End of Summer and a Mini Home Tour

How is it almost September?!

School begins next week, and it feels that we were only just ending the school year. While we didn't do any big vacations this year, we had a lot of time making memories as a family. We hit up the pool, visited family, welcomed new babies (NOT MINE), tended our surprise garden, and ate a lot of popsicles and ice cream. 

Part of the reason for the at-home summer is the fact that we bought a house in May. Something that, not surprisingly, is not so kind on your bank accounts. So we've taken it easy, but it's been so, so good. There is something amazing about letting your kids out the front door and telling them to go play in the yard. Our yard. They have space to run around, ride bikes, dig in the dirt and get into plenty of sisterly squabbles. Sometimes I just sit in a lawn chair at the top of the driveway, sip on coffee, relax and watch. 

I've told you all about buying my childhood home, but I thought maybe I'd give it some context and show you a small peek into our world. It's simultaneously familiar and new, strange and wonderful. It's weird to look at every part of this house and have memories dating back for as long as I can remember.  There are moments when I sit on the couch and look out on a room, unable to decide if the snapshot of my view is new or old. Is this present or a memory? 

Yet, there is a strangeness with my mom not living in this house. Her her stuff no longer lines the walls. At times that still weighs on me. My mom isn't a big "processor," and I worry that she misses living here, that I'm impeding on the place she made memories for 35 years. In a role reversal, I constantly wonder if she's okay in her new place, if she feels like she's made it "home."

In the meantime, I'm learning what it means to make this place our home. I have enjoyed putting our touches in rooms, adding our own style. Interior design is not my forte - so I'm relying heavily on Pinterest for ideas. But I'm liking some of the things we've done so far. We have a long way to go, and I have a few spaces I may ask for your ideas and recommendations on in the near future!

Here are a few things I love about our new/old place:

I love how the light shines into the dining room each morning.

This is the living room which you walk into upon entering in the front door. I'm not a big fan of "formal living rooms," although when this house was built in the 1950's, it was a popular thing. So I had this idea that this would be a casual gathering area - not really a family room, per se, although we do hang out in there. Rather, more a space to come sit and read a book or stand and chat during parties.  Part of this vision was to have some shelving to make one wall a mini-library. In early July, Hubby created this wall of built-ins. AND I AM IN LOVE WITH IT. We have an old couch my mom left (not pictured) and a few informal sitting options (we'll work on better ones in the future). We also recently added a piano!

This. This haven is the Master Bedroom. And while I still have a lot I want (er, NEED) to do to get this room in to shape, it's really come a long way. This room had gone unused the last few years my mom lived here. It was a housing area for stuff, like a big closet. The paint was in bad shape and the floors were hurting. We decided to hold off any revisions to the floor (which we covered with a VERY comfy and large carpet remnant), and paint the off-white walls gray with accents of yellow around the room. Gray is my new obsession right now. I have no idea why. If I'm not careful, I'll paint every room in the house gray. Which could be awesome. Or very Eeyore. 

I digress. Anyway, I changed the arrangement of the furniture, choosing to put the bed in a different area of the room than where my mom had hers. Our new spin on an old thing. 

Being a split-level house from the '50's, some of the rooms have interesting angles and shapes. Our bedroom is long, with sloping ceilings. Since we put the bed on the far side of the room, we have all this open space on the other. We fixed that by putting our old Ikea futon under the windows and creating an impromptu sitting area.  (Or, on most days, laundry staging area.) When it's free of clothes, this is one of my favorite spaces in the house. There is a great view and, as you can see, copious amounts of sunlight. I'd like to finish this space off with an oversized yellow-patterned ottoman. 

So if you see one, help a sister out and let me know.

The last space I'll share with you today is our enclosed porch. It's not insulated or climate-controlled (i.e.: no heat or air-conditioning), but it's absolutely lovely 3 seasons of the year. It had become another staging area for stuff the past few years, and somewhat unusable. I'm glad to be able to sit in here again! We got a cheap table from Ikea and enjoy the 180 view of the yard many evenings (behind me in this picture is another wall of windows). It's definitely older, and we may work to make it more insulated and modernized in the coming years. But for now, it's a nice place to enjoy the great outdoors while being indoors. If that makes sense.



The thing that has struck me most about living here so far: it's amazing how quickly a familiar place, even when it's new to you, can feel like home.

I'll keep you updated on renovations and hopefully give you more sneak peeks into other rooms of the house. 

When I clean them to state that is presentable to the public eye, of course.

Have a great weekend!

On Settling In and Greening Up My Black Thumb

Things have been quiet here on the blogfront, but I chalk that up to the fact that it was about a month ago that we did The Big Move into our new house. Which is a weird concept, as the house is far from new to us, since I grew up here. But we're new to owning the house. So, let's just go with new for simplicity's sake.

Moves are funny things.

It happens in this blitz of a day or two, the moving of boxes and furniture from one location to another. But the actual transition takes a while. I felt it took over a year to feel transitioned in our old house in Kennett Square. Even this second time around, a move we fully anticipated, leaves us with loose ends. The unpacking of boxes takes a while, because there are inevitably always those few boxes of random stuff that you aren't sure what to do with and purposely "forget" about for a few months. 

It takes a while to get a feel for the house, where things should go or be hung. For the first few months (years?), there is constant rearranging of rooms, of furniture, of wall hangings (darn you, nail holes! Bring on the spackle!). You really have to live in a house for a while to figure out how you use the space.

My kitchen is a place I know needs to be addressed. I find myself intuitively reaching for the wrong drawer when looking for measuring cups or oven mitts. Which means they are actually in the right drawer and I need to move things around.

But, laziness, right?

Lots of people have been asking how the transition is going. And I'd say we're pretty well-transitioned. Not quite settled, as there are still many wall hangings to be hung and a few remaining packed boxes that we are expertly avoiding. Since we knew this house, we automatically felt comfortable here. Which I knew would be the case, but I wondered how quickly it would feel like our home.

I'd say after a month, we're pretty at home here, too.

When we moved into our first home, we knew it would definitely not be our Forever Home. We had the intention of living there for 2-3 years then moving back. 3 years ended up being 4 (which was fine, because I came to actually really love the town). The temporariness (is that a word?!) of it never gave us the motivation to really take on home projects or improvements. Because, why? Sure, we did our share of fixing things and yard work. But never in a permanent, enjoyable kind of way.

Since moving here, I've felt more like a homeowner than I ever have before. I suddenly understand Pinnocchio's joy of finally becoming a Real Boy, as now I feel like a Real Homeowner. From Day 1, we've been tinkering around the yard and toying with things in the house. Hubby's last day of school (he's a teacher, remember?) was this past Wednesday. 

On Thursday we had 3 cubic yards of mulch dumped on our driveway at 7:00am. By 9am, we were hauling and shoveling that mulch into the various flower beds around our house. 4 hours later we called it a day, with backs aching and hands raw from shoveling. But it was that good hurt, where you know you were super productive.

While we have a dream list of the many things we are excited to do over the years, my most immediate obsession is our vegetable garden.

Now, let me tell you now: I was not made to be a gardener. Plants come to me to die. Even the most hardy of flowers wilt at my first glance. What can I say? It's a gift. I have many friends that I admire, who man (or woman) their thriving vegetable gardens like a boss. Every winter, I get that itch to have an bountiful garden just like them that provides me with a farmer's markets-worth of produce each summer.

It just never happens.

We've gone the container gardening route, and while once or twice we did have some luck actually getting a few tomatoes to grow, we inevitably killed our plant midway through the season. Another year we built the proper 8x4 raised bed, but never filled it with anything but old soil and yard scraps. Out of curiosity, we planted a few veggie starts in there. You know, just to see what would happen.

As you might imagine, it didn't end well.

There was also the year I got overly-ambitious and tried starting seeds indoors. I got a few green buds, but nothing that actually yielded a real plant after being repurposed outside.

Suffice it to say, we've been unsuccessful.

This year, I did no planning. We just moved and didn't want to commit to anything. But my mom dragged me out to this nursery in the middle of nowhere southern Chester County a few weeks ago. And their vegetable starts were so beautiful and hardy that I couldn't turn down buying a few. And by a few I mean 3 tomato starts, 1 bell pepper, 1 chili pepper start, 1 jalapeño start, 1 poblano pepper start, a yellow zucchini, a butternut squash and, yes, a watermelon start.

Hubby was....amused.

But he humored me and we made the decision to treat the starts right. So we built a small 4x4 raised bed and filled it with good soil (if you are local, I highly recommend Organic Mechanics .  It's amazeballs). Somehow, despite myself, these suckers are not only staying alive - but they're growing!

Check out how we're doing so far:

This is our little bed. Which we may have underestimated. As I didn't realize until arriving home with our plants that the watermelon alone needs, like, 10 feet of space. Whoops.

Here are some of the beautiful veggie buds that I am impatiently waiting to grow:

And, this Italian girl loves her basil. I'll be whipping up some of my homemade tomato sauce with these fresh herbs!

 Lastly, the view from the garden. AKA the back of our house.

I wake up excited every morning to go out and check on our garden status. I'm amazed at how much measurable growth there is each day, with new tomato flowers or baby peppers budding. I can't wait until we can actually harvest some of our bounty and make a delicious homemade, homegrown salsa!

I'll keep you updated. Until then, say green prayers for our plants. And soon I'll do a little home tour to show you our new digs!

Love Grows Here

I just got home from a strenuous day of moving. Today, after more than 35 years, my mom moved out of my childhood home. With the help of movers, we hauled boxes, driving and back and forth until everything was secure in her new abode. Today we unpacked dishes, agonized over where to put furniture, and fought to make the cable work correctly. 

When you've lived in the same house for over 35 years, moving is a big change.

Over the past year or two, my mom came to the decision it was time to downsize. My sisters and I have been part of the process, supporting Mom along the way. The decision does not come without a lot of difficulty and emotion. 

As I shared in a recent post, this is a house whose walls hold stories of love and loss, marriage and divorce, abrupt endings and new beginnings. It is where my mom, like a phoenix, rose from the ashes and redefined her life. Here she worked hard, grew stronger, and victoriously overcame some of her biggest life obstacles. Yet, interwoven into this tale of triumph are bittersweet memories of a life long gone, of a woman she used to be.

Today my mom not only left behind a house, she left behind a scrapbook of her life.

One of the reasons my mom was able to let go and enter this new season in her life is that I agreed to buy her house. Hubby and I worked hard to save the money to do the transaction, which took place just a few days ago. I am, once again, a homeowner. And my mom is creating a new home for herself in a place just a few minutes away. There is comfort for her knowing that the home is going to someone who understands the history, someone who can appreciate it as much as she does. And, she can visit whenever she wants.

The process has been strange for me. I'm simultaneously excited to start writing my own stories within those walls, but mourn the life that was. I mourn the loss my mom is experiencing and walk  alongside her as she makes the inevitably strange and exciting and sad transition to her new home.

A few weeks ago, I was sitting on the front step of the house, thinking through the impending move and reminiscing over the many memories our home has given us. I wondered if it would be strange to make it my own. Could this house ever be "ours?" Or would it always be "hers?"And as I sat there, with the sun setting off in the distance and my daughters joyfully running around in the amber twilight, I was overcome with this thought: Love grows here.

Here in this house, I was born into love. I was raised in love. After my parents divorce, my mom rebuilt a life in love. Living at home after college, I fell in love. Over the years, we celebrated holidays in love. And now I have the opportunity to begin the cycle anew, raising my daughters in this home of love.

This home is where love grows.

I made a vow to myself right then that I would honor my mom and carry on this tradition of love. The girls and I commemorated this new journey by adding a personalized garden stone from Personal Creations to our front yard. 

I love this special, personal touch to our flower bed. It's an ebenezer of our journey so far and where the new chapter of our story begins. 

As a way to thank my mom for passing on the torch of love to me, and to commemorate the start of her new story, we shared with her this beautiful Guardian Angel Tree from ProPlants. 

It's a sweet sentiment, giving her well wishes and safe journeys.

Love grew here. 

Love will continue to grow here. 

This is what it means to be home.

BIG NEWS: Forever Home

Last year around this time, I shared some BIG NEWS: That we were moving! Well, now that our lease is almost up  and some of our plans have firmed up, we will be on the road again moving to our Forever Home.

That's right: in 3 weeks we will be buying a house.

And not just any house.

We are buying my childhood home.

It's all very...emotional.

It has been a long and crazy journey. I think for as long as I can remember, I had always, deep down, wanted to buy my childhood home. My parents bought the house before I was born, and my mom worked hard to keep it after they got divorced. So, this house is where I lived my entire life until I went off to college.

Then came to live after I graduated from college.

And then again when Hubby and I were first married and were between apartments for a month.

And then, once again, when my mom gracious allowed me, Hubby and baby Chica and to live with her for 8 (sometimes very long) months while we were trying to buy our first house 5 years ago. 

Needless to say, it's been a big part of my life. 

But, it's been an even bigger part of my mom's life.

She has lived there for almost 40 years. She brought her babies home there. Where she has memories of raising kids are there. She transitioned from being married to single there. 

It's a lot.

When she first approached us about buying the house, I was surprised. I'd assumed that Mom would just stay there forever. But I think over the years, she has realized it's too much house for one person, and that it would be in her best interest to downsize. Which my sisters and I completely understand and support. I think having one of her daughters buy the house from her makes leaving the house more palatable. And while it is a great decision, I know it will be a big transition for her. 

When we moved to the townhouse we are currently renting, we knew the end goal would be buying Mom's house. We chose a townhouse in a location that would allow the girls to not have to change schools after the final move. And we went in knowing my mom would need "a year...or two" to take the plunge.

In January, Mom started making visits with her realtor, poking around at abodes of different sizes, styles and locations. She came back discouraged sometimes, and I worried that she may never find a new place that she would be happy in. We were actually in discussion over the possibility of building an in-law suite instead, when I got a call from her one Sunday afternoon.

"Hey Steph! Come meet me at this townhouse."

She quickly gave me the address and I road down to a cute little town just 10 minutes away from her current home. I knew Mom must be serious if she wanted me to come take a look. I pulled up to a little townhouse community tucked into a quaint little borough. Walking in the front door, I immediately saw why my mom was interested. Looking around the well-maintained home, everything just felt like her. I could see her there. And, most importantly, I could imagine her happy there.

A few days later, she was under contract, which meant we had to start getting our ducks in a row. The last few months have been getting documents, signing papers, gathering boxes, packing and generally stressing out over the impending move. We'll be painting two rooms (one of which we just finished this weekend - woot!), so I'll be sure to share pictures in the weeks to come.

So, in these remaining weeks (less than a month!), I pack and vascillate between excitement and sadness. Excitement for our new adventure becoming homeowners again, excitement to raise our girls in the very rooms I spent as a child. Excitement for this new chapter in my mom's life, where she will spread her wings and make new memories. But, mourning the loss of an era which was equal parts joy and sadness. The walls of that house hold the stories of a family molded through various storms, coming out stronger on the other side. 

A bittersweet transition.

But, above all, I'm excited to finally, after many years, be Forever Home.

***

I'll keep you updated on the Big Move. I'll share photos, seek advice,  and ask for you to keep me sane when things get crazy.



Until then: 

I'd love to hear YOUR tales of moving, dreams of your forever home, and the transitions you are facing in the near future. 

Leave a comment - tell me your story!

This Is Not My Home

"This is not my home."

Even in her small voice, I can hear the fear and frustration. I quickly make my way through the darkened hallway to her room, where her Big Sister is already sleeping. My littlest girl is tucked in under her covers, and turns to look at me as I sit by her side.

Tears threaten at the corners of her eyes, and she looks around at this new space which we are currently calling home. Two weeks ago, we made the move back to our hometown after living in a great neighboring town for four years. We are renting a wonderful townhome from wonderful friends until we buy my mom's house in the next year or two.

But it has been a transition. And this unexpected bedtime conversation is a reminder of this.

"Oh sweetheart," I say to her, "This place is new, yes. But it's our home for now."

Her brow furrows with frustration. "NO," she says firmly, her voice cracking. "It's not. This is not our home." A tear slowly makes it's way down her cheek, and my heart breaks.

I knew this would be a difficult transition. We moved into the house we just sold when our oldest was just shy of 2 years old. Bug was not even born, so it is the only home she's ever known. Of course this new place, this temporary home, is not truly home to her. Growing up, I never experienced a move. We lived in the same house my mom still lives in today (and we will one day live in again!). So I can only imagine how her little heart must be confused and hurt. 

But even more, my heart breaks because I know exactly how she feels. I struggled for a long time when we bought our house. Moving to a new town, I felt homesick. I wanted to be home, not here.  I wanted to be where everything was familiar, where I had memories of every street and sidewalk and store. I wanted to be where I'd lived my life for almost 30 years.

I struggled with this. Yet over time, we came to love our new town and our house. We brought Bug home from the hospital as a newborn and, together with her Big Sister, we spent 4 years making memories as family.

Despite myself, that house became home.

Not because the structure was uprooted to the town I wanted to live in. Not because it was where everything was familiar (although it became familiar), or because it suddenly was the realm of all of my childhood memories growing up.

No, this place became home because I finally accepted home was where my family was: Hubby, Chica, Bug and me. When they are the ones I come home to, I am home. When they are the hearts beating under the same roof as me, I am home. I could live near, far, in a tent or a car, but if they live there with me, I am home.

Wherever they are, I am home. 

I brush the tears off of Bug's cheek, and stoke her hair. Her breathing calms, and her eyes droop. I tell her it is okay to be confused and a little scared right now. It's okay to miss our old house. I tell her I know that things are different.

"But you know what will never be different?" I ask.

She shakes her head. "What?"

"I will always love you," I whisper to her. "Daddy will always love you. And although our house may change, when we are together as a family, you'll always be home."

She sighs, and with a contented smile, her eyes close completely as she drifts off to sleep.

The BIG News

And no.

I'm not pregnant.

(Because, friends? That ain't happening).

But I do have some big news: We're moving!  

It's been a long journey and an insane ride. And now that we are just a little over two weeks away from closing, I'm feeling like I should probably tell you all the story - because the next two weeks are going to be cray-cray.

So, once upon a time, Hubby and I got married. And in the three years of our marriage, we moved like a bajillion times. Well, not a bajillion. But literally, like 10. From leases ending, to pursuing jobs, to moving in with my mom to save money to buy a house, we had a lot of change-of-address notices to fill out. We'd worn out our friends, we were weary from packing and unpacking, and we just wanted to be settled in one place without having to put things back in boxes!

In 2010, we bought a house in a town 30 minutes from our hometown. It was cute but unknown to us. And I really struggled to adjust. I was pregnant with Bug, I missed being close to my friends and family, and I was overwhelmed with all the responsibilities of homeownership. Hubby's salary went on a pay freeze, and not only were we mentally overwhelmed, we were financially overwhelmed as well.

Since the Market had tanked and we used the First Time Buyers Home Credit, we were pretty stuck for at least 3 years. After a while, I decided it wasn't worth being depressed over our decision. And despite everything I tried to detest where I lived, Kennett Square grew on me. So I made the conscious decision to immerse myself in my town.

And, despite myself, I really fell in love!

As our three years ended, we kept with our initial plan to put our house on the Market. Last April, the For Sale sign was staked into the ground, and after watching my friend's houses fly off the Market, I anticipated lots of showings and offers. So we readied ourselves and waited.

And waited.

And waited.

Showings trickled, most were not interested, and the 2 or 3 offers we did get were so low and were unable to negotiate,  that we couldn't work with them. For 3 months, I woke up every morning frazzled to make beds and keep the house clean, just in case someone called to see the house. It was a very trying 3 months. I had imagined we'd be back to our hometown in time for Chica to start Kindergarten.

But that didn't happen.

After 3 months, we took our house off the Market and decided to stay put.

I resisted the decision at first, mourning the loss of the vision I had in my head. I enjoyed Kennett Square, but it had always been our intention to move back home to West Chester.  We wanted to be back near our families, Hubby's job, and friends. But we were staying put. And I wrapped my mind around it.

And I'm glad we did.

Because I absolutely love Chica's Kindergarten Center. It's full-day, which scared me at first. But Chica has grown so much and learned so many things. It's amazing. I've gotten to work with local businesses, encouraging them to build their social media. I've taken on local freelance writing jobs. And I really settled into this house which, despite myself, had become home.

So as Winter ended, I was surprised by an opportunity presented to me by my Mom to buy her house in a year or so when she retired. We were settled in Kennett, we loved living in the borough. But this is an opportunity we couldn't pass up (for so many reasons that I can begin to list in this post).

I was conflicted to leave Kennett Square and scared to list my home again with the awful rejections still stinging from our last experience. We talked to our realtor and stepped out in faith, knowing that the cards would fall where they would. I was surprised to get a few showings in the first week, followed shortly by an offer. An amazing offer, actually. An offer we couldn't refuse. The cards were falling and I had to trust that this is the path we had to take.

So after a roller coaster ride of emotions, hating a town, falling in love with a town, failing at selling a home, and victoriously going under contract in a week-and-a-half, we are moving.

And I'm a little scared.

Because I want to. And I don't want to. I spent the first two-and-a-half years resenting where I lived. Then I fell in love with it. I resented my house, and it eventually became my home. I'm nervous to rent for the next year until my Mom is ready to move (although we have amazing landlords). I'm scared of change and transition. I'm overwhelmed (like, WHOA) to pack. Yes, it's true. We have only begun packing. Am I too late? I'm sad to leave this town and community that I've invested so much of myself in.

Yet…

Yet, I am excited to move back to where we had always intended to be. I'm excited to be closer to our family, our friends, our work. I'm excited to have my kids attend the same elementary school I attended, and to raise them in the house I grew up. I can't believe their childhood memories will be running around the same yard, sleeping in the same rooms, and walking the same neighborhood as I had. 

It's truly a gift.

So why write about this on Motivation Monday? 

Because I need to get motivated to pack! To get ready for settlement! To transfer our utilities!  To prepare my kids for the transition! 

Did I mention I need to pack?

More deeply, I need the motivation to prepare my heart, to leave one home and welcome a new home. To readjust my dreams (again).

So, friends: I need to you walk me through this!  

Please send me encouragements to pack.

 

Send me your moving stories. 

Send me your tips and advice on how 

to prepare kids for moving and adjusting to a new home.  

And more than anything, thank you in advance for your understanding if I am a little wacky for the next few weeks! AUGH!

~~~~~

An InLinkz Link-up

An InLinkz Link-up

An InLinkz Link-up

An InLinkz Link-up

525,600 Minutes

One year ago yesterday, Hubby and I rented a U-Haul truck and with the help of our friends and family, moved into our first house. A house that we bought. With our own money.  Er, the bank's money. A few days prior to The Big Move, we had gone to settlement, signed 6,341 documents, and were given the keys to our new home.


That we owned.


We then left the settlement office and proceeded to throw up.


Just kidding!


(But seriously)


Since yesterday marks the anniversary of our Big Move, today marks another very special day in our lives as well:  as of today, we've officially lived the longest in one place than we have in over 5 years.  


366 days.  


A year and a day.  


Hard to believe? That's right friends: for the past 5 years, Hubby and I have changed addresses at least once every year, if not more than once a year.


Let me take a minute to count addresses.




::Counting::




Ok.  If memory serves correct, in 5 years we've had 7 addresses.


That makes my head spin.


But, for various reasons, we've had to move at least once every year during the span of our almost 5-year marriage.  I chalk much of this up to the fact that we were renters, and leases run 1 year.  Jobs and children were other contributing factors.


I'm not sure who is more happy about our stalwartness: Hubby and I, or all the friends who dreaded getting emails from us once (or twice) a year soliciting moving help in return for beer and pizza.


So, we can finally say that we've stayed put for over a year.  This is quite an accomplishment for us.


1 year.  And I will be honest with you: it was not an easy year.


Right before the Move, I shared my excitement and anxieties about the buying of our first home.  Even more than taking on an incredible amount of debt, there was a struggle for me over leaving my hometown and moving somewhere that was close but unfamiliar.


Last June, when the last piece of furniture was put into place and the moving van was returned, I was forced to accept that this was our house. Our home. Our new life. For at least the next 3 years, anyway, since we partook in the First Time Buyers credit so graciously offered by our government.  I was hit by the fact that I was 30 minutes away from most things, most notably the comfortable and familiar things, as well as friends and family.  Hormones were off-kilter since I was 3 months pregnant. And it was one hot Summer.


So, I spent the better part of last summer with a mixture of Buyers Remorse and Homesickness.  I wouldn't say I was depressed, but I was not happy.  I couldn't come to grips with the fact that we'd paid more money on one thing than we ever had in our entire lives.  I hated I was "far" from home.  I don't like change. And this was a BIG change.


It was hard to talk to people about it, although I tried.  I came off unappreciative of what I had and unaware of how lucky I was.  Most friends attempted to refrain (though some failed) from rolling their eyes at my talk of wanting to move back home, since Hubby and I had already been labeled as restless from our countless other moves.


"You need to stay in one place for a while!  Stick around for MORE than a year!"


"You have an AWESOME house and you live in an AWESOME town!  What's there to be unhappy about?"


"You're there for a reason."


I knew how lucky I was to have a roof over my head, and a nice one at that.  I knew that we'd moved a ridiculous amount of times, and it would be good for us to be settled for a while.  But changes of the heart don't happen over night.  They take time.  And growth. And maturity.


A lot happened over the past year: We lost 3 grandparents we loved. We welcomed our second daughter into the world. We struggled financially.  We were blessed financially.  We griped about the commute.  We started to appreciate the beauty in the roads between here and our hometown.  We had good days.  We had bad days.  We cried a good bit.  We laughed a lot.  We rearranged furniture. We painted our bedroom.  We acknowledged the fact that most days our town smells like poo (it's big into the mushroom farming industry). We despised how NOT CLOSE we are to everything.  We had a gorgeous Autumn.  A cold and dreary Winter.  A fresh Spring.  We are looking forward to what I hope is a radically different Summer than last.


And I've learned a lot about accepting circumstances.


Something innate in us bucks against circumstances that we don't like. It's just how we are wired. If things do not go the way we had intended, we struggle and fight and mope and mourn over what was supposed to have been.  I spent the better part of this year struggling. Fighting. Moping.  Mourning.  But I do not think that is bad; I think it's part of the process of acceptance.


I'm not sure if you've ever seen the movie The Abyss, but this clip comes to mind when I think about struggling with our circumstances:









Breathing in fluid is unnatural, and everything in our body rejects the notion of liquid being brought into our lungs.  But (for the purposes of this sci-fi movie) it works. It's breathing. Just a different kind of breathing.  The more you fight it, the harder it is to breathe.  But if you relax and accept it, it works.  And becomes the new normal.


So... I'm learning to breathe.  I'm getting used to the new normal.  I still fight it sometimes, I still struggle.  But I'm on the road to acceptance, and it's quite a journey.


Here's to 366 days of the New Normal, and the 365 days to come. 


Thanks for being along for the ride.

How do you measure a year?