Please welcome my friend Angela today! She is a former middle school teacher who can’t let go of paper calendars, colored pens and dreams of writing women’s fiction. Find her at AngelaAmman.com where she melds together a love of reading, writing and the lovely miscellany making up her world. Procrastinate with her on Facebook or Twitter and write with her on Write on Edge, where she’s a managing editor of a creative writing community.
My fingers fly over the itty bitty keyboard: texts to my realtor and to Ryan, thoughts spilling so quickly I finally pick up the phone. I retreat to the office that used to be a toddler-room-turned-playroom in hopes of an interrupted conversation and feel my blood pressure creep nearly as high as the humidity levels.
I critically eye the room dimensions of my daughter’s three story dollhouse and wonder if the kids would mind moving into the cardboard home. I obsessively study floor plans for new homes in a community that would be absolutely perfect except for that whole “forty miles from where we want to live” thing.
In my brain, the part that still functions approximately three minutes out of every hour, I know this isn’t the worst position in which to find myself this summer. We’re healthy, we’re together, we’re days away from closing on a house we never expected to be able to sell.
Four walls shouldn’t be so difficult to find; there are houses stretching out in each direction from my front door, yards waiting to welcome new Adirondack chairs and late-night conversations. But bidding wars and priority lists that change each day that ends in “y” mean we’re unsure about where we’ll be living after we leave our current home.
It’s stressing me out.
Summer gallops forward, regardless of my personal stress level, so I’m doing my best to keep my worries in the darkness.
My husband and I quietly close the door after the kids are in bed and marvel at the oversized, overbright, overbeautiful Supermoon.
Sponge toys and sprinkler pads pull us forward into the sunshine.
I shove dishes into the dishwasher, pull my wet hair into a ponytail, and foil the rain by meeting friends at an indoor bounce house guaranteed to tire even the bounciest of children.
The kids and I pull our chairs to the same side of the table and color together, trading crayons from the same box. My mind is still racing around the house situation when I hear my daughter remind my son, “If you take your time, it’s easier to stay in the lines. Slow down your coloring!”
Her insight is fleeting – moments later they’re squealing and racing around the dining room table and wrestling over the copper crayon. But her words echo in my head: take your time, slow down, and enjoy the picture you’re creating.
Thank you so, so much for having me!
Thank YOU for your lovely words!
I know you will find just the right house for your sweet family, Angela. xo
Children are so wise. Love that insight.
Love that thought – taking one’s time is often such a good thing.
It takes children, lots of times, to remind us to do the things we forget to do, things that need doing. Good luck on the house front. It would take something serious for me to EVER move again (mind you I’ve only really moved house once), something like the lottery. Or foreclosure.
There is so much to learn from our children; they are the fountain of youth, as silly as that sounds. Beautiful writing, Angela.
Love this. LOVE this. Back when we were renovating our current home, I actually cried at a Fisher-Price dollhouse that was owned by a family I nannied for because it was so PRETTY. (You’ll find an awesome home and it’ll be wonderful.)
So beautiful. I love this moment, and the sentiment as well.
Oh I love this. Kids really do teach us the most obvious lessons…you know, the ones we are too busy and stressed out to notice. xxoo
Such beautiful words in here … and so very true xxxx