Monday, February 18, 2008


Today I'm two weeks out from the packers coming. I've got carpet guys scheduled to give me an estimate to get the carpets cleaned in housing.

I'm supposed to be cleaning, organizing, and essentially NOT on the computer. I'm having a hard time, though. For one, I'm pooped. Nothing particular, just life. Two, I can't get my brain to stop.

I was weeding through the boys' clothes earlier and started getting a little teary. Yeah, I'm THAT girl. The weepy, emotional, sensitive one. Break out the Puffs Plus if you're gonna keep reading...

I live in military housing. This housing has been here for YEARS. Countless families have been where I am right now - preparing to move on to the next adventure. I'm having an "if these walls could talk" kind of night.

I wonder how many mothers have crouched beside a bed in the room that my boys share, shushing their little ones to sleep. How many bedtime prayers have been recited. I'm sure these walls have seen countless celebrations - birthdays, promotions, welcoming new family members. How many times have these walls heard "One Fish, Two Fish" or the off-key rendition of "Twinkle Twinkle, Little Star"?

I wonder how many terrifying nights have been spent in this home. It's still standing after earthquakes, winds, rain, and flooding. What a service these walls have done for not only my family but countless others. We've spent quite a few nights without power from wind and rain. We've been flooded into this town for a few days, wrapped in the comfort of these walls.

I cringe at the thought of the negative times this home has seen. I know just while I've been here I've dealt with a lot of really negative things in my life. I lost my grandfather, struggled with some serious depression, and have dealt with surgeries and health problems. Unfortunately, I fear these studs and beams have seen worse.

We're leaving in a few weeks and my baby boy is wearing some of the clothes my older son was wearing when we moved in. While we were here, the baby was born. The "baby" isn't really a baby now. My older son has learned to write, draw, and is starting to read. This is going to be the first home that he really remembers, I think.

Ah, the memories we'll have of this little village on the west coast. Yes, I'm ready to move on. I'm ready for new adventures, new friends... sunshine. I do appreciate, though, the moments we've spent in this home. I won't forget my great neighbors, the blooming plum tree, the bulbs I could NEVER get to stop growing in the front flowerbed. I won't forget the project bike in the garage, mowing the soupy back yard, the attack birds living in the rafters. I'll remember the smiles on Christmas morning, the nights spent horsing around in the living room. The agony of potty training. The weekend we spent practically LOCKED in the hall bathroom. The nights of resting my hand on my stomach and feeling the baby move. I'll remember the tears of nighttime feedings, scraped knees, and strong wills. I'll remember pulling in the drive after driving through miles of redwoods and cattle, and being so thankful to finally be home.

...and that's what it's been these few years -


1 comment:

Just a Girl in a Port said...

Now, you have me all teary-eyed.