A Walk Through My House

This morning all my babies were in the tub. After bathing the boys, I washed Mia and then pulled the plug and left her playing because she wasn't ready to get out. A few minutes later, I walked down the hallway and peeked around the corner and whispered, "Are you ready to get out?"

She turned around and looked at me, smiling.

And you know those old family movie reels where you see the kids growing up? (Think Marley & Me) It was as if I had a weird kind of dejavu -- looking into the future and remembering that exact moment.

I was talking to a friend the other day and she was telling me how she thought her house was nothing special (I beg to differ) --- but that to her, it was special because she raised her children there.

And as I stood in the doorway watching Mimi's cute face and the way her wet hair lay on her head, I thought about walking through my house -- one day, when we sell it.

It is our first house, which makes it special in and of itself. All of our dreams were packed into it and it was a place of our own.

A place of our own!

On my front porch I'd remember hanging wreaths for each season and loving the whole process of coming up with someone new. I'd think of how much I loved the windows in the door and peeking inside to see what I could see. I'd remember Christmas time and seeing Scott and Mimi peering out from inside to me outside and taking their pictures.

(Can you see them?)

I would walk in my front door and notice the latch we had to attach at the top so the boys couldn't sneak out without me knowing and watch the trains down the street and scare drivers because they were sitting on the curb ("Where is their mother?!").

I'd see the cute little cubby mailbox in the alcove and in my mind's eye see Maters and hot wheels and trains and teddy bears that were frequently left there. Oh, and the time there was a whole bunch of crunched-up-tortilla-chips left there, too. The time we couldn't find Mr. Bear, and I found him later tucked inside. And the way you could hear the mail being dropped down inside in the mornings.

I'd walk into my front room and see the nice pillows scattered all over the floor, despite however many times I've told them we don't play with those. I'd look down inside the pillows and find cars and trains hiding behind. And I'd remember finding food stashed there, too -- even raw, uncracked (hallelujah!) eggs on one occasion. I'd look toward the backyard and the french doors and think of opening them when it was really windy outside and just listening to the wind in all the trees out there.

I'd look toward the front window and remember our somewhat crammed antique wooden table given to us by Scott's parents when we got married. I'd remember the evenings with classical music playing while I got dinner ready. Setting that little table, pulling the piano bench around for the boys to share on one side. I'd see Mia's little booster seat and think about how cute she was because she loves to eat. The pounding forks and spoons and knives while they waited to be served up. And I'd look at the window ledge and think about how many times their little feet walked across it and all the smudged fingerprints that I'd clean off the glass that never ever seem to go away.

I would remember the sweet prayers over the food -- and really starting to hear my children think up prayers of their own, sometimes laughing at what comes out of their mouths and something caught off guard by how sweet they can be ("help us be kind and gently").

I'd remember our beautiful Christmas tree and warm fires for cold winter evenings when the world is quiet and wet and white outside. I'd think of running down the street in front of my house and seeing the twinkle lights wrapped around my mantel and about how inviting it looked.

I'd remember singing around the piano and the way my heart nearly burst with pride at what good singers we have and how they would let it all come out in our family home evening tunes. I'd look at the beautiful wood floor and think of how we danced on that floor sometimes, turning the music up and how Isaiah especially loved to dance with me.

I'd walk through the kitchen and think about how it really was and is a tiny kitchen. But I'd remember the cute little table in the bay windows and all the daily activity and buzz that happened there. All the yummy food, and the baby on the counter all the time with me as I cooked. And the way Isaiah always had to pull a chair from the other room to watch whatever I was cooking as well. I'd think of how Scott and Garrett ripped that wall down only to find a plumbing pipe (Oh good henry!) that we luckily were able to re-route. I'd feel gratitude for my husband and brother-in-law for their work and for what we made of this house.

I'd look out the bay windows into my back yard and I'd stop there for a long time. The yard was what first sold us on the house.

I'd think of the hours and hours and hours I spent there. Cleaning out the flowerbeds, planting things, tending. I'd see the garden plot and remember how much satisfaction and joy I got from the harvest and seeing things come to fruition. I'd remember how hard Scott worked to restain the deck and how we loved sitting out there with family and friends. I'd remember frozen custard with our friends, late at night. Popsicle sticks littering the yard. Watching my sons (and Mimi) too -- but especially Benji -- pushing his little lawnmower around the yard following his dad mowing the lawn. And the way they rode in the wheelbarrow. And I'd think of playing my guitar on the deck steps outside by myself, in the dark. The way you could hear crickets so prominently. I'd look up at the huge sweeping tree and thank it over and over for its beauty. I'd remember the warm summer nights and rotating the sprinkler and smelling the earth and those lovely summer thunderstorms with massive, tumultuous, churning clouds of deep blue.

I'd go into our bedroom and remember nursing little Mimi every morning and loving that quiet time, loving the way the room looked clean and white and quiet in the morning. I'd remember admiring the sunshine that poured in the bedroom and the mountain view. I'd think of bathing the boys in totes in the shower before our bathroom was finished and buzzing heads in that bathroom and potty training the boys there. I'd think of the nights that one of the boys (or both) would climb into bed with us and we'd all sit there talking. Or the Sunday mornings when this would happen too. I'd think of the stack of library books that was always in the closet on the floor.

I'd walk downstairs to their bedrooms and walking into the boys' room I'd see where their bookshelf was. I'd remember all the stories we read, over and over and over again. I'd think about how many times I had to clean up spilled cereal from off their floor. I'd think of crawling into bed with them at night and singing to them and listening to their small voices when they'd sing along, the forlorn little Christmas tree branch that was their small "Christmas tree" in their room with homemade ornaments and red lights. I'd remember that we almost always said family prayer right there, on that floor. And squeezed together afterward in a big family hug. I'd remember snuggling with them, hugging them, watching them start to slip into slumberland. I'd remember looking down at them, asleep in their beds, and thinking about how long they were getting, how fast they were growing up.

I'd remember rocking Mimi each night in her room, and checking on all of them before I could go to sleep. I'd remember folding clothes in the big room, watching movies together, and all the running around/goofy happenings in the evenings up and down the hallway. I'd look in my pantry room and think about how small it is and how proud I was of all the stock we had. I'd remember the kids wanting to help me as I loaded the washer with the dirty clothes -- standing on the detergent box and dropping things in.

I'd walk through feeling very wistful.

Just the other night an eighty-year-old woman that I was visiting with turned to me suddenly and somewhat out of the blue and said,

"You know, this is the best time of your life."

I do know.

Even just yesterday I had that thought. I was cuddling one of my little boys who was crying because he was disappointed he missed Grandpa and Grammy when they stopped by. The other one came and climbed into the chair on the other side of me and all of us were just talking. And I fast-forwarded then, too, thinking about how wonderful it was to just be there, talking with my sons who are so anxious to tell me things. I won't always have these children like I have them now. I feel very aware that they are going to grow up and their dreams will open up before them as they open their wings. And I'll see my own taking flight.

Because they were my dream.

And we probably won't always be here --- but in just a short nine-and-a-half months, there's already a lot that will make this space sacred to me. And it's like what my friend said: to anyone else, it may be just a house, and not even a very spectacular one. And even though I happen to really like the house, I feel deeply about it mostly because of what happened here and watching my family grow.

This Week's Two Loves

I have been working outside all week. I'm sure that's where you'll be able to find me for the next few weeks straight.

Actually, probably all summer and fall.

I love our yard. We actually were pretty much sold on the house because we loved the yard so much. It was the first thing we saw of the house and fell in love.

I have big, big plans.

This week has been full of digging out this prolific plant/ground cover that has taken over everywhere. A pretty plant, but kind of like ivy with vines that weave in and around everything around them. Maybe they originally planted one or two, and left untouched, they have gone crazy.

But my vision includes black-eyed susans and purple coneflower. Maybe some bee balm. Maybe some aster. I want country-wildflower flower beds that call the butterflies.

So this week I have been taking out all that crazy stuff and making room for these blooms. I need to call the garden center I like to go to and see if those plants are there yet so I can put them in the ground.

I'm going to go to Costco later today and buy solar lights and a hose.

The green on my thumb is getting more and more green from all this honest-to-goodness practical application I've just begun in my honest-to-goodness own yard.

And here's the other love: I'm pretty much addicted to homemade bread.

But really, who isn't?

I made some to take to dinner last night. Whole wheat with flaxseed, raw sunflower seeds, wheat bran and oatmeal in it.

Ate some before dinner. And then, at about 11:00ish last night, I was breaking off chunks of it in the kitchen, dolloping peanut butter on top and was in soul satisfaction.

I intended to make green smoothie for breakfast, but that dang bread was staring me in the face on the counter.

So I did what I wanted to do: grabbed the peanut butter, a glass of milk, and went to town.

And I found myself thinking about the pioneers.

I have this notion that they ate homemade bread with almost every meal. And I totally know why. I would feel 100% at home amongst them in this regard. It's addicting. You start and you just can't stop.

Seriously.

Homemade bread.

Plain.

With peanut butter.

Toasted with butter and honey.

There's not much better in life.

Mantle Love & Love Songs & Such

I added a little love to my mantle on this, the first day of February.




And I'm still pretty undecided if I like it or not.







Part of me thinks it's rather ugly -- but part of me, frankly, had this battle of indecision with the mantle as it was before the valentine love got added. Except for the birds and the penguins 'cause, ya know, I love them.

Today the sun was actually shining outside and it made me feel radiant inside, and I was consciously aware of how much it rejuvenated me. I really wanted to take a nap, but on such a day, decided I couldn't afford to waste such gorgeousness. And so I went running and wanted to just keep bathing in the sunlight. That combined with my very slow morning walk with my toddlers and cute baby girl and cute nephew out in the morning air just made the whole day better.

Until.

The basement drain in the laundry room decided to start sharing its juices.

This has happened before, but not to this extent. I happened (blessing!) to walk into the bathroom at the moment of some ferocious gurgling happening on the floor, setting my foot down into the shmuck. And I screamed. I really did. I was in my normal routine of things and opened the door of the laundry to go stick some dirty socks in there for the next load and didn't bother looking down until the wetness necessitated it.

So basically someone has to come out and snake the drain. Or whatever it is they do. And I am just cringing and praying and hoping and saying my hail marys that this isn't going to be too terribly expensive. It's like I was emailing my sister -- I know she's all too familiar with this, but I am just getting my lovely first doses in that great world of home ownership. Some things you have to do even if you can't afford them. (I can't stress about what is going to come out of the drain every time we flush the toilet.) (The joys of being flat-out, 100%, bone dry broke.)

But even despite the drain woes, my husband came home tonight and we ate a yummy dinner. We talked together. We cracked up over our cute children. We had a spiritual discussion that left me surprised at all their young minds retain. And then Scott asked Isaiah to say the family prayer at the end of our discussion. And after opening his prayer, the whole of it was something like this:

"...and thank you that we have mint chocolate chip ice cream."

And he closed the prayer.

And we went upstairs, dished up ice cream for all of us and ate -- and Scott was sitting down on the little stool by their table, eating with them. I was eating out of the carton itself (a horrible habit because I always eat more than a single portion, I know) and feeding Mia bites from her bowl.

And then we put them to bed.

I sang Wonderful Tonight and Something In the Way She Moves to Mia as I rocked her in the dark.

And thought about how fitting it was, being that it is the first day of what I shall refer to as Love Month -- even though, in the end, sometimes Valentines can end up feeling like someone's idea of just putting something in February and bringing up commercial sales.

You know what I mean.