As it sinks in that we really are going to move, that this six-month long, slow motion nervous breakdown I’ve been having is close to an end, I’ve been thinking about how much our life is going to change.
B and I have lived in this neighborhood for more than 14 years. We bought our first house here months after we got married. I have always been committed to living an in-town lifestyle. We shop at the family owned, neighborhood Minimax and use the father-and-sons pharmacy. We eat at the local deli and get our hair cut at the neighborhood barber shop, the one where all the old men gather to talk about the war. Campbell loves hanging out in there with them, nodding wisely at their comments.
With the exception of ballet and climbing, nothing we do is more than five miles from the house. The big girls have never ridden a bus to school; they have always walked and carpooled. We hang out at the neighborhood pool and playground.
But when we move, it’s all going to change. The kids’ school is far enough away that they’ll take the bus. It will be a 20-minute drive into preschool instead of eight minutes. The nearest grocery store is 10 miles away, and the only pharmacy is a national chain one.
Every time I start getting upset about losing my in-town life, I think about the benefits of where we’re moving. Like closet space, lots and lots of closet space. And a huge kitchen with cupboards meant just for pots and pans. Then there’s the quiet. I’m used to the noise of being in town – we hear buses go by and the sounds of the freight trains at night. At the new house, there’s no traffic or train noise, just crickets and maybe some cows.
So I’ll adjust. I’ll buy six gallons of milk at a time since I won’t be able to just run to the Minimax when we’re out. The girls will have to get up earlier to catch the school bus. The littles may not stay at their preschool if it turns out to be too much of a commute.
And now I’m getting all verklempt again.
Time to think about closets, lots and lots of closets.