living after the death of a baby, living with Autism, living as a family of six, living on our organic homestead, living miserably, hopefully, and with joy, and somedays just living

23 Days

Figuring out how many days left until we move, I realized that we’re at the half way point today.  23 days spent here already and 23 days left.  Seeing as the first half is generally the quick half, and the second half frought with anticipation is to drag, it’s gonna be a long few weeks.  Visiting didn’t help it just made me want pack up and move that day, not that I would have considered not going.  It was good to go and see the place not all set up in show mode.  It’s still wonderful.

There’s something about living in transition, you go grocery shopping, but don’t stock your shelves, the fridge remains somewhat bare, and the random boxes strewn about seem to encourage other things to remain on the floor long after they’ve been used.  The Lego looks more at home scattered about, than it does in the make shift toy box that, its self has no order, a random assortment of toys that were taken in the van, a few deliberately unpacked, and a few the oddball in a box of clothes, or other unpacked box.  Occasionally a specific toy is requested, and the same explanation that it’s in some box somewhere unknown, not to be unpacked until we get to the farm house, is repeated.

I think our kids are beginning to wonder if the farm house is perhaps a joke, or as far off as Christmas.  In fact I wonder that sometimes.

This temporary house feel just that, temporary, like  a take out container good enough to do the job, but no matter how sturdy it seems, it’s always viewed as disposable.  Not that we’re treating this house badly (though I do not dare speak for Elijah) It’s just that the finger prints on the wall or the spots on the shower can wait.  It didn’t help that the place wasn’t clean when we moved in.  These last 23 days have been long.

Because we’re in a new development there are no playgrounds built, so that means going to find one, and finding a good one can take a few tries.  If this where my neighborhood, I think I would relish the adventure of discovering what my new area had to offer, including the best playground, but because it’s not, I don’t want to.  I stay in and curse the fact that we’re trapped in a house with no yard.

In fact I’ve disliked this state of limbo so much, I’ve idealized the thought of staying in Chicago while Ky came to get all settled.  We’d have a yard, activities to do, friends to visit and spend the summer with,  BBQ’s to attend and sprinklers for the kids to run through with their little friends.  Never mind that I would essentially be single parenting with my husband thousands of miles away in my first (exhausting and barfy) trimester.

23 days left. Most people I speak will say, oh well that just around the corner.  Yes it is, if I would just stop mopping and wanting out so bad.  So in what will seem like 212 days to me, and 23 to you, you’ll all read the post that ends all this whining, and you can cheer that your time will no longer be lost reading my pity posts.

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