We will own a house.
It’s getting exciting around here, and our stack of packed boxes is growing. I went through my side of the closet yesterday, through all my shoes and bags and the clutter of two and a half years, throwing stuff out and packing the rest. The stack of guest towels in the bathroom is in a box marked “Upstairs Hall Closet: Bedding and Towels” (because I’m pretty sure caps look more organized), and it makes the bathroom look a little mournful to me.
It’s getting empty.
I’m going to have myself a serious cry fest at some point. Carl was already living here when I met him. We dated here, had Christmas, repainted, came home from our wedding. It’s been a happy place, and you can’t leave a happy place without a little looking back, you know?
Not that the bathos is dampening my excitement.
We close at 4pm on Friday, and then it’s off to pick up paint and supplies. We spent an hour at Home Depot last weekend pouring over color swatches and combinations so we’d be ready for the big days ahead. My fam is coming on Saturday to help paint the upstairs and get rid of the fallen tree in the backyard (which reminds me: I need to call the dumpster people today), and a couple of friends have volunteered to help me out during the rest of the week since Carl’s in the thick of holiday busyness at work these days. So, naturally, I created a huge master list of tasks for each day—not because I think it will work out like that exactly; just because master lists make me happy.
I’m actually really enjoying the being-busy-and-having-projects stage. It helps me to stop counting down the pregnancy weeks (and 40 weeks is freakishly long… longer than any semester or vacation or wedding count I’ve done before). This week I’ve been working ahead on AQ stuff (the nonprofit I work for) since I’ll be taking the rest of the month off; been organizing closets and packing boxes; been trying to get a few days of solid writing behind me.
My energy spools down pretty quickly though. I’m good for a couple of hours (longer if there’s good music playing), and then I become meditative—some might say vegetative—generally on a couch or other piece of furniture conducive to reclining zazen.
I kid. My only zen meditation these days is called sleep.
And I need about 30-60 minutes more of it per night than I used to, which means I like to be in bed around midnight. I’ve always liked having a TV in our bedroom, but these are the days I LOVE it. Because I hate going to bed alone, and Carl isn’t sleepy until long after I’ve conked out.
Now I can snuggle down in my nest of preggy pillows and drift to sleep to the sound of Bear Grylls snacking on bugs and raw lizards while giving detailed instructions on how to skin a dead camel… should you come across one while stranded in the desert, you know.
Yes. I’m not sure how many seasons of Man vs. Wild we’ve gone through now, but I am pretty sure we now have a fighting chance at surviving in any biome.
Sometimes—when the survival advice gets increasingly bizarre—I look over at Carl and grin. Sometimes he reaches over and puts his hand on my belly/our baby to feel those goodnight kicks. And sometimes (thanks, pregnancy congestion!) I snore.
It’s fairly magical around here.
And it’s not even Christmas yet. 🙂