"Home"

There are toys on several steps along the stairwell.  There is laundry draped in and about baskets in all the bedrooms. Bushes and trees have been pruned or removed and fill dirt has been poured over the holes and muddled mess that was our "landscaping." We have made ourselves regulars at the library. There is a place we call, "our spot," at Edmonds beach. We are recognized at a few restaurants nearby whenever we go in for a meal. Wednesdays are dance class. Fridays, Costco. Sundays, church. Tuesdays, the zoo or library. Any beautiful night, the beach.  Sprinkle in a parade, street festival or BBQ on the weekend or occasional weeknight and there you have our summer.  All of these things suggest we've settled in and have grown accustomed to life and routine in this beautiful place. And then over breakfast yesterday, Ruby said, "Mommy, I want to go home."

"Home?" I asked her. "I want to go home," she said. I was confused and assured her that we were home. "I want to go home," she said again. Then I looked at the computer screen and realized we were watching Auntie Nikki lead worship at Bridgeway while we were eating our toast and eggs. "Do you want to go home to Auntie Nikki?" I asked. "Yes," she said. "I want to go home."

My dear girl. I never really considered she'd be homesick for Maryland. I figured she was still so young that she'd think home was wherever Mommy and Daddy were. I made sure to talk with Leo prior to moving about what it meant to move and leave our house and family and friends in Maryland -- that it was okay to be sad to leave them and at the same time be excited and happy about all the new family and friends and places we'd get to meet. But I never gave the same attention to little Ruby about the move. And now I know her little heart feels more than I gave her credit for. Of course she misses "home." How foolish of me to think otherwise.

But can I just say that I sort of love the fact that we were watching service at Bridgeway and that spoke "home" to her? Just hearing the voices of our friends lifted in song and seeing their beautiful faces created a longing in my little girl's heart to be home with them. She had two years of joy, love and complete encouragement in that sacred house. It was all she knew. God, how thankful am I that this is her standard of "home."

I can completely relate.  As a personal confession, I must admit that living in the Pacific Northwest indeed IS all that and a bag of chips. I love the trees. I love the water. I love the mountains. I love that my dad and brother are here. I love my house. I love the restaurants. I love the people. I love the community festivals. I love the art and music. I love the fishing and clamming. I love that after two months Pauly and I still look at each other and say, "We get to live here!" But even with so much to love, when I see the faces on my interwebs of my people back in Maryland, I, like Ruby, miss "home."

There is only one thing to do. You must all move here. Then we can have all that, the bag of chips and dip to go with it!

Productively Unproductive

Reading
Crocheting
Baking Bread
Going to the beach
Seafair
Ferry Rides
Backyard soccer
Killing wasps
Woodland Park Zoo
Restaurants
Knobbery
Library
Ruby's dance class
Water sprinklers
Drawing
Singing with the kids
Forts
World Market
Netflix & Amazon Prime
Stand Up Paddle boarding
Fresh flowers
Fred Meyer
People

=

All things more interesting than unpacking the rest of our house.

With about 40 boxes of varying sizes spread throughout the house, we have a lot left to unpack. The goal is achievable: To know where something is when we need it. This is not a lot to ask. But Seattle summer has left me on vacation mode. Must snap out of sun-induced procrastination and find the rest of our clothes hangers.

For the Love of Pancakes

It's 7:37am on a rare Saturday morning that I'm awake before the kids. And this is how fast my brain works:

"I'm up! I can run downstairs and get Saturday pancakes started before the kids can 'help' and breakfast will be ready by the time they get to the kitchen. Awesome!"

And then I heard Leo's little voice in my head, "Mommy, I wish I could have helped you make the pancakes."

It would be easier to do everything myself. There would be fewer spills. I wouldn't have to referee Leo & Ruby on whose turn it was to pour or measure. And I wouldn't have to keep reminding them to keep once clean fingers out of the ingredients. But then, I remembered something I read recently:

Love extravagantly.

For as nice as it seems that I wanted to get up early to make my family pancakes, I know that it was really quite selfish. We always have pancakes on Saturday mornings. But today I didn't want or need the hassle of my children's help, even though it's something that I know they enjoy. I wanted to do things my way. Uninterrupted. Easy. Simple. Don't bother me. How's that for "loving extravagantly?"

It may seem like I've overcomplicated this transaction. It's just pancakes after all. Get 'em on the table, pass the syrup, and where's the bacon? But when I consider what love is -- kind, patient, not self-seeking -- I know that my whole motivation this morning has been the complete opposite of loving extravagantly. It's been loving very cheaply. If loving at all.

Yes, I can hear some of you, "You're being too hard on yourself. Your kids will enjoy the pancakes no matter who makes them." I can see that. But you see I've tricked you. I've used this elaborate rouse of pancakes to reel you in by your love of breakfast. Intrigued?

You see, we've been in our new home in Seattle for about 7 weeks. I am convinced that within the first 4 weeks of living here, I did it wrong. In the haze of boxes and paintbrushes and weeds and broken lawnmowers and out-of-routine kids (and self), I panicked and lived in a self-erected work zone where I had to constantly be working to make order out of the mess around me. And not just order - beauty infused order. It didn't just have to be done. It had to be beautiful. I felt chaos on the inside because I perceived chaos around me. I was grumpy. I was abrupt. People get out of my way, I have a job to do.

One day I realized I was exhausted. I didn't move across the country for this. And I allowed myself a quiet moment. I missed my people. I missed me. The me that liked stuff and didn't find fault with everything. The me that played for more than a few minutes with the kids. The me that just likes to sit next to her hubby on the couch. Who was I doing this for? Whose expectations was I trying to meet? My own? Well geez, fire that B!

I valued my product above my people and I was miserable. It's not the beauty of the house that makes a home, it's the love of the people inside. And while I love my process and doing things my way, I don't like the person I become when that is my priority.

So here I am, Unpacking Life with another blog. Experiencing the newness of my home and hometown. And about to make pancakes with my littles. Because I know it's what they love. Pass the syrup.