Image by Nina Garman from Pixabay
by Kelli Bowen
We are moving “back home.” This isn’t past tense because as I write this, Hubby is on the west side of the state making a valiant last attempt to move what’s left. I’m on the east side of the state trying to get sports physicals, dentist appointments, school enrollment, and extracurriculars executed, while trying to find one of our five tape measures and a bag of yellow corn tortilla chips, both with zero success.
But by the time you read this, there’s a solid chance I’ll be on the west side giving our rental one final once over, picking up the random scraps of personal items, and putting the vacuum through its paces, while Hubby is cursing the full trailer and trying to get kids to…where are they supposed to go again??
It isn’t all business. I took the girls to see my sister from the “lesser Dakota,” for a long weekend, so the girls could hang out with their same-aged cousins. Sis and I worked on perfecting our “old lady hobbies.” She has a picture-taking bird feeder. I am ready for bed around 8:30 p.m. We also discovered we enjoy antiquing. Her prey is smoke-colored carnival glass, and mine is depression era uranium glass, but we both are open to general cool-stuff nostalgia as well. Hubby spent some time with his best friend since kindergarten on the river, and time cruising the backroads.
In the hullabaloo, Hubby and I have been passing ships in the night. One of us has been with the kids, one has been buttoning up projects on one end of a Dakota or another. Any I miss yous have been interrupted by Miss A’s demands for snuggles, Miss E’s inquiries on this newest school, or “Shoot! I have to order another certified copy of a birth certificate.”
As we fly by each other via text, call, or the rare in-person, we update the other on progress. There’s an angry exhaustion bubbling just below the surface of our conversations. As we try to keep calm faces for the kids, and try to get all the things situated, while sprinkling in just enough non-productivity to keep us sane…maybe just maybe, we will pull off this move.
We are both exhausted. We are both giving it all we can. We are both worried about the other person, and we are both ready to be settled. As I mumble: “Who’s the idiot who wanted to move?” I hear Miss A ask if she can call Auntie, who is just up the road now. Miss E tells me about the girls she met at the pool who are also on the golf team. Miss A asks if she can go play with the son of my best friend from grade school, and I remind myself: Hubby and I are the idiots, and it’s probably the best decision we’ve made.
Kelli, a North Dakota girl through and through, has made her home from the eastern prairies to the western badlands with her supportive Hubby, two daughters, and ever-growing menagerie accompanying her along the way.