The episode of Clifford my kids watched the other morning couldn’t have been more apropro.
The dogs (Clifford and the silly purple poodle, Cleo) overheard buddy T-bone’s owner talking about how they are moving in the next few days.
The dogs don’t bother to ask T-bone about the upcoming move. They immediately assume that he and his owner will be leaving Birdwell Island, and take a day to celebrate their friend before he “leaves.” It isn’t until the end of the day that it comes out that Clifford and Cleo think T-bone is moving away from them, but he is so touched at how they sought out to make his “last day” special. (Yes, I know a little too much about this show).
As it turned out, T-bone and his owner were moving — but just to a different house on the island, not away from the island.
The episode reminded me of a situation that happened with one of my daughter’s closest friends. She heard we were moving and got very upset, because to her, moving means to head out across the country — not to get a new address less than 2 miles away.
So I’ve had to change the vernacular a little bit. We’re not moving — we’re just “changing houses.”
It’s long overdue. When we bought our first house together, we figured we would be in it maybe five years; seven max. We hit eight years this summer, and we’ve loved every minute of it, but we had long outgrown it.
As we prepare this week to transition to our beautiful new home (well new to us), I’m finding myself incredibly weepy. I want to blame the pregnancy hormones, but I know it’s not just that.
The reality is, to paraphrase the song, is that it’s so hard — to say goodbye — to yesterday.
The last eight years have been transformative in our lives. We brought our babies home here (first the canine version, and later the human ones). I remember a lot of late nights with all of them, pacing, potty training, loving, fretting, even some sleeping.
I vividly remember the one time my grandmother was able to visit us in Champaign for my eldest daughter’s first birthday party — I can see her here sometimes. Not all the memories are so happy — I can’t forget my husband sitting in our living room, unexpectedly home from work, sent to tell me that she had passed away.
Weepy, again.
Then my thoughts turn to my 30th birthday, when my parents surprised me by showing up at out doorstep that morning. Then I think of all the friends and family who have come over to spend time with us, from near and far. I think of the plants and trees that we lovingly selected and planted, many of them in honor or in memory of someone we love. I think of the snowmen we built, and the snowmen we saw melt.
I laugh at the time our mailbox got massacred by city snow plows.
I’ve spent a lot of time looking forward to this day, too. I look forward to welcoming even more family and friends over to our new house, which is much more suitable for entertaining. I look forward to my kids making new friends in the neighborhood, too. I hope our dog loves our new yard as much as she loved the old.
We will make plenty of new memories; this, I know. But there’s not much I can do right now about those tears. They will come, and they will go.
Some are tears of grief. Some are tears of relief.
As joyous as change may be, it’s not always so simple. Even when it’s just changing houses a couple of miles apart.
Laura Weisskopf Bleill is the co-founder and editor of chambanamoms.com. You can reach her at laura@chambanamoms(dot)com.