Somewhere, flying over central Canada, Patrick made up his mind. He decided that we would sell the house and move out of town, to the country.
I'm a country girl at heart yes, but I've come to like and appreciate the perks of living in town. An abundance of running water that does not need to be hauled, or fears of the well going dry, for example. A grocery store only a block away. Shopping is close at hand, and we have decent choices as we live in a fair sized city. I adore having a fence that contains my wild dog and adventurous children.
But the neighbours are so close to us. It's noisy on our street, especially in the summertime. We have some especially rotten kids across the street that scream all the day long (ages 5 and 8). Our next door neighbour runs his stinky diesel truck outside our bedroom window half the night and smokes us out.
So lots of pros and cons to moving out of the city.
We had barely set foot out of the airport and back into our busy lives before Patrick had found an acreage he fell in love with. We went out and toured the property (or as best we could as it was covered in snow) and looked at the new house. Big house, all one level and did I mention big?
We bought it.
Then we had to sell our old house. That entailed a frantic weekend of cleaning, sorting, painting, tidying, hauling away and donating, staging and keeping the kids off of everything.
It sold in an hour for a fantastic above-asking price.
This all went a little fast for me. I had barely gotten used to the fact that he wanted to move, much less the part that we sold our house, bought a new one and WERE moving.
I freaked out a bit. I don't like change. At all. Not even a little bit.
I packed the house up around kids. My dear father brought his trailer in and we moved out of the house. There was lots of swearing. My father isn't exceptionally patient. So there, yes, I come by it honestly.
I drove in by myself the next day and cleaned my house for the last time. And I suppose it was my house. I bought it before I had even met Patrick. He had moved in with me as he had been renting prior to that.
I said goodbye to my house. The sanctuary that housed my injured body and shattered mind after my accident and divorce; where I healed. The place I first lived with the true love of my life. The home we brought our children home to. The cute little house that we were bursting out of the seams in. I locked the door and walked away.
Right into my parents' house. Of course we couldn't get into the new place until weeks after we had to be out of the old one. Of course, I liked the continuity. Every time I move, I have to stay with my parents waiting for possession of the new house. But of course, I've never stayed there with children and husband in tow.
My parents lasted about a week. Then they decided to take advantage of house sitters and left on an epic road trip. I was in charge of my two children and dog, and their two high maintenance dogs. On a farm in the middle of nowhere. I took the opportunity to stress clean every surface in that house.
Then finally we got the keys and started the long process of moving into the new place.
I love it here. There isn't a thing I would change about being here. I lived in the country most of my life, and Patrick too so it was truly like coming home.
All that worrying for nothing.