Final.

Today is the final.

The final party.
The final day.
The final night.
The final meal.
The final hug.
The final laugh.
The final song.
The final dance.
The final scene.
The final prayer.

The final final.

T minus 1 and counting.

Milk and croutons.

As we prepare to move we are eliminating ‘stuff’. Even food stuff. Cleaning out the fridge and the pantry. Buying only what we need this week, eating what we already have.

So essentially we are down to milk and croutons. Not a tasty combination. Not a really good match either. Milk is innately perishable, dated and needs to be consumed in a timely manner. Croutons have the shelf life of cheeze whiz. Seriously. How do you know when a crouton goes bad? It gets harder? It dries up? It breaks a tooth when you bite it?

Maybe moving is a lot like milk and croutons. Facing the rapid evaporation of life here. Unable to preserve this life. Like trying to hold milk in the palm of your hand. But still consuming this life and getting great nourishment from it.

And confident that there are croutons. Little chunks of life here that will travel well with us, stories that will add flavor where we go, and memories that have an unending shelf life.

Maybe milk and croutons really do go well together.

T-Minus 6 and counting.

In-between.

Not quite there. Kind of not really here. Somewhere in-between.

Ever feel that way? It’s odd. Like being stuck in one of those old revolving doors. The kind that spin around, taking you from the outside to the inside. Supposedly from the rain filled streets to the well lit hotel.

But then you get in the revolving door on the day that Mrs. Hoeffer’s third grade class is visiting the city. And the other dividers fill up with giddy 9 year olds, running you around and around and around.

Never getting in, but never getting out either. Accomplishing nothing, but also not missing anything. Watching. Moving. Stepping. Still not there. But really not here either.

In 2 weeks we move across the country.

T-minus 16 and counting.

Moving.

There are only 2 hard things about moving:

1. missing out on the good times

2. missing out on the bad times.

Everything else will be fine.

Missing the good times is always tough. When you move away you miss birthday parties of close friends, holidays with family and celebrating milestones. I'll miss the 'good' of meeting a friend for Pepsi, preparing for a big event, and then having that post-wow get together with cake.

That's tough stuff.

But tougher still is missing the bad times. Not being here when children get sick, cars get into accidents, jobs are eliminated or any tragedy hits. To be far away when things are bad is far worse than being far away when good things happen.

Moving. Part 1

It's official. We are moving. From here to there. From Midwest to Southeast. From Racine to Atlanta. Nearly 700 emotions at work in my heart at any given time, so sorting thru them is impossible.

Listing the fears is helpful:

1. Our children: transition, friends, adjustment, schools.

2. Our home: selling this one and finding that one.

3. Timing: sharing the news in a way that honors each relationship.

4. Logistics: details terrify me. 

5. School: homeschool or public school?

6. Age: maybe we're too old to move. maybe our kids are.

7. well, you get the idea.