Bittersweet
It’s been a bittersweet month for me.
Zack rode the schoolbus with his Preschool class to a Kindergarten visit yesterday. It’s not the Kindergarten he’s going to be attending, it’s not even his first day of Kindergarten. I had tears in my eyes. He looked so tiny looking out the window excitedly waving as the bus drove off. He’s growing up.
We are moving. We’ve known we are moving for almost 2 years. It’s finally here. I’ve lived in the same house for 12 years. I bought this house before I even met my husband. This house is the only home my boys have ever known. The friends and support system I have created and built here are what got me through my PPD. We are moving right next door (literally) to my best friend. We’ll be saving money, there will be more conveniences and a little better weather, and my husband’s commute will be significantly reduced. I’m sad. I’m looking forward to it. I’ll miss where I am now.
There’s more… I don’t want a pity party… I just needed to get this out.
I am blessed to have choices and opportunities. I am thankful to have friends where ever I go. I’m making lemonade – the really good kind! 🙂
Posted on May 16, 2012, in Body, Mind & Spirit and tagged being present, family, growing up, mommy, parenting, stay-at-home Mom, thankful. Bookmark the permalink. 8 Comments.
Awww. It’s really a win win. I understand though. Keep making lemonade as long as it takes.
Thanks Kenya. I’m getting really good at making lemonade, especially out of those really rotten, over-ripe lemons. ha ha ha! 🙂
Take a look at that lemonade. Looks DELICIOUS. Good enough to try, right? GO for it.
Delicious indeed! May I pour you a glass??? 🙂
Sigh. I feel sniffly just reading this. Nothing tugs at our heart strings (and guilt worries) more than our kids. Sounds like you’re making some valid trades, though, for the entire family. But hold the memories of this house close, too.
Will do Marylin! It’s the right thing to do, but I already miss my house, my neighbors, my town… good thing our move is only 30 min away.
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