WiFi at the campground is spotty at best, so it is next to impossible to upload pictures. I may have to save those up for a big post-campout post. Until then, here are a few I managed to upload between crashes (I’ve also been instagramming when I can @jodeanbrannan).
Two weeks in, and it is… not bad. Everyone has been telling us that we’re crazy. Or stupid. Or generously offering us a place to stay “when you get sick of it.” But it’s really not bad. Oh sure, I miss having a real kitchen (especially), and having a washer and dryer. Oh, and a bathroom (of my own. The campground has one. You didn’t think we were roughing it that much, did you?;) And of course the first few days, when it was well into the 90’s and Stephen hadn’t yet got our little window AC up and running (or electricity and running water, for that matter), were a little uncomfortable. But it has also been great spending so much time together, outside (because really, who wants to stay all cooped up in a 12 ft travel trailer all day?)
What is bad is this unsure, restless, in-between place my mind keeps trying to wander into. Like my life is just kind of on hold. We’ve had a few road bumps with the house (seems that for homes older than 30 years there are a lot of hoops to jump through, thanks to new, stricter regulations. Pretty ridiculous hoops. Annoying for us, the buyers, and downright sucktastic for the sellers. I could hop on a soapbox here, but I’ll spare you.) Basically, we are holding our breath, waiting to see if everything is going to work out on this home we have fallen in love with. And, at the very least, our closing is pushed back yet another week or three… Not having a place to really call home, not knowing exactly where we will be in a month is a little bit scary and a lot frustrating. Yet as I find myself veering towards pity-party territory I am also reminded that for many, this way of life isn’t just a little one (or two) month adventure between selling one house and buying another (that we chose), it’s every day life. That really puts it in perspective. We could look for another house if we need to, and find one we could buy. We have friends and family we could crash with if it came to it. Not everybody does. If this door closes, we have options.
So we move forward. And get used to the logistical quirks of living all up-close and cozy in our little home on wheels. We figure out new routines around bedtimes, and wakeups, and mealtimes, and getting readys. We search for new activities to keep us occupied, incorporate enough old, familiar routines to keep us comfortable, explore our new neighborhoods-to-be, and remind eachother that home is really right where we are. The boys grow some more, and learn some more, and life goes on. There is, it turns out, no such thing as an in-between. There’s just life. And if you get caught up in waiting for the next big thing, it turns out you miss a whole bunch of little-that-add-up-to-a-lot things along the way.
As I anticipated, this transition has been hardest on super-sensitive Miles (who cried when he realized we weren’t bringing the laundry room linoleum from the old house…). We are trying to make the transition as painless as we can by continuing as many of our regular family routines and rituals as possible (family dinners, bedtime stories and routines, quiet projects together when Zeke naps…) but moving to a new place is never easy. And when you’re four and you’ve only ever known one place as home? Well, I get it. As an Army brat, I’ve been there. We’ve talked about it a lot, and as hard as it is to watch him go through this and as much as my mommy heart wants to make it better, these things take time.