
Moving is never easy. No matter if you move across the country (which we have done) or to another country (which we have also done) or just down the road (which we just did).
A move is a move. And this move in particular has been no different.
Actually, I should not say that. It has been different. It feels very right, and I have had non stop support throughout the entire process. Honestly I felt like a new mother the way my fridge was filled to the brim every night with food, or the days that my children were taken care of. My family, my friends, those who I have become close too since moving here two years ago have been there for me with a listening ear, or hand, support, advice and amazing perspective.
But is still has been really hard.
You see, a very ugly, dark side of me comes out in times like these. A side that I wish I could do away with. A side that my husband hates, and that makes my girls question their mothers sanity. It is called the "perfectionist" side. I want everything done now and I want it done right. There is no time for mistakes, there is no room for excuses, let's just press on and get it done. But this house has been different. It has by far the most space that we have ever had as a married couple (most of our years have been spent in apartments in larger cities) and I have found myself completely overwhelmed by the project at hand. I have on more then one occasion just sat down on the hard wood floors with my head in my hands, my eyes closed, boxes surrounding me just trying to figure out the next step only to never figure it out.
When my husband I lived in London we had each other, a purple couch, a bed, and great friends. That was it. I remember getting an apartment warming gift via royal mail from my mom. Attached was a hand written note that said "enjoy this time. In a way it will be the easiest time in your lives. No children, no car, no yard, and no house. Just enjoy each other." I read it not understanding. I read it today with complete understanding.
Because of the stress of the move I was so looking forward to Thanksgiving for a little break from the manual labor. My entire family was going to be in town and when I say entire family I mean all 18 of us including my Grandpa. Somewhere in the last five years we have doubled. Doubled our numbers, and doubled our pleasure (sorry I could not resist). We really have turned into a big, crazy, family that you could make a Holiday movie about staring Vince Vaughn. But through the drama I find myself at the end of every Holiday so grateful for my siblings, for my parents and this year for my in-laws. What everyone forgets to tell you when your a 7 year old girl in the midst of four stinky and hyper brothers is that four brothers actually equals four amazing, sweet, funny, and talented sister-in-laws. They treat my children as if they were their own, they respect my parents, they put up with our silly family traditions and best of all they LOVE my brothers.
Oh do they love those Checketts boys. But I can't blame them really.
So tonight as I walked past my Tiffany blue guest room and saw the bed neatly made but empty I had that familiar pain of another Holiday over, and another sad goodbye to my brothers who all live so far away. The stress of the work that still needed to be done in the house came back with full vengeance. This caused the pain of those gone to be worse. Again my normally "go get em" attitude was being replaced with a overwhelmed, frantic one. So instead of digging back into the work I gathered my little family into our big empty family room and asked everyone to draw me a picture of what they wanted their new house to be. I felt like all my focus had been on fabrics and colors, instead of the things that really make a house a home.
But Abigail reminded me.
Her one wish for our house? That it was big enough for her whole family to live there. She drew a picture of a Christmas tree with all of her cousins, uncles, aunts, grandma's and grandpa's faces hanging from the branches.
She does not care one bit if her room has been painted or if her lamps match. She does not care if I have hung the pictures in the living room or if my book shelves have been filled. She cares who is here with her. A true people person and lover of life. She constantly reminds me what I have to be thankful for.
A home and a family that fills it.



































