We're moving. Again. Not happy about it. Our landlord, who is lovely and kind and a truly nice man, is moving back up from FL and we need to find another place to live. He's giving us tons of notice, and is apologetic and sweet, but bottom line is that nine months after moving in, we're moving out.
I've moved a lot, I like moving. I do. Up until I started school at age six, I moved pretty much every year, and I've always liked settling into a new place. Once my parents split up, we were pretty stable, and though we still moved every three or four years, my mother made sure that we stayed in the same town so we didn't have to change schools.
But this move - I don't WANT to move. I like this house, I like this neighborhood and I really don't want to. Marc and I have moved five times since we got together, and every single move has been my idea. I've pushed it, wanted it, but this time, I don't want to.
I am, though. And I'll be sunshiney happy thru it, because if I'm unhappy about it, it's nothing compared to Marc. Nobody, and I mean, nobody hates moving as much as my husband does. I don't know of anything that bothers him as much - he's flat out awful about. So I know that all the packing and deciding what to keep, what to throw away, unpacking, etc is all on me. It's enough that Marc will actually do it. I can't even get mad at him (or at least, I try not to - I'm sure I'll end up screaming at him eventually for not helping me enough), because you can tell that moving is that hard for him. He'd be much happier if we could just get keys to a new, empty place and then get all new stuff. It's odd because he's more than happy to help other people move, it's just us that he hates moving.
In other news... Julianna had her first temper tantrum yesterday. It was adorable. If you could get past the fact that she was really, really furious. She had been woken up too early from her nap - generally she naps for at least three, sometimes four hours in the middle of the day, but Jess and Sam had come screaming down the hall and woken her up. She had had just enough sleep to want to get up, and since I'm not a fan of clubbing them to make them fall back asleep, I just let her get up. I carried her into the living room and plopped her on the floor and she was devastated. Went from happy baby to screaming disaster. Jessie tried to pick her up and she crawled screaming to hide behind the rocking chair. Then she crawled, still screaming, in a circle around the table and then into the dining room. Wouldn't come to me, was furious at even the prospect of me. I let her scream, because really, what else could do, for a few minutes and then finally just picked her up, ignored the thrashing and screaming and laid her head on my shoulder. I took her into the bedroom, nursed her for a few minutes and rubbed her back. Thank goodness for nursing, because it calmed her down immediately, and she was sunshiney happy soon after.