Tonight, a full moon dances silver light through rooftop icicles. Juniper is asleep in her crib. I am awake at the computer. My man has been away all week and Osa is somewhere farting. Thus begins our night.
Yes, we *still* have our tree up. The thing won't die, and we rather enjoy the warm, wintry glow.
We didn't get our *perfect* house. They didn't even counter. Now we are back at it: The Search. As of now, we are torn between two houses. One is big--enough space for a guest bedroom and then some--but in what we deem a dodgy area. The other is small--guests might get a hide-a-bed in the living room--but in what we deem an awesome area. I want the awesome, but fear the too-small.
Right now, we're in a really tight rental. Yesterday, I was overcome with a desire to take a sledge-hammer to the walls: an urge I have experienced on more than one occasion this winter. Is that normal? I kept chucking poor Osa outside, telling her, We just don't have room in here for a pacing, farting old dog--you have to go outside and chew on an elk leg. Sorry.
Juniper doesn't mind the lack of space. She just worms herself into little crevices and flirts with her own reflection.
My husband thinks we can make the awesome-area small-house work and I have to remind myself that it has a dishwasher and a garage. Two things we have never EVER had that can add a certain splash of easy living.
June bug has her two favorite things in the world in her hands: a ball and a bird. Really, shouldn't we all be happy with just a ball and a bird?
Even if we could afford the bigger house in the awesome area, there is a part of me that wants to fit snuggly, simply, into a small house.
On the return home from swim lessons or playgroup, J bug nearly always falls asleep in the car. And since she is non-transferable, I often end up sitting in the car with her. Needless to say, I've been knitting a bit.
And then, when our real estate agent shows us the whoppers, there is the part of me that envisions a small library, a room of my own, a kitchen where all the cooking tools and food fit in the cabinets, an out-of-the-way nook to start onion seeds in February, and an endless stream of guests sleeping comfortably in their own room.
But, we chose to procreate. And embedded within that choice is a conscientious resolve to make the next generation better, brighter. And I can't help but believe that a small house in an awesome area is more likely to take Juniper down the better, brighter path. One where she can maybe, maybe learn to eschew the gross accumulation of disposable crap that so permeates our lives. One where play is simple and families are tight.
I know we are only searching for a house, but sometimes it feels like we're laying the cornerstone for the future. Maybe we just need to relax, take a deep breath, and check out our bellybuttons.