At long last, I’m back. Back from a long arduous journey to a new home, indeed, a new life. We have left the sun and sand and plastic of Los Angeles, and have begun a future in breathtaking British Columbia.
We have learned many lessons along the way. Mainly, as stressed as parents are, children are resilient. They have an endless capacity for enjoyment and imagination. Any tenuous situation can be turned into an adventure with a flip of vocabulary.
We have no furniture yet, but the boys are beside themselves to eat their meals at their little play table.
It’s too late to go to the spray park. However, we have a sprinkler, which Jack now calls “the water park in our backyard.”
It rains here quite often, but thanks to our big tandem garage, the boys can ride their bikes in and out of the rain, playing “Soapin’ Sam’s car wash.”
Our last apartment was a toddler deathtrap with a complicated maze of baby gates and locked doors. Our new home has afforded my children an endless stream of new opportunities. They now have complete access to our bedroom, the kitchen, three bathrooms, a garage and backyard. I am learning to trust them without my stress level getting out of control (with the help of a few well-placed cabinet locks), and honestly, they’ve made it easy.
It’s been a lot of change, but change for the better. I think my children know that, especially Jack. Our past life is marked with restriction and barriers of both the literal and figurative nature; we now live freely on many levels.
We are all still learning, and we’re doing it together.
The other day I was cooking on the stove and Jack got too close.
“Be careful, sweetie, it’s hot,” I scolded, holding him back.
He hugged me. “It’s ok, mama. We all get burned.”
You know, we do. And then we heal, and then we move on.
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