My family is in a gypsy mode, displaced from our permanent home and still waiting for the next. This is a good thing, since we sold our home, packed our belongings in storage, and spent time racing around the Front Range looking for a new house like party-goers playing an expensive game of musical chairs. Just when we would muster the guts to put an offer on one, boom! By morning it was gone; we had waited too long by wanting a mere eight hours to go by before committing to such a significant decision. Our agent said maybe we should bring the offers to our first look appointments.
As you know from other posts, neither Bill nor I are "fall in love at first sight" kinds of folks. At least, not with something as big as a house. Sure, I can be bedazzled by a layered fudge-chocolate-mint-concoction of all things delicious and declare it my instant new favorite, and Bill can see the latest model of something drive by and decide it is worth a serious investigation whether it belongs on our family's dream list for a future car, but this is not the same as being willing to plunk down our entire savings on a twenty-minute whirlwind tour. Sometimes I was just trying to disassociate myself from the thematic decorating and the unusual pet? smells to really form any opinions at all!
So the process continues. But in the meantime, we have sold our house that was the midpoint between our significant commutes. We are road warriors, Bill and I, and if it seems melodramatic to you that I would use the word "warrior" to reference my commute, it means you have never been one. (A road warrior, that is, not a commute) Bill moved in with his parents, closer to his job in the south, and Landon and I live with my mom, closer to my job almost two hours north of his.
Until I got the brilliant idea that we should go visit him and all have a slumber party at his guest quarters this last Thursday. Yes, that's a school night for those of you who don't know that Bill is a teacher. Who thinks these are ever going to be good ideas?!
Well past bedtime we are still trying to get our dearest little boy to settle down and go to sleep. But the house is not his home, and the noises that we can disregard become monumental to my three-year-old.
This transcript seems funny to me now, but at the time I was cringing--would it ever end?!
"I can't sleep! It's too noisy! What's that noise? Daddy, what's that noise?"
"It's a big fan, Landon, go to sleep." (they had an attic fan blowing outside the door of our room)
"A pig fan? What's a pig fan? Where are the pigs? I don't hear pigs."
"It's not a pig fan, Landon, it's a big fan. It the attic. Go to sleep."
"What's an attic?"
"Why a fan? What's it doing? Why it so noisy? What's an attic?"
"You know, a fan, with blades spinning around, trying to cool us down. GoToSleep."
"Knives?! There are knives? Why there knives daddy? Are those for the pigs? It's too noisy. I can't go to sleep."
Pigs and knives and noisy attic fans.
We might be gypsies with a little bit too much imagination.