Bloom Where You Are Planted

The builder and I are amused to note that our “baby” will be delivered on Mothers Day.

All of the adventures from Full Haus to Empty Nest have been amusing.  I may have gotten here kicking and screaming, but whether looking forward or backward or right where I now sit, there has never been a dull moment.  Like the weeds that appear in the lawn without intentional sowing, each element of the journey has surprised and altered and enhanced the process.  This is growth; and never is it more apparent than the moment before the bloom opens to the sun.

Beginning with the summer of 2016, when I traveled to the New Hampshire mountains in search of an affordable life, sorting through web sites and television shows and builders’ magazines and zoning laws, agonizing over the clutter which sometimes left me drowning, I can finally see the flower that is my life.  The seed was planted when my youngest child was considering a college on the west coast.  My second and third sons choose not to drive, and I had not realized that it would affect my position as a mother to step entirely out of the role as Soccer Mom (not that any of my Three Wise Men is the least bit athletic.  Their father played street hockey and the boys played Nintendo.  I was a left fullback).  

My first thought was that my child would need someone to transport him to his classes, which made no sense to my usual self, but Empty Nesting is a complex thing.  In order to drive him around, I would need to live in Redmond, Washington near Digi-Pen.  The other two had followed my lead and gone to Drexel, which was right on the R5 SEPTA Regional Rail line.  As I contemplated what I’d have to bring with me to set up a homestead so far from the family “estate”, we discovered that my son didn’t even have the credentials to get on an airplane to visit the campus.  Of course I knew better than to actually uproot my own life and follow my baby to college, and if truth be told, I had spent a lot of my mothering time teaching them to succeed on their own, so this entire brief plan to live on the west coast in a tiny house in order to get my child to class belongs in that same place where I keep dreaming that I forgot to potty train him.  

On his own, he withdrew his acceptance to Digi-Pen and followed his brothers to Drexel…..which by no means suggests that any of them visit their mother regularly.  Perhaps they are wise enough to know I won’t do their laundry.  Once the seed was planted however, it found its way to the ground’s surface.  Despite all logic and realism, that plant would not die.  Nor could it grow in the soil of an impossible marriage.  All living things need food, and my husband was a really bad farmer. Over time, the idea of living on my own became my only nourishment, so I started packing to get off the farm.

I have been living in a hoarded house.  I don’t know if I am a hoarder, but I know the lifestyle paralyzed me.  I thought that if I ever got beyond the clutter, I would find the things I once loved and wanted in my daily life.  

Let us say the weeding never ends.    

 

Author: lessmuch

shoving a hoard into a tiny house

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