Moving On

It's so close I can count the times I have left to pull my van into this driveway.  How many times I have rock on that porch.  Times I will enter and exit that front door.  The one where we welcomed so many people through the years.  Where coming home from the hospital I stood with my still huge belly proudly holding those newborns. The one where my babies took their first of school year pictures.  I had no idea what was ahead, I was just beyond joyful for those little gifts and the grace gift of a house to put them in.

The door where I announced to my sweet husband our third pregnancy.  That he was going to be a daddy again.  His face delighted.  Our hearts broken when we suffered loss.  The decision to never surprise him again if I ever got the chance...

We'll take one final picture there in a couple of weeks.  It will be vastly different than the one we took there as newlyweds, pleated jeans, fantastic glasses, a flannel shirt and another pink sweater with silver sparkles.  (I still can't decide if the juniors department is the place for me...). We were so young, ready to make memories.  Establish a family.  Our new picture will be silly. With our two girls.  Moving for their future.  For our future.  Because God authored this move, and we all eagerly await his plans, because whatever is in store, it is good.

I learned to cook in that kitchen.  Literally I have come from a girl who used to open a jar of pasta sauce, boil pasta, and y'all that was homemade.  To now- making my own bone broth and deodorant that I could eat if I had to.  I had no idea she existed.  The dinners I burned there.  The buzzer that rings and my little girl comes running to taste.  The buzzer my big girl has learned to turn off. And remind me that I still have food cooking in there.

That oven baked countless dinners- holidays, birthdays.  Birthday cakes.  Oh the birthday cakes.  I still never follow the customers requests!  They come out, I ice them and I cannot stop my confectionery bus.  Glitter, sprinkles, fondant 3D.  Everyone is always surprised at the turnout and I'm always hoping two things- they are actually happy and that they don't use the word, can I type it…moist.  (I just shivered inside…)

Those silly 2 and 4 year old girls hiding daddy's Rainbow flops under there.  Both pairs.  I baked for an entire year in that oven and we finally found them a year later after yet another meal had spilled down the side of that oven.  I think that crack between the oven and counter top houses every single dinner I ever cooked.  I am quite the mess.  My babies helping me cook.  Making messes together is something I've grown in to.   God's good grace to this perfectionist healing mama having these girls wanting to help.

This house has built me.

The air vents where my little girl, two at the time, discovered and loved to hear Tinkerbell shoes drop drop drop.  How I wish I had it on camera me explaining once again to that little girl we can't do that- vacuum in hand.  (End wrapped in panty hose, in case this happens to you…)  Her little face looking up at me all serious.  Then that rascal moved on to different families of toys.  Again, same talk.  How I do a lot of talking in this house…a lot of explaining.

That precious coffee stain on the carpet that I can still sometimes see.  The one where that little girl brought me my coffee on the toilet.  Bless her heart she knew I loved my coffee, and I had left it to use the bathroom.  All proud hobbling over to give it to me.  Because kids are messy under construction like that.  We are messy sometimes when we try to do good things.  And our Daddy.  Our Loving Daddy, smiles and loves and extends grace.

They learned to walk in this house.  Down the cul-de-sac street.  Skinned knees.  Fluffy carpet to catch their falls.  A safe place to fall has been my prayer.  Lord make this house a safe place to fall...

I wonder about that third bedroom.  I wonder about this mama who wanted more children, facing a reality that this may be delightfully enough.  That third bedroom served as a playroom.  A guest bedroom, but never a nursery.  I'm not sure that I'll ever feel like our family is complete.  Loss just does that I think this side of heaven...

I remember all the hours my husband spent nailing chair rail, crown molding for those other two bedrooms.  Painting it the perfect shades of yellow (touch of gray, not-circus-come-to-town please) and pink (pale, modern, again, not so much pepto bismol).  Getting those girls in the morning and from their naps, babies giggling so happy to see me.  Rocking and reading books, singing hymns my grandmother taught me, hearing them sing  along with me.  Smelling their scent when I walk in their rooms.  Goodnight prayers that are so big for such little people.  Night lights because Light makes life less scary.  Sorting clothes and two different sizes of panties. (Did I ever know that as a mother I would use the word "panty" so much?)

I remember that granola bar she ate that day in her room.  Wishing I had refreshed that infant/child CPR class because I felt so panicked.  My big girl very little back then, choking, and once again, God equipping me for a job I didn't know I could do- the Heimlich- on her little body.  Being so scared but relying on all those years of training at the church for summer day camps- all 6 summers- and I did it.  A young mom to a young child- God gently carries those with young children is a verse I cling to, because I know it's still true of me with not-so-youngs to this day.  

I'll never forget our garage gym, saving to buy those items with my favorite, and the workouts we did there.  The time we had to encourage each other.  My girls playing on the equipment. Santa even bringing them a pull up bar because Santa is an amazing Crossfit fellow.  That hard work always wins.  That being strong is not something to shy away from.  Strength, strong words, mobility is not to be taken for granted...

Those ceilings.  Those high ceilings that made Christmas limitless to my buddy the Elf husband, still putting maple syrup in his coffee, already wondering what Christmas will look like this year.  How I always had to go to the tree farm- both for fun but also to contain him.  How that one year I had my baby and stayed home, and he and my bigger girl chose the 11 foot tree.  How his face lit up as we strung lights and placed the special ornaments in the front, ones we don't like in the back.  I couldn't be upset at the blown budget, because he was delighted.  From that year on I never criticized...

The study room where I type this blog- painted a shade of yellow we chose similar to what was in his grandmother's house, we love our past and old things so much.  History tells a story and if this room could talk it- all the lessons of homeschool I have done in here!

A beautiful room turned home school disaster.  I need to call it what it is.  A disaster where I took on teaching my children at home and amid this mess, we thrive.  Amid the mess and loss of "personal time" and one income budget, and sacrificing stuff, replacing with time and love and energy, we never look back.  Our girls are happy, we are happy.  We carry on...

Looking back with very fond memories, yet moving forward with grace.  Hope.  Love.  Banking on the fact God has me.  He has us.  He has swept us up and moves us on, as a couple of people who like to "bloom where you're planted" this is a change for us.  Change is good.  We are right-sizing our home, right-sizing our life.  Right-sizing where we need to be.

We will be singing in a new location, off key with the mess, but perfectly tuned in to the Father.  

I'm taking friends and memories with me, leaving the structure of a house that we are so thankful for.

A home is where your heart is.  These people have my heart.