I miss my house. I can think of so many reasons why I shouldn't be missing it, but right now, with people drinking and talking loudly out in the hall at an unthinkable hour this morning, I miss my house. Most of the other employees that are staying in this apartment complex are young, in the 18-21 range. So, I can understand that they are just blowing off steam from the week and having some weekend fun. But I just wish that I could put up a sign or put out a flier that informs them that there are 3 kiddos in the house trying to sleep and so is their overworked, stressed-out mother. And to please BE QUIET!
The first sign I had that I was feeling the pangs of separation from my house was when we visited the library. I wandered through the aisles, familiarizing myself with the layout, and I stumbled on the home decorating/design section. Normally, I would plant myself on the floor and peruse each shelf in this section, load up on at least 7 or 8 books and enjoy them slowly at home. I would search eagerly through the pages to find some new inspiration, interesting color palette or unique space-saving technique to apply to my own home. As I stared down the long shelves of the decorating books, it hit me...hard. I don't have a house any more, no home to decorate, to paint the walls whatever color I choose. I can't even hang a picture in our place without fearing a fine. What would be the point of checking out any of those books? It would just be a reminder of what I no longer have. And, for the first time, the weight, the heaviness of what we have been and are going through settled on my chest and heart. I have not let myself feel the full weight of it, I have not let myself wallow. But for that moment in the library, I did. And all I could do was shake my head in acknowledgement of my pain and move on to the next aisle...which was gardening. Not much better, but getting there.