If I don’t have arthritis, carpal tunnel syndrome has proven to be just as bad. I am being referred to around these parts as Wonder Woman. This is not because of my impressive physique or my Lasso of Truth. It doesn’t even reflect my dynamic approach to all things move-related. This is purely because of the two wrist braces that I’ve been wearing to deflect pain, suffering and a barrage of cursing. The two wrist braces have worked…to a degree. As I told the rental property manager this morning when I turned in our keys: I don’t know if the jolts of electricity I was feeling while cleaning the ceiling fans were actual electricity or my nerve endings protesting all the exertions I’ve put my body through. She’ll kindly have the electrician check, just in case the next tenant runs the risk of frying while doing the same task a few months from now.
We are home. We are officially settled in and simply working our way through the details that make home even homier. Where does this picture hang? Where do we want that chair? Are these the right curtains for this room or do we need something heavier? J has settled in and is quite comfortable, so comfortable, in fact, that on Saturday night he threw a blanket over himself and fell asleep on the Ginormous Bean Bag in the J Cave. We would have noticed this sooner if we hadn’t fallen asleep on the couch in the sitting room. There are pictures of both events; TGG’s phone, of course, has a camera and we’ve been warned that these could end up in Facebook if we’re not careful. These pictures are not flattering. We’re being careful. J looks adorable, but we the parents look like two middle-aged people who have just scrambled to move across the parking lot…
There isn’t enough glucosamine to grease these knee joints…
But we are home. Undeniably, irreversibly, unequivocally at home. Hopefully, the fact that I don’t yet know where a lot of things ARE is indicative of this new sense of belonging. In my defense, I did spend quite a deal of time saying “I thought I’d tossed this!,” “so THAT’S where THAT was!!!!,” “we own one of THESE????” while packing away our old home. I am sure that I will, at one point or another, remember where it is that the hide-a-key is hidden.
J loves his new house. J loves his new room. J loves the TV room and the privacy of that door (that lovely, lovely door) between us. He’s not rude about wanting to be alone in there, but we knows he prefers it to our company. As I told Dada a few days ago: if my parents had provided me with such a space at that age (at any age, really,) I’d love them so much I’d want to stay away from them. So J falls asleep on his bean bag, and we fall asleep on the couch. He out of the sheer delight of being comfortable; we out of the sheer exhaustion of moving.
Things are leveling off now. The house is full of our things, and they’re slowly creeping, crawling, rolling, edging to their rightful spots. The garage is organized…sort of; J will be able to use his Wii for exercising tomorrow afternoon. The cars, we have decided, can sleep outside unless a major weather event is expected…which reminds me that the Farmers’ Almanac has predicted a rather difficult winter and, upon hearing this bit of news, the cats ran to curl up on the couch we now claim as our own.
Little by little, we’re back to whatever normal is. We no longer leave dusty footprints when we step in from the garage or the front porch. We no longer have small bundles of mysterious bits and pieces we can’t quite place yet. We now live with the realization that, with the click of this or that button, we can make our TV switch from the HDMI cable for the blu-ray player to the HDMI cable for the cable box. We are back to eating what I cook rather than begging for the respite of something I don’t have to be involved in other than to whip out paper plates.
J has adjusted better, and more quickly than we have. Granted, we made sure his entire “world” was quickly transferred and arranged here, while ours lagged behind and (much to my chagrin) smelled increasingly of dust and detergent. The walk to the bus and back is easier, and that makes me happy. My knees won’t scream as loudly when they’re done with their current cycle of complaining. J likes walking down the dirt road, asking for his NOODLES and SODA and asking for the KEY to OPEN the DOOR to HOME. He comfortably settles in, especially now that the hooks for his book bag and his lunch bag are firmly placed where he wanted them. He is comfortable with the notion of a closet he can walk into, and a mirror to inspect his appearance.
Some habits we haven’t changed: in the morning (regardless of whether TGG is working or not) J will open the door and let the light from the hallway stream in…I’m working on a solution. The recycling bins had to be placed in a very specific area, with J supervising. He will be breaking in his new can crusher this weekend. All the cardboard boxes that made their way to the dumpster broke his heart and he was NOT amused by our wastefulness. I had to explain that the vast wasteland of the garage couldn’t accommodate our environmentally-conscious ways for the time being. He was not impressed with my excuse, but was very forgiving when he finally came home this afternoon to watch me follow his instructions. “Order away, sir; the recycling center is ready to be set up!”
I don’t know if it was my willingness to let him order me around, or if it was the prospect of continuous recycling joy, but J was happy…which makes me happy…which means, yeah, we’re home. Definitely!