Okay, weird things happening in my brain. After two years of wanting to move the realtor is finally coming next week to list the house. The painting will be done, the stuff is all packed up in storage, and my house is now available for strangers to enter and critique for better or worse.
Little butterflies are starting to cause nausea in my tummy. Is this really happening? For real? No joke...I mean you're not going to holler "April Fools!" or anything like that, right?
Where are these crazy feelings coming from! I want to move, I've been praying and wishing and hoping and dreaming. So now the what if's begin...what if we can't find a house after ours is under contract? What if we get to the country and decide we're really city people after all? What if...
Oh boy, this is a bad line of reasoning.
I have a very dear friend who is very sad that we are moving. She is afraid that we won't see each other much. It's the one thing I'm not worried about. Strange, but I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that some things you just make happen because they are necessary.
I think for part of me this move is about having faith in myself. I am a good mom, a good teacher, and a good wife. I need a place to stretch out and be those things on my own terms. I'm a pretty big personality and apparently, I need a little more room than the average person. I'm not boasting; I consider it a hindrance that needs an outlet for healing. Room to run, space to yell and holler, no one peeking in my windows or driving down my street unless they have reason to visit me and mine.
How sweet would that be?
The butterflies are settling down.
I have a destiny with the sunset, with the garden I haven't planted yet, with watching my kids tame the land, with shearing sheep and spinning wool, with milking the goats and fetching the eggs.
The butterflies are gone.
My one room school house is out there somewhere, waiting for us to inhabit it with love and learning. I long to hear my husband come home from work and holler, "I'm home!" knowing the neighbors can't hear and aren't sneaking a peek to see who just drove up the street.
I know my hubby will thrill to the idea of tractor mowing, fence building, and teaching our kids everything there is to know about farming - even if it will be on the small side.
I see ruddy faces, muddy boots, and a few dead snakes in my future. Oops, the butterflies woke up.
Well, life doesn't come with guarantees, so I'll just keep the Pepto Bismol handy and go for it.
Love to you all and blessings!
Little butterflies are starting to cause nausea in my tummy. Is this really happening? For real? No joke...I mean you're not going to holler "April Fools!" or anything like that, right?
Where are these crazy feelings coming from! I want to move, I've been praying and wishing and hoping and dreaming. So now the what if's begin...what if we can't find a house after ours is under contract? What if we get to the country and decide we're really city people after all? What if...
Oh boy, this is a bad line of reasoning.
I have a very dear friend who is very sad that we are moving. She is afraid that we won't see each other much. It's the one thing I'm not worried about. Strange, but I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that some things you just make happen because they are necessary.
I think for part of me this move is about having faith in myself. I am a good mom, a good teacher, and a good wife. I need a place to stretch out and be those things on my own terms. I'm a pretty big personality and apparently, I need a little more room than the average person. I'm not boasting; I consider it a hindrance that needs an outlet for healing. Room to run, space to yell and holler, no one peeking in my windows or driving down my street unless they have reason to visit me and mine.
How sweet would that be?
The butterflies are settling down.
I have a destiny with the sunset, with the garden I haven't planted yet, with watching my kids tame the land, with shearing sheep and spinning wool, with milking the goats and fetching the eggs.
The butterflies are gone.
My one room school house is out there somewhere, waiting for us to inhabit it with love and learning. I long to hear my husband come home from work and holler, "I'm home!" knowing the neighbors can't hear and aren't sneaking a peek to see who just drove up the street.
I know my hubby will thrill to the idea of tractor mowing, fence building, and teaching our kids everything there is to know about farming - even if it will be on the small side.
I see ruddy faces, muddy boots, and a few dead snakes in my future. Oops, the butterflies woke up.
Well, life doesn't come with guarantees, so I'll just keep the Pepto Bismol handy and go for it.
Love to you all and blessings!
1 comment:
Hey, as you're pulling away from your old house for the last time and leaving me behind, is it okay if I throw eggs at the back of your car? You know, just to show you how much I love you and how sad I am that you're moving away? A proper sendoff for someone who deigns to wax nostalgic about chickens even as they break their friend's heart? Think of it as an old Texas tradition: We love you, you piss us off, we egg your vehicle. No biggie. Hurl, crack, dripglop. Waaaaahhhhhh!!!!!!!!!!!!!
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