Jon Bon Jovi is the angel of mercy that hath saved me from house-selling hell.

Mostly, I feel busy.  Busy, busy, busy.  Like a gigantic cluster of throwing sh#! in boxes and wondering if I'll ever eat those canned beets that just got packed in with the guest bedroom sheets?

Maybe.  Put probably not. 

Sometimes, it feels thrilling.  A do-over, a clean canvas, a purging.  The excitement of starting new and making decisions differently, getting rid of my red/green/tan theme.  Painting something blue, perhaps? 

But.

I feel ENTIRELY displaced.  This home isn't mine, my stuff is packed in an order that might suggest I have REAL mental issues, and my days are spent trying to locate *something* or organize an entire family for 3 months time, before realizing that it's 5 p.m. and unless we are having grilled cheese sandwiches AGAIN, I better get creative with freezer foods and microwave defrosting.  This makes me a nomadic, short-term organizer/diner cook, and suggests that we have entered an alternative universe headed straight for hell.  Coincidentally, it also makes me a pretty crap-tastic mom, as we have failed to complete any kind of homework/paperwork in a timely manner within the last 2 weeks and ALL possessions of any importance to my children are missing and likely shacking up in a POD with my extensive collection of baking powder.  And while I am crafting summer-themed teacher gifts (don't ask) and trying to figure out WHY the hamster wood chips are in the dirty clothes pile, I am about to lose a preschooler.  Literally. 

A lot of the time, this whole thing is heart-breaking, in ways I never expected.  To watch us be wiped away, slowly, from our home, erased in a layer of paint and granite and fixtures.  I KNOW I chose this.  But it sucks sometimes, too.  I am ready, but it doesn't entirely erase my desire for what is predictable and safe and reliable.  I am smack in the middle of watching something slip away and not knowing what is coming to take it's place, and it is often an overwhelming, busy place without an exact future to fixate on.  This is what life is like without Christ, I imagine; everyday decisions and changes that threaten to drown you in EVERYTHING that is uncertain.   

I believe, with all my heart, that what is uncertain is going to be amazing.  We aren't dying, we aren't suffering, we aren't wanted by the FBI, we aren't going to jail, we aren't being sold into slavery, we aren't crystal meth addicts, we won't be living in my in-laws basement forever.  We are going to Hawaii for a MONTH, for goodness sake, and until then, we are living in a free house with a pool. 

Also important to know: I might be terribly disorganized and bordering on an official "hoarder" diagnosis, but I am forward moving.  I DO NOT WALLOW.  Wallowing (for me) = death.  It's how I survive, I MOVE ON.  I'm sure there are issues of repressed feelings and baggage and insecurities that come with my life of the past 5-10 years, surviving cancer in my husband and the loss of a child and a 6-month NICU stay with the twins that is most accurately described as a medical Vietnam.  It was terrible; and I just don't choose to live there.  I have four beautiful children born out of GREAT uncertainty, and they are all I need to understand that my story is designed to make perfect sense out of unknown chaos. 
 
They are life.  Actual, living, breathing humans (often masquerading as demon spawn, but 92% human, I think).  And what we are talking about here is a house.  Drywall and some plumbing and some sort of nook if I'm lucky!!  A 2-4 month time frame. NOT the end of the world, just a temporary break from sanity and security.

Though, as a side note--I did attend the Bon Jovi concert here last night, and am *mildly* convinced that the Rapture was indeed real, and that I was carried to a heaven in which Jon Bon Jovi eternally sees a million faces and ROCKS them all.    

Peace out.