Things are happening here. There are hard things right now, but we're figuring it out.
Some day I hope I can start a blog post without saying things are hard right now.
Before I had kids - before I had tiny little footsteps padding gently across my subconscious every morning while I laid in bed wondering how it can possibly be morning already - I had no idea what it meant to "stick together". I had no idea what it meant to give up your comforts and conveniences for someone/something you believe so desperately and strongly in. I didn't know that I would have to/want to make social sacrifices in order to create safe spaces for my children.
I don't think I knew that even two months ago. Which is a little embarassing.
We are a family, and only now do I truly understand the sacrifices my parents made for my brothers and me. Only now do I understand the importance of saying "no" to some things you want, and saying "yes" to some things you thought you'd never need. Only now am I figuring out how to inconvenience other people in order to ask for what we need.
Figuring out day-to-day things has been challenging. Soon enough this life will feel like mine again. I am a woman of routine, and BOY DO I NEED SOME ROUTINE up in here.
Soon enough. It will come.
For now God has me on my toes, and for good reason I'm sure. I can't wait to tell you all about the fabulously wonderful things we're doing, because that happen too I'm sure.
It's all cyclical, right?
My sons miss their Northern Irish home, which makes me miss it even more than I already did. Today on the way to work, after much begging to not have to go to school, Liam said to me in the most whiny voice he could muster up, "Mom, you didn't say we have to come here forever."
Me, not understanding at all what he meant: "What do you mean, like here in Illinois?"
Liam: "Yes. You didn't say that."
Me, in total disbelief: "Liam, this is where we live now."
Liam: "I know, but I miss Corrymeela. (silent pause) I miss all my friends. (silent pause) None of my friends are here. (thought-provoking silence) Maybe when I'm with Daddy we can get on a jet and go back."
Slow fade to me; crying silently in the front seat and thinking about everything I've done wrong over the past two months.
Isn't it painful how when you remember the few things you did wrong, you can never call up the many things you've done right?
I might never move again.