Home, for us, is a dynamic variable. Its current state would seem to be “California”.
As such, there are friends and family and sun back in our lives now, all of which we’d missed.
Yet the move is still bittersweet for Az and me. Maybe it’s because Emmie had suddenly taken to saying “home” in the weeks before we’d left; she’d proudly announce it every time we pushed her buggy through the front door. First words have meaning behind them; it somehow feels unjust that she won’t really remember Cambridge.
Em doesn’t say “home” for our new pad, yet. Nor do Az and I, when we talk with one another – I’ve noticed it’s still just “the apartment”. But what she does say is “Emmie’s room”, and she says it with happiness and authority in her voice. That’s because she’s got a proper little nursery, now, with a small table and a rocking chair, and a place for all her books. She can freely wander from the living room back to her own room to do, well, whatever she wants. And she certainly does.
So it’s a new beginning, once again; another foundation of flat-pack furniture and emptied suitcases for our little triumvirate to build a routine upon. Things feel palpably impermanent, at the moment, but maybe that’s a good thing. I’m thinking this is a fine time to just live in the present for a bit.
A good time to walk down our block to where the sidewalk ends, where we can see the ocean and evening sky, and still be home in time for bedtime stories.
