the adventure of moving

Walking through The Big Top this afternoon, passing the boxes in the sitting room and the kitchen that have yet to be unpacked, Hazel declared that it looks like we are all done with moving…and in her nearly eight year old wisdom and mercy, she pronounced it all to be good. It was then that I pointed out that regardless of all of the unpacked boxes and the big to-do list on the refrigerator and the pantry from IKEA that still needs to be delivered (and assembled), Papa STILL needs to get the garage organized because Mima needs to park her Dory car in the garage. So no, we are not all done moving.

Oh. …You’re right, Mima. You’re not done yet.

Such is the almost never-ending adventure that is moving and setting up the new Big Top. There is always something that needs to be done, to be hung, to be put away, to be fixed, to be tossed, to be ordered, to be installed. At least I have begun pounding holes in the walls a lot sooner than last time. Perhaps because this feels more like a place to stay, a place to live and place that doesn’t remind me of the dream that we lost in a short sale. 

It felt that way when we first saw this place and walked through it and tried to imagine all of our stuff most of our stuff in it…even the laundry room, because I do still live for laundry.

Hmmm…looks like there is no gas hook-up for our dryer, honey. That is going to be a problem…

Our dryer is electric.

I’m pretty sure it’s a gas dryer…

No. I installed it. I should know. We have an electric dryer.

Okay:::moving on to the next room and imagining, planning:::

Then, moving day, the end of the day as the last load is being loaded off of the truck and brought into the new Big Top:

So honey, guess what?

Hmmm?…

About the dryer…

What about the dryer?

Well, our dryer is a gas dryer.

Like I told you that it was.

Yeah.

That’s a problem.

Yeah.

It’s a good thing I budgeted a little extra for this move. :::mentally erasing the plans I had for that little extra:::

Yeah.

And that, boys and girls, is how I had a new dryer delivered today. No, not cherry red, like it’s older partner. Shinier, newer, very white but promises to work just as hard and as efficient and green. And today I find myself to be super excited about doing laundry because it has been two weeks since I was last able to do laundry. Two weeks makes for a lot of laundry here under the new Big Top.

I don’t mind.

I was right…

as I often am.

And I have a shiny new electric dryer.

On to the next adventure that is making this new Big Top home.

We shape our dwellings, and afterwards, our dwellings shape us.

Winston Churchill

it’s quiet uptown

Uptown, it’s quiet. It really is,

Well…except for the evening s’mores fueled entertainment and shenanigans…it’s quiet uptown.

Inside the new Big Top it is messy and crowded because in spite of aggressive downsizing, we haven’t downsized enough…and because there are boxes EVERYWHERE…and disorder…and mess…and I can’t park my car in the garage; which anyone who really knows me knows that this is a problem…a big problem.

But all will be fine here under the new Big Top…eventually.

For now, in between the unpacking and organizing and downsizing and making room in the garage for the Dory-car, and all the other stuff that must be done, we are going to enjoy the quiet uptown.

Right here, right now, I’m thinking the best decision ever in moving The Big Top was to have this sweet oasis set up…to escape the chaos and endless to-do list inside The Big Top…to enjoy the quiet here uptown…here…home.

the emotions of donating, tossing and keeping

Spring has sprung and currently under The Big Top there is Spring cleaning going on. Living with a circus act that borders on potentially the next episode of Hoarders, one can imagine how much exhausting fun that can be.

Let me tell you.

But with a list of stuff to address room by room by room on a list firmly affixed to The Big Top fridge…where EVERYONE can see it, things are slowly getting done…slowly because this circus act is a bunch of pack rats. Imagine the pain and suffering that is involved in sorting through ephemera that is old boxes that once housed cell phones from years ago, extension cords, mugs and wine glasses galore from art, wine and food festivals of days gone by, stacks of video tapes and games with nary a VCR or compatible gaming console anywhere…and on and on and on…

And a room with a toy chest and shelves that house all the treasures belonging to who was once a little boy…treasures long forgotten and ignored…until we spend a weekend beginning to sort through. We’re going to empty the toy chest sorting it all into piles I gently suggest…things that are broken…things we don’t ever play with ever anymore…things we want to save.

What about all the Hot Wheels and the Lego sets andI can see all the stress and emotions as he begins to question.

Right now we’re just going to go through the toy chest in your closet. The toy chest you haven’t opened in three years I bet.

With relief, he laughs, More like four years.

He knows.

A few hours later, we are surrounded by a large pile to toss, a smaller pile to donate, an even smaller pile to keep and an empty toy chest save for a few scraps of crumpled paper on the bottom.

Oh hey! that’s my name!

:::SOB!:::

What about all these Hot Wheels?, he points out the plastic bins stuffed full of, I imagine, all the Hot Wheels cars known to man that are stacked on the closet floor.

I think we’ve done enough today.

Well…except for this.

Fourteen years later, a shoe box full of NICU memories finally on display. Just in time, you know to thoroughly mortify the teenager who was once the micropreemie.

A toy box emptied. A shoe box emptied. You can’t imagine how much was accomplished in spite of a boy’s room still full of so much growing up.

Spring cleaning, exhausting y’all! Emotionally exhausting y’all.

I should write

I should write but…

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it’s raining and we know how everything literally SHUTS DOWN in California when it is raining.

Still, I should write…

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but I’m working on trying not to fall down whilst attempting Virabhadrasana II. Actually Warrior II isn’t so bad. It’s my creaky, older, achy joints that are the problem. Something else I can try to blame on the rain.

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I have (as always) laundry to fold…WARM, fresh out of the dryer laundry to fold before Zelda curls up on it all spreading the glitter that is cat hair ALL OVER IT because all the freshly laundered clothes are so soft and warm and purr-rect for a kitty like her to curl up in. She thinks so.

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Hollie is distracting me from writing sending me impossibly adorable pictures and videos of little ballerina girls. I should be writing but I can’t. I just can’t even!

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Plus it’s raining and my backyard is literally flooded…

I should be writing but…

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the struggle…

It’s real.

the misses independent

In spite of the mundane and drudge that is cleaning and organizing The Big Top, it can be fun when I happen upon little treasures like this.

Oh these two youngest daughters in my life!

I probably should thank Jodie for leaving these in the most random of places that I might find a few days after she headed back to school except I know that she gave these photos to Fallon after they took them New Year’s Day. I’ll thank Fallon for leaving them behind to make me smile while I was dusting and vacuuming when I return them to her.

Both of these young ladies are something else. So fiercely independent they are. Then again, so are all the daughters and grand daughters in my life. I’ve always admired the I do what I want quality in all of my girls. I do what I want within reason and parental guidance until they grow up, of course.

I won’t lie though; that same Miss Independent quality my girls possess can be exhausting, frustrating, sometimes a little bit hurtful when they are doing what they want that I don’t want. It’s okay though. It’s part of the process of becoming truly independent. Part of my heart wants them to always be here, always need me, always want to be with me but another part of my heart knows that no matter how independent these Misses (and Mrs.) are I will always have their love…and because of their love that is as strong as their independent streaks, I get to vicariously enjoy so many adventures that I could never, ever imagine. Added bonus: when we are together it is so much sweeter.

Of course, because I am human and a little bit selfish, I can still wish for more face time…something I also wish that I could tell the young mother me when all I wanted was alone time…while on the phone…in the shower…in the bathroom…

My mother told me to be a lady. And for her, that meant be your own person, be independent.

Ruth Bader Ginsburg