Blueberry

We have friends who are house hunting in this very buyer-friendly market. Not only is the market on their side, but they also have the financial support of family, as well as large monetary gifts from their recent wedding - all to put down toward their first home. All of this is wonderful.

They looked at a large home in a neighborhood the next town over from ours - at our urging (move closer, please!) - and then stopped by to visit with us and the kids before driving the half an hour back to their small apartment. And as we sat around chatting with them about atrocious houses and what they're looking for, what they're willing to spend (versus, what they've been "pre-approved" for), etc.

They are good people, some of our best friends, and I'm so happy for them. But, I'm also human, and can't help but have the fleeting moments of envy at their incredible, unbelievable, good fortune. To be buying in this sort of market (as opposed to when we packed up and moved north to simply afford a teeny-condo over the border), to not have to worry about finances too much (both working full time and also enjoying that cushion of wedding loot), to have the time and energy and funds to devote time to getting their house (whatever one they choose) up into their ideal shape - before having children.

They're looking big. Big yard, finished basements, giant garages. The works. Meanwhile, they sat describing this to us in our 1250 square foot, ranch style home that was built on the rails where a mobile trailer once sat. We are not big. We are not flashy. We do not even have hallways to speak of, more like rooms that just branch off of one another. Our driveway does fit two cars and we do have a deck and a good sized shed, but our neighbors are both trailers. Our neighborhood is entirely mobile. The epitome of low-class, low budget, low, low, low.

I sank into the lowness of it all last night as I slept. I can't remember my dreams exactly, but I know that I woke up this morning feeling lower than I had before their visit last night. I was unsatisfied and bitter and thinking well, we could afford a larger house if we were both working too. And we're only here because the market was so terrible when we needed to buy a place...

And then I reached into the refrigerator to offer my kids yogurts after their waffles. We had a plethora of strawberry, but only one blueberry left. I gave my son the choice between the two and he chose blueberry.

He is now down for an early nap, because as soon as he saw his sister licking the pink strawberry yogurt off of her spoon, he woefully regretted his decision and began to whine for a strawberry cup of his own - even though any other day of the week, blueberry is great, blueberry is his first choice. Blueberry is grand.

As I explained to him that he made his choice, that it was a good one and that there's plenty of strawberry for tomorrow or the next day, I heard my own words come back to myself. Be thankful for what you do have, don't whine for what you don't. I told him.

Of course, he's only three and the whining and whimpering and fretting over every goopy spoonful that his sister loaded into her mouth of that precious, delicious, most amazing yogurt ever - continued and escalated. So, he's down for a nap to settle down and think about thankfulness and what it means to appreciate what we're given.

Now, I'm left sitting here, imagining my life without him. What my life would be had my husband and I waited five or six years into our marriage to have children. What if we had decided to go for the big house ourselves. (And what if we had, and in order to keep it after having children, I would've had to relinquish them to someone else's care five days of the week, and spend my time in an office and on a commute and working for someone other than my family?)

And I realize that these questions are just as silly as my son clamoring for something other than the blueberry he loves any other day of the week.

I've been given more than what I need. I've been given things, people, that I love. And I need to listen to my own motherly advice. Either that, or take a nap.

More Good Things

Blessings, not entirely deserved, but humbly appreciated.

Some extra money, an unforeseen bonus in my husband's check.

An acceptance from a literary market I submitted to nearly three months ago.

An extra-long grace period before my student loans kick into repayment mode.

Now if I could only make my attitude. This knot in my stomach. This slothful way that I approach the day, indoors, at the computer or cleaning something sticky left behind in trails by my kids. This sort of non-existence, existence. Change.

Tomorrow?

We shower.

(Oh yes. I have big plans, ladies and gentlemen. Big plans.)

Not to be Taken for Granted

Good things. None earth shattering or life changing, or even long term consequential. But still good.

- My son is staying dryer longer and using the toilet for what it's intended for (as opposed to using it as a neat-o place it squat and read nursery rhymes) - and that alone for me is reason to stand up and cheer (which I do.)

- My father was retired for exactly 24 hours before landing an ideal job. (Long story, but now with a happy ending.)

- I went to church this morning wearing a skirt that I haven't worn since before I was pregnant, ahem, the first time I was pregnant. It's actually one I haven't worn in, oh, five years-ish. I was so excited that it not only fit, but looked gooood, that I almost took pictures of it, but then I regained sense and thought, it's just a skirt (and I did just email pictures of my bootay in a pair of honeymoon age shorts to some friends from college - so really, I think my vanity quotient for the month has been met.)

- I also saw my sister sing her final concert with a local A Capella group she has been with for the past few years. It was amazing. Her talent is one of those things that, having grown up with it, I tend to take for granted. This is my sister, she can sing pretty. Yeah. But, to hear her last night was like hearing her for the first time. Smooth, strong, effortless, moving. I cried, actually.

My husband and I drove home discussing the wonder of her voice. It's hard to explain to him how far she has come, from being a teenager with a pretty voice, a solo-in-the-choir-pretty voice, performing Amy Grant during church, to what she is now - a woman who can sing. From having a perfectly lovely voice, to being simply stunning.

Of course, I was hardly her biggest fan. My nephew stood on his father's lap, pointing and saying "Mama!" while she sang. And he cried too, but he was not moved by the music so much as he was afraid she was leaving him when the group walked off stage.

- And tonight, I wrote two stories...or at least two starts of something. It doesn't matter. It was writing - for writings sake, not for school or packets or theses - just writing because I like it. And it feels good.

- And also, in case I hadn't mentioned it in a while, I have two of the cutest children alive (though one of them hardly sits still long enough for pictures anymore...)

All good things, worth not taking for granted.