Moving, the Process

This is a picture of Eden at the airport yesterday, her one tantrum of our travels, which happened to take place almost in baggage claim, right in front of the crowd eagerly awaiting their loved ones from the flight.This morning as I faced the unpacked house, the mass of empty boxes, and Ben's utterly different packing philosophy, I embodied this photo perfectly, so perfectly that Silas and Eden, like a little Greek chorus sitting at the breakfast table, kept saying, "why were you so mean to daddy? why? why were you so mean to daddy?" Since, when the mouth is full of rage there is no appropriate answer to give a two and four year old asking this question, I stormed into the kitchen. Only fifteen boxes/three hours later could I bring myself to call him and say sorry. (We are working on resolving conflicts in front of Silas, so at dinner I had to apologize all over again).

Amy gave me soup, coffee and her company all day long (i.e. sanity). And other friends took Silas and Eden to play, brought cookies, boxes, and groceries. (thank you!!)

I am now tucked into bed feeling jet lagged and groggy. The kids are asleep and I can hear Ben dragging boxes around upstairs. We aren't quite ready, but in the morning, movers will appear and take these packed and half-packed things to the pink house that i can't quite imagine living in, and we will start something new.