The last night

Tonight is supposed to be the last night that our little family of 4 is separated. Tomorrow, Brian comes home, and Sunday we are scheduled to load up the truck and drive to Salida. The weeks of being apart from my partner are supposed to be done. Of course, what is supposed to be, and what actually is, may differ a bit.

I cannot think of a time in my life during which I have had such constant stress. The ups and downs are frequent. One minute you've sold your townhouse and have purchased the home of your dreams, and the next, it may not happen at all. And then I think, we chose this. We chose to put ourselves through this. What the hell were we thinking?

When I dove into this journey, I thought I had to face 5 weeks of single parenting. Now I am nearing the end of week 7. I did not believe I could do it. Yet, I have done it. And while doing it, I survived the sale of my house falling through, relisting and reselling it.

The really beautiful thing is that I have not been alone. Time after time, my village shows up to hold me up and help me through. When we had to put our house back on the market, my house was full of helpers, getting it back into show shape. My mom and I cleaned for 16 hours that day. And it paid off, when we were back under contract in a matter of days.

Now, we are facing another possible setback. And the outpouring of support is incredible. Tonight, my Nana said, "there is always a solution." And I think there is. It will all be alright. We have enough people who are here for us, who believe in us, that we will get through any bump in the road.

As far as my time with my girls these last seven weeks, adventure is the name of the game. We still haven't figured out a good bedtime routine without Daddy around, so they are often up later than they should be. But, Kinnie Lin has learned to sleep in until 7! This is a miracle in itself. We have been to the pool a lot. And we took our little road trip. We've had a sleep over at Ninnie and Pops'. And visited the zoo. We have snuggled, and we have wrestled. We've taken a lot of long walks, and when we first started this process, I struggled to lift Ellie Claire onto my back in the backpack- now, it's no problem.

I am stronger, in a lot of different ways. I know that I can face what life brings. With a little help, of course.

Lessons

I turned a 7.5 hour drive into a 10.5 hour drive today. My girls and I meandered through the hills of Utah and Wyoming before cruising into Denver. I've never done a road trip quite in that fashion. But it was a beautiful day, and as I reflected on the loss of Eric, I was reminded of what is truly important in life.

During the beginning of the drive, I swear Eric had control of the mix my ipod was playing. From songs we used to dance to in the bar, to bands we saw and loved, song after song reminded me of him. And I was reminded that it's time to slow down. So the girls and I stopped at a park in Rock Springs. But its playground was inferior, so we went searching for a better one. We found a park with a playground and sprayground, so I pulled the luggage out of the car, got the girls changed into swimsuits, and played in the water. We didn't have a towel to dry off after, but that didn't seem to matter. Three hours later, we did it all again in Laramie. My girls were happy, and the kind of wonderful tired that comes from fun in the sun. And my heart was full.

See, all the things that we hurry for, all the things that we think are so important, aren't really. Whatever the reason for my rush the day I didn't stop to give Eric a hug can't have ultimately mattered at all. But I get caught up. I think most of us do. And it is times like these when I remember that all that really matters to me are my people- my family, both blood related and chosen.

I miss Eric a lot. There is a void in this city. But to have known him... well, that was a blessing.

My friend, Eric

My friend Eric died yesterday. His death was so unexpected. I would have never guessed that the last time I gave him a hug would be the last time. 

He worked at the animal hospital where I spent 6 years of my twenties. I remember that he was a bit shy, at first, but soon his true colors shone through. He had headphones on as often as he could, and it turned out we shared a love of rock music. When a show would come through town, we'd make plans to go, or I'd envy him as he decided to go, even if the tickets had to go on a credit card. We would trudge through the long workdays together, along with the rest of the Belcaro family. His laugh was fantastic, and is still so clear in my mind. 

A group of us began to spend more and more time together outside of work, and Eric was always there. I remember going out to Benny's Mexican for a birthday, and after one margarita, Eric fell asleep at the table. I laughed so hard. He was always a lightweight, and always game to party. 

Whenever I was sad, or struggling, I knew Eric felt my struggle, too. He'd give hugs, and try to be there in any way he could. He provided candy galore, and I know that on more than one occasion, I helped myself to his work drawer that was full of snacks. He always said he didn't mind. Because that's the kind of person he was.

As my time to move on from Belcaro came, Eric remained a part of my life. We spent birthdays together, and came up with lots of other reasons to celebrate. Of course, I saw Eric every time I took one of my dogs in to Belcaro, which was frequent. Always, he had a hug for me, and an update about his life. He lived some great adventures in his 40 years.

The last time I was at Belcaro, picking up meds for my dogs, I saw Eric on the lawn walking a dog. I thought about stopping to say hi, to give a hug, and to wish him well. But, I had my two fussing girls with me, and a million things to do. So I didn't turn the corner to go see him, but just went on my way. I figured there would be a million other chances. How I wish I had not taken that moment for granted.

I think Eric had no idea how loved he was. How cherished. He was nonjudgmental, loyal, genuine, heartfelt, funny. He was the best kind of friend. He was accepting, and overlooked my faults. He was a beautiful person. I hope that wherever he is now is as amazing as he is. I wish I could tell him. I wish I could give just one more hug.

Rest in peace, my friend. You will be remembered fondly for as long as I live. I love you.

The first step

This adventure, of leaving the city and moving toward small town life, began with B finding a job. Which he did, spectacularly, quickly. It starts tomorrow. And we're not set to live in Salida for another month. Which means he goes, and the girls and I stay.

He just walked out the door. He'll be back for weekends- about 48 hours per week. That means that (let me get the calculator)... 120 hours per week, for the next 4 weeks, I get to play the role of single mom. I have no idea what I'm in for. Two little girls, two hungry dogs. And me.

I have long believed myself strong. I can get through anything- not always tear free, but I can get through. But there are so many aspects of my life for which I have come to depend on my partner. Meals, bedtimes, packing lunches, taking out the trash, walking the dogs, dishes. And what's this about getting my own coffee going??? Not to mention, the company, the comfort, the support, the laughter... And I'm sure there are a million little things that I'm not even thinking about, that I'll realize I have taken for granted all these years.

This is a unique time in my life. A time to appreciate the chance to bond with my girls in whole new ways. An opportunity to be grateful for all that B does. Another way to show myself that I'm strong.

I can't wait till you get home, B.

Bought and sold.

Or, sold and bought, as the case may be.

Last Thursday, we listed our Denver townhouse. Before anyone ever stepped foot through the door, we had an offer. For 7% over our list price. I thought it was a joke. In fact, I called Brian a choice name when, at 6:15 am, he came to tell me. But it was real. And the offers kept coming. By Friday afternoon, our choice was clear, and we signed the contract.

Fifteen hours later, we were on the beat in Salida, looking for our home there. We went to seven different places. And after the fifth, I began to despair. Perhaps we would not find the home of our dreams. There was the place that reeked of cigarettes. And two with slanted floors. And one with wiring so archaic, it looked as though it might burst into flames.

Then, we stepped into the sixth. And as of 6am this morning, we are under contract to buy it. I knew, the minute I walked through the door, that this place was special. Beautiful, open, natural. Lots of room to love and play, indoors and out. A yard for the kids and dogs. An amazing kitchen to make feasts. A little park across the street, and a beautiful trail leading to downtown. A porch where I'll sit and drink coffee, and watch my girls grow. A deck where we'll grill meals and enjoy a beer. Views that are unbelievable. A place that is quiet. And yet so full of life.

When we came back to Denver last night, and walked into our townhome, I encountered a shred of grief. This place has seen so much. The early years of my marriage. My first, second, third and fourth dogs. The parties. The naps. The babies. That incredible room for my girls. There are so many memories. And when I consider that one day soon, I'll walk out the door for the last time, sadness weighs on my heart.

This next month will be full. Packing, inspections, packing, wrapping up at work, closing this house, closing that house, unpacking. I think, I pray, that this will be a beautiful adventure. Because all I really want is more time with the ones I love; a little simplicity.

But first, the craziness.

Just a little change...

So, for the last 12.5 years, I have prided myself as a city girl. I love the culture, diversity, liberal vibe, shopping, connection to others. If you had suggested that I would be a small town girl, EVER, I might have laughed in your face. How could I move out of this comfort zone? The city feel so alive.

Only, now, I am the Mama of two amazing girls- one preparing to start kindergarten, and the other toddling across the floor as I write. As they have come into my life, as our family has grown, things have changed. Slowly. The problem with the city is that it is... busy. The pace is so fast that I don't have the time to connect- with my girl, my friends, my family. These connections are the MOST important thing in my life. While I have an amazing network of people, I don't have a sense of community. I love where we live, but when Kinnie takes her scooter out for a ride, I don't know that anyone else is watching out for her. Not that they should have to, but just because it would be NICE- you know, if we were all looking out for one another?

That's the thing.

Brian and I have been thinking on this for years. That we want community. That we want more time to be together, and less time commuting. That we want to be able to savor every fleeting moment of our girls' childhoods, without feeling pressed for time.

And so we decided. We're leaving the city. We're headed for small town life.  Denver, I will miss you. You have been a great landing spot for a young couple starting life together. You have helped us grow. It's just time to part ways. We'll be back to visit, because in and around you are our favorite people. I'm sure I'll miss you. I'll miss having three Targets and ten million Starbucks in a three mile radius. I know I'll miss your culture. But it's time.

Salida, here we come.

Ownership

Today, I am struggling with anxiety. I have had depression for 15 plus years, and since I became a Mom, anxiety has been a part of my mental illness. When my first was an infant, the anxiety came naturally, as I was a new mom, and she was a sensitive, colicky baby. Only, the anxiety didn't go away as she overcame her colic. Some days were better, and some worse. I attended therapy, and learned a lot about myself, and my triggers. Now, with another new baby, I have days that feel saturated with anxiety. And this baby is as laid back as they come.

I go through my anxious days trying to determine the source of my anxiety- specifically. Maybe it's that my oldest  is challenging everything I say. Maybe it's that my infant daughter has had health concerns, or that it was a late night last night with her. But as I pondered these questions today, I found myself wondering if I was focusing on the wrong things. Because if those things are causing me to be anxious, I don't have control over them anyway.

I love my non-anxious days. The days when I feel present, and free, and happy.  And something tells me that I have more control than I realize. Anxiety is such a pit, and it is so easy to dig deeper and deeper, rather than just lifting myself out. Not that that is so easy, because if it was, I probably wouldn't be writing this.

Being a Mom is so vulnerable. I strive to do the best for my girls. In fact, my therapist once pointed out that I don't know what good enough is, so I just keep pushing. But they are their own people. And the best laid plans don't always work out. And if Ellie fusses all afternoon, there may be nothing I can do to change that. That's why I realize that it is within me. It is within me to know that each challenge will pass. It is within me to know that I do all I can for my girls, and that this is more than enough. It is within me to accept the things I can't change, and to be present for the great moments and the tough ones. Because the moments do pass quickly.

I think this will likely be a longtime process for me, with good days and bad. And when I googled "mom anxiety," one suggestion in particular was to give up caffeine, which is NOT going to happen. Certainly, there is more that I can do to help myself. Gratitude. Deep breaths. Getting outside. Talking with loved ones. Engaging in play. Reminding myself of the absolute, complete wonder, of watching my two beautiful girls grow. Even with anxiety, I am so blessed.