Metropolitan Mama

family in packing boxes Last Night in Our House Last night was our last night in our house.

After running errands and packing, we sat down (on our floor) to homemade pork chop, brussels sprout, green beans, and cookies – courtesy of Becca (thank you, friend – it was the most timely of gifts!).

We bathed and showered the girls, put on PJs, brushed teeth, read books…just like we have for the past four years.

Tim stayed up late boxing things up and making trips in a borrowed truck to various places. I fell asleep early (right beside my girls).

Now, it it dark and the house is quiet. I am sitting here typing at a card table, perched on a 3-legged camp chair. I’m feeling surprisingly nostalgic – looking around at my empty home, scattered belongings on the floor. This is where I rocked my babies, nursed them, stayed up through the night when they were sick, watched my toddler run across the great room, made love to my husband, and danced in the kitchen to make my girls laugh at the breakfast table.

I catch my breath (barely breathing). This isn’t a dream.

I’ve never prayed more.

Our House, In the Middle of Our House…[is love]

our house on red iron Our House, In the Middle of Our House...[is love]

When the day comes for us to walk out of our empty house and close the door, I know I’ll cry.

I won’t cry for the four walls, for the incredible mountain view, for the backyard that we worked on so hard, for the shiny appliances (okay, maybe I will cry for the washer + dryer…), or for the 1789 square feet.

I’ll cry because of the MEMORIES. All of the life that has happened here. The profound happiness.

firstborn baby 1 month old Our House, In the Middle of Our House...[is love] I’ll remember long talks with Tim in our master bedroom and out on the grass. Being intertwined in his arms on our white comforter.

I’ll remember holding my firstborn baby on the porch swing, staring at her perfect rosebud lips, kissing her tiny toes – delirious from sleeplessness and joy.

I’ll remember the pitter-patter of little feet on the tile floor, the sound of laughter echoing in our great room, the spaghetti-faced grin at the dinner table.

kitchen and island Our House, In the Middle of Our House...[is love] I’ll remember the peace of bringing baby #2 home from the birth center, of sleeping all together the very same night that I had her.

I’ll remember “toy parties” in the girls’ bedrooms, rolling peanut butter balls, sleeping on mattresses on the floor, reading chapter books at bedtime, carrying babies on my hip all day long. The neediness. The wonder. The magic. Of these days.

clapping her hands Our House, In the Middle of Our House...[is love] Even so, it’s not really the house that brings a lump to my throat, that keeps making me catch my breath. It’s the LOVE here (Oh, the remarkable, radiant love in this house!) and the MEMORIES.