So far, Mr. J2 (I think from here on out he will just be known as Mr. J. There is no other, so why make him seem second to anyone?) and I are going ahead with our plans to move in together in October.
He hasn’t told the kids yet. He’s going to wait until a little later in the summer to talk to them about it. We decided to do it in October because it will be coming up on one year together, but also because the kids will also be well into their new school semester, so they’ll be well focused in a routine when it happens.
In reality, it’s not likely to come as a huge shock. They know I spend a LOT of time there. They know I sleep over.
They know I have a dresser full of clothes – some of which were borrowed by The Daughter.
It’s not rocket science, but we still want to give them the respect they deserve. And some time to get used to the idea that I will be there full-time, and will likely see them more than their dad does, just given my schedule.
I haven’t told The Roommate yet.
And time is running out.
I mean, sure – October is a long way off. Still three full months away.
But if we both move from the condo I have to give the landlord at least 60 days notice. Which would take it to August 1.
In reality… August 1 is not so far away.
And so, that is why I want to give The Roommate time to make a decision as to whether she is going to stay where she is, or if she is going to move in October as well.
I really, really, really hope she stays.
In all honesty and selfishness, it’s so much easier for me if she stays.
I can leave her my furniture – sofa, chairs, tv stand.
Most of the kitchen stuff.
And the selfish part means I don’t have to move it myself.
But for some reason, each time I think about telling her – or trying to tell her – that I am moving in with Mr. J…. It doesn’t happen.
It seems that whenever we are sitting and chatting and an opportunity comes up, there is always something else going on – illness in her family. Complaints about our transit system. Complaints about the weather.
I know I should just bite the bullet. I mean, really – what is she going to do? Tell me I can’t move?
Be pissed at me?
In reality, her reaction has no bearing on my life. I could wait until August 1 and give both her and the landlord my notice.
But that’s not me. I’m not that type of person. So we are meeting for breakfast on Saturday morning in the suburb I will be moving to – she will be cat-sitting for her sister this weekend, and Mr. J works – so it’s a good plan.
A logical plan.
So we will sit and have an Irish breakfast and I will tell her my news.
She really shouldn’t be surprised – I mean, I spend more nights with Mr. J than I do at home.
But in reality, she probably didn’t see it coming. Whenever we do sit and chat, she is so busy going on and on and on about every single little complaint in her life – and yes, most of the things she tells me are complaints – that when she is done, she doesn’t even think to ask how I am doing.
Or how things are with Mr. J.
So yes. I think she will be a little pissed.
Pick your adjective.
It will be ONE MORE thing she will have to do. She will immediately call her sister who is out-of-town, to complain that on top of EVERYTHING else, she now has to decide whether she is moving or not. (Lots of sarcasm here)
But I think the three weeks I am giving her to decide to stay or go is enough. If she is deciding to stay, then that’s it – no more work for her.
She can turn my bedroom into a craft room like she has always wanted.
But if she decides to go… then the summer will be a busy one for her, that’s for sure.
For me? Telling her means I can finally relax, and get excited about packing and purging and organizing things for my move with Mr. J.
Because the fact that I haven’t really jumped on planning and organizing for this move has me concerned, and I am one of those people who doesn’t leave things to the last-minute; I am always a planner. Always organized.
Am I scared of moving in with Mr. J?
Am I worried it won’t work?
I’ve been thinking about this a lot lately. I really have. I think my concern is that his basement is still full of his ex-wife’s stuff – clothes from when the kids were young; toys and things they want to keep for grandchildren; books and clothes… almost 20 years of accumulated stuff.
It’s a lot. It’s natural.
But it’s there.
Memories. Both good and bad ones.
So I feel awkward about bringing more things into his house. Even though what I bring in won’t be anywhere near the level of stuff going out.
Mr. J is supportive about it. He says it’s a non-issue.
I’m making it an issue of it.
Is it too soon? Should we even be considering this?
I don’t want Mr. J to feel pressured. I don’t want him to feel like he is in the middle, stuck between his past and his future.
We are good together – great together.
I just have to keep remembering that.
And stop worrying about his past. I am his future – and he is mine. We will go forward.