So, apparently we’re moving. We live in a great house, with a great view, a great landlord, and a great avocado tree. But we were given an opportunity that we just couldn’t pass up. We have friends just up the volcano from our current home who offered us the chance to rent a house on their property for a very reasonable rate. The pros are many: more outdoor space, a more functional kitchen, and a little path where hopefully the kids can finally learn how to ride a bike without training wheels!
But now we have to do the endless packing, cleaning, organizing, and reorganizing necessary to move a family of four (plus two dogs!) up a volcano. I hate it because I get sentimentally attached to every home we live in. I don’t know why because I don’t get sentimentally attached to ANYTHING ELSE except for houses when I have to move out of them, and random stuff from high school when my mom calls me and begs me to let her throw it away. I know, it’s embarassing.
But I am thrilled for this next chapter, and hopeful that we won’t have to move out of this next house for a long, long time. This home where we live now has been sacred ground in many ways. I’ve spent many hours questioning and crying and (sometimes literally) banging my head against the wall trying to figure out what in the heck I am doing here. But it’s time for the next chapter, and I’m sure I’ll have plenty of crying and questioning and head against the wall banging left in me for the new place.