We left behind our first “home” in Vienna this morning. I already miss it. We moved into a new place, in another part of the city. It’s smaller, it’s not as nice, and it’s not as much in the area that we want to be in. That said, it is really neat to check out a different part of the city, and I think it will ultimately give us a more well-rounded view of Vienna. It’s clean, it’s safe, it’s near a metro and it has everything we really need. Benjamin is sleeping in the living room, but he’s happy. Liam has a gigantic portacrib (I think he’s the only one whose sleeping situation improved) and he’s asleep and happy, too. That’s what’s important.
Yesterday, I was really stressing about this place and this move. It’s not ideal, and it’s not what I wanted to have happen. I can think of several other places I’d rather be staying at the moment (not all of them on this side of the Atlantic). But, so what? It’s not really a big deal. As my sister, Amanda, said, “This will be a fond memory soon.” She may be entirely right. It’s quite possible that the effort that goes in to making this place our home for the next week will cause it to be remembered fondly in the end.
So often, it’s the shared challenges that we remember with a laugh and a smile with our families. I was talking with my dad this afternoon about exactly that, when he reminded me of “that camping trip when it rained”. I think everyone who has camped with any regularity has a good “rainy camping” story, and in our case, we awoke in the middle of the night with the runoff from the mountains actually running (with some volume and force) THROUGH the middle of the tent. I think it was spring time, and not warm at all. We spent the rest of the night cranky and sodden in the car, and went damply home (early) the next day. At the time, I’m sure I was grumpy about it. I know I was wet and cold. Today, my dad and I shared a sincere and happy laugh about it. I really, truly, remember that trip fondly. It’s a memory I share with my dad and my siblings. We ALL remember it. We shared the struggle together, we got through it together, and it even contributed to my mental picture of myself (and my family) as relatively hardy campers (even though we didn’t last the rest of the weekend, it didn’t stop us from camping again, many times). I don’t remember exactly how old I was (early teens?) and I don’t remember much of the other details about that trip (they all tend to blend together as a happy melange in my mind). But I think of it fondly. I think if it’s possible to have a happy teenage memory of being soaked, miserable and cold in the woods with my family, then it’s certainly possible that this little apartment will be remembered with a laugh and a smile (if at all) as part of our adventure. Thanks, to my family, for reminding me of that.