Transitions

 Where to begin.

The home we moved to has been two years in the planning. Wayne and I bought the lot in April 2021, planned and designed it with the architect and interior designer for about a year, then spent the next 8 months having it built.

Despite all the lead up to the home, moving into it is still a bit of a shock to actually move in. For the longest time I mourned our Minneapolis home and neighborhood that we've lived in for nearly 21 years. I worked to accept that it is possible to be both sad to leave the only home our children have ever known, and be excited for a new chapter. 

I believe I can say at this point that I am happy for the change. 

We can see the sunrises from one side of our home, sunsets from the other. We have woods behind us and are anxiously awaiting the sighting of wildlife emerging from it. We were rewarded with a deer walking across our lot our first evening, but I fear the cacophony of dogs barking through the windows are preventing others from appearing. 

For the first time in our family's lives, the girls' bedroom doors are not right next to ours, and they do not share a wall. I don't hear one kid yelling at the other to be more quiet, nor am I constantly alerted by the sounds of their feet as they walk past our bedroom to the bathroom. Our bedroom is a sanctuary of quiet and peace. Wayne no longer has to play ocean sounds at night to drown out the constant noise of airplanes overhead at all hours of the night. 

Beauty spends her days watching wildlife from every possible angle of our windows, content at the variety of new things to observe. And once we fence in a portion of our yard, she will have room to roam freely, much more than she ever had before. As she's done since she was rescued by us, she's learned that where her family is, there home is. As long as her people are with her she is happy. And then there's Finn, of course, of which I say this: Beauty loves her personal space. Finn loves Beauty's personal space, too. 

We have been in our new home for all of 3 days now, we will see how I adjust to the new long commute to work. For now, I am incredulous as to how I am so lucky to have this amazing life. 

Curling My Daughter's Hair

 I came home from a coffee run to find Marissa sitting in her room, make-up freshly finished, dress on, and struggling to curl her hair.

"Hey Mom, can you help?" she calls out. She has a traditional curling iron, familiar to me as a teen from the 80's. She only knows how to use wands, and we don't have one.

"Sure I can do that for you," I say. I take a piece of her hair, twist it around the iron, wait a bit, and then let go. The result is the most perfect spiral she's ever seen.

"How do you know how to do that?!" she exclaims. I have officially been recruited to curl her hair.

She sections off each piece for me, deciding which strands to include or exclude. She has twisted the hair we aren't working with into a bun on the top of her head, then brings down a little with each section we complete. 

We talk about the day ahead. We talk about what it was like for her to grow up in Minneapolis, how different that was from my experience spending most of my formative years in a small town. We listen to music and occasionally blast the good songs that make us want to move. But small movements only, a work of art is in progress.

"I wanted to do this myself, but I guess sometimes I still need a mom," she says. 

"We always need our moms sometimes," I respond. We stay in silence for a while, listening to a song.

Finally, the last twist is done and she gets up and shakes out her hair. It cascades down with light waves, exactly the look she wanted. "It's beautiful," I proclaim. 

"Thank you so much!" she says, meaning both the compliment and the work to style her hair. "Well, I have to go, graduates need to be there early to line up." 

"Okay hon, see you in a few hours," I reply. "But first, let me snap a quick photo before you go."

Happy graduation day, to my youngest.