This Vagabond Life

We're going to be spoiled.

Next month, when we move into our new digs, we're going to enjoy a lot of perks. It's a nice house. It even has a pond out back.

We have our kids enrolled in a good school (even if it already annoys me a little sometimes). We'll be within walking distance of that school. Our ward has lots of nice families in it. This city has lots of nice families in it. There are tons of trees that are just changing color, and the sight of them against a crisp blue sky is breathtaking. Sometimes I will be just standing at a gas station pumping gas, or loading Sera into a cart to go grocery shopping, and I'll see other people hurrying in or out or just walking by and I sort of want to scream "hey there! Did you notice that you live in a really beautiful place? And also did you know that people are super-nice here? Because it's not like that everywhere. You're really, really lucky!" But I restrain myself--I have a feeling I might scare someone.

Meanwhile, I'm trying to scream those words at myself from time to time. Because we've been living out of suitcases for four months now.

We've been eating off of child-size plastic plates and trying not to use up our 12 unpacked cups too quickly each day. Emerson and Asher have been sharing the same twin bed, toe to toe. Addy gets her own twin bed only on the nights Sera doesn't climb out of the too-small pack-n-play and join her. Aaron and I couldn't fit our box springs up the staircase, so we're sleeping on a mattress on the floor. It has an actual sheet on it now (thank you Target clearance), but there were a series of nights where it was just the mattress pad and our comforter. There's a reasonably comfortable office chair in our bedroom (which I'm sitting on now), and a rocking chair in the living room--that's it for cushioned places to sit. The kids' idea of household fun involves climbing up and jumping off the stacked up boxes in our "living room," many of which may or may not contain breakable items.

If it can't be prepared using one skillet, one saucepan, a cookie sheet, and an oven, we don't eat it--we can't remember the last time we ate a dinner at home that didn't have the word "helper" on the box.

And you know what? Some days, it all gets old.

But this is all okay with me (mostly). Because I'm a big believer in the reasonable fairness of the universe. If I ever get too happy or too satisfied with where my life is, I grit my teeth and get ready--it's pretty much guaranteed that something tough is hurtling toward me. Right now I feel like we're serving some time, "stocking up" on hard times so we can sort of "earn" what's coming. It's my way of making peace with the universe.

It's a season of simple things, of driving to and from school three times a day (kindergarten does that), doing laundry, keeping the floors reasonably clear of clutter, making and eating meals that are unlikely to win any awards for culinary excellence but which do a fine job of keeping us healthy. Sera and I walked this morning from the front door of our little town-home over to the laundry room in the building. The air was crisp with fall, the leaves above us in every color from green to gold, orange to flaming red. A squirrel in the grass saw us coming, then ran up the trunk of a towering maple tree. We laughed at the cute fellow, and at the little sparrows that were "playing tag" according to Sera, as we lugged one basket and two bags of laundry. It was good to hear Sera's squeals and giggles as she played her own little game of "hide and seek" between the washing machines as I folded clothes and watched the leaves fluttering down outside the window. A laundry room that does so many loads of laundry every week smells good. I noticed how I now fold each pair of pants twice for Asher and Addy, only once for Emerson and Sera. When did that happen? Sometimes Asher's shirts need and extra fold too, before they become a neat little package that I can stack up and return to his closet--it's only the really baggy ones though, so I feel safe for now. I love the smile on Sera's face when she helps me carry the laundry detergent, or when she carefully unloads each little item of clothing from one of the washers or dryers to the basket. She's big enough to be a real help now--she, my baby! After school, the bigger kids gather around our little table, the one that barely fits in the corner of our tiny kitchen, and do their homework. It was hard at first--after three years of school in French and rarely having homework--but they're rising to the occasion. Addy is working on her spelling and reading. I love to see the ways she spells words: tnkeg for thinking or thay for they. She's making fast progress though, now that everything is in English, and I love seeing her holed up in her bed at night before anyone else, reading by the light of the hallway light, since her room doesn't have a lamp or anything. Asher is coming along, too. He's having to overcome some poor study habits--I make him rewrite his assignments in his assignment notebook if his handwriting is too sloppy, and he redoes all the math problems he misses on his homework and tests--but he is making big strides. He's been proud of all the A+ papers he's been able to bring home over the last couple of weeks, as he's gotten the hang of keeping track of his papers, turning them in on time, and making things legible. I'm impressed with the attention my kids get from their teachers--nothing slides by without notice, and I'm grateful for the little notes home or emails I get about them . . . and even more grateful that the frequency of the notes is decreasing now! In the evenings, they come up with simple things to do on the sidewalk and grass-patch in front of our apartment; picking dandelions, scratching in the dirt with rocks and bark, batting around tennis balls with one racket and a foam sword--a little creative thinking never hurt anyone.

Sometimes a season of simplicity makes all the difference. I can't wait to unwrap each of my dishes and put it away. Getting cold water from a refrigerator water-dispenser is going to seem like absolute luxury. Before long, we'll have a real piano again. And not sharing a bedroom wall with children--can it get better than that? But there is a different kind of luxury here--the luxury of working together, making things work, not having to worry about making it to swimming lessons or soccer practice or anywhere but school and home, home and school. And when we're all moved in and secure and grounded and permanent(ish), as I've been longing for for so long, I hope I'll look back and remember this transition time as a really good time too--a time of adventure and love and learning and growth. A little bit of the refiner's fire here and there can only make us glow more brightly and shine more beautifully, right?