Family Tales

I am not sure if Callum has quite figured out what “New York” actually means. When we’re out walking around, he’ll sometimes ask to go to “New York,” or when he gets out of bed, I’ll ask him where he’s going, and he’ll say “New York.” We’re here, baby, I tell him. We’re here….

Our furniture (and tons and tons of boxes) arrived on the Sunday before Christmas, and we’ve been digging our way out, ever since. We set up the tree, and assorted other decorations. We’re managing to cook all right and I even brought my lunch into work today. But we’re still sleeping on the sofabed (and in the pack ‘n’ play) in the living room. Ah, it just takes time…

Christmas morning was a delight. Callum is old enough this year to get an idea of who/what Santa Claus is, and he’s spent the last week or so pointing out, and labelling, images of the old man he’s seen in holiday decorations. When we told him Santa Claus brought presents to good little girls and boys, he adamantly would say “no,” and we couldn’t quite understand what he was objecting to. Ah, such is life with a barely-verbal toddler.

Anyway, he didn’t object too much when, on Christmas morning, he finally registered the extra presents that had magically appeared (after much mid-night bumbling among boxes) under the tree. When he first awoke, he made his usual barely-conscious plea for “Dora,” and had to have his attention drawn to Santa’s leavings. But, once present unwrapping was in full swing, he kept calling for “another one.” His main gift, which also delighted the big boy (er, man) of the household, was a wooden train set. Since that morning, the chorus of “play trains,” rather than “Dora” has been his first thought upon awakening.

So, to our vast readership — which, due to moving-related, and non-moving-related lack-of-organization reasons, has not received Christmas cards from us — we wish a happy holiday season and a wonderful New Year! Drop us a line via e-mail or leave a comment if you’d like our new address and contact info.

On Wednesday, the moving truck drove away with all of our things, and we checked into the motel where we’d be sleeping for our last two nights in California. But then we headed back to the neighborhood for one last hurrah — a laid-back dinner at our wonderful neighbors’ house. They’d ordered from a legendary Berkeley pizza place we were quite fond of, and the conversation and atmosphere was easy and relaxed. As the night crept on, we grew tired and determined to head out. We said our goodbyes and the ever-energetic Callum jumped down the neighbors’ steps, walked over to our driveway, toddled up our front walkway, and stood patiently in front of our hunter-green front door, waiting to be let inside.

“No, honey,” I said, “we don’t live here anymore.”

It may go without saying, but many tears ensued, as it really sunk in that we’d never again sleep under that roof that sheltered a thousand memories. Memories of bringing Callum home from the hospital, full of worry and anticipation (and quite rightly so) of months of wakeful nights. Memories of his first steps, first tumbles, and first words.

Tomorrow we fly to our new home in NYC, where we’ll make many more family memories. Snow is forecast for our first night there, so maybe we’ll kick off the memory-making with a snowman.