For the past three years, I have desperately wanted to move home.  From the moment I first rocked Robbie in the same chair where my mother rocked all three of her children, I wanted to be back there.  I wanted Robbie to know his family, to grow up with the same things I had.  Catching fireflies (we don’t have them in Arlington – or, if we do, they avoid our backyard).  Picnics at Ecton.  Swimming in the city pools.  But I never thought it was really going to happen.

Sure, I’ve been working hard towards moving home for the past six months.  Convincing Justin that it will be wonderful.  Getting my teaching certification transferred to Kentucky.   Applying for jobs.  Prematurely looking at houses.  But, as time moved on, it felt like things weren’t going to come together.  Sure, Justin’s company said he could work from Lexington.  But I didn’t have a job, and our house wasn’t selling.

And then Monday happened.  Last week, I had been unofficially offered a job at Crawford Middle School in Lexington.  On Friday I got the official word.  Monday, shaking and trying hard not to be emotional about leaving Lawrence, I went to my boss and turned in my letter of resignation from last year.  It’s a difficult thing to do; you question whether you’re making the right decision.  After all, you don’t have to leave.  You want to.

After turning in my letter, I officially accepted the position with Fayette County.  A few minutes later, one of my students came in.  She has been watching Elmo while our house was on the market and told me there had been a family meeting.  They wanted to permanently keep the cat.  Sure, it’s been nice only having the two.  But it wasn’t going to be permanent; and I’ve had Elmo since he was three weeks old.  And what kind of person just gives her cat way?  However difficult the decision was, I knew Elmo would be happier living with Yerelyn.  And so would Justin.

On my way home, I shared this information with my mom, who has our cat, Grover, and our dog, Barkley.  She said, “You know, if it would help you out, we’d be happy to keep Grover.  Tom has grown really attached to her.”  Just like that, we were officially a two-cat family.

Then, at 6:00, things took another startling turn.  Our realtor called: there was an offer.  Probably not the offer we wanted, but, after a few hours of counter offers, we came to terms both parties could agree with.  All Justin and I could do was look at each other.  It was real.  It was happening.

Slowly, as the events of the day began to sink in, we started talking about our time in our little treehouse.  All the wonderful things that had happened there – the birth of our son, acceptance into Boston College for both of us, Robbie’s first Christmas.  And the sad things, too.  This was the house where the police came to have Justin call the coroner.  It is the last home of ours that his mother would ever see.

But it’s time to pass the little treehouse on to a new family.  After all, there are so many exciting things waiting to happen.


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