I’m up early again. I’m powerless against falling asleep at ten o’clock but then wake at least twice and usually can’t drop back off again if it’s after 5 am. I do have things on my mind, not least that we are moving house tomorrow. Maybe after that I can turn my brain down a bit.
It’s exciting and scary and emotional. Yesterday my youngest began to cry, then my eldest and I soon followed suit. There are 14 years of memories here.
Arriving to the previous owner still frantically packing and her paying our removal men a bung to help her do it. Mopping the walls because they were so dirty. Painting the new front door when I was pregnant with T. Arriving home with her scared and excited. Feeding her in a rocking chair while a thunderstorm cracked outside. A loud air conditioning unit battling the heat of the summer and her finally sleeping to the noise.
Feeling the most elated, tired, happy and emotional I have ever felt, feeding P on the sofa at 11 at night knowing my family was complete. Babies bouncing in the door way. Baking cakes – the most ridiculous T and her friend only this week making a record player cake that actually rotated.
Visitors, birthdays, Christmases, New Years both quiet and not so quiet. Living in chaos during multiple building works. Putting a meal in the slow cooker and forgetting to turn it on. Singing acapella with my friends in the kitchen. Toasting marshmallows. Playing – lots of playing.
Marking their heights on the wall and watching as they rapidly reach mine.
As I explained to the kids though these memories come with us. In our heads, and in the millions of photos and videos that modern times have made possible. Plus we are about to make more, but it’s ok to stop for a minute and sink into nostalgia when the sun’s not yet up and you have a cup of tea for nearly the last time in somewhere you’ve loved so much.
It’s time to move on. We just need to get past the next 48 hours of chaos and work out how to use an AGA and everything will be fine. Better than fine.