That'll Do, Pig

First off: Thank you all, so so so much, for this. I keep trying to do the math on how many vaccinations we've provided for kids in need around the world, but I ran out of fingers *and* toes and I think my abacus is still packed up in the garage. Which is more than half-way unpacked, I'll have you know, all by my own self.

#Blogust rages on, with a post today by my dear friend and fellow Coloradan Julie Marsh, who wrote an amazingly lovely post about science, bitches. I have the smartest friends on earth. Go leave a comment there. (We're shooting for 10,000 comments by months' end, yo, to get the full $200,000. No small feat, but it totally can be done. We raise $20 per comment on every post.)

Now.

My blog.

I have a gazillion mini post-its all over my house, covered in the scribblings of half-drafts, miniature inspirations, snack-sized ephipanies. And I can't stop sleeping. 

It's hard (but not impossible) to blog in one's sleep, but you know, this sleep thing is so good. I forgot, entirely, what rest felt like. I am hoarding it like it's all the cats on earth and I'm sure the end is extremely nigh. It's not boding well for my blog-life. 

But alas, I am a mommy blogger, or so they tell me, and my children insist of being smart and interesting, so I suppose I should say something about them. Contrary to the below posts, it isn't actually all gloom and doom around here. We have many more good times than uncomfortable ones, and I can't say we've had even a single moment of bad since I got home and we moved into our new home. 

Well, there was that day two weeks ago when I was moving my son's dresser in with him, and I went backwards, and now I think I have permanent nerve damage in the pinky where he rammed it into the doorframe with the edge of the dresser with just a little too much gusto - but other than that, everything's been pretty damn a'ight.

My daughter has a friend at school who is not named Caliber and she talks about him almost obsessively, which you and I know means one thing, but she just knows it means she's happy to like someone, and she wrote him a note the other day. The very last line of it read, "I have a very nice home."

She is currently being charged with second-degree murder of a parent, by a minor in cuteness. 

My middle son has a friend whom he walks home with every day, and a bit of a few love interests at school. He also has a full sized violin, which means he grew, like, .0016th of an inch in the past year, which makes him not the most tiniest person in his class. He is officially King of the World.

My oldest son actually speaks to me - almost every single day, in fact. For 14, that's astonishing. 

Life is oddly humbling. You spend all these years proving you can handle anything, take whatever gets thrown at you, do everything and anything on your own, and then one day you wake up and the universe decides it high time you unlearn all of that bullshit, or die trying. And by you, I mean me.

We're constantly out of money, but even that doesn't feel scary or bad. We have what we need, and we don't need anything else. Going to a single income family is a huge adjustment without factoring in a cross-country move, but I've had help from a few close friends when I absolutely needed it, and that is forcing me to learn how to ask. For help. Because I can't do everything on my own.

We have couches, finally, and hot water, which you really can go a long long LONG time in Arizona in August before you even realize you don't have any. I think I am very close to having a dining room table, which is great because I bought white couches because I hate being either clean or sane. I hate my washer and dryer because it isn't the washer and dryer I had to leave behind in Texas, but it actually works fine. So does everything else. 

So does everything else. 

I wanted to hate it here, but we kind of like it here. My kids love their schools. We all love this little rental house. We're excited for winter to come, for being able to go outside and play any old time we want without a coat or an umbrella or a car. We are snuggled up together in less than half the space we left behind, and it actually feels good. We are learning each other again, in the quiet spaces the tv and the XBox used to fill. (I opted to not get cable, and to seriously limit game-time. I couldn't really explain why, but I didn't have to. This guy went & said it better than I could have, as he is wont to do.)

In a lot of ways, it feels like time has slowed for us. We go to bed early, really early, embarrassingly geritolly early, and we wake up ready. We wake up unafraid. We start our days looking forward, not back, and we end them together, on the white for not much longer couches, under the just-big-enough roof, in the almost but not quite too hot desert. We are rebuilding our lives and each other very quietly, and with careful consideration, and I think that, for now, it is just enough.