Feels Like Home

Last week, I wrote about opening the door to our future as a family of four and moving forward as we fill the void that my husband left behind.  I was riding quite an emotional rollercoaster as I penned my thoughts.

The following few days were filled with continued packing and moving.  Friday, after work, I was surrounded by the love of some family and friends as we broke open the storage unit where the belongings from our former home were kept, and then broke open the boxes containing countless items and many memories of the life we are leaving behind.  I was overwhelmed, and began to function on auto-pilot as a self-preservation technique.  I just wanted the boxes gone and this new place to look less like the storage unit and more like a livable space before my sons joined my daughter and I again.

My daughter was taken for an overnight visit with her uncle and "aunt," and I was left alone in the apartment that, as of Friday night, was almost entirely unpacked due to the help of my dear friend (the aforementioned aunt) who helped me trudge through the misery and unfold the layers of our life.  I laid in bed for quite some time, reminiscing of various items we found in boxes and in the storage unit, making a mental note of which items I want to rid my life of, and which to tuck safely away until either myself or my children are ready for them again someday.  I shed some tears, and finally fell asleep, surrounded by both new items and the items from my past that were less likely to haunt me and more likely to help us move forward in a somewhat familiar setting.

Saturday, she and I finished unpacking what we could before I make the trek to get my boys and bring them to our new home.  She blessed me with the gift of finishing as I drove, which I cannot thank her enough for.  When I saw my boys for the first time in a week, my oldest almost immediately asked if we could go home to our new apartment.  I couldn't believe how excited he was.  I was still in an auto-pilot mode, and not really that excited.  It was more just a matter of fact that we were living here now.  It was just a new apartment.

His excitement rubbed off on me as we drove, and by the time we neared the apartment, I was looking forward to letting them inside to see their new room, and hear what they thought of it all.  They ran as fast as their little legs could carry them up the deck stairway, only to be stopped by the baby gate that they couldn't climb over, until I could unlock the place and lift them over. 

It was like they had been here all along.  Somehow, they just knew were their favorite things would be stored and went immediately to them to drag them out.  They squealed with delight as their treasures were strewn about and they began to play like this was the apartment they had left a week ago, not really blinking an eye that it was actually quite different.  When their sister joined us, she giggled and struggled to get to them, and finally joined their side.  They all played in the boys room.

It was then that this place finally felt like home.  I needed to see them here, fitting right in, happy and laughing and comfortable.  Then, it wasn't just a new apartment to me.  Then, it became home.

We spent a full day here today, with the exception of church, and it really does feel like we've been here for much longer.  Ironically, it was three years ago today that we started unpacking our home that we last lived in with their father, before Collin was even born.  I have had a few moments of reminiscing and silent tears, but overall, today just felt right.  The stress of our last apartment was gone.  I feel like I can breathe here.  I feel like maybe I'll finally be able to sleep here (assuming the children start sleeping better, too).   We have had our blinds open all day and the sunlight just pours in.  It's still quite bright in here and it's nearly 9pm.  It's amazing how oppressing the rule that prohibited me from opening the blinds to let natural light in became.  In three short days, we have had more people walk through our front door than we had in the entire six plus months at the last place.

I realize that the last apartment, transitional housing, kept me feeling homeless.  It was a place to live, but it didn't feel like it was ours, at all, even though we paid to live there, and it certainly didn't feel like home.  While my friend was overwhelmingly gracious to allow us to stay with her for two months, that wasn't our home either.  It was hers.  For nearly a year, we've been at least somewhat displaced. 

But now, we are home.  This feels like home.

Last night, I sat with the boys after the littlest went to bed, and I whispered, "welcome home, buddy."  I received the biggest grin in response.

I guess this feels like home to all of us.

There's no place like home.

A few weeks ago, my dad called with some news. At the time he called, the news seemed like no big deal, almost expected, really, and I hardly gave it much thought initially.  It wasn't until a few hours later, talking with my sister (she lives with us), that I really began to focus on what I was told.

The news? The home I grew up in, for the most part, is set to be torn down soon. 

This house, my childhood home, is the very first house I lived in. My grandma owned the house, when I was born, and it's where I came home from the hospital to live. She lived there many more years. Granted, I did not live there my entire childhood, but after a little less than a decade, my family moved back into the house, and it's where the remainder of my childhood years were spent. I have countless memories created there, both when she lived there, as well as when my immediate family did as well.

I haven't lived there officially since 2005, but up until this month, my dad and youngest sister still did. Needless to say, I've never stopped "going home" and spending time in the house I grew up in.

This house, a double story home on Main Street, in a tiny rural town in Minnesota, was built in the very early 1900s, by the man, a railroad executive, that my hometown is named after. I used to recall a lot of interesting history about my home, but alas, time has dulled those memories. I know at one time, it was a duplex, with a full apartment both upstairs and down. I could show you the spot in the wall where the second story entrance once was, even though I never knew the house in that state. 

I remember when we moved back in during my elementary years, I absolutely had to have the bedroom that was my  grandma's   when she lived there. It had a variated blue carpet. I painted the bottom half of the walls a lilac color, and had a blue and purple morning glory wallpaper border separating it from the white top half. Over the years, our family size grew, and I moved across the hall, into what had been my parents room (they moved downstairs) and their big "closet." That closet at one point had been the upstairs kitchen, and still had a sink and pipes. It was gutted, and I had a bed with shelving underneath it built into the wall, in the small 6'x12' room. I spray painted the walls in a cloudy swirl fashion, in mauve, and signed my name at the foot of my bed. I also was allowed to use the bigger room (where my parents had been), and acquired an old couch. I painted it in bright colors and decked it out with my favorite song lyrics written on paper and spaced strategically around the room. I loved it.

The front porch has (had, soon) a roof that you could climb atop if you went through the windows in my former purple room. I spent countless hours sitting on that roof. It was my thinking spot. I would listen to music, journal, write letters, or just veg out. I would have friends join me there from time to time and carry on great conversations.

Across the alley, from my "new" room window, I could see the back yard of one of my best childhood friends' family home.  It was pretty wonderful to have a friend that close, when we had moved from living right next door to my lifelong best friend (we moved next door to her family in the spring of 1991 and became friends immediately) when we came to this home. It helped ease the loss of moving five blocks away from her. (Yes, that is dramatic but it seemed like a huge change back then.)

I once duck taped my youngest brother to one of the beautiful maple trees in the front yard. I had his permission. I left him there a half an hour at least.

I learned to pass and kick a football in the back yard, as well as play kickball and various other games too. There were often a swarm of bees out back in the spring that terrified me, but I never once was stung. I can recall sitting on the big cement steps leading out the back door in the summer and can still nearly feel the warmth of the cement on my bare feet. I can recall the holes from where large rocks must have been stuck but eventually loosened in the steps.

There was a summer I made my brother eat peanut butter and leaf sandwiches in the back yard because he whined at me all the time to make him something to eat and he was fully capable. My bad.

I had morning glories on the south side of the house, as well as the west (back yard). You could enter the basement fe the cellar store outside, and as much as it was (rightly so) advised against standing atop the wooden doors, my brother and I did so frequently.

The living room seemed so huge growing up. The ceilings in the house were high and seemed to soar above us. The living room and dining room had stained glass in the top section of the picture windows. They were (in my opinion) a bit ugly and obscure, but still very cool. 

You could see the high school I attended from the dining room window. We lived half a block away, so it was hard to be late (though my younger brother totally mastered the skill of being tardy on a regular basis).  

In the summer, we would walk to the local swimming pool. It was about 8 blocks away. We were about 4 blocks from the grocery store and post office, and walking to get the mail was somehow always (unless the weather sucked) exciting. I even had my own key!

You could sit on the porch all day and but a few cars drive by, it seemed. Main Street is extremely wide, but it is a one-way street and not a through road at that, so traffic was very low, and we took advantage by playing in the street frequently. During my exploration phase where I wasn't easily grossed out, I dissected a snake in the street with a stick. 

The sidewalk would flood every year when the snow melted and we would have a last pushing water as fast as we could with snow shovels to splash as high as possible. I did snow sculptures in the front yard for my younger siblings.  I painted Pooh characters on a wooden castle fort in the backyard for my baby sister.

My brother and I made home videos in the living room when our parents were at work and we were home, even though we were told not to. We tried music videos, documentaries, action segments, and even a horror flick. 

I hosted my first "boy-girl" party there, and we sang karaoke to country songs. 

I had my first kiss from my first boyfriend there in 10th grade. I remember thinking it was kind of gross and he was kind of slobbery.  We didn't date long. Haha.

I remember the first time my husband visited the house. It was August 31, 2001. He came with another friend I had recently met. They stayed for hours, late into the night. He played my guitar in the dining room, which still had brown wooden panels at the time. I gave him a tour, and when we were in the basement, he saw a centipede and ran up the stairs like a terrified little girl.

I spent countless hours on Tuesday nights sitting on the kitchen counter talking to him on the phone. I wasn't supposed to sit on the counter.

He kissed me for the first time in that house. He told me loved me in that house. He tried to be super romantic and played guitar in the back yard outside my bedroom window one night on a surprise visit- standing out there for who knows how long, because I had gone for a jog after mailing him a letter. I did find him when I got home and was completely smitten.

He played my favorite song for me the first time in the living room, shortly after I cut my head with a piece of paneling I was tearing off the wall helping to rid the dining room of the atrocious decor. 

Spencer spent hours there two summers ago playing in a pool my dad got for him and put in the front yard. Collin met "his puppy," Wendell, for the first time there, as when I was pregnant with Collin we needed a bigger place to live and we couldn't find one affordable to us that allowed us to keep Wendell here.

Granted, I have memories that are less than wonderful, but it's rare I focus on them, especially now, when I'm figuring out how to process letting go of my home.

Letting go... It seems so surreal. To know that it's likely the next time I "go home" to visit, I will drive by and the lot will be vacant. The image of desolation I have flash through my mind is really hard to grasp and process. I'm not looking forward to that day. 

After my dad told me the news, I heard the song "the House that Built Me," by Miranda Lambert. It's been a favorite for years. This time, it made me cry.

I tell myself it's just a building. It's old and very, very run down (that's why it's being demolished). It's not really worth saving. But impractically, I wish I could save it. 

Since I can't, I had a friend take a picture for me. She still lives in my hometown. I treasure this photo more than I can describe, now.

Hold into it. I know, realistically, I will hold onto the memories and that is what will matter.  But it pulls at my heart strings to know that I won't be able to drive by when my children are older, point it out to them, and tell them the memories I so vividly can see myself. It won't be as tangible to them. It just won't be there anymore.

a memorable hug

Nearly a year ago, my "little" brother left Minnesota on a deployment tour to Kuwait. The deployment ceremony was in May of 2011, and since that time, I believe we had seen him for two other days in the past nearly a year. That's more than many military families can say, I know and for that I'm grateful.

But, let's just be honest, 11 months of "touring" is a long time. Surely, it is for the soldiers, and also their families. I know it's nothing I've knowingly experienced before. And while it was my brother who was off on a mission and not a spouse or a child, it was still a big difference, and a big deal to me. I mean, I see my family every month or so, at least, despite the fact that they live over 2 hours away. We're close. I try to see them as much as a I can. So, when I would visit, or they would visit, multiple times over the last 11 months, and Bryan wasn't around (except for our family gathering and then again for my son's 1st birthday party), it just felt... different.

I have known for a while now, a couple months, anyway, that sometime in April, he would be coming home. He's told me many times, as have my sisters, other brother, and parents. But, I was never certain of the date, because a specific date was never given to us.

So, when my dad called me a week ago, roughly, to tell me that the weekend coming up (this past one, now), Bryan would probably be flying into Minnesota, I was really excited! I didn't think I'd be seeing him right away, but just knowing he'd be on home soil was amazing. And then on Saturday, I saw my mom had said that she's be picking him up on Sunday sometime.

Sunday, as in YESTERDAY. She had figured sometime in the afternoon.

Yesterday morning, she sent me a text saying she was on her way to get him.

And... it just so happens, that was PERFECT.

I had forgotten Spencer's diaper bag, which also housed my wallet, at my aunt's house for Easter the weekend before. Despite a whirlwind busy weekend, chalk full of things to do, Jake told me the other night that we would go get it on Sunday. My sister got it from my aunt's house, so we were going to stop by my dad's and pick it up before heading back to Sioux Falls for the Trans Siberian Orchestra concert.

Seeing as that my mother was getting Bryan in the morning instead of afternoon... that meant we would see him!

So, yesterday, around 3pm, I received one of the most memorable, best hugs I've ever received. And it was from my "little" brother, who is 7.5 years younger than me and towers over me by inches.

I walked up to my dad's house, and he, along with my siblings and parents, walked out. And, still dressed in his uniform, he came up and gave me the tightest hug I've gotten in ages. Ah! I am smiling now just thinking about it.

It was surreal to see him again, being that I hadn't really expected it!

Of course, my father, being the photographer that he likes to be, had to get a picture of us together... so we got to hug again... which became kind of awkward when my dad realized his camera was frozen, and we were standing in the front yard hugging like goons and smiling at my dad... who was not actually taking pictures yet, but telling us "just a minute, hold on." Haha. Bryan started dancing with me, "to the Elton John song in his head," and when I busted a gut laughing and tried to get away, he told me "no, wait, it's only the first chorus!"

So, not only did I get a great first hug, a long, awkward, hilarious second hug, and dance, but another couple when my dad finally enlisted my help in "thawing" (haha) his camera so he took pictures, and you know, when we left again, too. Yup, it was pretty great.

Bryan, for the record, has an excellent sense of humor. One of my biggest fears, aside from losing him while he was overseas, was that he'd come back super serious, or completely changed, and it would feel like we didn't know him at all.

Fortunately, that is not the case. Gosh. When you get all 4 of my siblings and I (ah! I'm so glad this happened) together, sitting at a table, talking and joking around, I laugh harder than I do most anywhere else. With Bryan there, it was just absolutely... perfect.

Though we had to leave after an hour and a half to get back in time for the concert, it was well worth the extra 2.5 hours of travel time, just to see him, talk with him, and hug him a few times. And, we left knowing that it won't be months before we see him again.

Ah!

It's been almost 2 months together.

Let's just be honest. I haven't blogged much lately. Not for lack of things to blog about, mind you, I've had a ton on my mind. In fact, as much as I would say I need to de-clutter the computer desk, I feel the need to de-clutter my mind, as well. Hopefully over the next few days (or weeks...) I can write it all out and find some more peace inside that chamber of thoughts.

Why haven't I blogged? A few reasons. The first is that I've been busy. I haven't been on a bunch of exciting or awesome vacations (though, I have visited my parents and siblings a few times), but rather, Spencer keeps me pretty occupied. And with the unseasonably nice weather we've been having, I've been trying to get us out and about (whether in the yard, or parks, or play dates), and not just hanging out in the living room all of the time.

And also.. I am EXHAUSTED. I remember being tired when I was pregnant with Spencer, and I had a job and all that, but hey, I feel like at least then, when I was super tired, I could rest. Now, my resting is dictated by a 17 month-old who just doesn't see the need to rest himself. Ah well.

We've been spending time with my cousin, who is also one of my best friends, during small chunks of the day a few days a week, as she comes over for lunch (she works blocks away).

Oh yeah, and I'll admit, I've been reading the Hunger Games triology. My husband purchased them on the nook, and we've both been reading them. I must say, while I'm not a fan of a lot of murder/death/gruesome reading and science-fiction stories... I'm somehow hooked anyway. I can that about the "Ender's" series, as well... books I was hooked on (of the sci-fi genre), that I never would have thought I'd become hooked on.

Anyway...

Although I was super comfortable in bed (for once) and nearly asleep, my neighbor and her boyfriend decided 9:45pm would be a good time to start an argument, so... I forced myself out of the bedroom and to the kitchen, where I now find myself.

Voila. A blog post.

It's not about anything weighty, or many of the subjects that bog my mind down and keep me awake, but rather, about the last two-ish months of being a stay-at-home-mom.

My husband asked recently, in summary, if I like being a SAHM and want to keep doing it.

Despite some reservations about the "gig," I told him I certainly would, as long as I am able to.

I love it. I do, but it's not always an easy "job" to love, I will admit.

Sometimes, I get really lonely feeling. Not for lack of having a lovable (and loving), chatty, busy-body with me in the house. But, as much as Spencer talks, and says actual English words now, and will hold a "conversation" with me, it's not the same as having adult interaction. Thank goodness for my cell phone (texts are my favorite), and Facebook. Shallow sounding, maybe, but it's true. I'm very grateful for those luxuries.

Fortunately, though, being a SAHM has given me time and opportunity to cultivate and strengthen friendships with a couple of my other stay-(or work-)at-home-moms that I know. It's been such a blessing to have time to spend with them. Whether it's via text message, email, Facebook message, like I said, which makes it very easy to keep in touch at all hours of the day, or play-dates with them and their sons, it's a treasure to Spencer and I both.

One thing that kind of caught me by surprise was the idea of "getting a lot done" around the house... not... so... much... happening. Not for lack of ambition (well, sometimes), but moreover, it seems that every time I start picking something up or organizing it, I have a little "helper," who I always seem to think is adequately distracted and won't notice what I'm doing. I'm generally wrong. Half of the time, it seems as soon as I start washing dishes, even though we won't have been playing or interacting, really, he will run to the kitchen and wedge himself between my legs and the cupboard and push me away from the sink. Or.. if I throw things away, he finds whatever he can find to throw away too.

And let me tell you, getting laundry done is not as easy as I had imagined. I never really saw the "need" to have main floor laundry until I started staying home with Spencer. Our laundry area is in the basement. Occasionally, say, if Elmo is "babysitting," I can sneak away to get it done. But, usually, I do NOT trust Spencer, nor Wendell, for that matter, to be alone, free, upstairs.

I don't really trust Spencer to be buckled into his high chair, and unsupervised, either. He's some sort of wizard, I swear.

I know, I should force myself to stay awake at every nap time and scrub the house and wash and dry and tend to the laundry, but as I said before, I am exhausted! I didn't realize that being pregnant with a toddler running around would be so tiring. I don't mean that to sound as a complaint, just a realization of my naivety on the matter.

I also didn't realize how hard it would be to sneak away to the bathroom to do my business... alone. I think he's got some sort of radar for that. I can't tell you how many times he's come barging in (because I don't always get the old, sticky, warped door latched all the way) with his shape sorter. Or if the door is shut completely, someone likes to pound and scream at me.

But, it's not all bad. Not even close, so don't let me fool you into thinking that.

I LOVE being home with Spencer. I loved working outside the home with him, too, of course, but there's something to be said about being able to wear your pajamas or comfortable pants (because I'm getting bulbous) all day if I want. Or to literally, not change him out of pajamas (or re-clothe him) on rainy days when I know we won't be leaving the house.

He has always been somewhat of a "night-owl," even as a newborn, and being that we don't have to be anywhere at a certain time, most days, it's okay with me that he stays up until nine (though I really prefer him to be asleep way before 10), and sleeps until eight... or nine.. or ten... thirty... in the morning. I don't mind not having to get up at 6:30. And, it affords me time, currently, to see my husband on the mornings he is home before work. I will admit, though, it's odd to not have to get up to wake him (either him, actually) in the morning.

I love that I can be attentive to Spencer, solely, as a child. To watch him intensely, as he develops skills, learns words, and uses his creative mind. He's just an unbelievable creation, to me. I tell Jake often that "I can't believe we made him." (Of course, thanks be to God, who had a very large hand in it.)

I love the freedom to visit friends, or family, during the week, if we so choose, and it works out for them. I love not having to cram errands into a half an hour chunk of time in the evening on the way home.

I love being able to relax and enjoy my role as a parent, as frustrating and exhausting as that can also be.

So, overall, I'd say it's been a pretty great two months. The first weeks, two or three, were a breeze. It felt like a vacation. The few weeks after, where the weather was kind of crummy and I was beside myself trying to figure out what to do, how to stay sane, how to continue interaction with others, and how to keep him entertained... were harder. But, I think after that, we've started to figure out our routine, a balance, and a way to make things work.

Of course.. soon enough, it's going to change again, and again, and probably again. But more on that another night. The neighbor is quiet again, and I'd like a snack before I fall asleep.

Stay-at-Home

It seems lately, that I, and my little family, is in the midst of a season of change. Here's two that I'm talking about that really are affecting our home.

I am pregnant again, which I already blogged about. It's one of the most exciting things to happen in our family since... well, since Spencer was born. We are thrilled at the prospect of welcoming our second child into our family in August. We talk about it frequently, and I am finally starting to feel like it's "real" and that it will last this time. Though, admittedly, I'm still cautiously hopeful.

In a few weeks, I begin my "stay-at-home-mom" audition. A try-out, perhaps.

I have loved working with one of my best friends, doing daycare in her home. But, with the addition of a second child into our family and the knowledge that it just won't work out as nicely to continue that path once the baby comes, coupled with the fact that there have already been complications with this pregnancy that we've not experienced with the past two, and the mounting stress of those situations, along with the realization that daycare is not a "money maker" and by me not continuing to work with her, she can earn more income, we decided to "split up." Not break up a friendship, by any means, but rather, just the business.

After much talk with Jake, about whether to take on a child or two in our tiny place, or to find a "high enough paying part time job to put SJ in a daycare part-time hours which would still allow me to be his primary care giver all days of the week," Jake suggested that perhaps, we try working out our budget and finances in a way that allows me to stay at home with Spencer. Since I will be bringing out second child into the world at the end of the summer, it also seems to make less sense to find a job and have to go on leave, if it's not going to make much financially anyway, there might not be much of a benefit. And, like I said, financially, doing daycare doesn't provide much for our family either.

So, starting mid-February, we're going to try it out. If it doesn't work financially, though we're hoping it will, then we'll reconsider other options.

Jake seems pretty excited at the idea. He said so on the phone this evening again.

I'm pretty excited. I like the idea of having more time to keep our house in order. To organize. To work on a more steady schedule for Spencer, eating, nap, and bedtime wise. I think that will be good for him. It will be good for all of us, hopefully.

And, hopefully, it will allow me to take it "easier" with this pregnancy. Although the sciatica is mostly gone, some days, it flares up pretty badly. Most days, I still can barely sit on the floor to play with Spencer for any extended period of time because of the piercing pains in my hips and legs. But, we work through it, and sometimes we just play on the couch or the bed. And with the SCH that has caused some bleeding and spotting over the past two weeks, trying not to do a lot of lifting and heavy movements or work will be easier when it's just us at home, hopefully. (For the record, Jake has been so helpful with things like laundry, since it, oddly, hurts to carry baskets full up and down the stairs...) Though, we're praying there are no more complications along the way, we're just being practical in realizing that there just may be. I had hardly an issue with Spencer, and up until losing Sprout, none there either.

Though, I must be completely honest. As excited as I feel at times, there are other times I feel completely terrified. I look at Spencer, and it freaks me out to think it's going to be just us. What if he gets sick of me? What if I don't "raise him right?" What if he resents me for "taking away his friends" and social interactions? What if we don't get along? What if we're both miserable? What if I get super lonely?

There are just so many things to think about when it comes to the situation of staying home with your child. While I think it'll be a great thing for our family, how can I be sure? I can't, I guess. So, we'll just try it out and see how it goes.

I find it kind of amusing. I have always wanted to be a mommy, but truthfully, I never saw myself as a stay-at-home mother. But, then, it took us so long to conceive Spencer, that as soon as I got pregnant, I secretly wanted nothing more. Though, I spent the last year and a half trying to convince myself otherwise. I guess, even if it doesn't end up working out in the long-run, at least I have been blessed with the opportunity to try.

Prayers are appreciated! So is advice.