The story of a house

On Friday afternoon, Matt and I rode together to the title company to sign our closing papers. Matt asked a ton of questions, and I listened as intently as possible to the blah-blah-blah that is home financing. Numbers and legal jargon are brain-exploding matters, in my opinion. But still, I tried to focus despite the welling excitement within.

After an hour and a half, checks were dispersed, congratulations doled out, house keys slid across the table, and a sweet little gift of chocolates and an upside down tomato plant given to us by our realtor. With much less pomp than I would expect for the circumstance, we walked out the door, hopped in the car, and headed to our house. Our new/old house.

Over the large Dames Point Bridge we went, each commenting on the miraculousness of it all while gobbling up half the box of chocolates. As I looked out over the barges and ferries in the St. John's River below, with the sun shining in the clear blue sky with cotton ball clouds hanging wistfully above us, I smiled. This was just the type of house we had dreamed about owning one day. It felt good.

We drove into the neighborhood with confidence. Matt's grandmother was already out front, talking with some neighbors. You see, part of the beauty of this whole purchase is that our next door neighbor is Matt's grandmother, a.k.a. Grandma, a.k.a. MeMa (pronounced: Mee-Maw). She's full of life, a ton of fun, and loves spending time with us. She's an A+, primo type of neighbor!

Straight away Grandma introduced us to the neighbors that were gathered out in front of our house chatting away as the afternoon breeze from the river two blocks away began to stir. We met Bob and LaKeisha. We also met Micah and her husband who invited us into their home to see what they had done with their wood floors. We also met Libby, a sweet 86-year-old woman with whom I immediately shared that I admired her landscaping. She was humble about it, saying something like, "Oh, that's nothing" or "Oh, that old yard?" I can't remember exactly. Matt told Libby that he remembers one time as a kid, he, his siblings and cousins once held hands and wrapped their arms around the big oak tree in Libby's yard to see how many kids it would take to get all the way around it. Libby smiled, and I thought our first visit to the neighborhood as official homeowners could not have been more perfect. Neighborly chatter, warm introductions, and Spanish moss dangling overhead from Libby's large oak tree.

This home has a lot of significance to us. Matt's grandmother has lived here since the time he was a baby, and he's been coming to this neighborhood to visit her his whole life. He remembers Mr. Church, the man who once lived in the house we now own. I love the story Matt tells about how Mr. Church owned a large toy train collection and would invite Matt over to the garage to look at the trains he had set up. It always reminds me of this scene from the movie A Mighty Wind. Eugene Levy kills me.

On Saturday we woke early and headed over to the house to begin cleaning. As we drove up to the house, Karis kept saying "MeMa's house." We tried to explain that this was our new house, but I think for a while she will assume we live painfully close to MeMa without the benefit of being able to be in her house every-waking-minute-of-the-day. Either way, I think living by MeMa will never get old.

After cleaning and mowing the lawn, Matt brought in the beach chairs from the trunk of our car, and we sat down in our living room and brainstormed about all the things we want to accomplish in the next month before we officially move in. We talked, and the list grew. We talked some more, and the list grew even more. I think we officially have two lists now: a to-do list and a maybe-we'll-get-to-this-one-day "wish" list. I'm exhausted just thinking about it.

So, as quickly as we celebrate our good blessings, we also find ourselves overwhelmed and, at least on my part, worried about getting it all done. I've begun reminding myself the truth I always run to: Life is most often about process not the finished result. Understanding that is tricky. Believing it is key.

This is going to be a journey. A fun, hard, humorous, dirty, redemptive journey. Keep reading...I hope to bring you guys along with me.

Invigorating

:: Body
I joined my friend for a workout this morning at a local park. Nikki is a regular attendee of Stroller Strength led by an ambitious fitness and nutrition expert. One whole hour in the morning sun doing various relays consisting of jogging, bear walking, and lunges. It kicked my butt. But it was that good kind of kick in the butt where you are sweaty and sore but feel compelled at the end to say things like "thank you" and "I'll be back." A weird sort of logic, if you think about it.

:: Mind
I'm a grammar geek, of sorts. It's not that I spend tons of time thinking about punctuation and verb tense. It's just that those things matter to me when I write. Whether or not it's apparent, I edit all posts a few times prior to publishing. If I find a mistake after posting, I'll go back and edit and republish. I just can't let those mistakes go. And I blame all of this punctuation perfectionism on my middle school English teacher, Mrs. Taylor. When it came to all things English language, she ruled with an iron fist. I lost hours of my prepubescent life to grammar diagrams and rule memorization. Though I more fondly remember the hours spent perfecting my flirtation skills with the male counterparts in my class, this here blog benefits from the former exercise.

Given my predisposition for grammatical accuracy [she pushes up her glasses and snorts], I find the Grammar Girl podcast to be informative and oddly enjoyable. Rather like an adult form of my middle school grammar class, I get to brush up on my knowledge but in the comfort of my own home. Each installment focuses on a single concept such as parentheses or hyphenation, and they average about five minutes in length, which is just about all this brain can handle these days.

:: Spirit
This afternoon I cranked up the espresso machine, hooked up the iPod to the stereo, and cleaned the better half of our house. A hot latte and a recent This American Life podcast do fun housework make. In this episode, host Ira Glass explored the cruelty of children in 3 segments. The first featured a favorite author of mine, David Sedaris. While I sometimes find David hard to listen to for his raw honesty, I marvel at his gift of writing and impeccable humor. The two other segments were just as enjoyable to listen to. What I love about this show is the brilliant exploration into human nature and relationships. These are good stories told well.

The more I read and write (and listen), I realize I'm inspired by people's life stories. I love to photograph people in a way that reveals a little bit of their story. I love food in the context of the story of who made it and what significance it has to the cook and the people eating it. In large part, I think this love is what drove me to get my master's degree in counseling. My favorite part of counseling someone is hearing their story, told by them, and then getting a chance to retell it to them in my own words.

Regarding my educational background, I've often said English is my first love and counseling my second. The first I majored in in college. The second was the focus of my master's degree. Writing about people is a lovely marriage of the two.

Proof positive

I'm not sure where my husband and I fall on the spectrum of crazy. When Matt told me he was going grocery shopping the other night, he asked me if I would type out a shopping list that he would dictate to me. I said yes. It was a matter of convenience, really, since I was sitting in front of my computer when he asked. This is what he proceeded to dictate:


********
Publix List

To whom it may concern,
The following is a shopping list of what will be purchased at Publix on August 9, 2009. I have your daughter and you can get her back only if you buy me a box of chocolate chip cookies.

I, Matt, being of sound mind and body, do commit to purchasing the following list of items:

Sour cream
black beans
dark kidney beans
yogurt
cottage cheese
apples
(etc.)

********
I went on to add the signature lines for the "head of household", "submissive wife" (a creepy touch, no?), and a notary of public, complete with a seal I drew by hand. It was a weird-looking angel with wings.

After Matt came back from shopping, we both admitted we wished he had left the note in the cart for the next unsuspecting shopper to find and read. I would have given anything to see their reaction.

Today I learned

:: Pigtails are fun
While engaging my daughter in a discussion on how to use the potty and using the argument that "big girls go in the potty" (a perfectly acceptable form of manipulation in my book), Karis nodded her head and then inexplicably shook her head from side to side. She stopped, paused, and then did it again. Apparently, when wearing pigtails, it's a pleasant sensory experience to shake your head and have the soft ends of your hair whip across your cheeks. Pretty soon I was talking to a little two-year-old who was vigorously shaking her head and giggling.

:: Potty announcements make me blush
Despite the headshaking, she heard my speech. A little while later, while in the adult section of the library, with all computers full of quiet adults and a thick silence hanging in the air, Karis gleefully announced, "I'm a big girl. I need to pee pee in potty." A weird mixture of pride and embarrassment came over me.

A penny earned

On Saturday her fever begins. 104. Sometimes higher.

Sunday, we alternate medicines. The fever persists throughout the day and night.

Early Monday morning I call the doctor. "We want to see her," they say. "Right away," I reply.

Late Monday morning, she comes to me with an adult Ibuprofen in her mouth. "Yikes," I yell and search the rest of the house and find another half eaten pill in the hallway. I call poison control. "She'd have to eat 12 before we'd be concerned," they say. Whew.

Early Monday afternoon we wait two hours at the doctor. She has an ear infection and antibiotics aren't working. They say she needs a shot every day for the next three days. I hold her down. They shoot. She screams.

Tuesday she wakes up with a rash all over (and diarrhea). We go into the doctor. They shoot. She screams.

Wednesday is more diarrhea and the rash has spread. The doctor isn't concerned. "Probably just a virus," he says. I'm sure it is, I think while wondering what other treasures this week holds. The nurses step into the room. She screams. They shoot. "It's over," I whisper in her ear.

Thursday afternoon I find a shiny, copper penny buried in poop in her diaper.

Just that kind of week, I suppose. A lot of work with little payoff. In other words, pooping pennies.

Reflections

I will miss the kindness of the Venezuelan physician who, to console a sobbing Karis after her shots, performed a funny dance with a pen and created "magic" bubbles out of soap and water.

I won't miss the hysterics caused by the aforementioned shots. Two shots a day for three days in a row. Ouch! That's one brave girl and one weak-kneed mama.

I will miss our yard when we move. Most missed: the Black-Eyed Susans and the huge magnolia tree that casts a long shadow in the afternoon.

I won't miss the feeling that I live in a "transitional" home. Over the last 10 years I've lived in 9 homes in 6 different cities. That's a whole lot of temporary home decorating. I can't wait to make some permanent decisions in our new space. My new motto: "Move in. Stay awhile." Hopefully a long while.

Update: A photo for you, Alyce. Enjoy! (See Alyce's comment.)

Bye bye, July

And somehow, it's off. July, that crazy/hazy mid-year month. Gone with all its holiday glory, birthday celebrations, and sweltering heat. (Ok, ok. The heat is probably 3.5 months from being gone.) We've had a busy summer around here, and in the wake of all the activity, this here blog has been neglected. I hope the fall months will bring some invigoration to my creative side. Turns out sickness, a broken camera, and a house purchase in limbo also do great things to dampen the creative juices. But there is some good news! The seller has agreed to pay for all the wood damage, most of the paperwork is completed, and we are all set to close at the end of this month!! Also, my camera is off and in the arms of some Nikon technician, hopefully being diagnosed (and repaired for free...I asked and I'm crossing my fingers they will comply).

In the meantime, we're chugging along in the midst of all of the transition and uncertainty around here. I don't usually operate at my optimum level with transition. I'm considering taking on a photo/writing challenge for the next month or two...something to keep me going and force me to keep creating. Any ideas out there, fellow bloggers? Until then, here are some photos to recap the last few weeks.

Karis and her cousin at Karis' second birthday party last month.

We went to a birthday party for a friend's daughter yesterday. It was a ladybug themed party, complete with a releasing of 1500 live ladybugs for the children to touch and explore. (Turns out that a bunch of ladybugs crawling on your hand feels a lot like any other bug crawling on your hand...kind of gross. But they were still neat to watch).

Karis eyeing the vegan chocolate cake set aside for one of the little party goers with food allergies. By the look on her face, I think Karis would gladly give up milk and eggs for a piece of this cake.

Karis teaching her friend the ropes on how to ride bikes down the street. So young and yet so wise.