Nothing about this move has been the way I prefer things to be - a quick ripping off of the band-aid. This transition has been painstakingly slow, pulling up on each and every pain point and sometimes sticking for a bit. In some ways a slower transition has been good - The Boy has gotten acclimated easier because he has watched the house being built. But in a lot of ways it has been challenging.
Now I think I am finally beginning to be bathed in the light at the end of the tunnel. For awhile a couple of days ago I wasn't sure I would make it. I arrived back at the manse on a dead sprint in an attempt to clear out two van loads before stopping for the night. I backed in and noticed paint and painting supplies covering my porch blocking access to the door I needed to get in to remove our outdoor stuff. Then I looked down and realized I had stepped in paint. Whatever the word is for 'frustrated x 10' that was me.
The paint fiasco did keep me from getting the movers to get some of our bigger outdoor stuff, but tomorrow folks from the new church are driving over there with me to help me clear it out. And today as I was in the kitchen trying to figure out how I was going to finish up and pick up The Boy on time, my friend showed up. Good timing. Good friend.
Now there are three clear cut tasks - finish getting out of the main house (ie: pick up the cat). Clear out the outdoor stuff. Clean out the boxes in the basement (a symptom of the ex's illness was the fact that we kept every box that ever came into our home. Every. Box. And now they need to be broken down and recycled.)
On Tuesday our domestic goddess shows up to earn every penny and then some. After I walk around with her - I should be done.
And ready to live a life with wounds that have healed over with only small scars to show for the pain.
Hopefully I won't need any more band-aids for awhile.