For a couple of those years, I really wanted to move. Our house is not big, and when Moe's 25 hour a week ABA program was in full swing, I felt cramped. When Moe was working with a therapist, Jelly, the dog and I had to find other space to be in. I was unhappy with the situation and I projected that on to the house. I wanted more space, yes, but it doesn't take a psychotherapist to see that I also wanted a fresh start.
|The day after this happened, a potential buyer|
wanted to see the house. I warned the realtor that
the branch had fallen, and she said her client wasn't
much of a "tree person."
Most days, I'm also more at peace with Moe's diagnosis, and as a result, with our life as a family. That helps put everything in a better light. I'm also not looking forward to packing or finding another place to live, possibly two, if we have to rent for a while before we find a new place.
There are still reasons to move. I cook and bake and I'd love a bigger kitchen. I'd like a comfortable guest room where the grandparents can stay. A playroom that I can make completely (okay, almost completely) Moe-proof and more conducive to teaching would be amazing. We could spend some money and turn our house into this, but it doesn't make financial sense to do that in our current neighborhood.
And lately, I've been thinking our house is trying to tell us something. Like the way the wall jumped out and attacked Moe. Before that, half of one of our lovely dwarf pear trees, the only tress that provide any shade in our yard, fell.
The only problem is I can't tell if it is telling us to stay or pushing us out.