if these walls could speak

This is the house we bought seven and a half years ago. We were childless, untried. In a sense, we were just starting out - even though we had been married for five years. But oh, the memories which have filled these spaces since that March day in 2002....

Special dinners, quiet lunches. A baby's first spoon foods, a toddler's selective eating. Laughter, nonsensical jokes, company, tears, love.

A son was brought home here, two days old. Later, two more sons were born in this very room. They made their way into this world, and blinked around with their new eyes.

Tender moments. Babies sleeping in the bassinet near my bed. Learning to parent, learning about life. Joy, grief, mourning turned to dancing.

Sleepy times, lullabies. Croupy nights. Stories and disastrous diapers.

Fort-building. Legos. Music, dancing. Fighting, tickling.

First forays into real cooking. The smell of chicken roasting, and of almonds drying. Success, failures, nourishment. My domain.

This place has been so good to us. It holds countless memories, which I will keep, forever, in my heart. So much has happened here , moments come and gone.

I am thankful that our first house was a true home.



If These Walls Could Speak
(as performed by Amy Grant)

If these old walls,
If these old walls could speak
Of the things that they remember well,
Stories and faces dearly held,
A couple in love
Livin’ week to week,
Rooms full of laughter,
If these walls could speak.

If these old halls,
If hallowed halls could talk,
These would have a tale to tell
Of sun goin’ down and dinner bell,
And children playing at hide and seek
from floor to rafter,
If these halls could speak.

They would tell you that I’m sorry
For bein’ cold and blind and weak.
They would tell you that it’s only
That I have a stubborn streak,

If these walls could speak.
If these old fashioned window panes were eyes,
I guess they would have seen it all--
Each little tear and sigh and footfall,
And every dream that we came to seek
Or followed after,
If these walls could speak.

They would tell you that I owe you
More than I could ever pay.
Here’s someone who really loves you;
Don’t ever go away.
That’s what these walls would say.

They would tell you that I owe you
More than I could ever pay.
Here’s someone who really loves you;
Don’t ever go away.
That’s what these walls would say.

That’s what these walls would say.

That’s what these walls would say.

the done deal

After months of attempts, toil, patience, excitement, disappointment, and pessimism laced with optimism, it is over.

We have sold our house!

All the parties involved have signed the required paperwork. It's official - we are no longer homeowners! I'd be dancing a jig and sipping champagne if I weren't expecting a baby.

As if I have time to sip champagne.

As if I have time to be blogging!

Tomorrow we begin the move: the next time I post, it shall be from a small but cozy 3-bedroom apartment.

Can you believe it?!

timing

Would you believe it?

The week that we're moving, and the tomatoes (which, you may recall, we planted really late due to foiled moving plans)........they're getting ripe.

How's that for timing?

Do-It-Yourself...?

It hit me yesterday. I have become a do-it-yourselfer.

Good grief, when did that happen?

I assure you, I've never been that kind of girl. Yes, I've always enjoyed baking cookies and things, and I have made homemade bread for years...but I really only began making it because it was a "No Knead" recipe. And with my KitchenAid mixer, the recipe was so easy.

My point is that I have been perfectly content, for years, to do things the easy way. I bought large quantities of canned and prepackaged food. I was happy to let the food companies do things for me. And I would never have dreamed of making my own pasta. What was the point?

Now, of course, I know what the point is. Homemade can and should mean more nourishing food, prepared in the optimal way, and infinitely higher in quality. Making food at home means you can control what goes into it, as well as how it's made. I truly believe that it's worth it.

So in less than a year I've gone from the girl who bought everything pre-made, to...to what? To a girl who weekly makes butter and yogurt. A girl who bakes crackers as often as I can spare the butter, and whose family rejoices greatly when they learn that it's (homemade) Noodle Night.

I read an article recently. It was about moms who simply...make stuff. To sell, but also for their families to use. One mother mentioned something called the "I can make that" syndrome. You can get to the point where you have a need, you get an idea, and you decide to give it a whirl, yourself. Need a memory blanket? No problem. A pretty tray to serve drinks on? It can be done. A certain kind of toy for your child? Absolutely.

Now, I am not a crafty person. Not at all. In fact, the ideas that I just mentioned make my stomach clench in anxiety. I failed miserably during the sewing unit of my Home Ec. class. And I was really impressed with myself when I measured and cut rectangles of fleece to use as wicking diaper liners.

I think it's safe to say that I am fairly inept in the craft department.

But something in that article really resonated with me. I'm beginning to see the value in doing things - creating things in the kitchen - myself. Largely because so much of what is marketed on the grocery store shelves is horribly bad for us, even a lot of the "healthy" stuff. But also...I'm finding a satisfaction in learning how to make different kinds of food myself. I've become fascinated by attempting "lost" arts.

Every time I make butter, I think it's like a miracle. To agitate cream long enough, and have this beautiful, delicious, nourishing yellow stuff? It amazes me. And wonder of wonders...I made it happen. God created the nature of milk, and I was able to tap into that, and end up with butter.

Not each and every experiment has been a success, of course. My attempt to make enchildada sauce without a food mill was a disaster. And I was less than thrilled with the whipped cream I made for fruit pizza a few weeks ago. But, I'm learning: trial and error. And I'm excited to continue trying, and learning as I go.

Who knows what it may be able possible to accomplish next?

"Not me!" Monday

Another Monday brings us to another week of "Not me" Monday, the confessional blog carnival created and perpetuated by the charming MckMama over at My Charming Kids. Hop on over to her blog and join in on the fun!

I certainly was not volunteering to help with Vacation Bible School a few weeks ago, so that my underage Kyle could attend. It would've been clearly lunacy when we were planning to be moving at the end of said week. I would never agree to something that would take me away from home during a few quiet evenings when I could be spending that time packing minus the interruptions... But if I had, I would be really glad in hindsight for deciding to help, after all!

Awhile back, I definitely didn't wash a load of diapers, not so much because the diapers needed to be washed, as because Owen is plowing through our cloth wipes so quickly that I needed more clean wipes. Not me! I would never do that.

Speaking of diaper changes which require wipes (read: poopy diapers), after a failed attempt to find and purchase flushable diaper liners locally, I absolutely didn't intentionally buy refills for "g diapers," in spite of owning no g diapers whatsoever. I am definitely not so desperate for some way to cut back on the amount of toddler bowel movements with which I cope on a daily basis. And if I was, then I certainly could've been patient for just one more week. I mean, really. Those are expensive!

Obviously, I am not at all interested in pampering any delicate pregnant sensibilities.

Totally didn't get misty watching the VeggieTales video "The Ballad of Little Joe" with my children. Because, how can veggies drive home the beautiful truth of "you intended it for harm, but God intended it for good"? They're....green and crisp, mostly.

I absolutely didn't make a complete mess of my kitchen one night, making Wardeh's delightful Chocolate Kefir Smoothie, because I decided not to halve it, and it was way too much for my food processor to handle. And I did not plow on, even when chocolate smoothie was oozing from every crevice of the food processor, creating something of a cocoa-colored lake on my counter. My 6-year-old did not walk by and comment, "Wow, that is really messy!"

I am, after all, a model housewife.

Lastly, I am not utterly thrilled that in spite of eating my fair share of butter, beef, coconut oil, eggs, pizza, ice cream, and cookies, I have not gained one pound since I became pregnant. I care nothing for what the scale says, and I am not even a little bit curious to see how my weight gain during this pregnancy differs from the previous pregnancies. I could not care one teensy bit. Nope, not me!

the moving saga: plan E

We've had a few new developments in our moving saga this week. Midway through we learned that the appraiser would not agree to change his numbers at all. This was incredibly frustrating after waiting for two weeks to hear. There was a very good chance that this sale would fall through, as well - yet we held on, prayed, and hoped that a compromise could be reached.

And it has been! Obviously it's not exactly as we had hoped, but it's enough for us to sell this house and get out, for crying out loud. This house has been very good to us, and we've made some amazing memories, but for the last few months it's begun to feel rather like an albatross. And we are so ready to be rid of it.

So, a new price has been agreed upon, and papers have been signed accordingly. Also new: a planned closing date. August 14th. So that would be in, say, 6 days.

Um, yikes.

Nevertheless, we are getting back into packing mode. Even though we have opened a few boxes in the past few months, the vast majority of it is still packed. Things are in motion for us to begin moving into an apartment that same day. Thankfully, we do have a few days after closing before we need to vacate our house, but I want to be as prepared as I can. The sooner we put this chapter behind us, the better.

All the same, I wonder if I will really believe it until that last form has its signature...

never the same

People will say of having children, that afterward things are never the same.

(Jeff, Benjamin, and Mindy - December 18, 2002)

When you become a parent, your life changes dramatically. Gone are the lazy Saturday mornings. Vanished is the possibility of a spontaneous (child-free) date with your spouse. You now schedule appointments, outings, and shopping excursions around your child's schedule - or possibly the financial possibility and availability of a babysitter.

People try to prepare you for the inevitable changes, but nothing they say or do can ever really communicate what it will be like. And of course, different people have different experiences. Mothers endure hormonal shifts, the baby blues, postpartum depression, difficulties with a nursing relationship, seeming to have not enough milk, having far too much milk, engorgement, colicky little ones, babies who eat near-endlessly, quick recoveries, slow and painful recoveries, grief over the birth experience, wonderful births, chubby babies, low-weight babies, sick babies, healthy babies, early sleepers, and sleepless nights that seem endless.

There are mothers with amazing support systems, and mothers who have no support at all. There are mothers with attentive, eager, active husbands, and mothers whose husbands simply don't participate in baby care. There are mothers who are bonded more closely than ever with their baby's father, and mothers whose relationship ends up suffering. There are mothers who spring back to their pre-baby weight effortlessly, and mothers who fight (desperately) for every pound closer they get to those favorite jeans.

Mother - parenting - is complex and intricate. It utilizes every resource, causes you to stretch, strengthens creativity. It changes you.

You can never look at a piece of furniture, or a kitchen knife placed too near the edge of the counter, or a pair of baby socks, in quite the same way again. Something vital and personal has changed...forever.

Becoming a parent means setting aside selfishness and your own agenda, and working for the greater good. It means loving someone else more than you love yourself.

And it's just the beginning.

(Benjamin - December 18, 2002)

Because once we hold this precious new life in our arms, life is never the same. We are never the same. Forever changed - forever learning - seeking to discover just who this little one is, and the person we are becoming because of him. It's a beautiful, trying, stretching process.

And I wouldn't trade it for the world.

¹⁷Every good and perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of the heavenly lights, who does not change like shifting shadows. -- James 1:17