The Big Actual Move, Part 3

The last leg of our big, scary exodus back into the Big Apple happened on Tuesday when the Relocube* showed up. 

*Relocube: very handy 6X7 pod that fit every thing I love dearly, like a steam mop and Instant Pot. 




The bishop arranged for two guys to help unload. It was another example of me thinking I can handle it on my own but in the end being very grateful for the extra hands, especially since my back was a tad wobbly toward the end. 
      Side note— one of the guys kept making unintentionally funny comments like “The Wells (family in our ward) are so brave for living by the cemetery since their apartment is probably haunted.” And “I can take the heavy boxes. I’m Mexican.” 

Are we happy to have our stuff? Extremely. I’ve had to accept help from ward members, family and even anonymous givers to get this place looking like a family could live here. And guess what? We LOVE it. 

It’s ours. It’s home. 

It’s the first time in my WHOLE LIFE that I’ve had all my belongings—yearbooks, pictures, heirlooms, etc in one place. It’s the first time I’ve had totally say in what stays in the house and what goes (this is not a plug for single life, clearly I’m not trying to promote that). It’s the first time I can veto a decoration and take over my bedroom with sewing, excessive blankets and a chicken statue. 

My girls are happy. The idyllic life is envisioned for them—pets, a garden, a lazy street where neighbor kids ride bikes all day and play night games— will never happen. Does that mean they’ve been cheated out of a good childhood? It’s taken me a long time to realize that a good childhood isn’t made of those things, it’s made up of a loving home, education, values, etc. They love it here. Weirdos. They find childhood in chasing pigeons, mocking the train operators, Coney Island boardwalk, carousels and “what language are they speaking?” 

Leah has been at Girls Camp. She worked herself into such a panic about it that she almost didn’t go, but in the end left with a smile on her face. 


 Hannah ran into a good buddy at the park and exuded more joy than I’ve seen from her in a year. 



Butthead Unmentionable signed custody papers last week, giving me primary custody of Lucy and allowing four to ten days per month of visitation. Considering the terrible battle it’s been all year, this was a monumental moment. It felt unceremonious and anticlimactic, though. I left with the notarized papers shoved into the diaper bag and went to get a new modem (a recent thunderstorm blew out all the internet equipment). We still have the financial agreement to fight about (yay), have to get Judge Delores to sign them and then it will be official. 

Comments

Megan said…
Hooray for the custody battle being OVER! I love hearing your updates and I am SO glad you and the girls are finding some joy through all this. Love you!
August 18, 2018 at 8:12 AM
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