Make this place your home...

It's hard for me to believe, but a year ago at this time, we were throwing the final items into boxes.  (Boxes that I would soon discover were so unorganized that it took us almost this full year to unpack and reorganize.)  It wasn't the most romantic wedding anniversary, but the whole process was symbolic  of the vows and promises I had made on that day four years before.

Moving day was an emotionally confusing day.  Calling it bittersweet just doesn't do it justice.  There was so much sadness.  But, there were also moments of excitement about the long journey that was spread out in front of us.  I remember someone saying to me when they heard we were moving, "It's going to be sad, but there is a certain excitement to going somewhere entirely new and just starting over."

Whoever that was - thank you.  You were right.

I miss my home.  Yes.  There is a hole in my heart where St. Louis used to be and I catch myself aching for some of our traditions we celebrated yearly while still living there.

Cardinals in Postseason has kind of become a yearly thing. Just sayin'.

But, for every second that I miss St. Louis - there is a moment of pure, unencumbered joy and gratitude for the life we are living here and the people that we share it with.  There are things that have taken some getting used to (everything literally shuts down during football games, it's like a ghost town.)  Some things (traffic patterns, for example) I may never enjoy.  But, I truly just LOVE it here.  (So much so that sometimes I feel like I'm cheating on my city a bit.)

I remember on the day we left that I watched The Arch become a tiny little dot in my rearview mirror my eyes blurred with tears and sad songs blaring on my CD player. And yet, every time I started to get scary sad and ugly cry, I would have a message of encouragement from someone back at home.  Messages that promised me it would be okay.  Messages that told me that they missed me already. Messages that allowed me to hope that not only was it going to be good - that it might just be even better.

To all of you who contacted me on one of the most defining days of my entire life - thank you.  And?  You were right.  It is okay.

The past two years that we have been in the process of relocating ourselves here has taught me so much about our strength as a couple; as parents; as people, in general.  And now that we get to live here in the beautiful now - I'm just so grateful and blessed about where this journey has taken us thus far.

So, happy first anniversary, Chicago - I think I'll keep you.
And, happy fifth anniversary to my husband - you can stay too.

Somewhere only we know...

I walked across an empty land
I knew its pathway like the back of my hand
I felt the earth beneath my feet
Sat by the river and it made me complete

How is it that you can wish and pray so hard for something for close to a year, and still not be ready to say goodbye?  I look around now and know that many of the things I am doing will be "the last time."

The last time I'll eat lunch with my co-workers at our favorite Mexican restaurant.
The last time I'll drive on a route so familiar I am almost certain I could do it with my eyes closed. (But, don't worry, I won't.)
The last time I'll run into old friends during a random Saturday shopping trip.
The last time I'll be able to wear a Cardinals' shirt without having to watch my back.

Leaving work was absolutely surreal.  I had a perpetual lump in my throat throughout the day.  A group of some of my favorite co-workers met downstairs during my final few minutes to walk me out of the building.  I walked ahead of them to the time clock as they slowly walked behind me.  I turned around to look at them once as we walked outside.
I didn't really need to do that.
I knew they were behind me all along.

I have been wondering when I would break down.  When the flood gates would open.  When the tears would never stop.  That moment was when our security gate closed behind me.  When I knew I could no longer get back in.  I don't think I will ever be able to imagine that moment without crying for as long as I live.


Recently, a friend gave me this quote and said it made her think of me.

Courage is the ability to let go of the familiar.

The gravity of what I'm doing has not really hit me until this week.  It's not only work that I'm leaving behind.  I'm leaving everything that I've known for the past 30 years.  It never really occurred to me that a life change of this magnitude would take a great deal of courage. And that's probably been a matter of not really accepting how BIG this is until just now.

I tried to talk as I fought back tears (not one of my strong points) in response to the quote and told her the reason why I've been able to keep going:

I am leaving behind a lot of what I love and everything that I know.

But, I'm finally getting a lot of things I love just as much.

A brand new city (one that I've always said I would love to live in.)

An even more incredible job than the one I just left (which I didn't even think was possible.)

A beautiful home that couldn't be more perfect if I dreamed it.

The ability to easily drive to see both sets of our respective families.

Living even closer to a whole slew of people we love very much and never get to see.

It is these things that have kept me going for the past 9 months (where at times, I really wasn't sure it was worth it.)  Call it courage, but really - it's just blind hope.

I've always said that in St. Louis, I feel as though I am True North.  You can plop be down in any part of the city and I can always find my way back home.  I'd like to think that, even in our new home, this will always remain true.  My husband gave me a card to commemorate our last day of our current situation.  In it, he thanked me for showing him what a great place St. Louis is to live.  But, how could it be any other way?

This was the city that saw me grow up.
The city that saw me graduate from high school and then college.
The one that saw me meet the man of my dreams and eventually marry him.
It's the city where my son was born.
It's where my heart and soul are.
It has some of the best (albeit, not the most healthy) food in the world.
And I'll throw down with anyone who wants to disagree with me that it has the best beer in the world too.

We went to our church for the last time this Sunday.  The priest that said Mass was the priest that married us (four years ago yesterday) and baptized TIH (two years ago next week.)  I've known him for over 15 years.  In his blessing, he reminded us that we will always have a home there.
I know he's right.

This place is a part of me.  It is who I am and who I will always be.

But, I'm still excited to see the version of myself that I become with the flair of a new city.
And that?  Takes no courage at all.

This could be the end of everything

So why don't we go

Somewhere only we know...

Show me now...

I know several people who are trying to sell their homes right now.  Some of whom have actually given up because of this soul sucking real estate market.  So, yes.  I know after selling our house in 31 days that we are pretty much as lucky as lucky can be.


However.  Make no mistake.  This is the New Mom on the Blog house.  So, of course - we had some pretty spectacular (read: disastrous) showings.  The best of all of them?  OUR VERY FIRST.  Thought I'd share this story with you.


{Disclaimer:  Like all disastrous stories involving toddler - this story does involve poop.  Tread lightly.  Wait.  No.  Ew.}


It was the first Saturday morning after our house was on the market and my husband and I were slowly beginning the process of cleaning our house.  The both of us had divided up the list of chores and were going about our business.  I was leisurely scrubbing a toilet and he was absentmindedly dusting in the living room while a very well-behaved TIH played independently with his toys.  (I know, I know.  Get to the point, Gwyneth.)

I was just about finished with the first bathroom when my husband came bounding up the stairs and announced with a certain amount of glee – our agent had called to tell us we had our first showing.

We both did a little happy dance and, noting that we only had about 2 hours to get our house spotless, began to manically scrub every stable surface, both of us giddy with the prospect of our first showing.   In fact, we were so giddy that periodically, we’d pass each other and give a little “Whoo hoo!”  I may have even danced with a mop as I cranked the volume on my favorite Pandora station.  Our house was a chorus of “Whoo hoos!” and “Yays!” and “OUR FIRST SHOWING!!!”  I am generally not this happy and giddy unless it involves a new Twilight movie or several glasses of wine.  (Or, both.)  I was finishing up my cleaning in the last bathroom (this is a very important part of the story to keep in mind - all of my bathrooms were impeccably clean) when my husband came upstairs, holding our toddler away from him as though he was radioactive.

It turns out – he was.

As my husband later explained to me, he was in the middle of doing his own “Whoo hoo” happy dance when TIH walked up to him with a frankly horrified look on his little toddler face.  My husband quickly assessed the situation, asking “What’s wrong, buddy?” when he noticed a little something on the carpet.  On closer inspection, he saw that our son had had the most epically explosive episode of diarrhea in the whole history of ever, and – now this is the really gross part – was literally trailing poo on the carpet of our living room.  The very living room that we were hoping some kind people would come and see and love and purchase from us in approximately 45 minutes.  (New owners: if you're currently reading this?  HA.  No givesies backsies!!)

So, after teaching our son a few curse words, we stripped him of every article of clothing TIH was wearing and promptly threw it away.  We quarantined him into the largest of our bathrooms.  Once we had him undressed, we discovered the poor little guy was, quite literally, up to his neck in poo.  Lord knows why, in our singing, dancing, "whoo hooing" frenzy, we didn't notice.  We hosed him down in the shower while he screamed and cried (and no wonder, my husband and I probably looked INSANE while we dealt with this.)  I worked on drying and cleaning him up while my husband tended to the carpet.  Then we switched and I once again scrubbed down the bathroom.  At this point, I had sweat literally pouring off of me as I hauled the vacuum up flights of steps, shoved laundry into drawers, dusted and Windexed any surface we hadn’t already gotten to, and packed a diaper bag so we could leave the house.  I attempted another happy dance and “whoo hoo,” but it made me look like someone who belonged in the nervous hospital so I stopped immediately.

We walked out of the house with only about a minute to spare.  Praying the potential buyers wouldn’t notice the parts of the house we didn’t get as clean as we would have liked.  Praying we wouldn’t have to go through this for very much longer.  Praying, mostly, that the house didn’t smell like baby poop.


We were about 10 minutes down the road when we received another call from our agent’s office.

The showing agent had decided to cancel.

The disappointment was palpable as my husband made a u-turn back towards our house, looked at me sheepishly, and said, “Whoo hoo?”


The. End.

When I think of home...

At the top of the stairs there is a little room.
It isn't very big, but it isn't too small - as Goldilocks would say, "It's just right."

For awhile the little room would welcome any guest that would stay with us.  We decorated it simply and cheaply, secretly knowing the plans we had for this room one day.  A permanent guest we hoped it would welcome in the future.

When we found out we were having you, our first son, I had a lot of dreams for that little room.  I agonized over paint swatches of pale green.  Matched them to the bedspread I had so carefully selected for you.  Fanned them out on the wall.  Contemplated the difference between "celery" and "sage."

I planned projects for the little room.  I made your daddy put up custom moulding.  I selected pieces of furniture.  I placed a rocking chair and ottoman in the corner, a gift from your great grandmother and great aunts. I sewed a personalized sampler to hang on the wall.

While we waited for you to come, you could often find your daddy or me sitting in that rocker.  Listening to the sweet lullaby CD we chose for the little room.  Dreaming of the little boy we couldn't wait to meet.

I remember thinking the crib had tripled in size the first time I laid you in it.  You looked so tiny and fragile.  I thought the room was too big for you.

And now, 20 months later, the room seems so perfect for you.  The way your daddy and I would picture it as we rocked quietly in the corner and dreamed.

In 20 months, we have had so many memories in this room.  We have played.  We have comforted.  We have watched you learn new things.  We've read Guess How Much I Love You?  and Goodnight, Moon more times than we can count.

It's a little room, but we've learned it can hold so much joy.

In your life, you are likely to live in a great many rooms.  Smaller rooms, bigger rooms.  Rooms that are just down the hall from mommy and daddy.  Rooms that are quite a bit farther away.

We will say goodbye to the little room at the top of the stairs forever in just a matter of hours.  Tomorrow will be the first time you say goodbye to a place and know you will never come back.  It won't be the last. 

For now, I will take down the sampler, fold up the bedspread, and box up your tiny little clothes.  Most of me knows you probably won't remember this little room or the almost 2 years you spent in it.

But, on the off chance that you do - I hope you remember it as home.

Take these chances...

If you’re on Facebook or Twitter or don’t live under a rock, you’ve probably seen a strange photograph of brooms standing completely on their own in the middle of kitchens all over the place.  Lots of people had explanations for this phenomenon ranging from solar flares to static electricity to proper alignments of the planets and everything in between.  It could also be that you have a brand-new broom at your disposal for this experiment.  Or, maybe it’s just plain dumb luck.

Which is what brings me to my apology to you, my readers, for my unannounced month-long blog hiatus. 

I’m sorry.

I have desperately missed writing for you, and have really missed social media in general.  I am afraid to look at Twitter after being away from it so long and I cannot tell you the last time I read through an entire blog.

While I can make a pretty good argument for being busy lately, I’ve also been a bit stuck.  I have all of these things in my head to write and to say, but when it comes down to it, I can never make the words come.  I don’t know if it’s writer’s block as much as it’s just. too. damn. much. stress.

So here’s a list of what has happened in the month I was gone.

1.       As you know, we put our house on the market.  So our lives mostly consisted of keeping a pristine-ly clean house at all times.  Even for two adults, this practice can be difficult.  With a toddler, this practice is MIND NUMBING.
2.       After only 31 days on the market, our house is actually under contract.  Yeah.  I KNOW.
3.       Selling our house this quickly kind of caught us with our pants down and now we are homeless.  (Not for real, we’re going to be living with my dad temporarily.) BUT, on the day that our house sold we had NOTHING lined up as far as a job or a home goes in Chicago.
4.       In the past month, I have sent out what feels like 30 resumes.  It’s probably less than 30.  However, being that almost every job I applied for directly relates to my highly specialized profession, any resumes I submitted over 2 is pretty much a metric crap ton in the music therapy world.  Now that we have no place to live in St. Louis, we kind of need to make the trek to Chicago ASAP, but there is no way we can do that without continuing to be a dual-income family.
5.       In response to all of those resumes, I landed an interview with an awesome job prospect in which I would be doing some preeeeetttty amazing things.
6.       While looking for jobs, we also kind of stumbled upon the most amazing house in the history of ever AND it was a foreclosure, so it was something we could actually afford.
7.       We made an offer and the bank accepted it (!!!) so we own a house.  But we can’t live there.  Because we need my income to pay for it.

So, to sum up – We took a chance and did EVERYTHING backwards.  I own a house in a state that I do not currently reside and I live in my dad’s basement so that I can continue to make pitiful-but-better-than-nothing wages in my current job while my husband spends several days a week away on business making me a single mom.

LIVING THE DREAM.

In truth, I know how very blessed we are.  We’re blessed our house sold so quickly.  We’re blessed my dad welcomed us with open arms.  We’re blessed our child is healthy and happy.  We’re blessed to both be employed, be that it is in different states at the moment.  We’re blessed that we could afford the house of our dreams and that of the four offers made, the bank accepted ours. 

Sometimes things just work out in your favor.  Maybe it was good timing.  Maybe solar-flares.  Maybe the planets just finally aligned.

Or, maybe it’s just plain dumb luck.

I'm gonna give all my secrets away...

I have a confession.  I’ve been keeping a secret since early May.

No.  I’m not pregnant.

A little over three years ago, I made a vow to my husband to be true to him in good times and in bad.  To love him and honor him forever and always.

In May, I had to make good on that promise.

I always knew it was a possibility.  He was up front and honest about it from the very beginning.  He was always supportive of me, my career, of everything I wanted to do with my life (outside of being a wife and a mother) -  how can I help but reciprocate?

So, in October when he officially asked me to make good on this promise I made, I did so gladly.  Without hesitation.  Without fear.

When the man you love tells you he will do everything in his power to provide for his family, you believe him.

When the man you love works his ass off “bringing home the bacon” and doing all he can to help us not to feel the effects of this shitty economy, you’re proud of him.

And, when the man you love tells you he has to move your family to Chicago to keep the job that puts a roof over your head and food on your table, you go.

Without hesitation.  Without fear.

You leave the city you have called home for almost 30 years and you strap on your armor and go into the light.

Dear readers, I’m giving all my secrets away.

We're moving to Chicago.

Stay tuned.