Over the last couple of weekends, Drew and I have been finishing the day and saying, “this was the best weekend we’ve ever had” or, “no, that was absolutely the perfect day. We’ve never had a more perfect day”. We haven’t been taming any lions or putting big red x’s through our mystical bucket list items, we’ve just been home. At the end of these days, our hands are dirty, we don’t smell especially good, and we’re both laid up on the couch by 9 p.m. exhausted and filled.
This time last year I was standing with my hand on a doorknob, ready to turn, about to cross the threshold into a new stage of my adulthood. I had no idea I was standing there (if only our future could be as loud as the approaching train that it can sometimes be) but I could sense the coming chaos without knowing that was the unknown feeling in the pit of my stomach. We were busy and full of work, but it was disjointed work: closing on a house, moving, renovating, company and family travel, and the personal struggles that come with those things. It was all a wonderful busyness to have, but I think we both felt like we couldn’t wrap our hands around the big picture and every single day was built around pushing against a series of arbitrary deadlines. And boxes. And paint cans. And a two year old.
Now, a year later, it’s so very different and so very good. We’re still insanely busy, but this feels like good, stout, manageable business. The only deadlines that we have are ones that we create and exist largely so that the house is clean enough for people not to be appalled when they walk in the door. We’re not trying to get anything done because ohmygodholyshit if it’s not done by this week we won’t have anywhere to live and then what is that the time better get a move on, we’re just trying to get things done because it’s nice to get things done. And if they don’t get done this weekend? Well, then next. That subtle difference is life changing. Who knew?
So all that being said, we are pushing against a bit of a (self-imposed) deadline this week, hoping that we will get a new floor installed in Asher’s bedroom before the end of next weekend when we will welcome Drew’s mom and aunt for a summer visit. It’s a little bit of a race, but even in the midst of it, I’m still surprised at how pleasant it is to know that wherever we land by Sunday afternoon, it’s going to be just fine. I know that this isn’t an earth-shattering revelation, but I feel like I would be remiss not to acknowledge what a difference a year can make, to put this little marker in the ground to look back on should I ever find myself swimming in the chaos again. We know that this too shall pass, but it’s nice when we can actually see that it’s passed.
Is this part of being a grown up? Accepting where we are? I get so very nostalgic for the various versions of my younger self some days, but then we have these weekends clumped together, where we work on our house, and lay around a little, and look at the trees, and eat dinner outside next to the grill, and even though it’s much more common than my younger self was probably wishing for, it feels so Divine. As in, otherworldly in its peace and wholeness. It makes me thankful that we don’t always get what we wish for when we’re 20. It makes me thankful to have been 20.
So that’s the news, team. Because I don’t want to break the rules of the Internet and post without any pictures, I leave you with this:
Our cat has decided to start taking walks with us, including short hikes in the woods behind our house. We’re quite a vision marching along: my big belly, a bustling 3-year-old, Louie the wonder yeti, long lean Drew, and a fat black cat bringing up the rear. It makes me feel like just maybe I found my gypsy band after all. All we need is a tambourine and Stevie Nicks.