Our second morning waking in the Airstream...Ellen had coffee brewing early, and I took note of how much I enjoyed the strength of the scent, with the kitchen mere steps from our bed. I snuggled deeper into the down and linen against the chill of the morn, and Adelaide joined me in the bed, curling up against my chest and we kept one another warm, saying little. I had my phone in hand, and set it down to just be with her.
We are transitioning, still having to live our normal lives for nine more days. We still have to go to work, although I am now much closer to my job - we are parked in the tree filled backyard of a friend's home, and my job (outside of my freelance photography and writing work) is watching their son three days a week. We are realizing how perfect this transition is, how needed, how lucky we are. We are in a place where we are comfortable, with good friends who have opened their home to us, letting us use their bathroom and kitchen while we finish up our plumbing, we are able to run our power tools without hesitation, and Adelaide's world is still fairly normal - she's adjusting to life in the Airstream beautifully, sleeping with ease, and waking excited to be so near to her best friend.
Leaving our house wasn't difficult, it was mainly sad. While walking through the rooms, we held hands and openly cried for the house, which was our first home together. We moved in to that house and ended the chaos and pain of driving four hours every weekend to see one another, we came home to that house engaged and later, married. We learned and grew together and individually, as mothers, as wives. We renovated our Airstream and our dream to travel was realized there. Adelaide celebrated three birthdays there and grew three inches there. So many things, little moments and big, and we worked tirelessly to make it a beautiful home. We both ran our hands along the table we built together for the kitchen (we decided at the last minute to not store it and instead sold it with the house) and then finally, we just knew it was time to go. We scooped up the cat from his perch on the stairs, locked the door, and drove away, looking back as tears dried on our faces with the rush of air.
The Airstream already feels like home. The sadness for our house is lessening with each minute we spend in the Airstream, it's interesting how sleeping in a space just two nights can make it feel more like yours, how the little things - coffee in the morning, writing a blog post while curled up on the sofa, bringing the first groceries back and putting them away - these things make it a home. It's still a construction zone as we hurry to wrap up plumbing and our bathroom, and we likely won't polish it until we are in Canada, but it's comfortable, airy, and exactly as we imagined it would be. I promise to write more soon enough - until then, you'll find us working to finish things up and preparing to head out next week - for good.