I miss it, I miss it, I miss it.
I miss our rambling outdoor lifestyle, the fact that the only thing that existed beyond our garden was forest, hills, fields, and stream. I miss the huge old trees in our back garden, the way we had to walk down that little path on the little hill to get into the huuuuuge wild park. It was surrounded by trees with dirt paths weaving in and out – you could get to different places in the neighborhood by following them.
And our neighborhood. Oh, the jillions of kids around Snort and Coconut’s age that lived right on our street, especially my five good friends (with their assorted children) who all lived within ten minutes of toddler-speed walking. Most of them babywore, breastfed, one of them was considering home education.
Our local centre where we went for storytime (Snort and Coconut refuse to go to our new local storytime) and playgroup, where the staff watched my two turn from babies to little children. The old guy a street over who we were friendly with. All the amazing families all within reach; we knew them all.
And the bit of stream I’ve been thinking about so much in this hot weather. It meandered alongside two big lakes, and was the perfect depth to splash and wade and explore. And our ‘secret lake’, filled with the paths and trees and butterflies I thought would be the backdrop to our future years home educating.
I miss it all, I wonder if we haven’t made a mistake, but there is no turning back now. Someone else calls our house ‘home.’
I’m here in this new house, with children who cry and plead every single day to go home. Snort just keeps saying ‘please please pleeeeeeease’ and sobbing. Last night I actually had a nightmare about it. And my own deep sadness revolving around the world we left, oh, it makes it so much more difficult when my children are so very, very sad. What can I do but cuddle them, reflect their feelings, talk with them about being sad and missing one house, but still being happy at another?
I say to them, ‘I know, honey, I sometimes wish we could go back to that house, too’ but I leave out the rest of what I want to say: that I was happy there, much happier than I am here, that here I am suffering from the claustrophobia of people and concrete and too many buildings. I am not someone that can survive, let alone thrive, in a world without secret wooded spaces, streams, and friends. I suppose the friends will come (and hopefully Lauren and Ivy become regular playdates for us!), and the green spaces….well, there are lots within driving distance.
But I miss the times of laughing, tripping lightly outside in my bare feet, running down to the park. The daily walks we did, sometimes twice, in the woods, the green shadows playing over our faces.
I wanted to pepper this entry with pictures of our old home, our first family home, but just looking at them made my eyes fill with tears.