Piano practice is a little different in the new house

Before:

After:

 

Syl still loves her keyboard, though! I heard her practicing in her "office" yesterday. 

Cookie Champ Rained Out!

Syl was her troop's cookie selling champion this year, which meant her final act as a Hollistonian was to have been to carry the flag in today's Memorial Day parade. 

Unfortunately, we were half way to Holliston when Melissa got a text saying Syl's troop had pulled out of the parade due to light rain. I guess scouting isn't quite what it used to be...

She took it in stride, as always. We plan to celebrate her accomplishment on our own today, by visiting the local fro-yo joint!

Hot tubbin' all night

Two doors down, the O'Learys have a SWEET hot tub and pool. 

... And they let Syl eat pizza in the H2O. 

I may have shoved Trystan into the pool. If I hadn't, though, she would not have this photo. 

And back home, we cracked open the tub in our yard for the first time and had a nice little moment of family time.. Before Bruschi ambushed us with head licks. 

Life isn't bad. 

Loving the yard

And Syl is a big fan of her "office," which she has spent 2 straight days organizing. 

Endings and beginnings

No matter how long in progress, ends come abruptly. We were somewhat rushed in our final pack up yesterday (tip: closing two houses on the same day AND moving = high stress even when it pans out). So our final departure lacked the sentiment and fanfare I'd imagined. We just drove off, leaving some eerily empty rooms behind. 

Of course the melancholy was quickly replaced by excitement. Moving IN is fun. 

Our sellers continue to amaze with their kindness. Among other things, they left notes for us all around the house, wishing us luck and happiness. They even left fresh flowers in Sylvie's bathroom. 

And the house itself continues to surprise us in wonderful ways. 

Friends stopping by was a nice cap to the day. 

This is how I found Sylvie this morning, enjoying the porch swing that the sellers also left for us.

We can't wait for everyone to visit. Back to the boxes...

Here we go!

Sylvie got a little misty this morning. I found her sitting in the driveway, deep in thought, looking up at the house. She keeps telling us this is "bittersweet."  

By the time she boarded her bus for the last time, though, she was a-ok. Her dad not so much!

Not a bad send off

What is better than a final dinner at your favorite Chinese restaurant?

Finding out that by total coincidence you have stumbled into said restaurant's grand re-opening, and everything is free!

Capping with ice cream at Dolce Tempo on a warm pre-summer evening was a good way to close out this chapter. 

Remembering

I can remember so vividly sitting on the steps, feeling mad. And sad. I cannot recall what I wore above the waist, but for some reason my Nike warm-up corduroys (navy blue, zippers at the ankles, red stripe up each leg, drawstring waist) are clear in my memory. I sat there stewing, back against the faux support post of our new front porch, pissed at my parents for what I felt was an unnecessary, even gratuitous move across town to a new neighborhood, missing my friends on Bonney Drive-who I'd see again on the very next school day, but who in the moment felt a continent or more away.

The clarity of this memory is striking not least because at the time I was in the fifth grade, little more than two years older than Sylvie is now. Two years. I'd better be more careful about the memories I help to sear into her brain from here on out, because obviously they start sticking around now.

That was my first day at 11 Willowgate Rise (or Willow Gate Rise - opinions have always varied. Only the US Postal Service knows for sure, and they accommodate both variations). Tomorrow is my last. A lot of days cover the span between: 31 years worth, minus some years here and there for college, stints in DC and Boston, and the like. The point is, between that day on the porch and this evening on the same porch (photo credit: Sylvie), I've spent the majority of my life with this particular roof over my head. 

Family lore has a way of inflating drama over time, but here's the story as I know it: Round about 1981 a developer named John Kuhlman broke ground on Willowgate Rise (or Willow Gate Rise - I'll stop that now) on the opposite side of Holliston from where my family then lived on Bonney Drive. He immediately erected two show houses on either side of the entrance to the street. Flanked by brick walls and festooned with the best amenities he could afford, these houses were top of the line. My mom fell in love with 11 Willowgate... But it was out of our price range. So when it sold, she penned a handwritten note and slipped it under the front door. If ever the owner decided to sell, it said, he should call her first. A couple of short years later, he did. And that's how I ended up on the front porch, a fifth grader seething in his Nike cords.

That anger passed quickly, and the subsequent years brought a lot of happiness in that house.

I remember my dad sinking the post for my basketball hoop--and then filling that post with cement (which explains why said hoop still rusts, standing erect, at the side of the driveway). I remember after dinner 1 on 1 games with him. He always had a better shot than me.

I remember discovering that the pretty new girl in school had moved in right up the hill, AND that she liked to shoot hoops. I remember going out to the bus stop across the street in the Erichsen's driveway every morning, wondering if she'd let me sit next to her on the bus.

I remember my dad's surprise 50th birthday party, when Tom Harrington commissioned a hula dancer and everyone wondered if it was okay if I stayed up to watch. 

I remember my birthday dinner when my parents pretended they hadn't gotten me the water bed I wanted (I know. I mean, I don't know. But I wanted it) until my Nana blew it by bursting into sympathetic tears. 

I remember fighting sibling fights with Aunt Willow, who wasn't yet Aunt Willow; and also commiserating with her over shared parental injustices.

I remember watching the Fllutie/Phelan pass with my mom; and "no snakes in the hot tub"; and our hermit crabs, and Rambo, and Reagan (both "hypo-allergenic" dogs); and "back the same day"; and "glad to have you aboard."

I remember countless Christmases with Grammy and Grampy Koledo, each following a careful script, and each unique and memorable.

And then I remember waking up one Sunday morning a few years later, a homeowner now, to find all of the window treatments on the floor, and my beautful bride Melissa standing triumphantly in the living room with a screwdriver, daring me to object. 

I remember bringing Sylvie Rose Haley, our miracle baby, home in her car seat and insisting that we document every step of her arrival. 

I remember all of the parties we hosted here: Sylvie's birthday parties, our inflatable-monstrosity-festooned summer parties, our karaoke-infused winter parties. I remember wondering how it was that none of our neighbors never called the police.

I remember creating our own holiday scripts, for Christmas (usually with Grammy and Grampy Haley and sometimes Aunt Willow), and for Thanksgiving (usually with Melissa's large and ever-growing band of turkey-eaters). I remember grilled turkey--sometimes successful, sometimes... Blackened. I remember tofurkey.

I remember watching the last of our childhood-holdover neighbors--the Erichsens, the Ristinos, the Boyds--move away, or pass away.

I remember coming home one Friday evening a few months ago, fuming from my 2.5 hour fight with traffic, and Melissa saying, "we need to move closer to your work." I remember agreeing with her, to my surprise.

This is my family this evening on the porch of 11 Willowgate Rise. We are every bit as happy as we look (Bruschi is happy. Trust me. Bruschi is always happy). Tomorrow, Gentle Giant will pull into the driveway with two large trucks, and they will load up all of our earthly belongings, bringing to an end the run I started in the fifth grade, sulking on the same stoop where my family sat tonight for this silly selfie. A few hours ago I finally allowed myself a few minutes of nostalgic melancholy, after steadfastly ignoring the reality of our pending move for the couple of months between the abstract decision and tomorrow's reality. I remembered a lot of things, only a small subset of which I just wrote down. 

We are all excited for what is next. But we'll miss this place. On to new memories.

Portrait of the Artist

...showing her work at the High School art show! Popsicle on Popsicle sticks... So proud of her!

Early morning walk

Sylvie and I were both ready to start our days well before school started today, so we took Sophie and Bruschi to Oak Grove before school. Naturally, they had a blast. 

Bruschi, Mr. Super Sneaky

Bruschi's favorite game is to stalk and pounce on an unsuspecting Sophie. At least that's how the game goes in his head. In reality, Sophie spots him a mile away (white isn't the best camouflage color in spring) and neatly side-steps him. 

The set-up:

 

The attack:

The escape!

Ahhh...sunshine!

After a cold and yucky week, the dogs and I were ready for some running around in the sun. 

 

Now, a post-craziness nap. 

Happy Mothers Day!

Packing up!

Syl is being a big help with the packing. She wanted to pack her books herself, so she's packing and I'm supervising (i.e., laying on her bed with a cup of tea).