1. This past week was, how you say it…rough. We all got sick, but while I was ready to pass out on the futon, Lucia wasn’t quite to the point of being able to veg out all day in front of Little Bear — so she basically spent four days hacking into the air/her brother’s face, refusing to blow her nose, and wondering why we weren’t leaving the house. When the highlight of Monday-Thursday is a desperate, 15-min. trip to Wal-Mart for drugs and tissue, complete with screaming baby, congested and blurry-eyed mom, and toddler yelling, “LETTER W!” each time she sees the word Wal-Mart…that’s sad. Then came the post-hurricane snowstorm. Then came this tiny little plot twist called “moving this weekend.” Then came the night of no sleep from about 1-5 a.m., alternately nursing Felix, dealing with Lucia’s sudden and apparently life-or-death need to snuggle in the middle of the night, and lying awake trying to get Raffi out of my head while the rest of the family slept. I know it’s cliche to say the house is a wreck, but…well….it is.
2. That feeling of despair you get when you look around and just want haul the family in the car and drive far, far away to a brand new, immaculate house? At least I finally get to live out that dream. Except then I have to come back and clean.
3. Another plus is that we’re moving up again in terms of living arrangements. Our first apartment was kind of a hellhole. No way to get around saying it. The outside of the building was charming, and supposedly the place was a girls’ boarding school in the 1800s or whatever (the carports were clearly the old horse stables). But if that was true, our actual apartment must have been the supply closet. We didn’t even have room for a table; for a year we just ate our meals on our side-of-the-Michigan-farm-road leather couch with piles of wedding presents in boxes still piled around us. I couldn’t fit cookie sheets in the oven. We were surrounded by weird neighbors. It was perpetually damp. When we found out we expecting Lucia, we looked around, Luke said, “Well, we can put her in the bathtub,” and we got out.
4. Now we’re in an ~800 sq. ft, 2-bed condo with iffy heaters in the bedrooms and a glass sliding door that’s about to fall out of its frame and a landlord who’s put off fixing it for half a year, and yet I find myself feeling sentimental and even guilty over leaving. Maybe it’s the fact that this is where we brought our two babies from the hospital. Maybe it’s how Lucia exclaims, “Oh, HOME!” when we turn down our road into ’70s Condo-Land — as if she’s genuinely surprised each time — or how she greets and says goodbye to the Geiko gecko on the billboard at the top of the hill every day, like it’s a faithful friend. Or maybe I’m reading way too much into this, and within a week we’ll all be happy to be living in a bigger space and Lucia will be talking to the new mailbox or something totally unsurprising like that. It’s likely.
5. Our new place is a 3-level duplex (plus an unfinished basement) with a finished attic (arguably the best room in the house, and where the kids will sleep), closets a plenty and a guest room. Come visit! We’re also pretty sure it’s one of maybe 10 houses in Connecticut with central air.
6. Unrelated pet peeve: when people with no kids complain about how little sleep they’re getting. I have no words. Other than, I want to beat you.
7. I’m out. Go over to Jen’s for more!