It's a good thing I'm a gypsy.

I've never minded moving. I become easily bored with houses, communities, surroundings. In my adult life, I've never lived in a house for more than 6 years, which was the first home Dustin and I shared together; the house where we went from dating to engaged to married, the house we brought Lily home to. I loved that house. I mean, the house itself was just a house, but it was a home. So many wonderful memories there. So many.

Then we moved to Caraway Dr.
I can't really articulate how I feel about that house.

We needed more space. In 2010, my career was in full swing and I did a lot of work from home which needed a space. Dustin was starting his art/graphic business and needed an office as well. Our 1200 sq feet was just not cutting it, especially with a 13 month old.
We swore we would never end up in "cookie-cutter suburbia", as we called it. But, it was new construction, affordable, and the size we needed. So, we bought it.
We hated the lot from day one, being backed up to a fairly busy road, but hey, it was shiny and new and OMG, the community pool and the pretty landscaping. We drank the kool-aid maybe?

A small, illogical part of my brain blames the demise of my marriage on this house. I have no basis for this except for the timing. All I know is that my marriage started going south in late 2011, so, clearly, it was the house's fault. After the first time Dustin and I took a "break" and he came back home, we tried to sell the house to no avail. I know what I was looking for. I was looking for the person I married. I was looking for happiness. Life has a funny way of guiding and politely telling you "You're not going to find what you're looking for by doing XYorZ". It was as if Life was saying, "Hey, it's not the house, dumbass. It's your husband. He doesn't want this life", only I couldn't hear that yet in mid 2013.

But I heard it loud and clear in early 2014.

There were so many painful times in that house. So much crying, wishing, hoping, praying, arguing, wondering, darkness and hopelessness.

I said goodbye to that house on Caraway two days ago. Along with it, I said goodbye to everything that was built and fell apart inside those walls. It was such a symbolic, painful goodbye, yet, I wasn't anxious or apprehensive about doing it once the day came. It felt like the right thing to do. It was time. It was necessary.

Not to say there weren't good times there:
-Lily went from toddling to a five year old and everything that encompasses.
-We tried on a couple of dogs before I fell in love with Calypso and she rescued me.
-We hosted many holidays with a lot of laughs.
-We had an ugly sweater Christmas party and we had the BEST trick-or-treating neighborhood.
-We swam for days.
-I became addicted to yoga.

Most importantly? I learned so much about myself inside of those walls.
Some or most of the pain will follow me. I'm aware. It already has but the gypsy in me needed this change. I needed a new surrounding. I needed new walls. I needed a new start.

So, goodbye, Caraway. I'm not sure I will miss you, although you were such an important chapter to my last book. You were the finale. Thank you for your lessons.

Dear Lily,

It's been far too long since I've written to you, two and a half years, to be exact. Every time I sat down to write, I realized how much I had to say and I would get overwhelmed, not knowing where to start.

Today is not any different but I made a commitment to do this. Today. Today, on your first day of kindergarten.

I dropped you off at 8:30am. You weren't scared. You were excited, maybe mildly apprehensive, but excited. You said "I will miss you, mama", as we pulled into the parking lot. You were quiet during the walk to the classroom, mindfully observing the chaos that the first day of school brings to campus.
We opened the door to Mrs. Bodily's class and it was quiet. The kids were all sitting in their assigned seats, coloring. You hugged me and I said "Do you remember where your seat is?", and you said "Yessss, moooom", with a bit of teenage annoyance to your voice, as though I had insulted you. You were ready. You left my side and didn't look back. I was proud.

You've had several experiences with (pre)school already. Perhaps this was nothing new to you, aside from the larger size of the school with new kids and a new teacher. Although, you did say to me this morning, "Mom, I am a big kid now!", with enthusiasm, so I do think you understand that this is a new book you're beginning to write.

But, I will be honest, I was scared. Far more scared than you. You were far braver than I was.
On this first day of learning for you, mommy was actually learning, too, and you were my teacher...Teaching me how to let go. Letting go is such a scary thing sometimes and that's what I had to do this morning. I had to let go of your infant and toddler years. I had to let go of what was our normal. I had to let go of the control of your daily life. I had to let go of sheltering you. I had to let you go and allow you to become a big kid. I had to let go and let you start your journey into a life that you will now have memories of when you are older. I just had to do it. Let go.

I will certainly become more brave as these days go by and as this becomes our new normal. But I will not stop worrying. A mommy, especially your mommy, never stops worrying. I worry about the bullies, the germs, the pressure of learning, the strangers, the playground accidents, and everything in between.

But you? You're so brave. And smart. And happy. And easy.

Everyone at your new school is just going to love you. They are going to love how unique you are. They will love your Spider-Man backpack and your Transformer lunch box. They will love your sensitivity and your appreciation. They will love your sense of humor and your wittiness. They will love your generosity and your cautiousness. They will comment on your hair, which will annoy you, but you will be gracious and say "thanks". They will love that you will want to play Ninja Turtles and not princesses. They will just love all of you because you, you're special and I'm so proud to call you mine.

Shine bright like a diamond, love. Enjoy the journey.

Love,
Mama

Because mind dumping is necessary.

So. I'm back with another blog. This is my 4th.
Remember this one? About how great my family life was?
And this one, about my reality of motherhood?
My third was private because it was a little...grim, when life became, well, grim.

And here it is, my fourth. My family life became not so great and motherhood actually became so much sweeter, so it was time for a new book. Screw chapters. This girl is all about books.

If you're looking for puppies, rainbows, and gushings about blessings, please stop reading now. I just don't write that way. There will be plenty of positives to read here but also expect the dark sides of life, the ones people are afraid to talk about for fear of judgement or stigma. I write because I need to mind dump. It's my therapy and my outlet. I don't care who is reading.

A combination of good and bad, happy and sad, beautiful and ugly. Tales from behind closed doors of a {newly} single mom with a redhead and a German Shepherd.

Oh, and I wear yoga pants because I do yoga. A lot of yoga.

Welcome. Namaste, bitches.