July 8, 2014
July 7, 2014
We've been in our new house for nearly a week now. Still honeymooning -- the rooms still smell like fresh paint, are still echoing because of the lack of furniture and rugs.
When we arrived, the yards and flowerbeds were overgrown and weedy. We didn't connect with the lawn pro in time to have him tend the acreage during his most recent visit to the neighborhood, so Miner bought a big, bad push mower so he could at least tame the wilderness a bit before he leaves tomorrow.
He got 3/4 of the front yard done. He might've finished except he unwittingly discovered a ground hornets' nest when he passed over it. They swarmed out and got him three times on the back of his left calf.
Miner's not allergic to stings, but ground hornets don't play. The pain was severe and lasted through the evening. He said the venom gave him an all-over, achy, flu-like feeling, too. Fortunately, his body fought off the toxins by morning. I'm just glad one of the little ones weren't near him when it happened. The closest ER is 10 minutes away (a subject for another time).
Boxes still line the walls of every room, but we've been tackling them a bit each day. All the major pieces of furniture (minus the pieces still in Lafayette (next trip) are in place, but the windows and walls are bare.
The budget is just about sapped this pay period, so my immediate goals are endeavors that require no purchases.
The current focus is Gumball's bedroom and the two pieces of furniture we have for her right now: a dresser (mirror is in Lafayette) and a small shelf unit/nightstand. Refinishing details in the next post.
July 4, 2014
clear clipboard, or any clear surface
clear packing tape
permanent marker, fine point
7. Right sides together, handstitch or machine sew along the edges.
July 3, 2014
June 26, 2014
We are not prepared. Virtually nothing is boxed or labeled, and yet, the truck is reserved for Tuesday morning.
I'm not ready. Dislodging ourselves from this house will be pressured and painful. I'm not ready to take apart the scenes that have surrounded me for a quarter of my lifetime. Once the images are deconstructed, they won't be seen again. The full force of permanence is crushing.
I'm scared. Moving is indeed a form of loss, and the summation of this season is an impact I'm not quite postured to absorb.
Truthfully, these are simply a series of moments of weakness, and intellectually, I know I'm strong enough to see it through. I'm just terrified of feeling the sharp cracking of my heart as we pull out of the driveway and down the street with our abandoned home shrinking in the rear-view mirror.