September 16, 2007 | Mama Smith

the effects of the move

The first time I realized the dramatic difference between how Matthew and I handle change was during our move from Colorado to Philadelphia.

Weeks before we left Fort Collins, I would obsessively ask Matthew, “Aren’t you going to miss this _______ ?!? “ Fill in the blank. This burrito joint? This coffee shop? This fly-fishing stream? This drive down College Ave? He’d just casually shrug his shoulders and remark that he honestly hadn’t thought about it. While I worried and fretted the last few weeks away, brooding over how stressful the move would be. How much we would miss our friends. How intense the culture shock of moving west to east, for Matthew, would be.

Upon arrival in Philly, I quickly snapped into a matter-of-fact survival mode. Keep going. Keep “doing”. Removing myself from the emotions of it all and simply forcing myself to adjust.

Matthew on the other hand began to deeply grieve the loss of his homeland. The mountains. The rivers. His friends. His favorite spots. The familiarity of the west. The hard northern east coast city was a striking contrast to the Mayberry-esque town of Fort Collins, CO.

I preemptively worry about the effects of transition. Matthew lets it slowly sink in upon arrival.

We saw this happen moving east. Then moving into parenthood. Then moving into becoming a real family with two kids. And now moving here to Greenville. Although I think, for the first time, we’ve both had an equal balance of preemptive mourning our departure from Philadelphia and letting the effects of this transition slowly sink in upon our arrival here.

Yet we all still handle these changes a bit differently…

the brooding father

Okay, not really brooding, but definitely tired, stressed and over-worked. Starting your own business, welcoming your second son into the world, and moving to a new state all within 7 months is A LOT to handle. But the man keeps on truckin’ and churning out beautiful websites (the latest launch: New Life Glenside ), loving on his family and taking his wife out on much needed dates.

the greasy, sleep-deprived mom

Post moving in. I think this was day 3 of no shower. Simply because I thought I “didn’t have time”. That is evidence of the obsessive nester that I am. Who would work until 3am, if her husband allowed, unpacking every box and making her surroundings “just-so”...all by day 2 of moving in. Yes, I have a problem. Thankfully, I have a husband, a sister and a mom who have forced me to rest and reminded me that a tired mom/wife/sister is less fun to be around than a riled up hornet. After a few naps, a few days of not unpacking a thing but just enjoying our new home, I think a small part of my sense of humor returned.

the two year old

Enough said. Brighton has claimed the 2 year old stereotype as his own with reckless abandon upon arriving in Greenville. I keep telling myself to give him a few weeks, once all the change and transition has settled down, and maybe his voice will come back down about 10 notches to resume his normal talking voice…or maybe we’ll be “blessed” with him bursting out of his room every morning shouting “Ice cream, Mama?? Breakfast?? LOOK, trucks!! Where hammer go, Mama??” And about a hundred other questions asked within the 2 minutes it took to open his door and catch myself on the frame as he flew past exploring each room again and all his toys scattered from the night before. We are drinking some serious coffee these days to cope with this new, energizer-bunny energy level he’s on. I think his Aunt Cal-Cal is slipping him Red Bull’s while we’re not looking.

the surfer dude

If Levi could talk, we swear, for a large part of day, he’d be bobbing his head saying “Duuuuude”. He is the ultimate chill-kid. When he starts walking, I think he’ll pack his bags, ditch this high-strung, emotional family of three and head out west to Morro Bay, CA to live with my surfer uncle and aunt. Where he can soak up the small surf town vibes and join others who know how to relax and take the stress of life in strides. Enough with this cuckoo, introspective, brooding lot, he’d say. Even though the latest bout of teething is testing his chill-out motto (and his parent’s patience in the middle of the night), he’s found ways to cope and keep his chi balanced. Namely chewing on whatever is in sight.

Here’s another glimpse into the unfolding home. A shower curtain I made before we moved from some awesome Joel Dewberry fabric, only to find the bathroom “surprise” painted green for us. Now we’re debating covering it in orange or tan. Ahh painting, if and when THAT’LL ever happen.

And Brighton enjoying one of the many downtown fountains. It’s amazing to me just how accessible everything is in a small city. Parking is actually free in most places. And on top of that, is usually less than a few blocks of your destination spot. No more parking in shady side alleys, awkwardly avoiding the drunk guy peeing into the gutter as we begin our mile long trek to the restaurant of our choice. There are parks and fountains and fields at every cross-street it seems. And even better, in Brighton’s eyes, is the “fire engine house” (aka: fire station) a few steps down our street. Delight marks the beginning every car trip outing, “Mama, FIRE ENGINE!”, as if I will ever forget we had a fire station near our house with B in the car.