TTT: Season 2, Episode 8

1. Let me start by saying that I hate home selling. Loathe. Hate. Abhor. Whatever you want to call it, it's miserable. I feel like I've had a ba-humbug attitude about the whole thing for the majority of this week. We're barely over a week into our house being on the market and I'm already totally impatient! Maybe if it was one of those "oh, let's put our house on the market and see if it sells so we can move to a nicer home and if it doesn't we'll just stay here for a while longer" type things. Maybe then I'd be able to be a little more positive. But right now it's more of one of those panicky things where I find myself having thoughts like Seriously, we have to sell this house. We need to leave roughly three weeks from now so that Mark can start his job, so that I can find a doctor, so that we can stay together as a family so that we can settle in to a new home...and on and on and on. And really, there's not that much to panic about. It's more of how I want things to go. After all, we can stay with my parents down in The Woodlands while we're transitioning, but really, let's be honest. Living in someone elses home while all of your belongings are nine hours away back in Lubbock isn't exactly the most stable, balanced state to be in. Especially while finishing out a pregnancy, bringing a new baby home, starting a new job, changing the family dynamic completely. You know, major things! In my ideal world, the house would sell, we'd stay with my parents for a few weeks tops, we'd find a new home, the movers would load up all of our stuff, we'd move in, we'd get all settled, the new baby would arrive, etc. Sounds seamless, right?

I have a feeling I'm not going to get my "ideal world" scenario. Maybe, but I doubt it. Pray for my patience, people! That, and that the house will sell. Soon!

2. Do you mind if I continue my grumble? Well, I'll say one nice thing first: I love living in such a clean, spiffy house. Man, it's lovely to waltz into the kitchen and see nothing but clean, white space. Or to see freshly made beds in each room. Fresh, untouched paint on the walls. Nicely swept carpets and floors. No smudges anywhere. Kind of how you'd imagine the home of a little old retired lady. Highly unrealistic for a family with two little ones.

And that's the problem. It's highly unrealistic for a family with two little ones. Yes, it's so pretty and fresh and clean and crisp and ahhhhh. But guess who gets to attempt to keep it that way!?! Grrr! Getting all the work done was one thing, but keeping it pristine is another. And the past few days, since we haven't had any lookers, it's been that internal struggle of Hmmm...I see a bunch of spots on the tile floor, and man, the carpets could really use a vacuuming...oh, and the back door has a ton of finger prints on it...but I'd really like to get out my sewing machine during nap time today... It's the completely cleaning up after every single meal. Making the beds look perfect, including the decorative pillows. Wiping up spots every. single. time. I see them. You know, instead of stepping over them and promising myself to do it later.

It's getting old. Fast.

But on a positive note, I've been trying to teach the boys how to help me out with cleaning chores. I give them each a wet towel and have them wipe spots on the floor. (Even though I always have to go back over them.) And they love taking turns with the vacuum. Or having a contest to see who can pick up the most toys the fastest. Oh, and Mr. Kolbe is quite the bed maker. He's so proud of himself...and you'd think a tornado hit the thing.

Maybe it's a good thing that we're planning on taking off over spring break. Just about three more weeks left of trying to keep this place up. I don't know if I'd be able to do it for months and months! It's similar to the street sweeper bothering to make his rounds in Lubbock, Texas during dust storm season.

3. Kolbe made me cry a few nights ago. Not in pain, though he's done that before too. One of those emotional, tear-jerker cries. Rudy had already fallen asleep and I was sitting on Kolbe's bed hoping he'd calm down a bit after a long day of several incidents of getting in trouble. Out of the blue, he asked me to sing "Because the Lord is my Shepherd," a song I sing to them frequently but not every night. I thought it was so sweet so I cuddled up to him, sang his song, and decided to have a little talk with him.

Me: Kolbe, when Mama and Dada tell you do to things, it's not because we don't like you or are trying to be mean. We are trying to teach you how to be a good boy. And trying to show you what's right and wrong. Did you know that when Mama was a little girl, Pinkie did the same things with me?
Kolbe: Pinkie is my grandma.
Me: I know she is. But Pinkie is my mama. Pinkie is who took care of me when I was a little girl. And Pinkie told me things like No, no, Laura, don't do that....Don't throw toys, Laura...Stay in your bed, Laura...Please don't touch that, Laura...just the same way I tell you those things. Pinkie and Pa were trying to teach me how to be a good person the same way that Mama and Dada are trying to teach you how to be a good person. They took good care of me so that some day I could take care of you.
Kolbe: Mama, guess what?
Me: What?
Kolbe: Some day I will take care of you.
Me: Oh really! You will?
Kolbe: Uh-huh. I will put you in my car and I will take you to the doctor and I will give you your medicine and I will make you not hurt anymore. And I will take you to the park and to Market Street and Sams and the fabric store when you need to get fabrics. And if you need help with your pants, I will take you to the bathroom.
(of course, by this point I'm tearing up.)
Me: Well that's so nice, Kolbe. That means a lot to Mama.
Kolbe: (rubbing the brace I had on my wrist) Yeah, I will take care of you and make you not hurt anymore. I will.

I didn't say much more. Just let the moment be. Though so many things ran through my mind. How he was obviously and completely aware of the ways that I take care of him. How he had the desire to do the same things for me. How he was somehow aware that someday, I would need taking care of in the exact same ways. How he was aware that parts of that care-needing, I'm already dealing with now. How he somehow subconsciously understood the cycle of life. So bittersweet. Sad, precious, profound.

Beautiful.