I am in between homes: my old one and new one. And I’d be lying if I said I didn’t feel scattered. The thing about moving is that the tasks required for moving seem to breed before your eyes. One “to-do” gives birth to three others, ones you didn’t see coming only five minutes prior. And though I’ve attempted to officially claim, “Time out, I’m in the middle of something!”, the school projects, e-mails, everyday living chores, etc. just keep on knocking.
For someone who likes to check things off and plow forward, dwelling in la-la land can be challenging. Focusing on the finish line (In this case, that magical moment in 2017 when all our stuff has finally been sorted through and packed and unpacked, the rooms painted and arranged) will drive me crazy in a break out into hives and shove potato chips in my mouth kind of way. You’d think after mothering for this long, I’d be super used to falling into bed every night having left most if not all of my current projects half done or an eighth done. Apparently, being able to embrace each step in a journey as an enlightening and fulfilling experience in and of itself is a virtue I’ve haven’t exactly mastered yet. This exchanging of one house for another house, one stage for another stage, has not so subtly highlighted some personal character issues that could use some tending to – patience with this or any process being a big one.
This morning Mary went to school with paint in her hair and Ben with paint on his cheek, evidence of the fact that, yes, I didn’t get around to scrubbing them properly but also of a small sort of victory. For a week now I’ve been nagging myself to get those shelves painted for the girls’ room, get those shelves painted for the girls’ room, get those shelves painted….
Well, yesterday, it was summery – too gorgeous to be inside. On a whim, I grabbed a can of white ceiling paint from the basement and a couple of brushes. I laid out an old fitted sheet right smack in the back yard, piquing the curiosity of my youngest two. And for the next surprisingly pleasant half hour or so, the three of us painted those shelves, and their brackets, and the grass, and the walkway, and ourselves.
It wasn’t everything, but it was certainly something, and something is better than nothing near every time.