Monthly Archives: July 2016
When Motherhood Is Struggle
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A Little House Tour
We’ve been in our new house for a week an a half now. Our life is mostly out of its boxes, but nothing is really quite settled in its proper place. I’m not sure if I’ll feel like things are settled here for a few weeks yet. It will take scrubbing out a few more rooms, and rearranging the furniture a few more times, I’m sure.
I’m not ready to share my own photos of this house yet, but the photos from the listing aren’t half bad and, since the house was more or less empty, they show off some of the details really well. So, this is a bit of a tour to share the inside view of this big Victorian semi.
The front entryway, tiled in black and white, with two rooms on each side of its hallway. The room on the left is Isabel’s new playroom. The room on the right is the living room. At the end of the hall, it opens to the dining room, and the doorway to the kitchen is on the left.
The formal living room, with an arching view into the dining room.
The dining room, with the first of three beautiful marble fireplaces. All three would have, originally, been coal fireplaces. The one in the play room has been converted to gas, but the other two – this one and the one in the master bedroom – have been decommissioned.
The play room. This is not a large room in comparison to the rest, but it opens into the kitchen, so it’s seems like the perfect place for Isabel to play. The previous occupants had the room painted dark red, and the ceiling brown, which felt like an odd choice to me considering the window you see in the upper left corner is the only window in the whole room.
This room is the only room we’re changing immediately. I couldn’t imagine spending long hours with my daughter in such a dark room, so today we started the job of painting the walls and ceiling, with the help of my mom, who is the best person I know at getting a job done. After a coat of primer and a coat of Benjamin Moore paint (leftover from that time I painted the whole house in Toronto), it looks remarkably different.
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The Emotional Cost of Starting Over
Today, at their final play date, one of Isabel’s best friends squeezed her so tight in a bear hug as we were packing up to leave that she made Isabel cry. At 2, Isabel doesn’t understand the ferocity behind her 7-year-old friend’s hug. She doesn’t understand that they won’t be right across the street anymore. She doesn’t realize that there won’t be any more late afternoon backyard play dates. She doesn’t get that she won’t get to spend a few hours or a day at their house while her mama runs errands or goes to doctors appointments. Meanwhile, her friend understands perfectly.
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Last week, I gathered with the moms on our street in a backyard over sangria and hippy juice* and snacks and an ice cream cake that read “Don’t Go”.
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Three weeks ago, with some of our church community gathered in our pastor’s living room, we witnessed the looks of shock, surprise, maybe even some disappointment as we broke the news. Later, we wrote a simple email to the people on the various committees we served on in that community, spreading the news as needed. We had a chance to speak personally with a few people.
Every announcement, every conversation. It doesn’t get easier.
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On Saturday, we start a new chapter of our life as a family. It’s exciting in the way change often is. I’m looking forward to all the good that will come of this.
But.
I am all too aware that, on Saturday, while something new and potentially wonderful is beginning, something just as wonderful and so important to me is ending. Right now, it’s hard to see past the ending to the new beginning.
* Virgin for me, of course.
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We’re moving!
A short announcement, because life is busy but I keep thinking I might want to become serious about this blog again one day and I don’t want to be catching you all up on everything forever.
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