It was late. Middle of the week. Setting the dishes in the sink, Katelynn asked me: "So, what now?" I thought it over. Finished filling up my water bottle as I watched a car slowly pass by the front of our house with the blue and white 'For Sale' sign. Lately I've been trying not to steadily concentrate on how many "drive by's" I can count in a day. Because it doesn't mean anything. Really.
I smiled at her and watched Caleb in the living room, wrestling with the puppy that doesn't seem to wear out easily. We all feel the nudge. The uneasiness of what is out there waiting in the distance. Sixty days will look a lot differently. But we don't yet see the picture. We anxiously await. Perhaps they sense it. The Mom-Guilt knotting in the pit of my stomach. It gnaws at me almost on command these days.
"Let's go to the library!" I announce. They both look at me surprised. I am surprised by my sudden courage to get back out on a school night. But for some reason, in that moment, I can't take it anymore. For some reason I have to get them out of here. Be away from this place that feels more like a museum and less like a home. A place where memories were built, shared and emptied over and over again. But now must remain in a mostly-clean state for any last minute showings. The psychology of selling a house. I quietly contemplate if there are any books on the matter.
We stay course and on the way I hear them both chatter about the move. This has become a topic more and more in their conversations. I try to listen, be a fly on the wall for them. Not a spider that takes the scene.
"I'm ready to move," Caleb says matter of fact.
"I'll be sad to leave this place. We'll have to take a trip down memory lane..." Katelynn drifts off. She keeps speaking about memories. I chime in on some of my favorites.
We pull into the parking lot and as the sun slips away, giving way to dark shades of blue in the sky, I look up at the tall glass entrance.
"Remember when we moved here, how they hadn't finished building this yet? And look at it now, all finished and beautiful."
The shelves greet us. A big hug. The only kind that you can get from the worlds that are built out of nothing. The words that carry us into other spaces within ourselves. I live in those spaces. We all do.
I think what I'm going to do is keep hoping. Riding along on this train and despite any fears, hesitations and wishing that it all was over, I'm just going to keep right on riding. Knowing that it will indeed get bumpy. Indeed careen across hairpin turns and shift from side to side with wild scenery rushing by.
But there is something about that ride.
The place that we sit and succumb to when all feels out of our hands. I'll sit here and I'll ride and I'll hope. That it will all turn out the way it needs to. That despite it all- here I am. Sitting and staring and watching the brush pass me by.
I'll sip my tea with a cube of sugar and love all the pieces as they fall into place exactly the way the universe intended.
Hope will do that for you. It pushes fear and worry to the side and will spread its quilted blanket across the wildflowers of opportunity. I'll lay there with the warm sun on my neck. That is where I rest. Where I'll stay, for now.
I don't like to pretend and gloss over life with the wand of optimism. Even though I hold onto it firmly whenever I can. I want to be real. I want to breathe. But in the same breath, for better or worse, I want to live in a moment and be able to take it in. Really, take it all in. Because there is something completely magical and wondrous about the ordinary. This transition is taking us all into a place that will be better. I can see it now. The edges are all Bokeh, but I don't care. It's freaking beautiful. And I'll sit back and be still with it. Because right here, right now that's all I want to do.
We stay course and on the way I hear them both chatter about the move. This has become a topic more and more in their conversations. I try to listen, be a fly on the wall for them. Not a spider that takes the scene.
"I'm ready to move," Caleb says matter of fact.
"I'll be sad to leave this place. We'll have to take a trip down memory lane..." Katelynn drifts off. She keeps speaking about memories. I chime in on some of my favorites.
We pull into the parking lot and as the sun slips away, giving way to dark shades of blue in the sky, I look up at the tall glass entrance.
"Remember when we moved here, how they hadn't finished building this yet? And look at it now, all finished and beautiful."
The shelves greet us. A big hug. The only kind that you can get from the worlds that are built out of nothing. The words that carry us into other spaces within ourselves. I live in those spaces. We all do.
I think what I'm going to do is keep hoping. Riding along on this train and despite any fears, hesitations and wishing that it all was over, I'm just going to keep right on riding. Knowing that it will indeed get bumpy. Indeed careen across hairpin turns and shift from side to side with wild scenery rushing by.
But there is something about that ride.
The place that we sit and succumb to when all feels out of our hands. I'll sit here and I'll ride and I'll hope. That it will all turn out the way it needs to. That despite it all- here I am. Sitting and staring and watching the brush pass me by.
I'll sip my tea with a cube of sugar and love all the pieces as they fall into place exactly the way the universe intended.
Hope will do that for you. It pushes fear and worry to the side and will spread its quilted blanket across the wildflowers of opportunity. I'll lay there with the warm sun on my neck. That is where I rest. Where I'll stay, for now.
Cue Unicorn:
For whatever reason, yesterday I was on a hunt for a symbol of sorts. I wanted it to lay in the palm of my hand. A reminder of the swirling magic that is within us and around us in every moment of each day. Walking in the craft outpost, also known as Michaels, I looked shelf after shelf for the perfect piece. Once I set out, I couldn't stop. Do you know how many unicorns there are? Not until you're actually looking for one, do you realize that they are EVERYWHERE. This bedazzled one caught my eye. In case you've ever wondered if you need a unicorn in your life, the answer is YES. I mean it. And if it is accompanied with a rainbow, even better. What would the world be like, if we all held a little unicorn in our hands... Hope and unicorns meet each other for brunch every morning. Just saying.
I don't like to pretend and gloss over life with the wand of optimism. Even though I hold onto it firmly whenever I can. I want to be real. I want to breathe. But in the same breath, for better or worse, I want to live in a moment and be able to take it in. Really, take it all in. Because there is something completely magical and wondrous about the ordinary. This transition is taking us all into a place that will be better. I can see it now. The edges are all Bokeh, but I don't care. It's freaking beautiful. And I'll sit back and be still with it. Because right here, right now that's all I want to do.
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