Grieving My Ohio Life

My “happy place” is an evening stroll outside, after dinner, with all my boys. I’ve been looking forward to getting back to these daily walks, all Polar-Vortex-winter-long. I just want to smell the air, feel the sun and watch as the kids find a new bug to poke around on the ground.

In all the craziness that has been the last few months of my life — moving to a new state, buying and selling houses, finding new childcare, dealing with poo water coming out of the ceiling of our new home (for realz) and taking care of two little men who are either throwing up chocolate milk or Amoxicilin all over me — I was even more looking forward to a good, hardy walk once we had a few days to settle in. (And fix the #pooceiling.)

So last week, after packing 60 pounds of boys in our double-jogging stroller, we headed out toward what (someday) will be their elementary school. It’s just one half mile away. And it has a super cool playground. “Paradise at the end of the journey,” I told the boys.

“Push faster, mom,” they said.

As we started out on that warm(ish) day, I noticed that no one else was out pushing their kids around. In Dublin, you’d pass another family on every block. But not here. Because, as I quickly learned, only stupid people attempt to trek the hills with an obnoxious, sidewalk-hogging stroller.

I’m not exaggerating; there are no flat areas here. You are either going up or down a pretty darn steep hill at all times. It’s not like there is one hill that you gear up for at the end of the walk. No, it’s ALL hills. Crazy hills. Hills most people only run up and down purposely for a workout — by themselves. And definitely not while pushing 75 pounds in the process.

I had to stop about half-way up every hill; it was miserable. And all the neighbors likely heard my kids yelling at me each time I stopped:

“Push faster!”

So there went my happy place. After that, no more evening strolls. A large part of what we typically do as a family each day (when it is over 50 degrees) would need to be stricken from our schedule.

Just punch-me-in-the-face lovely.

And then I thought, “How the heck are kids supposed to learn to ride bikes around here?”

Add this little hiccup to the larger issue at hand — that I’m in a new city, in a new home, with no personal network for myself or my children, and I have no clue where I’m going or what I’m doing — and I honestly feel like I have lost my identity. I mean, I’ve always wanted to move out of Ohio and try something new, but I never knew it would be this hard, especially with two young children.

And we are just three hours from Central Ohio. But yet, it is so very different here.

Sound extreme? I would think so as well if I weren’t going through this myself. I’d probably look at someone like me and say, “Stop being so pathetic!” and “Move on already, loser!”

Stop whining! Stop pouting! PULL IT TOGETHER, WOMAN!

And I will. Eventually. But as a good friend just told me (who has lived all over the world and will be moving again soon — this time with a child), “I believe it takes two years to feel settled. Give yourself and your family two years. It may not take that long, but allow yourself the time to grieve the loss of your life in Columbus and find a new one in Pittsburgh.”

We are lucky in that we do have three fabulous family members who live close-by (and who likely are moving even closer), and one of them is Mac’s newest partner-in-crime. This past weekend, at the amazing “Welcome to Pittsburgh” meal they prepared for us, Mac and Afton dug into multiple bottles of nail polish (while we ignored them and sipped wine, of course) and painted all over fuzzy Mr. Gorilla. Now he is a dazzling Silverback.

Literally. With sparkles. And he reeks of acetate.

Recently, another great friend implored that each of us should “Make Every Day Count.” Her father is battling the yucky “C” word and, although my petty daily concerns pale in comparison to hers, I want her outlook and attitude to resonate as I go about each day. I need to look at the bright side of things: I am blessed to have more time with my kids right now, I get to decorate a new home, my husband has started a fantastic new job and my neighborhood Target is brand new and attached to a mall. How amazing is that? (Did you really think I would write a post without incorporating a shout-out to Target?)

Yes, I am attempting to work from home with a 19-month-old on my lap, our garage is still packed with boxes and bins and tubs, car insurance is twice as expensive here, Mac reminds us every night that “This house is old; I want to move back to Dublin” and I have a stress zit the size of Mt. Pinatubo on my chin. But our fridge is full, our kids are healthy and spring most certainly is upon us, friends.

Our routine is completely different here, along with everything else. I miss my workplace. I miss friends. I miss family. I miss what I’m used to. What I knew so well. What I enjoyed so much. 

Including those coveted evening walks. I miss them terribly. But instead, we’ll now head into the (flat) backyard and throw around dozens of plastic balls and toys and watch crazy Roxy dog run like a cheetah from corner to corner with her tongue flapping out.

Or if we're really feeling crazy, maybe we’ll just drive to the park…Duh.

Yes, tonight we will drive to the park. It is what we will do to make this day count.

-Melissa