Today I’m twisting my hair up on top of my head in the bathroom mirror and my mom walks in to talk to me and I’m thinking, this is pretty much the last day in the house, the last time I’m going to have someone just walk in on me or stick their head in to talk to me when I don’t want to be talked to or infringed on in ways I don’t like. Housemates have not been jerks or rude in any way, but it turns out I like my privacyon my own terms and that didn’t change these last few weeks (in this case my mom immediately blurted out what she bought for Ralph for Christmas – she likes to tell me presents she’s bought people, even though I’ve told her don’t want to know ahead of time – she also likes to reveal plot points in movies I haven’t seen even though she knows I don’t like that either). The thing is, sadly, sharing a house is hard for many of “us” (I mean, almost everyone I know), perhaps because most of the people I know aren’t raised to do it well.
At any rate, there are people we love sharing with and people we can’t bear to and somewhere in between are most of the roommates we have in our lifetime. And I love sharing the house with Ralph, the kids, the cats, the chickens (even though they’re molting and not laying, the lazy sods!) and in just a handful of hours I’ll get my own space again and do what I do: answer the phone when I want to talk, have a door to child-rear and sew and cook and live behind.
We have the chore of moving tomorrow; then we’ll have the work of setting up the house and then coming back here and tidying it all up and then getting my mom some kind of Thank You present for letting us stay here for four months and change. I’ve been in a rather not-very-productive space for the last week – since we secured the house via verbal contract. I tell myself not to put too much pressure to have a “good” or productive week once the move is established because that’s just a set-up to be dissatisfied with myself and I’m struggling not to succumb to that.
Oh, and it’s cold here. While out and about today riding a total of four buses and walking through our fair city Aberdeen I was kind of amazed at the coldness, just looking around at those who were also walking and thinking, what the heck? The kids weren’t dressed warmer than I, but they seem to fare better in the freezing temperatures. Nels “ice-skated” on a pool of water at the Aberdeen transit station construction site and I held onto a delicious, hot americano from My Sisters Bakery and we just killed time together because home is a bit odd and doesn’t feel fun to be cooped-up in.
On our way home Sophie got off the bus in East HQX and visited first the pet shop, then rode Route 20 to her play practice at the Library; she came home with her parts delineated in the scripts of both “The Grinch Who Stole Christmas” and “A Christmas Carol” – the part of several Whos in the former, and The Ghost of Christmas Present, Mrs. Cratchit, and a Passer-by in the latter. She was a cold nose and bright eyes and a happy, independent little girl when she got home and I scooped her into my arms and held her close. My kids and husband have been my anchor at the time of transition, a difficult one for me.
Change. Whether we know we will like the end result or not, the change sucks the life out of me.
Yeah! I think I only like shallow, small, cosmetic changes, like dying my hair green or buying a ball of yarn. The big stuff? Not so much.