We moved this summer. From one country to another. And when we got back to Canada there was a big surprise waiting for us. Not a good surprise, no, not that kind. It was the kind of surprise you get when the house you are building is supposed to be finished and isn’t and you don’t know where to live. And the basement suite where your mother-in-law was going to live isn’t ready yet and she doesn’t know where to live either. Yeah, that sort of surprise. You know the one. Everything that could have gone wrong has. And then some. It has taken three months to even start digging the basement. Progress.
So I have a stack of Rubbermaid tubs. And a hole in the ground. And I have this recurring experience:
“Can I have your address, please?”
“Your address, Ma’am?”
Grunt, hem, haw. Then finally the hedging, “What address do you mean? The one that you have in your system? Or maybe you mean where am I currently? Or would you rather put my future address in so we won’t have to change this?” All this because I’m trying to remember my darn postal code.
They look at me like I have broccoli in my teeth.
Seriously. Who asks questions like that?
You should have seen the look on the school secretary’s face when she asked for Lucas’ birth certificate and I handed her his passport. Jeepers. It is proof of everything they need, right? Birth place, citizenship, parentage.
Then, in the middle of all of this, my dear mother-in-law passed away and we weren’t at all ready for that. I’m used to living far away from her but the reality that she is gone keeps hitting me at unexpected times. I just can’t seem to remember and I’m surprised every time. Oh right. Right. Right…
The last thing I had said to her was, “We really need to catch up. Good thing we know we’ll be living together and will have lots of opportunity.” Good thing.
Lucas says to me, “Mommy, do we still need to have a basement now that YaYa won’t be living with us? I don’t think I want anyone else living in our basement.” And I think he’s right.
So we know that Jesus is faithful and that He is good. He knew. He knows. And maybe that is part of why everything that could have gone wrong with the house did.
All of this, the move, the anti-house and the bereavement has meant a lot of transition and a lot of nights in different beds with the 4 of us in the same room. This, of course, has destroyed Micah’s sleep. It was a sad realization I had the other day that, 1 year ago, he was sleeping through the night and now, at 14 months, he wakes sometimes 5 or 6 times. So he keeps finding his way into our bed in the middle of the night and I am too profoundly tired to do anything about it except feel like a bad parent. But that is another post for another day.
A hole, a grave, an empty crib. I think I need a vacation from my summer!