I Want to Cry

This morning, a 6' torchiere floor lamp was knocked over in the bonus room. The "catch all" room where the toys are. Carpeted. The lamp shade wasn't broken, but the top portion of the lamp that held the shade on was knocked into pieces, and the shade shattered the bulb as it came free, sending fine shards of glass who knows how far into the room. From where I sit, I can see glass more than ten feet away. There are boxes of blocks (tossed in willy-nilly, with plenty of cracks and crevices for the glass to settle into--boy, is this going to be an object lesson to remember), toys, blankets, open cardboard boxes from the move, clothing, shoes, stuffed animals, and who knows what else in the path. Yet another reason why I should let my OCD run wild and keep everything clean.

So, if you need me, I'll be in the bonus room. Probably until Wednesday. {Wry smile}

Today

There's a steady rain falling . . . a nice, even, soothing sound. Mom has taken the kids for the last two days, and the quiet nearly deafens me from time to time. Simply wonderful. I now have both the washer and dryer hooked up (what a miracle), my closet is slowly coming to rights, and a few less boxes remain to block the way into the living room.

I now know a little of what it feels like to live near family . . . really and truly nearby. When I used to think about friends who lived close to their parents, in their own little house, with their young families, making grandma and grandpa a part of their everyday lives, I always had this comfortable, settled, complete feeling. Now, when I think about us, Vern and I and our young family, living here . . . that same feeling comes sweetly for us.