Change

It is happening. The house hit the market and sold in a day, very unexpectedly after sitting on the market for months last year. The hope for change, the active preparation and plans and dreams that did not come to fruition was hard then. We were working toward an end that never came to fruition, and trust me, keeping an immaculate house with 3 little ones is not fun work.

So there is blessing here indeed, in the timing and the pace and in being able to move on as we had hoped. The need for immaculateness passed quickly, so thankful for that. We get to move forward, dream about new things and possibly see them come to fruition. I like change, new beginnings, starting again…

BUT…

I do not like things to end.

I read books for years sometimes, not wanting the characters to leave my life. I think back on days with my kids and wish I had one of them for each age they ever were. I reminisce over seasons of life fondly and hold this strange hope that I will return to that period of bliss at some point in my future.

But alas, I will not. Ends come, inevitably, even by my choosing, and I grieve them. As much as I like change and growth and adventure, I like my life as is, always, there are pieces to cling to and shout praises for and for which I do not want to say the final amen.

There will be memories in my house that I will never quite get to capture the smell of, or the exact frame of light for. I will tell baby Bird stories of her newborn-ness and first days walking and talking and she will have no recollection of the spaces I am referring to. Memories of the baby, then toddler, then preschooler and now elementary years for Bug and Barley will be from a space we will no longer enter into.

I like home. I create it, relish it, find extreme comfort in my familiar surroundings. I can be loud and full of life, quiet and full of any emotion at all, I can BE at home more than anywhere and that is nice. I don’t want to leave that, especially to work hard to create home somewhere temporarily not knowing what is next. I daydream and plan and decorate those new rooms in my head. I love possibility but I know that it is work and it will be unfamiliar I’m not always at ease with the “not knowing” parts when i am trying regularly to plan my life.

More than space though, are faces, familiar and loved, that I will miss. It takes years to know your neighbors, and it takes effort and work and risk to BE neighbors. One story, not to overshadow a million others, illustrates what I am saying goodbye to.

I made my thorough plans to have my two first children relying completely on my husband’s and my parents, who travel from a distance to get to us, and a couple of longstanding college friends waiting in the wings just in case. With my third, I had an unexpected situation send me to the hospital at 31 weeks and in a moment’s notice was able to get my children into caring hands where I knew they would not only we well cared for, but where they would feel as if they were with family.

All was well in the end, thankfully that day, but when I think of moving, of having another child someday the question that comes to mind is, who will my emergency people be where my kids will be safe and loved and known? Where I will be safe and loved and known? And could I possibly love them as dearly as these?

We used to have playdates with a room full of babies and toddlers where houses were normal looking, not all perfectly put together so there was no stress of the inevitable messier created by the chaos and no pressure to bring yours to perfection to host. We talked like it was oxygen as we’d been swimming alone for days on end in the sea of parenting young ones. We talked surface and deep, shared information and tips and good coffee and ate up all the snacks and kids ran wild, happy, sometimes in pj’s and uncombed hair, sometimes it was us in the pj’s with uncombed hair. This intentional ease and genuineness that allowed us to dive into real conversations and the joy of community will be a foundation of perfection for gathering of which I will never let go. I actually strive to fight the tendency to feel I must have the all-put-together house when I have guests. Of course, an all put together house is nice, but that is such a rare reality in this stage of life, so why pretend?

I tore two quotes from Country Living Magazine recently that I resonated with, I wish I had noted the authors…

“Clutter is the poetry of our homes. It is an intimate view that is not always perfect – a few dishes in the sink, books piled next to the bed, everything in it’s place may give a certain satisfaction, but a lived-in room exudes comfort and warmth.”

“So many people decorate to impress, but my favorite houses have life in their rooms. There are animals. You can tell the owners throw parties.”

And parties we throw! I am thinking of our final goodbyes and want to invite every friend far and near who has crossed the threshold into our lives in this place. We have packed in the love to this house with our gatherings large and small. Though I know we will celebrate again, and hopefully with these familiar faces and but it will not be a quick stroll down the street on a rainless spring day. It will not be these walls that hold our memories and our voices and our laughter and our love, and it will just be different. That makes me sad.

So thinking of closure, and change, and capturing moments that I know are fleeting and passing and all too quickly will be gone forever. I would relish ideas on making the best of these seasons of change.


One response to “Change

  • Nana

    I too have many fond memories in and of your house. I have walked around the block so many times with little ones in tow naming flowers and picking only the Dandylions. Going to Dragonfly was like going to “Mr. Rodger’s.” And yes your neighbors who have welcomed us into their homes and lives who I knew were there for me if I needed them when I was watching the kids. It was a great assurance to know if something happenend they would be right there. It was comforting to know that they were there for you when we couldn’t be.

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