Home is Where the Heart is… Unless, of course, it Doesn’t Fit

Home.

11 months ago was the beginning of a whole new life for us. We sold everything, packed one suitcase each, and started driving North.

Destination: a better life.

 

When we arrived in Richmond, VA 23 hours later, we had no place to call home. We settled into a hotel room a few square feet shy of our shoebox apartment in Florida and we waited…

One the 11th day, this house became our home. “The Mansion,” we called it. “Our Castle,” we call it now. It’s a house we never dreamed of in our “old life.” It’s a house we never wanted to lose, or leave. But… isn’t that just the way?

And so here we are, the 60 day count down has begun. The rightful owners have come to reclaim the fortress, and we must vacate our rented kingdom. But where do we go?!

Web site image of San Francisco-based Craigslist.(CBS)

I don’t know, because I screwed everything up for us…

Wait, what? Hear me out.

In the past month that I have been looking at houses we have seen things that were double the size of our old apartment, but much much smaller than this house. At first, I would turn up my nose, “too small,” and walk away. Now that we are in crunch time, I feel ashamed. I think back to the 900 square feet we called home for 6 years and wonder, “if we had moved from that into 1800 feet when we first moved here, wouldn’t I have been so grateful?” How could I forget how blessed we were to have anything, let alone double what we used to have?!

But now that we are faced with moving… I don’t WANT to settle! I want my big house! I want my big fenced yard! I want! I want! I know… I know…

image by http://www.losangelescriminaldefenseattorneyblog.com

So here is the question: Do I keep pushing the limits of time and patience holding out for a miracle like we found 11 months ago, or do I settle for something much smaller, being grateful for the security of knowing we won’t be out on the street in 60 days?

My mother says, “God is never early, and God is never late.” What do you say?

You Would Do a Good Job, So We’re NOT Going to Hire You

I had a job interview a few weeks ago that I can’t stop thinking about. Here’s the story:

I got an email from the University announcing an up and coming magazine: writers wanted! I was so excited I sent an email that very minute, resume and writing samples attached. I checked for responses every couple hours for the next 3 days. I didn’t just want a job and a paycheck, I wanted to write. I wanted to “get my feet wet” in different realms of writing. I would totally get this job, I knew it.

And finally the response came! “Congratulations! If you are reading this, we loved your work, and you have been selected to move on to the interview round.” Nailed it, right?

Not so much.

When I showed up to the agreed time and place for the interview, I recognized the person waiting for me. He was a student I had recognized around campus, and of course, that meant he may have recognized me as well. Not only did he recognize me, but he had done a little research on me. He knew I had children, he knew I was a full time student like him, he knew I was a Writing Consultant on campus, and he knew I also owned a small business. He seemed impressed.

And then everything changed.

“We have weekly staff meetings around 6 pm,” he casually informed me. “You probably have to be home to cook dinner, though.”

WHAT?!

Cue double vision, ringing in the ears, and steam from the top of my head. I had absolutely no idea what to think or say. I was in shock. This 21 year old faux Calvin Klein model just judged my entire existence on a Parents Magazine article about the importance of family dinner times? And so I realized then that the real interview was over. Why, exactly, did we even meet?

But still I waited for the next email. And yes, I was still hopeful. “Our final decisions were extremely difficult, but at this time we have decided not to extend a formal offer of employment for the next semester. From our interview, you are clearly a talented and impressive person. I have no doubt you would do a good job, but at this point I do not think it would be fair of me to offer you a position given the amount of projects you already have on your hands.”

What a generous man, deciding for me what amount of work is fair and what isn’t. Clearly, I didn’t get the job because I wasn’t qualified or a good fit, right? WRONG. I didn’t get the job because CK Jr. is intimidated by a strong, independent woman that can multitask more responsibilities in one day than he can in his whole life.

Is the problem that I do too much or that you don’t do enough friend?

But in a way, Captain Fairness is right. If I am going to choose to take on a heavy load, it better be damn well worth it.

How about you? Have you ever been denied an opportunity for a completely ridiculous reason? Was it for the best?

 

The History of Coffee and Why it Matters

Think back: what is your very first memory? Is it an image? A taste? A sound?

For me, it’s a smell. I’m sitting on the big brown wing chair in my great-grandmother’s house. We’re watching “a program.” I have no idea what it was, but that’s what she called them: “her programs.” The tiny dog that looks like Toto is sitting on my lap, panting, and my great-grandmother, Loolie, is putzing around in the kitchen. The entire house smells like strong, bitter coffee. I. Love. It. Loolie must have been 80 or so but she kept busy, always in the kitchen. As she shuffles out to the living room, I know exactly what will happen: she will have a small delicate coffee cup and saucer in her hand, she will ask me if I am hungry – again, she will call to the dog, and he will of course, come to her. Lather, rinse, repeat. That is how the memory plays in my head. She died when I was only 11 but I love my great-grandmother; I miss her so much and to be honest, sometimes I don’t know why, since memories like these are all I have of her.

Fast forward, 18 years. As I sat rocking my almost 4 year old daughter this morning in the Lazy Boy, I wondered: what is it she will remember? Will her most valuable memories be Chuck E. Cheese and baking cookies, or will it be this? Will it be waking up to the smell of the French Vanilla Dark Roast that I brew every morning without fail? Will it be the feel of this chair or the silly songs we sing when we brush our teeth?

The answer is, I don’t know. I can’t know and I may never know. I never got to tell my great-grandmother which memories meant the most to me: I hadn’t realized I made them yet. What I do know is how important my realization is now – that every moment could be a memory for her, for all my children, and it is up to me to decide if they will be good or bad.

I hate unrealistic goals, so I set some easy ones:

1. We are always all together on New Year’s Eve. We document our year in hand-made ornaments and scrapbook pages. We watch the ball drop and eat our favorite foods. We are guaranteed that new memory every single year.

2. We read 4 books every night. If I know I won’t be home at bedtime, dad reads to them. I want my kids to love reading the way I do, and I want them to remember where that passion started.

3. The mess can wait. I try to clean when the kids aren’t around, or are otherwise occupied. I’m not saying you should leave your house dirty all the time to prevent traumatized children. No, I’m saying if you have to tell someone to “wait,” make it the dishes and not the kids.

The truth is, it will be hard. I can’t be there for all of them at the same time. Sometimes I’m not there at bedtime. Sometimes we don’t eat dinner at the table all together. But I can make the times I am there count. My great-grandmother taught me that.

How about you? What are your treasured memories from when you were young? What are you doing now to make special memories with your kids?