A friend told me that it takes a year to really move. A year to get settled. A year to feel at home.
As the son of a military officer, he moved around a lot as a child and young adult, so I remember thinking he must know what he is talking about. Still, I thought, it will not take us that long. Being together is what counts and it will feel like home quickly.
My friend was right.
Sure, the house feels like home some of the time. But there is a restlessness that is shared by the children and the parents as the projects continue. The basement is off limits as our first project of preparing the playroom and movie area is stalled. The walls are framed and the drywall is hung, but the rest of it is waiting for the whole house air conditioning to be installed, which had to wait until the bank gave the okay, which waited for the estimates and paperwork.
So we moved the Legos to the sunroom to give the children some space to play. Then the sunroom project of new walls, windows, and a sliding door forced the Legos to move to the dining room table. To save money, we let the company schedule us whenever they wanted so when they arrive and say, “It’s time,” we moved. The sunroom will not be finished until the insulation and drywall go in, but to save money, the insulation crew is waiting to come out until it’s time to do the attic, which cannot happen until the air conditioning is installed.
Champagne problems, to be sure.
Still, there is a restlessness as movie night is moved to the master bedroom and we crowd into the bed and argue over who sits where. There is restlessness as we squeeze into the kitchen to eat dinner, having surrendered the dining room to the Legos. There is dust everywhere.
Thankfully, the heat has abated and the windows are open, cooling the house. Boxes and toys are still unpacked as they are moved from room to room. Books litter the floors as I try to catch up on writing. Amazon keeps delivering boxes for projects that have to wait for the weekend or other pieces of the puzzle to be completed. We would use the garage for some larger things but the doors are broken and do not open. They, too, are on the list.
Then, in the midst of the craziness, we look out the window and see the deer that wander through our yard. They like to eat the Hostas, but since landscaping is on next year’s list, they can only wander through our yard to see what the neighbor’s have to offer.
But in the stillness we stand silent. We stare out the window knowing that any little noise will scare them off. In hushed tones we huddle at the window and talk about how pretty, how small, how tall, how majestic, how quiet, how everything they are…
We stand in our home together and watch.
The stillness is interrupted by the rapping on the door.
“Why is that person knocking so loudly?” I ask no one in particular.
“Oh, yeah,” comes the response. “The doorbell is broken.”
(Sigh)
“It will take a year,” I tell myself, “It will take a year.”