And we’re not done yet.
It’s a very long story, but suffice it to say that the house that will someday be our forever home isn’t ready for us yet. BUT, we have finally moved out of our other house. We’re crashing with family for awhile, but it’s all movement toward the goal, which is a house in the country with the boys.
We lived in the house we moved into for more than five years. I was pregnant with Felix at the time. He was born in that house. I wrote all of my books in that house. It was the only place Felix and Rufus had ever lived.
And it was time to move on.
I had thought I would be sad to leave the place that had seen so much of our lives unfold, but honestly? I was just ready to move out. The work of moving, destashing, and cleaning had eclipsed everything else I had going on–which, admittedly, was a lot–so that I felt constantly overwhelmed and like I would never catch up.
Don’t get me wrong, there is still even more work to do out at The Farm, and I’m sure going through all of the boxes and finding places for everything (even if that place is the donation bin) will probably still consume most of my waking moments, at least my efforts will mostly be focused on settling in and making space rather than feeling like the suffocation of a narrow escape.
The house wasn’t the right place for us anymore.
It’s only two days later and Brock and I have already talked about what a relief it is to be out.
Now it’s time to settle into new routines–with the kids for summer–with work–with writing–with settling in to the next phase of the move.
There’s still so much left to do, but it’s in laying the foundation for the rest of our lives.