Thursday, October 13, 2011

31 Days: Letting Go Like A Child


(Last full day at the farm, watching the filling and smoothing of our mud pit.)

Today has been a cranky, dreary, crampy kind of day. I've been in slow motion. But at least there were left-overs to be had.

Also, I had my first Caramel Apple Sundae from McDonald's. First of many. Say what you will about the joint, but they get soft serve right.

I want to thank you for your encouragement following yesterday's post. It was more difficult to write than most. It took longer. I deleted more. I worried that I might be misunderstood in some way. Still, I knew that I was supposed to write it, so I did. And hearing that I'm not the only one who thinks and feels those things was just the reminder I needed. It's settled: I really like hanging out with you guys.

Also? I feel loved when you ask how my kids are adjusting. It burrows this truth more deeply into my soul: we are real friends, you and I. We understand things about each other. Thank you for that.

To answer the question, the kids are doing fantastically well. I could learn a thing or two from my kids. I'm learning from them every day.

As we were finishing up at the "old" house on Saturday, Cory and I felt like we needed to try to create some kind of a moment for our family, an official farewell. A proper send-off. In the end, we all hopped in the van, ready to go home. The kids shouted a forced "Byeeee!" and I couldn't blame them, because I wasn't feeling very sentimental myself. After Cory went back solo for one more load, he said to me, "I took a walk around and felt like I should try to conjure up some emotion, but it just wasn't there. I was happy to be going."

It doesn't make sense that we feel this way. And I'm leery to believe that the sadness may not find us after all. But for now, I'm grabbing on to this gift of inexplicable closure. It reminds me of the day we went from trying to conceive a baby to knowing we would adopt. It wasn't much of a process. We just flipped that coin over and kept on living in joy. I know it doesn't happen that way for everyone and I don't think it's in some way worse when it doesn't. But I'm thankful for the way God has grabbed hold of me and tossed me to the other side of various fences in life. It helps.

Monday was our first "real" day in the rental. Silas hauled out the big bucket of Duplo blocks that he rarely plays with. In no time flat, he walked over and plopped this beside me at the desk:


I was floored. First the hair-dryers, and now this. Dude's got some mad building skillz.


And so it is confirmed, being a farmboy is also a condition of the heart.

I'm not alone in my slight displacement. I like knowing that we can keep searching for and finding the beauty, the nature, the farmy-ness around us, wherever we are.

In related news, Calvin and Ruby are enjoying bunking together.

We got lazy and decided not to put Siley's crib back together, so he's now loving life in a toddler bed. Why not pile change on top of change? It seems to be working. (Maybe tomorrow we'll conquer potty training?)

I'm still trying to adjust to the street lights at night while sleep eludes me, but you didn't come here to hear about me...

Our life is precisely the same today as it was two months ago. The kids still tattle and bicker and giggle and do cart-wheels in the living room.

We're still us. We're learning and growing. This move didn't up-end our lives.

And maybe our kids led the way. Maybe their resilience is rubbing off a little on us stubborn tall people.


*For the rest of the Letting Go series, click here.