Last Sunrise

In the way that I crave ritual and moment-noting and recognizing life's passages, I've spent a lot of time this week saying things like, "This is the last time I'll see the sunrise out of this window." "This is the last time I'll make the morning coffee in this kitchen." "This is the last time we'll all pile into this living room to watch America's Funniest Home Video's together." More often, though, as I've watched the rooms empty under our own hands, I've thought..."What the hell have we DONE??" But I have my little mantra of change being healthy, the time being right to move on, the picture of my little office and a room for each girls, and...thank you, Universe...two bathrooms, neither of which is basically IN my kitchen. Oh, the luxury!

We're pretty much packed, and will have everything ready when the movers come at noon. It's 6:45 in the morning, and my Christmas tree is still up. That'll be the last to go. Something about the light has been keeping me calm and focused over these past exhausting days, and something about the ritual of taking it all down (which makes me sad under ordinary circumstances) needed to wait until the bitter end.

In retrospect, the decision to move this week after Christmas was a wise one, as far as the girls are concerned. They are so distracted by all of their Christmas things that they've paid little attention to everything else sort of disappearing around them. They have new games and new movies and new dolls, and though there have been some bedtime tears requiring long snuggles and hugs, they've been rolling with everything. Plus, they think the new temporary home, which Amelia nicknamed Pond View Cottage, is awesome. That novelty might wear off, but for now, I'm grateful for that.

So, I write this as I watch the last sunrise, drink the last cup of coffee, and feel grateful again for the life I've lived here. Bumpy and messy sometimes, but mostly just plain happy. We made a great childhood for two joyful little girls here, and we will try to show them by this giant example that the greatest risks yield the greatest gains, and that as a family, we will grow and evolve together, connected still through the new seasons of our lives.

Tonight we'll pile into a strange living room to watch America's Funniest Home Videos, surrounded by their dolls and stuffed animals and their own blankets. There are many miles to march today before we reach that point, though, so it's time to get to work.