Welcome Home

Ugh!  For the most part I hate moving, the physical aspect of it at least and it can be pretty mentally exhausting as well, but this move was a good move.  I was ready to leave the life of home ownership behind me and start fresh.  This new home I've chosen is my own first real place when I think about it.  Before I've always chosen where to live with the help of roommates or a significant other, this time however, the choice was all mine.  I fell in love with the place the first time I walked through it.  So many windows, and hardwood floors, and space.  I love everything about this new environment and everything it represents...it feels like home.  And, it's all mine, my responsibility, my new home, a place where I can create a warm, loving and safe environment for myself and my son. 

On moving day I was full of hope and possibilities.  I had amazing friends (like really AMAZING!!!, I couldn't have done it without their muscle, brains and humor) come help me move and they worked like a well oiled machine to get it done quickly, efficiently and everything arrived in one piece (with the exception of one margarita glass that I broke unwrapping from the newspaper...oh well, I've always liked margaritas better from a mug anyway :)). 

On a side note: we will definitely be discussing adding "professional movers" to the list of things Team Vardo is capable of at our next Team Vardo executive committee meeting.  Just kidding...maybe!  (Team Vardo is by the way my local running club, full of such a diverse group of friends that I can't even begin to describe what they mean to me without tearing up.  Yes, I know there's no crying in running, only sometimes with friends this good, there is.  And, we have no executive committee.  Just one amazing George, a fearless leader in the Vardo and a bunch of really ambitious runners who like beer.) 

Moving day was feeling very successful!  I was in the house by 12:30 and feeding everyone beer and Sloppy Joe's by 1.  By the time evening rolled around and my kiddo was tucked snug as a bug in his new bed, I was thrilled with how the day turned out and happy to be quietly reflecting on my cool friends and my new bar space over a nice glass of wine...that's right mamma's got a bar in this new house!!!  Hell yes!!!  (Editors note: super mad props go out to my friend Ali and her son T who not only helped me pack and move and set up my boys room, but did all this without batting an eye on her birthday none the less!!!  Happy Birthday Ali!!!!  You are an inspiration!) 

Now, most people I know throw a house warming party to christen their new homes, I myself as a single mom, planned to do that (gotta break in the bar!) but in the end left the christening up to my son.  It's a little unorthodox, but I knew I was at home that first night in our new place when as I am frantically unpacking boxes in the kitchen at 12:30 am, I hear commotion and screaming from upstairs.  Me, thinking that my son is having a nightmare and has woken up in this wonderfully new but still unfamiliar space and has no idea where he is, races up to the top of the stairs to find...PUKE!  Everywhere! 

There he is my sweet but obviously sugar overloaded boy, trapped in his room, his hands being too preoccupied covering his mouth to be able to open the door, looking like a green deer in headlights.  One look at his face and all I can say is RUN!  Run to the bathroom please get there and please please please hit the toilet.  No such luck, that door opened and he was like a bull being let out of the gate at the rodeo...he exploded!  All over himself, me, the hall, the walls, the new rugs, the landlords precious hardwood floors that I promised to protect with my life, stopping long enough at the sink to relieve some of the pressure before moving onto finally the toilet.  My poor, sweet, smelly boy (insert gag reflex here).  Who knew an underweight 7 year old could hold so much liquid?! 

When the initial drama, and his stomach, settled, we stripped his bed, and decide that he will be camping out in a sleeping bag on the floor of his new room for the rest of the night (the laundry detergent being packed away in one of the hundred unpacked boxes still in the basement).  I try to turn it into an adventure for him, and he graciously plays along.  I figure it's because he's too tired and overwhelmed to even battle me in the moment in the middle of the night, but then as he's climbing into his sleeping bag he turns and gives me the biggest hug ever and says "I love you momma...I'm sorry for throwing up everywhere".  God, I love that kid!!!!  Here he is feeling like ass and he is giving me a little something wonderful to hold onto in moment when he knew I was stressed and needed it the most.  No battle ever intended, just pure love. 

A few minutes later after he is back asleep and I am scrubbing the walls, floors, sink, toilet and rugs of my new box filled space all I can think of is Ty Pennington's voice saying "Welcome Home Family, Welcome Home".  Ty, I couldn't agree more!