litany of worries

I find that I’m having a similar experience leaving Raleigh. North Carolina has been my home for all my life, and the Raleigh area for 23 years of it. My childhood was spent on North Carolina’s beaches, shunning sunscreen (which I will no doubt pay for any second now) and living a meager but exuberant existence. I swam all the time; I spent Christmas in shorts and T-shirts; I roller-skated and rode my bike and made forts in the tick-infested woods, without a care in the world. It was Heaven on Earth.
Then, we moved to Raleigh. I was ten years old. We had one tree worth climbing, and my parents had it removed shortly after we got settled. We had malls, and we had strip shopping centers; and we had kids who didn’t welcome newcomers, especially straight-A students who didn’t have (and couldn’t really afford) Jordache jeans and Vans. I cried every night until I was about fourteen. All I wanted was to leave this place.
After a while – I guess it happened when my first child was born – I learned to love the beast. Steve liked it here. He had had opportunities to move, and in fact he had lived all over the world, but he had decided to settle here. And it’s not bad. The winters aren’t too cold. The summers are awful and humid, but I’m told it’s worse in Texas. You can afford to buy a house here (and, as Kathleen can attest, it’s comparatively trouble-free) and the schools are good. And there’s plenty of shopping, although we are still IKEA-less, which chaps my hide.
Now that I’m finally outta here – a feat considering that most of the people I knew in high school are still here – I’m terribly sad. It’s not the place. I hate scrubby pine trees, I’ve seen my fill of azaleas; and, also unlike Kathleen, I’ve shed no tears for wisteria. But all the people I love are here (and, shortly, also in NYC). My mom and dad and sister still live in the same Raleigh suburb, about two miles from that house with the controversial tree. My grandparents still live about an hour away. Many of my cousins, people I grew up with, are still here. And, of course, I eventually did make friends, great ones, and every time I have to say goodbye to them now I feel like I’m cutting off fingers.

My greatest worry is for my children. I have two school-age daughters and a toddler son. He’ll be fine; he’s still far too young for any of this to make much of an impression. But I’m deeply worried about my daughters.
My oldest turns seven in three short weeks. She has great friends and a little hand-holding boyfriend who’s alarmingly sweet and looks out for her best interests. She loves her teacher. She loves her school and wears her school T-shirt with an ear-to-ear grin. In short, her attachments to the place are deep, and now I have to break them and pray I don't destroy her giddy good cheer.
My younger daughter, who is in kindergarten, looks out for others before she does herself. She fixes her sister’s boo-boos (and vice-versa), and she pulls her own loose teeth. She cries when something sad happens during a movie. She makes presents for her friends, and every person in her class is a friend. At Valentine’s Day, everyone else got the typical little cards except my daughter – she got a box of chocolates, a teddy bear, special Hallmark cards, and more bags of candy than I could count. I’m still finding little bags all over the house. Is it fair for me to take her out of such a neat class, such a positive experience?
I don’t know that we can afford to stay the rest of the school year -- to maintain two residences, two sets of bills. And it’s going to be tough being without Steve; we’re going to miss him, and I’m worried about his emotional health. He’s a homebody. He cocoons. He doesn’t like being on his own. But if we leave, just get out of here, is that fair to the kids? What would (insert your favorite advice maven) do?