Ants Marching  

(This is the second of three posts this week focusing on "home", in all its variations.)

Ahhh, Dave Matthews. Just a few bars of this cheery tune take me back to college, where the echoes of "Dave" (he's the 21st century version of Madonna and Prince-- he needs no last name) spewed from underneath cracked dorm room doors during late-night cram sessions. Really, his lyrics are the anthem of my formative years.

In a way, DH & I are both very much like "ants marching". Since we first met during my junior year at "Dupont", we've been continually on the move. First, we went in different directions. Six weeks into our relationship, he transferred from "Dupont" back home, then a year later, to another East Coast school. I, meanwhile, finished my college career, and followed DH to his new university where I pursued my Master's Degree. We married, and moved into our first "home" (we rented the second-floor of a turn-of-the-century duplex), and in close succession, marched into the Deep South for our first jobs. We were only there for eight months before fate knocked on our doorstep once again (actually, my current boss called me out of the blue one July day and basically offered me a job), and we were off to the Carolinas in the blink of an eye.

It's been three years since we moved into our current home. It's a starter home that we found, financed, closed on, and moved into in less than three weeks (try doing that in today's housing market!). When we first moved in, it felt like we'd stepped foot into a mansion. Our previous apartments had only had two bedrooms and one bathroom, so we didn't have nearly enough furniture to decorate all the rooms in our new place. In fact, it took us almost two years to furnish every room (although, it took my own mother nearly a decade to fully furnish her house, so I guess I was speedy in comparison).

But after a decade of moving from dorm to dorm, campus to campus, state to state, being stuck in one place for so long feels like... well... being stuck. Both DH & I find ourselves feeling antsy. We're ready for the next step in our lives, the next big move. We kind of feel like Dave's "ants"-- "Never chang(ing) a thing // The week ends the week begins." We're in a rut.

Since having G and becoming parents, there's been a very strong pull towards home. DH & I hail from completely opposite sides of the country. I'm a Yank (not to be confused with a "Yankee") by birth, and he comes from a state that considers itself to be its own country. My desire to return home-- to be closer to my parents, G's godparents, and a large network of friends and family-- was confirmed when we went back to my hometown for G's first birthday party. It just felt right. And besides, when I'm home, I sort of feel like that little ant: "Goes to visit his mommy // She feeds him well his concerns he forgets them // And remembers being small playing under the table and dreaming."

I know "home" isn't all it's cracked up to be. I'm not sure I could raise a child in the school district I attended. It's a place ripe with "competitive parenting", and I already participated in that frenzy as a child. It's insulated, ethnically uniform, and fairly old-fashioned. Then again, it's a town where people don't lock their doors, know all their neighbors, and attend ice cream socials on the village green. It's a "community" in every sense of the word.

Will DH & I take a leap of faith one day and return "home"? Or is home the place we already have, surrounded by the family we've created for ourselves? I can think of a million reasons to pack up and leave it all behind, and a million more reasons to stay. Then again, maybe we should take these chances before "Lights down, you up and die."