Lately I've been fumbling between rushing around and lazily procrastinating. I'm sorry to the mommies I stood impatiently behind yesterday during a "rushing around" moment. Just inside the doors of Kroger, you both blocked me while you frantically wiped down your carts and kids with disinfectant wipes. Yes, that was me rolling my eyes, shifting my weight from one foot to the other in hurried exasperation, heavy sighing. Yes, that was me, the rebel mom who didn't use the wipes, who just wanted to blow through Kroger in 5 minutes or less to get the necessities - milk, juice, Three Musketeers new dark chocolate mint mini's. I'm sorry, okay? I let you down. I didn't support your caring, responsible, germ-free ways.
I'm afraid I have a false sense of security about how much packing I've done. Just because the pictures have been taken off the walls it feels like a lot more has been done than what I know to be true. It's behind the cabinets, inside the closets, under the bed; those are the places that get you. And overwhelm you. At least, so far, this is one of the most organized moves I have ever participated in. Even Chris is on board. Last night he brought up some vacuum bags to put with the other vacuum bags so they would all be together. That's HUGE! Instead of just stuffing those found bags in a random box, he brought them upstairs so that they could all be in one place. My heart swelled with pride and skipped with joy.
We all the supplies. Lots of empty boxes. Tape. Markers for labeling. Lots of newspapers for wrapping. I stare at them. I carry them to another room. I rearrange the empty boxes. I decide I have more important things to do. For example, going through my phone and assigning various ring tones to my contacts. Sonar for Chris. Crickets for my dad. Sci-fi for my mother-in-law. This is very important work. A task that just must be done. And of course, blogging about procrastination. Isn't that like the pinnacle of procrastination?
Sitting outside this morning, enjoying my coffee (procrastinating...I never sit outside to drink coffee), I thought about this house and all the things I will miss. There is an elementary school behind our house. Prospective buyers often asked us how loud it was and if the noise bothered us. The answer, which I only just thought of, is if the sound of children playing is bothersome to you, then yes, you might consider it loud. But you can only hear them if you're outside and to me, it's quite a lovely sound. Children at play.
When we bought this house it had been a rental. It had not been loved. We painted its dirty walls. Uncovered hardwood floors under layer upon layer of vinyl and linoleum. We put tile on the counter tops, installed new hardware, put up blinds and curtains, gave it a new roof and covered the old chalky aluminum siding with a nice taupe. We planted azaleas and monkey grass. We hung a flag and trimmed the trees. We loved it like a house should be loved and it became a home.
These walls have seen so much joy and so much heartbreak. We brought baby Ace home to this house. We celebrated Louie's first birthday here. And, of course, that night we sat on the back steps, crumpled heaps of brokenness after receiving Louie's diagnosis. We've come a long way since that night. A lot of grieving and a lot of healing has taken place. There is one thing I will be leaving this house with that I didn't have before (besides Ace) and that is an anchor in the present. The reason for this change, for this new in-the-moment me, you might assume is that I've had some epiphany or inspiration; that spiritually I've reached new ground. But it's not that. Actually, it's pretty much fear-based. The reason is that the future is a scary place to go now. So I don't visit it as often. And I just became cognizant of this last night...that I no longer tell myself that worn out line, "Well, when this happens or that happens, then I'll be happy." I'm just happy today. And that's really nice. It's a gift and I'll take it. I will take that anchor and cling to it.
