New Home

We did it.

Those three words aptly sum up the past two days, the long-awaited end of our temporary, interminable nomadic lifestyle this August. It is over, we have a new home, we did it.

I'm still not quite sure how we did it, other than the fact that we did, and it is now done. It will be nice to close the book (or blog) on August and look forward to new adventures in our new apartment.

August was a weird month. Not altogether bad by any stretch, largely due to the hospitality and benevolence of our friends and family. But decidedly weird and unsettling. Andres and Celia weathered every location change like a seasoned pair of travelers, falling into new beds as necessary, seldom pining for what we had left behind at Turner St. But even famous world travelers will only list one address as their true home, and as the weeks wore on, anticipation about finally landing at our new home grew and grew. They were eager for their real beds. And we were eager to tuck them in there again.

Our new space is demonstrably bigger than our old. This is a nice change, and since we are still only about 30% unpacked, it still feels uncluttered and wide open. Our address has changed from Turner St to School Ave (still in Waltham). We've basically jumped to the other side of Moody Street, and are within walking distance to a pool (which closes for the season tomorrow), Russo's, Waltham Center (perhaps a nice stroll with a baby carriage in a few months) and, either fortunately or unfortunately depending on your perspective, my place of employment. I currently see this as a good thing; I'm a fan of short commutes. Perhaps I will not look so kindly on it in a couple years.

We've also added a small backyard, a nice playroom (adjacent to the kids' room, ensuring that it will be a total mess 85% of the time), a larger living/dining area, two bathrooms, and a third bedroom. Even the basement here is bigger than what we had before. So all in all, a step up in terms of space for our growing family.

The kids are still sharing a room, at their request. Old habits die hard. Bedtime pals at Turner Street, no need to part ways at School Street just because the space affords them the opportunity.

But beyond staying together on account of habit, I think they've also grown closer due to our nomadic August. Circumstances required that they sleep in the same bed for most of the month, and though neither one would likely admit it, I think they liked it. There were nights when I would find Celia curled up at Andres' feet (they both roll all over the place when sleeping); other times, they would be face to face, noses almost touching, like they had fallen asleep in the midst of a fascinating conversation about a particularly intriguing plot development in a Dora the Explorer episode. They are so different from, and so perfect for, each other.

They have barely stopped playing and exploring since bursting through the door yesterday afternoon. I was relieved to see them so excited about being home again, even if everything they cherished was still packed away in a box somewhere. They ran in shouting "our new house!", did a giant U-turn in the living room, and bombed upstairs yelling "that's mama's room!" and "that's the baby's room!" and "that's our new room!" then tumbled downstairs (not literally), exhaustedly telling us what they had found. Then they were off again to continue their explorations. (24 hours later, they still haven't memorized the layout: at one point today I overheard Celia saying "I don't know where my room is!")

It must be fun to be so young and feel like everything around you is new and worth exploring; like every floor is a new continent and ever room an undiscovered territory. Years ago, my family would occasionally travel up to Quechee, Vermont, a small artistic community somewhere closer to Canada than to Boston. One of my aunts had a summer home up there. And during some of those weeks when she had vacated her summer home in order to tend either her winter home or her regular home (or when she was just on a good old-fashioned vacation), we would head up and keep the space warm.

It was a big house with large open spaces, inside and out. I remember wandering room to room noticing different things--the smell of the kitchen, the vistas seen from different windows, the beams here, the floor patterns there. Art on the walls. Magazines in the different sitting rooms. The house invited exploration, and the sheer size of it seemed to make a full assessment impossible. Perhaps that's why I loved wandering through it.

I've largely lost that sense of exploration now that I am older and more cynical, but I'm glad my kids have it. Our new home is certainly no Quechee mansion. But it is new, and every trip up or down stairs seems to yield some new finding, from banal observations about which switches command which lights to true investigative reports about what kinds of toys the neighbors have in adjoining yards.

So while yesterday was moving day, today felt more like a new beginning. Our first full day here. A day of unpacking, not of stuffing more bags and dirty clothes into a car for a week of living somewhere else. A day of settling. A day of looking forward. A first day here, with many more to come.