Dreaming What Ifs...

The Torment of Making a Decision

*the upstairs bathroom of the "old" house -

 

My friend, Bev, recently said to me "To move your family from one town to another is one of the hardest decisions you will ever make for your family." 

She is right.

My mind has been in a whirl.  One minute I'm excited with the prospect of moving into Dave's family home.  I'm eager for the challenge of remodeling the house and making it ours.  I'm anticipating the joy of five acres with blueberries, a creek, and room to run.

And in the space of a heartbeat tears well up at the thought of leaving this place.  Our children's school is amazing.  We've made some good friends here.  There are great opportunities living so close to the State University.  We've grown to love the area.

In my next breath I think of how much I miss the Portland area.  I'm perfectly comfortable with moving back.  It was in our "grand plan" to always return.  We'd be so much closer to family.

And then my heart aches at the thought of leaving here.  It's a quiet place.  Our neighbors are pretty cool (for the most part).  There's no traffic to fight.  It's a slower pace of living. 

Our realtor is coming in two weeks.  We'll discuss this house and when to put it on the market. 

My heart aches just thinking about moving.  And then two seconds later my heart skips a beat with excitment.  I'm not sure which feeling is the right one.

A Mix of Dreadful Delights

This weekend we drove to Portland and looked over the Old House (the one we are thinking of buying).  We took a notebook along and wrote a list of everything that needed to be done. 

It took four sheets and we only listed things pertaining to the house itself.  We haven't even begun to discuss the five acres.

Some items will be done immediately while others can wait a while (months into years).  The house needs a new roof and paint. 

The deck should be checked over.  There is a lot of moss growing up there and I'd hate for someone (a child) to break through or fall over the railing. 

There were some very cool discoveries.  Wood floors cover the upstairs.  They were hidden by orange shag carpeting for years.  They are a bit dinged-up, but I can imagine their future  loveliness (Since they are fir, a soft wood compared to hard oak, we will most likely hire a professional do the sanding.)

 

All the bedrooms have built-in closets and drawers and the main has a little "nursery" room attached.  I'm already picturing my "Lady Cave" as I turn it into a craft room.

This house has TONS of storage...and therein lies the main problem.  Storage space equals stuff.

And if we purchase this home we will inherit plenty of stuff....

 

A Basement of Stuff.  Four rooms of Stuff.  A Garage of Stuff.  Three Sheds of Stuff.

Last summer we spent five weekends with Dave's brothers cleaning up Stuff.  Ten trailer dumps, five metal recycling dumps, and two wood recycling dumps later there is still a lot of stuff. 

And it is the stuff that fills me with horror and dread.  I don't know if I can take it on.  And take it on we will.  

Oh, the family has promised to help clean it up - but that could take months...years even.  I can't wait that long.

I can envision turning this home into a beautiful place.  Most of it requires new flooring and a little bit of paint and elbow grease. 

But to take on the junk....I'm overwhelmed enough to say, "No Thanks.  I'm content where I am now."

Soggy was an understatement.

When I stated in my previous post that the rains had returned, I wasn't kidding.  Warmer weather and rain resulted in flooding.  Lots of flooding.

In the eight years of living in this town, I've never seen Independence Highway overrun with water.  The small creek spilled its banks, flooded the entire field and finally filled up to the road.

The first time I drove through was in the evening.  I didn't know the road was covered and recieved quite a frightening jolt as my car plowed through the water.  (then I heard the story of a family across town whose car was swept by flooding waters.  The mother and two chidren drowned before they could safe them from the car.  Two local college kids risked their lives trying to get them out.)

I parked my car briefly to take pictures from across the field turned lake.  This field is usually a little mushy in the winter.  I've never seen it completely filled to the brim.

The Willamette River is running high, but I've seen its' levels higher.  The flooding comes from all the local creeks and streams. 

But what really caught my eye and excited my children was the whirlpool.  The flow of water headed South to a culvert that runs under the road.  I told my kids it was like a giant bathtub....drain and all.

A Little Taste of Winter

      We received just enough snow for the kids to make their annual snowman.  Every year in January this happens.  The snow comes down in the morning, we run out and play for about 30-40 minutes until faces are red and cold, and then we come inside for hot chocolate.

     By the early afternoon, the rain has returned and we watch as the snow turns into slush.  The snowman stands alone in the green grass and then slowly melts away into nothing but the decorations we so lovingly put on him.

     And now as Western Oregon's "REAL" winter weather arrives, I stand and watch the rain.  I know it is snowing at the higher elevations and the mountain snowpack is getting its much needed levels, but rain is depressing.

    Soggy, drenched, flooded, soaked, sodden, and sopping are words that come to mind.  Also muddy, sloppy, squishy, and mucky describe my yard.

     A river runs down the street and fills the ditches along the edges.  I am glad I live at the top of my neighborhood and not the bottom where the water collects in a huge puddle.  The small creek in the nearby grass fields has flooded it's banks and covers acres of farmland.  Down the road I watch the sheep huddle together under a large fir tree and imagine the stink of wet wool.

     It's raining in Western Oregon.  It's not surprising.  It was expected.  But, as water overflows my gutters, cascades down the windows, and seeps into my soul, I wish it were cold snowflakes instead of the damp wet.  Sometimes a little bit of snow just isn't enough.

 

Horrifying To This Person, meaning ME!

On Thursdays, the preschool visits the elementary school library and is able to select one book.  This is a highlight of the week and the Caboose is always excited to choose.  Usually he brings home a book dedicated to motorized machinery; loaders, graders, or dumptrucks.  This week he chose a little differently:

 

I do not like earwigs.  I detest earwigs.  Of all the bugs on this earth, earwigs are my LEAST favorite (after lice, ticks, fleas, roaches, chiggers, bedbugs, and mosquitos - but only because mosquitos suck my blood and leave itchy wounds behind).  

Earwigs creep me out.  They are hard to kill.  They are quick and always seem to be waiting for me when I pick flowers or dig in the garden.  They are aggressive and they bite.  Dave never believed me on this until he attended a required Pesticide class and came home saying, "Yes, Karmyn, you were correct, earwigs pinch."  JUSTIFIED.

So, the Caboose proudly showed me his newest library book and we sat down to read.  I am a good mother and smiled as we began the read.  yes....a very good mother......

Until I turned the page and read THESE words:

  EARWIGS HAVE WINGS?   Did I read that correctly?  They have wings and can fly? OH, imagine my horror knowing this fact.  I was HAPPY in my life not knowing this information.  And all this time when we camped I figured they got on the top of the tent by crawling up the trees and dropping on us.  NO - they were flying the ENTIRE time.

Just looking at the picture makes me itch....makes me scratch behind my ears and check my clothing to look for escaped earwigs.  And now I feel the need to look up in the sky to watch for any loose earwigs buzzing around my head, searching for a good landing spot.  Earwigs have wings.  I am almost in a panic.

 

Earwigs do not fly a lot.  That does ease my mind, but only a tiny little bit....just a smidgeon.

Next week I hope the Caboose brings home a book on something sweet, like butterflies or Garbage trucks. 

 

Reflections

When life is busy the days compound on to themselves.  Suddenly it is Friday and I can't believe the week is over.  Then, I look back and realize I wasn't the best mom during the week.

I yelled.  I criticized.  I expected too much.

It is easy to expect too much from Buttercup.  She is wise and mature beyond her young age.  She is eager to help with everything.  She keeps watch over her younger brother.  She listens and remembers what is told her.  She is dutiful.

 

 

Buttercup lives life with exuberance.  She is always excited.  She loves to be involved with everything.  When she sings, her voice reaches the heavens.  When she swims, her arms plow through the water.  When she practices piano, the notes resound in Forte.

Sometimes, it is annoying.  Her older brother will testify.  Sometimes, I find myself reacting to her excitement with negativity.  Her passionate nature creates turmoil to my inner peace.

Her joy is great. 

The same can be said when jubilation turns to despair.  The simplist things to me are heartbreaks to Buttercup.  The slightest hurt may open a floodgate of tears.  Feelings are easily broken and the misunderstandings can be numerous. 

This is when I roll my eyes and wonder what has gotten into this child?  She is too old for this behavior....

    And that is when I remember this girl is only eight years old.  Her maturity masks her youth.  

I am learning to breathe; to take a step outside the situation and remember her age.  I remind myself this child LOVES. 

I am learning to curb her excited jubilation into a calmer joy.  I am learning to rein her devastating despair into a disappointed sadness.  

And she is teaching me patience.  She gives reminders to look for the joy in life;  to sing loud and proud, practice the piano with the dynamics of my mood, and to find my passions. 

I think she is amazing.