My husband has been in England for the last couple of weeks. He’s helping his parents move from Hall Bank, the house they’ve lived in for almost forty years:
He never liked the house, mostly because he associated it with the painful move from his beloved Scotland. For our three children and me, however, it is a place we will always associate with some of our happiest memories.
We’ll remember celebrating birthdays there…
…and learning how to ride bikes in Granny and Granddad’s driveway on bikes specially bought for the kids’ summer visits:
We’ll never forget playing ping pong in the garden:
…often with our bare feet in the impossibly soft, cool carpet of grass.
It’s been a peaceful haven of rest:
…and so much joy.
We’re still in the throes of moving. Every day we shuttle back and forth between the two houses, our cars groaning under the weight of Stuff. So. much. stuff.
We took a short break yesterday to join some friends for a picnic dinner at IX Art Park.
We’re trying to “Dream BIG,” but to be honest, it’s not happening. Mostly, we’re just gathering up gazillions of minuscule Lego pieces, cramming piles of paper to be sorted at some future date into boxes, rounding up miscellaneous cords, puzzle pieces, etc., all while trying (and failing) to keep our house looking “showable.”
I commissioned my son to draw two cartoons to illustrate what it’s been like these past few days…
I explained to him that by the end of each day I feel like an angry giant is trying to crack my head open as if it were a recalcitrant walnut…
I think he pretty much captured it!
The professionals are taking over soon. The piano will be moved tomorrow, and on Wednesday and Thursday the rest of the furniture and heavy things we haven’t ferried to the new house ourselves will be moved.
We’re getting there!