Four years of carrying kids around has made my back pretty strong but luckily has made the definition of my priorities even stronger.  So even if they don’t remember this home, or any of the stuff that won’t make the transition with us, we will help each other carry forward those pieces that brought us the most happiness.