No, I'm not pregnant. But I am sitting down, and so is everyone else in my family. Why is this so significant? Well, because we've been on our feet moving for the past several days. You know, the kind of moving that involves transferring all of our belongings from one house to another house. (And maybe the kind of moving that necessitates a giant "House Purge" from all spices, baking mixes, and Asian cooking liquids that have been around for 15+ years. Yeah. ...It was icky, but I feel liberated.)
Think Little House on the Prairie, except with a blue minivan replacing the covered wagon. Also, Costco pizza instead of corn dodgers and bacon. I'll always associate pizza and hot dogs with moving.
Moving is tough work. Packing and loading boxes mirrors a clumsy ballet routine. Grand Plié to lift a load, twirl twirl twirl to avoid hitting your sister, who is also carrying a full load, and another plié to lower the load. I am no dancer.
Thankfully, we picked a Non-Thunderstorm week to move, and I am happy to say that everything was successfully transferred from House #1 to House #2. Or should I call it House #7? (Or House #9 if you include dorms and my Virginia house.)
Like I said, moving is tough work. And in the past, moving was always bitter work for my family. Tension grew, tempers flared, and everyone was wary of one another. This time was different. Our family came together, literally, and labored together for days and days until we had to be out of the house. We were exhausted and stressed, but nobody yelled. In fact, there was a lot of laughing. Um, there might have been a lot of singing and dancing, too. Maybe all that Costco Pizza helped us stay sane. Or maybe it was Sam and my Aunt, who helped move heavy boxes, brought us food, and drove several loads of "schtuff" to the new house. Or maybe it was all the above combined with the knowledge that all really shall be most well.
I used to quote that phrase during stressful times like finals or juries. However, moving, and all the circumstances leading to our move, forced me to really consider what I was quoting. Everyone in my family had to trust that the source of ultimate peace and happiness transcended any material house. As we backed out of our driveway for the last time, my sister reminded me that everything we own is a gift from God. I do not think God gets angry and takes away our things just to spite us or "teach us a lesson". Those "things" were never ours to begin with. Maybe what feels like God's anger is really our own pain upon realizing that we sought happiness in the wrong place. I don't really know.
But I do know that all has been well thus far. We have a place to live and loads of citrus trees in our yard. We still have our cats. The sun still rises every morning. Trader Joe's still sells Salsa Authentica. (WHEW.)
I'm glad to be here. And I'll do my best to be glad to be "there", wherever the next "there" might be.
For now, I should just say:
It's good to finally meet you, Little Brown House!
(No, not "Welcome Baby Darling!")