Old Houses

Old houses carry baggage.

Years of abandonement mean aches and pains that must be treated.

We know her war wounds and trust that this is where we are meant to be.

She will require years of hard labor.

Days will be spent digging and grating and hauling away the signs of neglect.

Who better to rebuild a broken space then those who understand how scars become beauty marks?

As we manage the unending waiting game of will we or won’t we get an offer on the place we live today, we will be content with our dreams about the day that old house gets to welcome us home.

Home

“It’s just a house”, Sid reminds me.

People make a place a home, not the walls or windows.

Yet these walls provided shelter, these windows light.

As the boxes are packed and a new house takes shape, I am reminded of the blessings of the place we leave behind.

A house that had been purchased to raise a family of five.

It rather quickly became a shelter for four.

Straddling the world of what was and what is, a daily, tangible reminder of possibility.

I could raise these girls here.

I could pay the mortgage, change the air filter, mulch the beds, clean the house and still dance in the kitchen.

Late nights spent sitting on the cool tile of the bathroom floor, holding back little girls hair as sickness overwhelmed them. I could parent alone.

Days listening to the sounds of laughter as my children played with their neighborhood friends. I could find joy in the moments of my day.

Evenings, after girls were tucked safely in bed, when a knock on the door meant a visit from my own dear neighborhood friend. A chance to connect over a glass of wine and the knowledge that I was safe. I could share my fears wrapped in the cocoon of this house with those who sought the best for me.

On February 23 we will say good bye to what was.

A new world of possibility exsists in a place where a family of eight will take up residence.

He and I will now do this together. Maya Angelou quote about home via Hurray Kimmay Blog

Family

I can’t recall why all six had to be at the doctor’s office that day when only Molly was in for a visit. But a few weeks ago as I sat in my office at work, a text from Matthew stopped me mid sentence. A few words about the appointment taking longer then expected, a comment about how well the girls were enduring the wait and then this image

We stumble over one another quite often.

Meals can be burdensome with taste buds of eight taunting us with their differences.

Most mornings we debate the benefits of a sugary cereal breakfast that they will eat versus a warm plate of food no one will touch.

We still can’t quite seem to get an evening routine down.

But here, in this picture, is the image of what we strive for.

Bored out of their minds, leaning on one another and technology, they are a family, they look like the sisters God intended them to be.

 

 

 

Wake Up Call

“Wake me up in the middle of the night Momma”.

What she really means is when the sky is dark, grab me from my bed, wrap me in a blanket and cuddle me on the couch.

Before sissy’s wake up, homework needs completed and breakfasts are made, in your arms give me moments of quiet slumber.

A tradition started soon after her daddy moved out.

My alarm clock would ring at 4:45am and the treadmill would beckon.

Most days, when I would return from the run, I would find her asleep on the couch. Awoken by the movements of my mornings; needing me, but knowing even at three the importance of those runs for her Momma, she staked her claim on the couch and patiently waited.

Together we came up with a solution.

The morning run complete, I would sneak into her room and whisper in her ear,

“It’s the middle of the night, shall we cuddle”.

And now as we await the addition of four new family members, the requests have returned.

She is finding her own ways of articulating what she needs to manage this life transition.

And, I am finding, our needs are not all that different.