It is 11:28 PM and I really should be going to bed. But instead, I am listening to my children tossing and turning in the bedroom that they share at 212 S. Wilson Street. For those of you that have never visited this happy little house, comically referred to as The Leaning Pine Plantation, you can't possibly appreciate the smallness of this dwelling. Literally, we crawl over top of each other to brush our teeth or pee, and we have not had an indoor place for all three (or four) of us to sit and eat together at home in more than five years.
But back in 2006 when I moved here, the lack of size was just what I needed. Because I had been more responsible for calling an end to our sputtering marriage and because I had been the parent who packed the car and drove out of the driveway, I wanted to be as close to my grieving children as possible. This house was newly renovated, affordable, close to their school and cheerful. It represented all the possibility of who the three of us could become. And thankfully, their Dad was gracious enough to come with the boys and me on their first visit here; to help ease their transition and to remind me to get chain locks for both of the doors.
It was Jackson who first described our miniscule residence as "The Happy Little House." I have pictures of the first weekend the three of us ever spent here, when there were snowflakes falling outside and they had a picnic, complete with chicken nuggets, on the kitchen floor because there were not yet any barstools at the counter. I also remember crying for hours while I put the barstools together, sitting in the doorway of their bedroom and praying to an invisible force that they would sleep through the night. At the time it seemed perfectly reasonable to assume that if they had a place to sit and they could find the peace to rest here when they were tired, then assuredly, we would somehow find a way to survive the path I had started us down.
They were 5 and 3 at the time, and the mistakes I made, both personally and parentally, in our first weeks and months here were innumerable.
Imagine the depth of delight that danced in my soul tonight as we sat on the couch together, just the three of us, and talked about all the memories we have made in the five years we have spent here. The first thing they remembered was the snow and the picnic. After that, it was the summer day when we planted the Crepe Myrtle Family Tree the first time Mr. Gerald came to visit us in NC. We laughed about the days spent on the Slip n' Slide (truly an instrument of death given the slope of our backyard) and the friends who have become "chosen family" during our time here. We discussed the gratitude we feel to be moving on because of happy circumstances, when so many around us have been relocated because of floods and earthquakes. Not once did they bring up the mistakes or the sadness or the fear that enveloped us all in the beginning. And they even refrained from pointing out the fact that I still haven't achieved parental perfection :0.
Sincerely, I am proud that history will show that we not only survived the years on Wilson Street, but that we also thrived in every imaginable way. By the time we have been at 798 West Jackson Street for this long, they will be 15 and 13. But given how late in life I waited to birth them, I will be old and crazy(ier) and hopefully, more mellowed by then. As Florida Jefferson would say, we are definitely "Movin' On Up". Each of them will have their own rooms and there is a space they call the "clubhouse" where they can escape my watchful eye. We will actually have a sit-down bathtub and a new dining room table that seats eight (or more) is being delivered at 10:15 on Friday morning. There is an enormous kitchen, a fenced-in backyard and a deck big enough to celebrate life with all comers, chosen and biological.
Most importantly, the House I Have Not Yet Named will one day hold the experiences of who we were as we melded into a family of four. Ultimately, it will become the Home of Our Choosing, with no previous memories or ghosts or energies from the lives we led before we joined together. Of course, their Dad will continue to have a spare key so that he can come and go as necessary. And hopefully, both of the boys' families will continue to defy the odds by genuinely liking each other and cooperating for their benefit at nearly every opportunity. Ironically enough, sometimes the only way to continue to "love and cherish" is to create enough space that both parents can live as they choose.
And so it is the last night that Jackson and Braeden will ever spend here. Tomorrow, they will go home to their Dad and the gigantic house we had "back in the olden days when we all lived together", as Braeden says. Except now it is simply, Dad's House....where the memories of how the three of them forged a family are kept, along with the bikes and the basketball goal and the neighborhood friends. Life has truly turned out beautifully for all involved. Definitely not the Hallmark version and maybe a little warped, but we are truly blessed to have all lived...Happily Ever After.
