Rooted
Eight years ago this month we moved into our current house. Eight years ago we packed a Budget truck full of furniture and meticulously color-coded and labeled boxes (I'm obsessive when it comes to packing) and trekked back down to civilization (sort of) from the rez. In some ways it really doesn't seem like it's been that long. My time in Sanders feels almost as long as my time here. But M was nearly 5, J was 3, and B was just barely walking. K and S hadn't even been thought of yet. Now M is 13, J is a Boy Scout, B is reading stories to her younger siblings, K is in kindergarten, and S (my baby!!) is almost 3 years old.
Yes, a LOT of time has passed.
It's weird though. The longest I've ever lived in one place was our house in San Marcos, where I spent eight and a half years, only barely longer than I've lived here. But that length of time felt eternal, almost my whole childhood. It wasn't really, but the period between age 10 and age 18 is filled with so much change and so much growth that even looking back the memories feel like they stretch across decades.
My eight years here? Not so much.
I shop at the same places. My kids go to the same school (oh yes, I'm on my 8th year of making those long school runs). I work out at the same gym. I'm part of the same congregation for church (though not the same stake-- without moving we've been in 3 different stakes over the last 8 years and moved buildings once).
This is the way Terence and I wanted it, back in the early days of our marriage when we were still moving about once a year (or more). We wanted to find somewhere to put down roots, to create a home for our kids, to build some permanent relationships, and have some stability in our lives. We have all those things, and it's rare I ever even get the itch to want to move. In fact, one of the hardest things about deciding for Terence to try out for sergeant was the likelihood of needing to move if he promoted. The kids themselves are firmly anchored here. At the merest hint of having to move (even, say, as grown-ups or when they go away to college), they freak out. Nobody remembers anywhere else (even M only has the vaguest memories of Sanders) and this is home.
However, being rooted like this has some odd consequences. I feel like the passage of time and how quickly my kids grow is constantly shoved in my face. I go to the gym and see the preschool kids and remember how "just yesterday" we were taking M there too. Kids at church that I remember from primary (back when J was a Sunbeam!) are getting their driver's licenses. The librarians ask if I'm going to have another baby because they've seen me go through two pregnancies during our weekly visits to the library and S's getting about the "right age" to see it happen again, based on how our kids are spaced. (No, it's not going to happen again. A part of me is relieved and part of me is disappointed.) Even with my running . . . I've been running in the same neighborhood for so long that it's easy to forget just how long I've been doing this. I was freaking out a bit about having signed up for my first marathon (partly because I think of myself as still "new" to running) when a friend pointed out to me that I now have years of running experience. I'm not a newbie. I'm a Saturday morning neighborhood fixture.
It's scary because M is 13. The last eight years have gone by soooo fast, the memories are all around me all the time, and in another eight years she will be 21. (gulp!!!)
My life feels like it's racing by at mach speeds, while I stay firmly planted in one place.
Yes, a LOT of time has passed.
It's weird though. The longest I've ever lived in one place was our house in San Marcos, where I spent eight and a half years, only barely longer than I've lived here. But that length of time felt eternal, almost my whole childhood. It wasn't really, but the period between age 10 and age 18 is filled with so much change and so much growth that even looking back the memories feel like they stretch across decades.
My eight years here? Not so much.
I shop at the same places. My kids go to the same school (oh yes, I'm on my 8th year of making those long school runs). I work out at the same gym. I'm part of the same congregation for church (though not the same stake-- without moving we've been in 3 different stakes over the last 8 years and moved buildings once).
This is the way Terence and I wanted it, back in the early days of our marriage when we were still moving about once a year (or more). We wanted to find somewhere to put down roots, to create a home for our kids, to build some permanent relationships, and have some stability in our lives. We have all those things, and it's rare I ever even get the itch to want to move. In fact, one of the hardest things about deciding for Terence to try out for sergeant was the likelihood of needing to move if he promoted. The kids themselves are firmly anchored here. At the merest hint of having to move (even, say, as grown-ups or when they go away to college), they freak out. Nobody remembers anywhere else (even M only has the vaguest memories of Sanders) and this is home.
However, being rooted like this has some odd consequences. I feel like the passage of time and how quickly my kids grow is constantly shoved in my face. I go to the gym and see the preschool kids and remember how "just yesterday" we were taking M there too. Kids at church that I remember from primary (back when J was a Sunbeam!) are getting their driver's licenses. The librarians ask if I'm going to have another baby because they've seen me go through two pregnancies during our weekly visits to the library and S's getting about the "right age" to see it happen again, based on how our kids are spaced. (No, it's not going to happen again. A part of me is relieved and part of me is disappointed.) Even with my running . . . I've been running in the same neighborhood for so long that it's easy to forget just how long I've been doing this. I was freaking out a bit about having signed up for my first marathon (partly because I think of myself as still "new" to running) when a friend pointed out to me that I now have years of running experience. I'm not a newbie. I'm a Saturday morning neighborhood fixture.
It's scary because M is 13. The last eight years have gone by soooo fast, the memories are all around me all the time, and in another eight years she will be 21. (gulp!!!)
My life feels like it's racing by at mach speeds, while I stay firmly planted in one place.
Comments
I would like to be in a place where we can lay down roots. I feel my house now, is just too small for us to call our forever home. But who knows, it just might be.