It’s been a little over six months since we listed our house for sale, packed our belongings into boxes and headed to Michigan. Six months. So much has happened in that time period, and yet not much has happened all at the same time. It’s been difficult to find the mental energy to blog. I find myself just letting the moments sink in and absorbing the memories rather than trying to over process them. It’s been a ride. And we’re only part way through.
The house is still for sale, but hopefully not for much longer. We’ve had a lot of traffic in the past couple months, and our first offer came a few weeks ago. It was decent and do-able, but I felt really crummy about the whole thing. I couldn’t put my finger on it, but something didn’t sit right with me. We sent the counter offer back and they agreed, and still I felt uneasy. So I started praying that if things were going to fall apart they might do so sooner rather than later – as in we’ve already flown down and packed up the truck with the rest of our stuff later. The next morning our realtor called in shock saying the buyers backed out right before signing the contract. I felt it was an answer to prayer and that God might have been sparing us from something.
The kids have thoroughly enjoyed being up here and closer to family. They’ve spent the summer running around Nana and Papa’s yard in their bare feet, breaking in (not breaking though….yet) the new sandbox Papa built, swimming in a friend’s pool, and weekly visits with Great Grandma and Grandpa for tea. We’ve also been able to visit the other Great-Grandma in Michigan on multiple occasions, and the aunts and uncles and cousins, and attend a family wedding, my nephew’s birthday, and a family reunion, and squeezed in multiple visits (including a week long stay) at my parents house. Whew. I’ve kept my toiletry bag packed all summer long because it seems like every other weekend we’ve been going away. It’s the way we like it. It’s why we came back. We would have missed ALL of those events and gatherings had we been in Florida. The kids are relishing how many cousins they have (including 2nd or 1st once removed, whatever your parents first cousins are called).
I started running. Yes, running. As in, I’m training for a half marathon, 13 miles running. It started out that I lost a bet a few years ago with The Narrator and he wanted me to do a triathlon. I argued my case about not owning a bike or having access to a pool and talked him down to a ½ marathon. I then talked a friend into running it with me. Apparently, I am very charming and persuasive. hehe. It took my running buddy and I half the summer to get up to 6 miles, and then we ran a 10k along Lake Michigan mid-July. And we were hooked. The race course was fun and gorgeous, and we finished barely even winded. At one point along the course, someone had their sprinklers spraying into the street and a radio blaring the song chariots of fire. We ran by in exaggerated slow motion claiming that even though it looked like we were running in slow motion we weren’t. We finished the race with an even 10:30 pace. The past few weeks we’ve been running double digits – 10 plus miles on Saturdays. It feels soo good to have accomplished something so big – so mind over matter – so disciplined. I’ve learned a lot about breaking in new shoes, preventing shin splints, and how to deal with chafing. It also feels good to cinch my belt up another notch. Now, if I could resist all the amazing cookies and muffins that living around family affords, I might cinch my waist even more. But snickerdoodle cookies and blueberry muffins are my faaaavorite!!
I guess that training for a marathon has been good discipline during this in-between phase of life. It so aptly fits how I feel many days. It’s a loong process of re-locating. Every morning I wake up and look at my kids and remind myself “we did the right thing, we did the right thing.” Halfway through some of my training runs, I really really want to quit and walk. My legs ache, my lungs ache, but then I realize I’ve gone 4 miles, and I can’t stop now, I have to get home somehow. So I steele my mind against the pain and keep moving my legs. Eventually, I find a rhythm and before I know it I’m home again. That’s exactly where I feel I am right now in the moving process. I’m at that 4 mile mark and it hurts. A lot of things ache – my heart, my emotions, and my comfort zone is zapped. I miss all our friends and our pizza nights. I miss my Grandma. I miss our house and my bed. I miss my sewing corner and our town’s new library. But we’ve gone too far now to turn around. I know the end result is worth it and right, no matter how hard it is and how much it hurts. So I steele my mind and move my body through the motions, working to find the rhythm that is our new life.