Home again, home again, jiggety jig...
It's when you go someplace and come back again that you know a place has become a home: Two years ago when we moved into this house, my stomach was full of dread, and I imagined all kinds of worst case scenarios related to giving up living on base, shoehorning ourselves into a 1500 sq ft home in what I considered a sketchy neighborhood a 15-20 minute commute away from every place we need to go. But all has gone well. I feel like I am home when we drive up in the driveway and fall out of the car with goldfish crackers, pretzel crumbs, travel mugs, and books.
Hello, big palm tree!
Hello, succulents that have thrived in my absence, happy to be ignored!
Hello, my own bed!
Hello, stuff that says home to us!
Hello, little house that has become familiar and dear, even though I still don't like the cracked and stained counters in the bathrooms, the tiles in the kitchen with grubby grout, the cabinet pulls that fall off in your hand because the screws are stripped...
The kids have been good sports, and the two years have flown by. Time to move just when the neighborhood feels comfortable, even with the green haired guy across the way who gets arrested every now and then when he shows up high at his parents' house. I see that dust has accumulated on our favorite books and framed photos. The cupboard is empty and the larder is bare, as the rhyme goes, but the friendly mailman waves a welcome. The neighbors next door introduces their new dog. I go for my favorite run along the bike bath and smell the jam scent from that the overripe strawberry patches. We will miss this place when we move, even though as we traveled I felt more homesick for the kind of place where I would like to live when we drove by a house akin to my idea of an ideal home - a place with little traffic, green trees, flourishing flowers, friendly neighbors, a garden, a cute front porch... all that and more, of course. But I am comforted by the way I have grown fond of this place that seemed so unlovable. Our hearts are capable of seeing good in all things if we let them.
And we have picked a new home - unless something better miraculously shows up in the next week. We are going with ... (drumroll) .... the big pink and green quirky house with the pool on the corner of a busy street in the neighborhood on an island where we can walk everywhere. We decided having all the kids in a smaller public school in a small community that is 1/3 military was a better option than sending some to private school and some to public in a giant school where we'd never meet any other parents. I've extracted a promise that at least once a week everyone will get up early and go to 6:30 Mass at the church 4 blocks away before school. Husband will bike to work, so we can sell a car.
This area was our first choice initially, but the prices scared me off. And I have struggled over sacrificing our commitment to Catholic education. And I have misgivings about living in a neighborhood that is so economically privileged. But all my misgivings were mirrored by equal qualms about other communities. No perfect solution here. And again, when you only live someplace for a couple years, you can make do and make compromises. And you can trust that all will be well, a refrain I frequently have to repeat to myself.
For instance, I initially said no to this house. It was out of our price range, but we made an offer that was accepted. No one else wants to live on the corner of 4th in a house with faux bookshelves and fairies and mice painted on the walls. I wake up at night with anxiety attacks about pool accidents and car crashes. Someone must have had esteem problems to paint across the dining room wall in script, "No one can tell you you are inferior." But the owner seems happy to have a big family in the house, as a father of five himself, which is more than what I can say about many landlords whom I contacted. Every house we looked at was quirky in some way. The nicer places are mostly vacation rentals, out of our price range, or rented through word of mouth to people who know people, or so we've been told. And 4/7 of the kids are ecstatic. Two are ambivalent (the oldest and youngest). One is embarrassed to invite anyone over. (The thirteen year old girl.)
At any rate, after spending two months deliberating and re-deliberating and driving my husband crazy with my waivering, indecisiveness, and anxiety over big and little things, I finally have come to terms with what we are doing. It will be a fun house for company! An adventure! An experience of a lifetime! Almost like living overseas. Come see us on Coronado!
Now I have three weeks to clean out the detritus we have accumulated in the last two years before the packers show up. Time to organize pictures, back up the computers, and relive moments from the past month of high living. Here are a few shots of the last part of June. Husband's last day on the job was a big celebration of his two years as "The Boss." Then we loaded the Suburban with kids and bags and hit the road to see family in OKC and then on to a family reunion in CO. More photos to come.
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| The day before vacation: My husband's change of command ceremony. Last day on the job as CO of the training command |
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| Baby in her sailor dress and hat |
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| Saturday morning and we're off! Here's how you fit nine in a Suburban. There is a buckle in the front middle. I have to say, the kids are pretty good in the car. The 18 year old hardly whines at all. And look, you can see out the back window! A benefit of summertime travel: lighter packing. |
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| Baby reads herself to sleep |
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| Pool time at Gram and Pop's. Same scene every day in OKC. |
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| She liked the dog door better than the dog |
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| Trouble! |
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| She pets the cat gently. And sometimes not so gently |
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| Another teen in the house! |
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| Pre-teen in a tree |
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| Son number 3 brought back this hula girl from his (Free!) camp in Hawaii. She led the way across the southwest. Here we are driving through a cloud burst. We haven't see rain in months. But we saw enough over these two weeks to quench our desire to play in puddles. It is a strange juxtaposition to see the midwest flooded and California parched. |
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| Toes are ready for the fourth of July |
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| Banjo player at the banjo museum, a good place to visit if you are really into banjos. |
