Wednesday, August 13, 2014

Unit #3

To say I have mixed feelings about moving into my parents' house with my husband and two cats would be an understatement.

Mostly cleaned up and almost ready for moving in.
At first, I didn't feel any shame about it, but now I kind of do. It's not my age that's a factor (twenty-six years old), it's that I'm married and have my own family unit now. When I moved out three years ago to our first apartment together, my parents' house was feeling too cramped for me. I felt too grown up to be in my old bedroom anymore, as much-loved and beautifully purple as it was. I never completely unpacked after college and more than a year after I graduated, I finally shoved some boxes into the attic crawl space and took the rest of my junk with me.

Last year, I moved us all on my own. That's not true though, I had a lot of help from both of my families. Even with three weeks to orchestrate the whole thing and move some things over bit by bit (just one block away made it SO much easier), it was incredibly stressful. It took me a few months to unpack and put away everything just because I couldn't stand to deal with boxes anymore.

Now, I don't have to do it alone, but it's so daunting. There's some relief in knowing the space that we're moving into so well. I was there when my dad finished the attic and made it a livable space out of storage land. I remember the skylights being put in. I remember having sleepovers up there before the carpet was put down. I remember the stairs when they were less deep and more creaky. I don't have a hard time envisioning our things in that room, but I do have a hard time seeing us living there.

How will the cats manage? Fae doesn't move around much, she could probably stay in the attic 24/7 and that might be best for her (not sure her arthritic hind-quarters can handle stairs now). Pumpkin, on the other hand, does laps around our apartment a few times a day. She's still pretty skittish, even after four months with us. Maybe she always will be. What happens if she gets outside? What if she doesn't get along with my parents' cat, Gallifrey, or the easy-going ancient-looking dog, Sasha? I know a lot of this worry is me latching onto something I can try to control, but this is a stupid choice. The cats will manage, they have to. We're moving either way.

It is weird to think that most of our kitchen will be packed in boxes and put in a still to be determined storage unit. My favorite chair might be in there too, staying safely away from wet basements. There's not enough room for it where we're going.

It was not until we'd come home after doing some cleaning & tidying in my parents' attic that I realized how much I'll miss this apartment. I am ready to move, but my heart is not ready yet for a new home to take its place.