Moving, as you all know, is tough. Moving with a two year old is something else entirely. Jack was out of sorts all last week. This is a kid who never needed sleep training, but I felt like I was starting over, the way he screamed at every single nap and bedtime. Now that we're in the hotel, he's back to sleeping like a champ (thank goodness!), even in his pack n' play, which is in all honesty way too small. But he's not in a toddler bed yet, so it's the best we can do. He's even eating better than he was last week, which just goes to show how much change can affect a little kid. Despite the fact that he most likely won't even remember living in Alexandria, he still has to go through the "goodbye" process, just like the rest of us.
On Saturday we finished the move-out process. You know, making sure we'd gotten everything out of the house, leaving the keys, paying the maids for the final clean. Jackie explored what was left of his house for a little while, and then it was time to go. As generally happens when we tell him to say goodbye, he ignores us, and then about two minutes later starts crying that he didn't get to say goodbye. We'd forgotten to drop off the keys with our landlady, so we went by the house one last time. Jack got the chance to say his official goodbye, waving at the house from his car seat, and back we went to the "hotel house."
I can't say I'm going to miss the place we called home for the last three years - it was sort of falling apart around us, and John always hated it so it never really felt like home - but it will always be Jack's first house, the house he came home to after he was born, the place he took his first steps and said his first words. There are a lot of good memories tied up in that house.
|I always liked that blue door.|
|Riding the trike on our street.|
|Last family photo in front of the house.|