In August 2014 my parents drove me, squished in the back seat between Eliza (barely 2) and Andrew (2 months) of our Hyundai Sonata, to Pullman for the final two years of Dave’s vet school. It had been a stressful summer (see my previous post “The Truth About Having Two Kids”) and I was ready to move on to this next phase but still sad to leave the only place I’d called home.
I walked into our apartment, seeing it for the very first time and I was crushed. It was not what I expected. I walked through each room clenching my jaw tightly trying to hold back the tears. I repeated over and over to myself “I hate this place. I hate this place. This isn’t my home. This will never be home.” I knew that eventually I’d break down and start to like it here (because I’m a big softy) so in my anger I promised myself that I would be sure to hate this place every day. No making friends. No pictures on the wall. I could not let this become home because I hated it.
Well Dave convinced me to put the pictures on the wall. I protested to him, out loud, that despite the family collage above the couch, this would never be my home.
I still didn’t leave the apartment. I let grandparents and Dave take Eliza out to the playground for as long as possible. I couldn’t leave the apartment.
Well eventually Dave had to start school and I couldn’t keep letting Eliza watch 5 episodes of Curious George a day so we starting going outside and we both started making friends.
Oh and I was called as Relief Society president after only attending church twice. So then I really couldn’t keep my promise of not making friends.
My heart was slowly changed. I love it here. This is my home and I cry harder at the thought of leaving than I ever did at the thought of staying.
I have the best friends here. These last two years have been the absolute hardest and most trying years so far, but they have also been the best. I required a lot of help in that time because my husband was gone 90% of the time and my kids are ridiculously and exhaustingly emotionally needy. I’ve had many meals, treats, and cards brought by on bad days and someone noticed. I’ve had friends come over at bedtime and help me rock my babies to sleep. I’ve had friends talk me through dark moments of my life when I was so depressed I cried just thinking about having to put all three kids in the car. I’ve had friends help me grow and change and teach me how to be a better mother, wife, housekeeper, cook, seamstress, and person in general. I’ve had friends here who I can trust with my children. I’ve had real friends, best friends.
So Pullman, WA as I drive away 2 years later (with three children this time!) much more comfortably in our red Minivan, the Hot Tamale, I must thank you. Thank you for being a random small town in the middle of a giant wheat field filled with the best times and people I could possibly have hoped for.
