It's a Home, not a House

We decided to move closer to Ryan's work. It makes sense in all the ways that you can measure. His drive was close to 45 minutes just for a 20 mile drive and was often through stop and go traffic. I was losing an hour and a half with him every day just to drive to work!

We finally found an apartment that would work. It's nice but it's HUGE and when we first moved in, it felt cold and empty. We drove back to our cozy little apartment with the giant turkey balloon outside, and I was miserable. We'd found just what we were looking for and I didn't want it.

Couldn't we just move our apartment and our city closer to work? Why did we have to move again? I don't mind the process of moving -- it's good for me to go through our stuff and throw the junk away. I just didn't want to leave home. 

After getting our son in bed, we both collapsed on the couch and I realized what it felt like. I was betraying a friend. Telling our apartment that it wasn't good enough and moving to a ritzy ditzy part of town with free internet and a giant living room. I wanted to scream that I wasn't leaving my friend, that I didn't even like the new apartment, but I knew my home wouldn't hear me. Apartments don't have ears or feelings, you know.

But I couldn't change the way it felt to me.

We moved and I've tried to make this new apartment a home. It's still incredibly large. We don't have very much furniture and it's hard to fill the space. But it's beginning to feel warm (and I don't think it's just the heater). We took a walk on our first Sunday here, wandering around the super-sized houses in the neighborhood until we found a yard with a giant snow man, polar bear, grinch, and 2 santas. It wasn't our giant turkey from "home" but it will do. 

Now if only I can get my son to stop correcting me when I say we're going "home", informing me it's our "house", maybe I'll feel all better.