Changes

I'm sitting on my couch in my pretty, comfy little living room... the front door is wide open to the sunshiny, breezy weather outside. I can see my "Spring" wreath and the ribbons on it fluttering in the breeze. The mesquite tree in the front yard is full of pretty green leaves. The birds are singing away. Jack is playing nicely in his playroom.
It should be a moment of total peace and happiness. But all I want to do is cry because it's very likely we'll be leaving this place in just a few months. (Weeks for Wayne.) I'm not sure if it's the thought of how much hard, hard work is ahead - packing up the house, cleaning up the yard, making the house "show ready" - and keeping it that way. Maybe it's the thought of starting all over in a new town - making new friends, finding new playmates for Jack, finding a house, getting a new routine. But the part that makes my throat tighten and my eyes fill up is thinking about leaving my friends. Which, when said out loud (or typed), feels a bit juvenile. However, the truth is the truth. And I've been in this very situation so many times before. Moving away, making promises to stay friends... saying how it's so easy these days - phone calls, Facebook, emails... it'll all ensure our friendship stays the same, right? But it won't. It never does. You lose touch, you get busy, you move on with your life and as much as you try to keep in touch, it's never quite the same because everyone changes with time and even the smallest change can impact the way you interact with one another, the way your friendship works. Not that I'm giving up - I never give up on my friends.
I'm sad about leaving my Erin. We met when she came out to visit her husband last year - he'd moved here to start a new job while she stayed back in Arkansas to sell their house. (Sound familiar?) When we left his little BBQ, I told Wayne, "I really liked Erin. I'm not sure but I think we could be good friends." I'd been in this little self-imposed shell for a long time. Depressed and disinterested in really making any friends. Not myself at all. But Erin moved here and we had a little gathering to welcome her and her kids to this mountainous desert-land. It was the beginning of my dive back into the world of socializing. I remembered who I was and what I love - having lots of friends around, throwing parties, being a social butterfly. We did that instant click thing when she moved here for good - that feeling of "hey - I know you. You're my friend." Having Erin as my friend helped me regain myself and encouraged me to get more active in the playgroup I'd joined for Jack. Suddenly, the moms who'd seemed distant and disinterested were speaking to me more. I was hosting parties at my house and making friends with all kinds of different people. Some of them I'd met before, but being in my insular little depressed bubble, I'm positive I'd given them no reason to be friends with me. I'm sure I seemed distant and disinterested - more so than I viewed those moms to be in the playgroup.
I think I've laughed more in the last year with Erin... done more... been more... than in the first two years I lived here. She's not only inspired me to get back out there but also to keep my house cleaner, my budget tighter, and my creativity sparkier. (I know, but I had to do an "er" word!) I've made jewelry and wreaths and cooked/baked things like never before. I know it's not ALL the miracle of Erin Layne - but it's because I'm happy and fulfilled and inspired. A big part of that is having a friend who understands how I feel before I finish my sentence. Who just GETS me. It's awesome and, well, makes my heart happy. LOL. Leaving Erin is going to feel like losing part of me. I only hope she'll take my phone calls and not be too mad at me when I move - because I'll definitely need her!!!
I'm sad to leave my friend Kelli. When Wayne left for Iraq just before Christmas of 2007, I decided to spend three weeks in Dallas, at my mom's house. Since the house was going to be empty for so long, I thought it prudent to let a neighbor know. We'd briefly met the across the street neighbors at our housewarming party earlier that year. I waited for Jack to go to sleep, then threw on my shoes, grabbed the monitor and ran across the street. I think we ended up talking for an hour and a half. I almost got frostbite on my sockless toes. Haha! We spent the entire next year freezing our butts off every night, talking for hours at a time, after Jack had gone to sleep... sitting in my carport. I honestly think she knows more about me (and vice versa) than Wayne!! There's something about talking into the wee hours of the morning that loosens the tongue... and even more so when you're drinking margaritas!! Our friendship was instrumental in helping me recover from the depression that began as postpartum and snowballed. The year Wayne spent in Iraq would have been intolerable had it not been for Kelli. We lost touch for a bit when our hubbies returned from Iraq and life, as it does sometimes, got crazy. We've only recently reconnected and to leave now, when we've not fully gotten back into our groove, is so very hard.
Which brings me to my next bit of heartache - missed possibilities. There are women who've just recently come into my life as friends. Women I was looking forward to getting to know better, to becoming friends with. Or better friends. It's always so sad for me to think about what may have been.
Then, there's my house. Our first house. The house where Jack learned to walk and talk. Where we had his first birthday party... and his second... and his third. Where he threw up for the first time, ate real food, learned to ride his bike, moved from swing to crib to toddler bed to full size bed. Where he peed on the floor and splashed around in it during the potty training days. Where he and Wayne have staged some mighty battles with their swords and dart guns. The house I've spent the past 3 1/2 years tweaking and decorating and fixing up and getting just right and planning other changes to make it even better. The home that has been ours - just ours - as we struggled to find our footing as a newly married couple with a tiny baby, miles and miles from our support system, our extended families.
So, that's why, even though I've been lamenting the lack of grass and humidity, moaning and groaning about how hard it is to be away from family, pining for the familiar highways and biways of Texas... all of this is why I'm sad about finally having the chance to move to Texas. Next blog? Why I'm flat-out terrified of moving to Texas.