All the trimmings and trappings of our daily lives are packed up and gone, and we’re staring at blank walls and empty rooms. Our voices echo with each conversation and the boys run endless laps through rooms devoid of stuff.
A lot of people have kindly asked if I’m okay with seeing all my things packed up and shipped off, with moving out of the house I’ve worked so hard to make a home for the past 8.5 years. The answer is yes! Maybe it’s insensitive of me, but I’m seriously, totally fine. I am not sad.
After the movers left last week, the kids asked where our things were going. I explained the process. B asked what happens if the ship carrying all our stuff sinks, and the kids all looked horrified at the prospect.
I told her, though, that we just get new stuff. It’s JUST STUFF, things that fill our house, make our surroundings more comfortable, our rooms cozier. It’s stuff we’re so used to seeing that we’ve grown attached to it’s appearance.
But it’s not important. Not one item of it matters. The things in this house that matter — the things that are really, truly important — are the people.
As long as the six of us are together, healthy and happy and living our lives, whether it’s in this house or the house we’re going to rent in England or anywhere else on this great, green earth, we’re home, and we have all the important stuff, the stuff that matters, right there.