Breathing out

When we used to ride the metro in Moscow, it was crowded. I mean where your face is in someone's coat and your arms are glued to your sides except for the occasional jolt which requires that you stabilize yourself and inadvertently touch someone's backside. Sometimes it smells...so you hold your breath. That's what it feels like to live in a three bedroom apartment with a homeschooling family of six.

We've finally made the transition into our temporary housing. It's like a fairy-tale. There are six bedrooms, foosball in the library, a parlor with a baby grand piano, a theater room with surround sound, a basement, a schoolroom, two dishwashers, two sinks, a double oven,and a ping-pong table in the dining room. All of our earthly belongings (in boxes) fit inside one room downstairs. Humbling. And freeing.

I am convinced we can go through the boxes over the next four months and get rid of even more stuff. I mean, seriously, who ever looks back at old Bible Studies? And even though we scanned several thousand photographs (from the old days of film and negatives) why am I saving the pics? Am I seriously going to put them in albums? No. Nope.

In the past few years, we have had professional movers. I sat in a chair with a cup of coffee and pointed. That was the extent of my involvement. Granted I sorted and organized before they arrived, but mostly, they did the work. I did the feeling, like taking pictures and crying out goodbyes.

This time, my moving crew consisted of four people; my husband, Number 1, Number 2, and myself. For twelve hours we loaded two-wheeled dollies into the elevator on the fourth floor and loaded up the rented U-haul. It hurt a little more, in places like my wallet and my back. Did I mention it rained all day and that three other movers were monopolizing the elevator at the same time? True story.




We parked the U-haul at the new place and headed to a hotel for the weekend. The family who actually lives in the house wasn't leaving until Monday, but we had to be out of our apartment so there was space in-between. I imagined that once at the hotel we would swim, play games, and frolic about. It was more like beers on the couch and falling asleep in-between sentences. We were exhausted.



Now we are in the house. My kids haven't asked to play electronics all week. They've been up and down the stairs, enjoying the freedom of all the open space, and outside playing with new friends. My immediate place of comfort, the kitchen, was quickly organized and scented with warm chocolate chip cookies. It's the moment of breathing out. I know we will be somewhere smaller when this is over, but for now, our winter resort is looking pretty good.