Our house is now off the market. Our contract expired and we’re trying to think creatively about what to do next. Switch realtors? Rent a storage unit? Stay here? Bury Saint Joseph in the yard? It’s nice to not feel like we might have to show the house at any moment, but it’s kind of sad to feel like we’re not getting anywhere toward our goal of living in a house where the baby’s bed and all this stuff doesn’t seem like a crammed-in, added-on afterthought. In the meantime, this came in the mail. Isn’t it great? A friend sent it (a thrift store score, she said) and it totally made my day.
“Faith can move mountains…and homes!!!” I feel better already. We’ll sell. It’ll feel like the right time when it happens. And then I can start the battles with my little budding interior designer who feels like her brother’s new room, in whatever home we eventually move to, should be painted red, blue, green, purple, pink and gray.
Now I think I may go collapse on the sofa, and take St. Joseph with me. My wee ones and I are generally very late sleepers, staying up at night to maximize time with Daddy, but then snoozing in bed long after much of the world is up and buzzing. This week Dorothy is attending Bible School which starts (yes, this is no type-o) at the ungodly hour of 9:00 am. I’m in total denial that we’ve already paid tuition on a preschool this coming school year that actually starts (choking gasp) at 8:45. AM. Yesterday was our first day of early rising and we did it with the enthusiasm of beginners. “Yeah, we’re up in time to catch Morning Edition!” “Look, the cats aren’t so hungry when they get fed this early!” “Want to see this wetness on the grass, it’s called dew!” But today the honeymoon was over. Baby fussed, Dorothy let out a little strangled yelp and rolled back over, and my eyes feel strangely dry and irritated. I’m looking forward to next week, when I can continue living the lie that this isn’t going to become every morning of our lives starting in September.