Moving on and moving out....

Well, decision made.

It's time to move.

This is not an easy decision. I am not easily transplantable. I cry when I repot my ferns--the part where you have to "cut off and discard about a third of the root ball"--it just kills me. I know it "helps to foster new growth", but it still hurts. I put down roots. Deep roots. My mother still lives in the "family home". I live in my "dream house", my family home. This is the house where my children have grown up, where we take the annual Christmas picture, where the tooth fairy came (well, when she remembered--we'll discuss mother guilt in another blog), where we entertained, redecorated, planted trees that now actually provide shade, added to as we could afford it, planted cuttings from moms and grandmoms, played baseball in the yard and had so many class, team, and birthday parties that I can't count them all, THE place where all the kids hang...I live in my HOME, for God's sake. And now, it's time to move on.

And, believe it or not, I think I am finally ready. I have fought this for years. Even before the divorce--years before the divorce, when my husband decided he could no longer work--I fought for this house. It represented so much to me, but most espeically it was symbolic of the family we were supposed to be. I just couldn't give it up. Now, though, things are different.

I don't actually have to sell it; financially, I could pull it off. Life would be easier with a smaller mortgage, but I could do it if I wanted. The fact is, I don't want it any more. It has become a symbol of what was, but now isn't. And, I'm actually glad it isn't any more. This house has become too much work, more trouble than it's worth, like my marriage. And I want out.

My older two agree--this house holds great memories, but lots of sad memories for them, too. They see the stairs not as the place they waited to run down every Christmas, but where they sat and tried not to hear the fights. The treehouse? Three years of begging and serious nagging by mom, then 6 months of misery while Dad struggled to build the treehouse of HIS dreams. The kitchen? That's where mom slammed cabinets and pots when she was so angry she wanted to scream and couldn't. The master bath? Where mom went to cry. The master bedroom--where dad slept; mom slept over the garage. The den? Where Dad sat, day in and day out. So, out with the old and in with the new.

The baby Spence? You've got to be kidding. No way. He isn't buying it at all. This is his home, and he doesn't want to leave. I think he has also had the hardest time with the divorce. I have lots of theories, but mainly I think it is because the "bad" marriage is all he ever knew. He wasn't around for the "good marriage"--so has nothing to compare to. The older two have memories of laughter, fun, family "warm fuzzies"--his memories have that too, but it was different. Those times were more like treats than the norm, so he doesn't feel the loss like the other two do. For him, the family never changed--until the end. This house, for him, I think is symbolic, too, but it is symbolic of the family he thought was perfect and secure. Life sucks, doesn't it?

We will manage. We always do. For now, I have told him that we will not make any decisions without everyone's input. We will not move to another house without a pool. We will not move into the neighborhood where a former friend that he doesn't want to play with any more lives. We will take all 5 pets (yes, I am crazy). And we will have a house as full of love and laughter as we can possibly make it. And I will go slowly, as slowly as I can, and try not to rip his precious baby roots to shreds. Hopefully this repotting will give us all room to grow.