Tuesday, August 14, 2012

Yes, Even More Talk About Moving

If I had the energy, I would make a really cool box-fort.
We’ve been in Reno for over 15 years and have established a great foundation.
It’s hard to pack up and move away from that and start all over in a new city. But that’s also exciting. I get to re-invent myself. New friends. New opportunities. New city. Bigger city!
I’ve only been to Austin once and I wasn’t sure if I wanted to move there.
It’s weird to think I won’t be back there until the day I move into my new home, which I haven’t even seen.
I cut all of my hair off so I’ll be starting off in Austin as a short-hair girl. That’s another new weirdness for me because it’s been long since I’ve been a mom. L.E, fortunately, loves it and still says, “Hey Mommy! Nice haircut!” like her daddy taught her.
I got new glasses, too. L.E said, “I want to wear them. They’re blue.”
It’s like I’ll be a totally different person once I move.
L.E has tried to help with packing. She has sprinkled her stuff animals throughout our boxes so she always has something of hers to unpack. But sometimes she gets distracted and wants to pretend a giant plastic tub full of books is her “boat” so she empties it out and goes “sailing.”
We’ve had to toddler-proof the bubblewrap, too. And who knew how sharp the edges of a tape dispenser can be? I mean L.E.’s fine, but I have a nice big gash on my hand from it after I proudly taped up a chopping knife in cardboard incident-free.
Saying good-bye has been harder than I thought it would be. Having one last lunch at Dish CafĂ© with Seema. One last Aces game. One last drink on the roof of Silver Peak. One last toe-dip in the Truckee River. One last annual annoyance known as Hot August Nights. One last nail appointment at Soak. One last glass of wine with Vicki. One last lunch with My Favorite Little Piggy. One last awkward run-in with that girl who I used to work with but can never remember her name. One last surprise visit from Nicole. One last chimichanga night at my sister-wife’s house.
One last shooting in my neighborhood. We don’t live in the ghetto but I like to think of it as the Gateway-to-Where-Bad-Shit-Happens-Despite-Having-the-Best-Taco-Truck.
Moving itself sucks and is horrible. It’s not the physical part; that’s fine and all. But it’s the emotional part that nobody ever talks about. It’s hard finding something stashed in a closet that can evoke a painful or happy memory. And when tensions are running high in the household, you just need to keep your head down and an “every man for himself” approach.
I know I keep writing about this move but the fact is that it’s the biggest thing in my life right now. I’m unemployed and about to call an air mattress my bed. My husband is taking my dog and leaving me here with L.E. for an extra five days. I have to fly with L.E. again.
My bank account is dwindling.
I don’t know if I’ll like being a stay-at-home mom. A part of me thinks that I’ll absolutely love it. If that's the case, then where did all of that career ambition go that I’ve always possessed? Did it get flushed out of my uterus 2-and-a-half years ago? And is that so bad? I really don't want to jump into the women-having-it-all debate right now but maybe for some of us, our child is enough. As long as there are writing jobs that come in and I can work on them from home in-between writing that ever-elusive book I keep talking about.
Methinks this is perhaps fodder for another post once I truly am a stay-at-home-mom. (I vow to never use SAHM to describe myself.)
If I end up being really that sensitive to that label, maybe I’ll just say I’m a writer/mom blogger. If you keep reading this and telling your friends, then it wouldn’t be a lie!

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