April 7

I took Abby over to our old house this afternoon so she could do some sorting in her room, and after I'd loaded my car with as many boxes as would fit, we headed back to the new house. (I want to say "home," but it still feels weird.) After I put away the items in said-boxes, I didn't do a whole lot until I decided to take an after dinner stroll.

I've already shared a few spaces inside the house and the view from the observation deck in the back, so I thought I'd show you the entrance. So, this is our front door. As I stood there looking up at it before my walk, I had two separate thoughts. The first was "holy cow, this house has a lot of steps." (And indeed it does. They're everywhere. My bum hurts at the end of each day from climbing up and down stairs.) And the second --and more important-- was "holy cow, this is so beautiful. And I get to live here."

It's definitely hard to feel a sense of gratitude when it seems like so, so (so) much is going wrong in this world, but I am incredibly thankful to be here. And I'm incredibly thankful that living here will allow me to welcome people into my home and to spend time with them. (Just make sure you're ready to climb some stairs when you get here.)

April 6

Our new house has these lovely hardwood floors throughout the main level. We've never had hardwood floors before so some of us have spent some time doing the Risky Business slide through the hallway and in the family room and the kitchen. And then this evening, as we dispersed to our post-dinner activities, Abby grabbed my hand and we danced in the foyer.

It's not unusual for us to do little modified waltzes (if you can even call them that), but it was our first dance in the new house, and courtesy of said-floors, it was definitely our slippy-slidiest one to date.

It was silly and ridiculous and fun. And given how tense times are right now, silly and ridiculous and fun things you can do at home are some of the best things ever. And they are most definitely blessings since you can't really be worried when you're in the middle of a guffaw, right? Right.

April 5

It rained (and rained and rained) today. Adam spent a few hours at the old house sorting and packing, while I stuck around the new place with the short people. Then, of course, we reunited for dinner at the kitchen nook (which is currently occupied by our own dining room table).

It was nice to sit around the table and enjoy a meal together. We haven't done that particularly often in recent years, partly because of Adam's work schedule and mostly because of the kids' activity schedule. So although I could think of at least 20 things to complain about right now, I'll choose in this moment to be grateful for the time we do have right now, even if the reason we haven't isn't one that I'd ever choose.

April 4

It rained intermittently today so that meant the boys didn't do much of anything except repeatedly ask if they could go in the pool (uh, no. It's 55 degrees) or the hot tub. (Another no, mostly because I didn't feel like dealing with the owners' manual to figure out how to turn it on and off. They were not amused by my lack of industriousness.)

But they were, fortunately enough, amused --for a short time, at least-- by eating breakfast in the currently empty breakfast nook off the kitchen.

A very small thing indeed, but small things can be good things, so I'm grateful for this one.

April 3

I think I've probably reached the point of mental exhaustion. I've been here before so I know the signs, and yep: go ahead and take attendance because I'm here.

My mom finally gave me the go-ahead to share the news of her colon cancer diagnosis; I've been living with it --mostly silently-- for, save a few mentions to a few people I hold dear to me, several weeks now, and to say that it's worn on me would be an understatement. But (with the aforementioned emotional state in mind) I can't really describe how it does feel, so I guess I'll just let that lie for now. Then this morning brought the news that her longtime partner, Harvey, had passed away at a nursing home. And my heart broke a little for her, knowing that she wasn't able to be with him, thanks to the awful conflation of events that include her own current stint in the hospital and COVID19.

I tried to distract myself with the busy-ness of moving (since today was the day we rented a truck and planned to haul all of our bigger pieces of furniture to the new house) but the sadness of it all --the God, where are You?! of it all-- cast deep, long shadows in my heart that try though I did, I couldn't fully illuminate with positive thoughts and prayers.

So as the hours of daylight grew thin, I stole away to the observation deck (as I think I'll call it) that sits at the top of our backyard and waited for the sun to dip behind the distant hills. A chilly breeze whipped around me but I breathed in that crisp air and closed my eyes and tried to find a central point that felt normal. It didn't really work, but I was reminded --as the orange faded to yellow and then blue and gray-- that tomorrow will be another day to try all over again. So for that chance and for this first-ever night in our new house, I am grateful. (And for your prayers and notes and messages, I am more grateful. Because this girl -- this girl is not built for social isolation. Especially not right now.)

April 2

This itty bitty tree may well be the most amazing thing in our new backyard. And I don't make that claim lightly because our yard --which features a pool, a waterfall, a hot tub, a built-in BBQ grill, an expansive patio, and stairs to an upper observation deck that offers up a panoramic view of the hills to the west (which means sunsets!)-- is truly, objectively spectacular.

So why is this one plant so significant? Well, when Logan died, we were given a tree that looked just like this one. We figured we'd move some day so we were both hesitant to plant it in the ground because we knew we'd never be able to leave it behind, so we did our best to keep it alive in its little pot. Eventually, our efforts failed and we were both so disappointed that we kept its little trunk in its pot long after its expiration. And then eventually-eventually, we let it go.

So as I surveyed the many different plants scattered around the property and found this tree there in its little blue pot, I just knew it was from Logan. For Logan. And it will always be a very poignant reminder that though we may feel some sadness over moving "without" him, he's actually with us --in that blue guest room and in that little tree and in many, many other ways-- regardless of where we go. And in this case, he was just waiting for us to find him.

April 1

Adam woke me up this morning with surprising news: although our paperwork was delayed and the transaction won't be formally recorded until tomorrow, the seller agreed to give us the keys to our new house today. So after we got the all-clear note from our realtor, we packed up the cars with some boxes and made our way across town.

We didn't get a whole lot moved on day one; we'll be doing it all ourselves over the course of the weeks to come, since COVID19 restrictions make it impossible to get help. But we did move over most of our clothes and a few pieces of furniture, and we did enjoy our first dinner in the backyard as the sun dipped toward the horizon: burgers (and hot dogs) from Nations. And it was delicious.

It's not the first time we've bought a home, of course, but it's always a little bit surreal to open the front door for the very first time as a new owner. It's like you're literally stepping into an all-new world filled with possibility and stuffed with the outlines of memories waiting to be made. It's a beautiful, beautiful thing, and I --we-- are thankful for what's been, what is, and what's to come.