Wednesday, January 15, 2014

100 Days of Gratitude: Days 46-76

With all of the craziness going on in our lives recently (sickness, holidays, traveling, moving…), I have slacked a bit in posting my 100 days of thanks.  Even though I have kept my gratitude to myself, the changes in my life have been tremendous.  Eucharisteo is changing the way I look at things.

Day 46 – I am thankful that Little K is feeling so much better.  RSV truly sucks.

Day 47 – I am thankful that Little K's birthday cookies were such a big hit at school and that he was well enough to participate in his school’s Christmas program (which was adorable).
Little K with his teacher Ms. Becky.

Day 48 – I am thankful for our local coffee shop and the delicious sugar-free skinny vanilla lattes with an extra shot of espresso they serve.

Day 49 – I am thankful for all of the kind and wonderful birthday wishes I received.  They made turning 30 much less terrible.

Day 50 – I am thankful to have a job that I can do from home while wearing pajamas.

Day 51 – I am thankful for too many margaritas and lots of laughter.

Day 52 – I am thankful for headache medicine and a day of napping.

Day 53 – I am thankful for safe travels.         

Day 54 – I am thankful for a wonderful Christmas celebration with my in-laws.

Day 55 – I am thankful for the Christ child who was born this day to bring peace to a weary world.

Day 56 – I am so thankful for the tremendous Christmas celebration with my family.

Day 57 – I am thankful to get to celebrate my birthday with some of my very favorite people.

Day 58 – I am thankful for safe travels home.

Day 59 – I am thankful for Little K's enthusiasm in helping pack boxes.

Day 60 – I am thankful for modern technology.

Day 61 – I am thankful for getting early possession of our new home!!

Day 62 – I am thankful for our wonderful friend who is helping us move on a holiday.

Day 63 – I am thankful for cleaning products.  Cleaning someone else’s dirt and germs makes my skin crawl.

Day 64 – I am thankful for a local moving company who moved all our large items without damaging anything.

Day 65 – I am thankful for my amazing parents who drove 4 hours to help us get settled into our new home.

Day 66 – I am thankful for the way fresh paint makes a space look and feel.

Day 67 – I am thankful that Little K has transitioned seamlessly into our new home.  He loves it!

Day 68 – I am thankful to be back at CrossFit.  But 3 weeks off made today seem super tough!

Day 69 – I am thankful for warmth in this cold.

Day 70 – I am thankful that Daisy is starting to adjust to our new home and that she has finally stopped hiding and shaking.

Day 71 – I am thankful for a quiet night in.

Day 72 – I am thankful that we were able to take Little K to see Monster Jam.  He had a blast!

Day 73 – I am thankful for lazy Sundays.

Day 74 – I am thankful for a CrossFit WOD that made me feel strong and empowered.

Day 75 – I am thankful for playing “tag-you’re-it”, having stair-jumping races, summersault contests, and monster truck races with my 4 year old.  He’s a really great kid.

Day 76 – I am thankful for a long coffee date with a dear friend.

Whether or not you share your eucharisteo with me, I hope that gratitude is changing your life as it is mine.  I am thankful that you continue to keep me In Good Company.

Tuesday, January 14, 2014

Westmoor Walk

When we made the decision to put our home on the market, I said a very simple prayer:  “Lord, please let someone buy our house who will love it as much as we have.”  Within 48 hours of listing, we had a contract.

Friday we signed the final closing documents on our beloved little house.  I couldn’t help but be terribly sad.  Our little house on Westmoor Walk was where we grew our lives.   Of course we had a house together in college, and an apartment together in North Carolina after we were first married; but Westmoor Walk was where we truly hung our hearts.

When we first bought that house, everything was pink.  Everything.  Pink walls, pink countertops, pink cabinets, pinkish linoleum.  We poured so much love into that house to make it our own.  In the eight years we lived there, we made it our home.

As we walked through the little house one last time, I couldn’t help but cry.  Not even a regular cry.  A full-on ugly cry.  I stood in the room that was our son’s baby nursery, staring at the corner where his rocking chair once was; and I bawled.  And I didn’t stop crying until the next day.

My husband thought I was pregnant crazy because of the continuous eye-leaking.  “Don’t you think this is even just a little bit sad?”  “Sure,” he said, “but it’s more exciting.  Do you think all those memories are just going to stay there?”

My dad said that I should think about how exciting it is for the girl who bought our little home, that it’s a new beginning for someone else.  I know he’s right.  But it doesn’t feel right having someone else living in our home when we still don’t feel at home in our new space.

As my mind pours through all of our experiences in that space, I wonder if she can feel the ghosts of our memories, or if she is busy making new ones.

I keep thinking about the day we brought Little K home from the hospital.  He was nine days old.  I was certain that he thought we lived at the hospital – because obviously my genius son had some seriously advanced cognitive abilities at nine days old – so I took him on a tour of our house.  I told him about every room, introduced him to his big sister, Daisy, and snuggled them both on the couch.  I can recall the exact spot in the living room where Little K took his very first step as I squealed with delight.

Maybe it’s the earlier memories that haunt the walls.  The memories of a young couple still struggling to transition into adults.  Maybe the scent of the hundreds of cigarettes smoked on the back steps still lingers.  The laughter of dozens of back yard barbecues might still hang in the air.  Maybe she can sense the board games played and the bottles of wine drank.  The loud parties and game nights might still swirl through the air in excitement on holidays and unplanned Friday nights.

Maybe she will feel the losses we mourned, the friendships we created, and the fights we fought.

Maybe she can hear the desperate tears cried over yet another negative pregnancy test.  Or the intense celebration after that positive result finally came.  Maybe in the quiet moments she can hear the quiet lullabies that were sung through the tears of a heart brimful with love.  Maybe the hallway still creaks with the steps that walked up and down and up and down the hallway with a colicky baby.

Maybe she can feel the love shared between two head-strong soul mates who often slow-danced in the kitchen.  The kind of love that has and will endure all.

I hope that’s the kind of love that continues in our little house on Westmoor Walk.  I hope she can grow her life the way we grew ours, that she can pour more love into those walls.

I wonder if that little house will always feel like our little house.  Because right now, even though our lives have fallen into our normal routines – despite that I know where nothing is – I feel like we are walking around in a parallel universe.  The actions are the same, but the surroundings are foreign.  And every. single. morning. I have no clue where I am upon waking.

I’m certain our new home, as we continue to paint and replace and tear out and repair into space, will soon enough feel our own.  As we pour love into this house, it will inevitably feel like home – and maybe soon I will stop accidentally driving to the old house.  But right now, I feel like that little house will always, always feel like home.

I am sad to leave you behind little house, but I thank you, and all of our friends and neighbors on Westmoor Walk, for keeping us In Good Company.