The Night Before Moving

I'm sitting here blogging while my husband is packing. Moving is a good time to be married to my husband. I don't suppose I need to say more about that.

I'm thinking about how I visited my dad every week growing up. How that must have made it easier for me to move. How I've had pride in my lack of concern for roots. The five and a half years I've lived in this house is the longest single period of time in my life that I've really been in one place. And I chuckle; when we first moved in here I said that I would only live here for five years. I couldn't conceive of living in one place longer than that.

So why do I care so strongly that we're moving? I even hate our neighbors, and I don't generally hate anyone.

Partially, it's because we've done everything to this house now and I like it this way. All of our appliances are newer than the ones in the house we're renting. I won't have my water purifier on the sink or even a water softener. I just learned today that the only phone jack in the house appears to be in the master bedroom! What? It wasn't built in the age of cell phones or anything. But that's all just complaining.

There's also the memory factor. I got sappy with Toby today and was recounting some of those with him. I pointed in the kitchen and told him that right there he took his first steps toward Tami. I held him on the couch and told him how we would take naps together right there in the living room when he was a baby.

I won't be sappy tomorrow, though. Just tired. And a bit pissy when things in the new house aren't like things in the old. The neighbors, though. The neighbors will be better.