We Bought a House!

When we moved to Indiana, we knew we'd take our time to find the right house before buying. As this would be our third house, we had an idea of what we wanted, for sure some ideas about what we didn't, and there simply wasn't a rush since we secured a month-to-month house rental a few days after we arrived.

We connected with a great agent and over the past six months we've looked at probably over 45 houses - including putting in three offers that didn't pan out - before finding our new home. I had a pretty strong list of "must-haves" and this house has most of them, I'm happy to say. Here she is!

Coming soon: better trim/shutter paint!

We closed on the 31st of August. Wednesday and Thursday, we used our new keys to come in and clean, fix up the laundry room for the new machines (take down wallpaper, paint and move old, tired machines - photos coming soon!), and shampoo all the carpets.

Moving day came on Friday. The truck arrived at the rental at 8am sharp, and would you believe it, we were completely out and moved over the other house by 2pm! Holy cats, those guys were quick!

Since we hadn't unpacked much at the rental, we had a pretty smooth move over here. After they left, and Bryan came home from work, we returned to the rental to pick up odd and ends, scrub everything again - hello damage deposit, a.k.a. new furniture - and shampoo the carpets.

Side note: I just bought this machine a few weeks ago and the trial run was during the move. Let me just say, it's awesome! Picked up a ton of dirty/yuckiness and the shampoo smells great.  I figured we can pay for two homes to be shampooed, or I can just buy a machine, use it forever, and pocket the savings (new furniture)

Any-who... before I get on to the new house, two things related to grief and moving. 1. EVERYONE thinks that if you are buying a home you automatically have all sorts of living children and must be within walking distance to the best schools/playgrounds/busy neighborhoods of kids possible. Sadly, that is just not true for us all, and trying to explain that you want a nice neighborhood SANS small kids on every sidewalk is difficult. But, we found one that's mostly older families and adults, so that works for us.

However, best laid plans, haha: the new construction home that just sold next to ours? We learned at closing by the super happy agent for the sellers that "Good news! The house sold to a lovely young family with twin five-year-old boys!" cartwheel around the office. (Okay, not really, but you'd think that the the very best news you could possibly get based on her expression). My response: flat-line...."okay". It totally figures that the neighbors directly next to us in a mostly-non-child-neighborhood would have TWO boys Samuel's age. *le sigh*.  They should have been the automatic BFFs that Samuel met the second he bounced out of the car, but instead they'll just be the neighbors we are icy-cold  standoffish  civil to. That's life when your child dies. Always full of the "should have beens".

Secondly, when you're buying a home, you have to talk to a lot of people who always want to know "do you have children?" One of the most hated questions for loss families, because you just never know how they will respond. I try to give the shortest answer necessary to keep the conversation moving; especially when I know I may never see this person again. Here is a real-life example of why this question sucks:

At one of the homes we tried to buy before this one, the seller was present during the inspection.  (The sale fell through when the inspection found issues the seller - nice guy as you'll see momentarily - refused to fix). Firstly, while he showed us around, he said, "Let me know if you're interested in buying anything with the house". Turns to the agent, "Heck, I'd even throw in a kid or two if they paid me enough! HA HA HA!" 

You know, because it's *SUPER HILARIOUS* to hate your kids and sell them to the highest bidder.
I glared and Bryan grabbed my hand and gave me the "yeah, he's an idiot" look.

Then, of course, the guy asked "Do you have any kids?"  I responded. "Yes, we have a son. He died four years ago". Guy, "That must make it easier to move". Stunned silence. Him, again: "You know, since kids have so much junk you have to pack. It's nice not to have to pack all that stuff". Me, after a moment of contemplation at the insanity of his remarks (Did he really just imply it's better that a child be dead than to have to move their toys?) "We would gladly trade you".  No reply from him, and awkwardness until we left.

Yep, that's our lives on a regular basis. And that's not too far from a typical awkward response. (Dear everyone - learn how to respond when you hear a child died! It's not that hard: I'm so sorry.)

Thankfully, we have had to talk to him again, or hear about his apparently horrible child who - you know - plays with toys.

Moving on...

Since we finished at the rental house on Saturday, we've been busy unpacking and setting up our house. It's fun to open boxes and find things we haven't used since we packed up in Oregon last December. It it also tons and tons of work for just the two of us, but we're making progress and the stack of empty boxes is growing!

Today's project: fit a much larger kitchen's worth of things into a smaller one. (I see a kitchen remodel in our future... don't tell Bryan yet! I have a lot of big plans for this house.)

I've been playing around with the idea of blogging about this house.  I haven't been able to flex my interior design muscle for a long time, and who doesn't love some good Before and After pictures?! We made a lot of DIY changes to our last house, but had to move and didn't even get to enjoy them or show them off. So, blogging about the things we do here feels like the right move.

To get the ball rolling, here are the pictures of the house from the listing.
Let's call them the "before the before" pictures.

There's lots to be done, but I'm excited! Now to go unpack more boxes...

The Line

As I walked up to the line, I could see far ahead of me. The line was long, but it was going to be worth it. I looked down at my ticket. Admit one to Motherhood. I smiled as I clutched it tightly to my chest. 

Motherhood was a place I heard so much about; a place I just knew was going to be wonderful. I had dreamed about it. I had read about it. I had listened to countless stories about it. And now, it was my turn to go.

A big smile spread across my face and I could tell it was going to stay. I felt giddy with glee as I quickly took my place at the end of the line, with all the other happy excited women, all holding their tickets, too.

We laughed and joked and quizzed each other. “What will it be like? Are you excited; are you scared? Can you believe this is actually happening?” You could feel the buzz of delight and anticipation as we began our trek towards the entrance.

I just knew this was going to be amazing.

Every so often, as I stood excitedly chatting with the women next to me, I would notice a woman being pulled from the line, and tossed to the back of another line that ran adjacent to ours. A line full of women holding tickets too, but all of them more quiet, sullener, with faces that showed more uncertainty than carefree happiness like ours. As I watched a woman being snatched out of my line, I heard her scream, “No! Don’t do this! No!”, but in my state of delirious happiness, I simply turned away and reassured myself, “She must have done something wrong to lose her place in line”. I felt bad, but also glad that I was doing everything right and got to stay.  I figured she just get back in line, and everything would be fine. That’s how I’d make it seem okay.

After a time, as I moved closer to the entrance, I noticed in the corner of my eye that a large foreboding figure, dressed completely in black, with a grim look permanently set on his face, began watching me. I had the sense I’d seen him before, but where? I tried to avert my eyes and continue on my path to Motherhood without him interfering. But then, it hit me: He’s the one who had been yanking women from the line! The one who mercilessly grabbed them, kicking and screaming, and threw them from their spot to the back of the Other line, without so much as a word. He’s the one who caused panic and terror. He’s the one who made this perfectly wonderful journey a nightmare. He was the one everyone pretended didn’t exist, and who made women hide in fright.  And he was looking right at me.

I clutched my ticket tighter and tried to shake the feeling of his eye bearing into the back of my head. I tried to focus on chatting with the girls around me, “Aren’t’ you so excited? Can’t you wait? Man, I’m so sick of standing in this line!” I did my best to pretend he was there, but, still I felt the steely gaze.

He took a step closer, and I panicked.

“No”, I called out to him nervously, “Not me, you have the wrong person”. “Can’t you see? I’m doing everything right. I’m following the rules; I’m doing it all right”. “You have the wrong person.” He didn’t respond, but held firm in his place.

Suddenly, I felt a gentle hand on my shoulder, and heard a soft voice in my ear. “I’m so sorry, but he’s coming for you. We don’t know when, but it’s going to happen. You’ll never make it to the entrance”.
Tears welled in my eyes and pain gripped my heart. “NO! I won’t let him! You’re wrong!”

I did my very best to conceal myself among the people around me. The people who were oblivious to what was happening to me; ignoring the dark looming figure who was suddenly walking in step with me.

The line kept moving forward, and I continued to keep my place. “That person was wrong”, I told myself. “I’m getting so close to the entrance, it’s too late for him to get me”.  “It won’t happen to me”. “Surely, someone will see him and help me”. “It’s not going to be me”.

Even as I comforted myself, I could see others around me being snatched from their place, and thrown out of line.

“It’s not going to be me”.

All around me, everyone seemed completely unaware of the horror I was witnessing. They laughed and played around, and it was obvious they didn’t have a care in the world. And I stood there with them, feeling the dark presence of the figure, all the while trying to just be like everyone around me.

Finally, I stood just before the curtain that marked the entrance to my goal. My turn was next! I had made it! I scanned the area stealthily, so he wouldn’t see me looking for him. There he was, massive and dark, I could feel his coldness from my place. His eyes burned through me. I snapped my head back forward and clutched my ticket tighter. I impatiently pressed forward to get the line to move. I was here! I had made it! They were wrong!

I walked up the booth and handing in my ticket. “Here you are, my dear”, the attendant smiled broadly as she pulled back the curtain for me to walk through. I couldn’t wait to walk through. I could see the beauty from there. The bright light, the gorgeous colors, the lovely sounds of music and laughter.  I was in!

I lifted my foot to cross into the room. But something cold and heavy was on my shoulder.

I screamed in fright, but I already knew what it was. The cold hand of the figure had clamped on tight. I cried out, “No! Can’t you see? I’m here! I’m here! You can’t do this!”

But it was too late.

He pulled me from the line, from the entrance, the view of the joy that should have been, was almost, already mine growing smaller as I was hauled away. His might surprise me. He had snatched me from the place and was carrying me away, all the way to the back of the Other line. And although I could see other people in the line were aware, they turned their backs and pretended they didn’t see.

The dark figure threw me to the ground at a place by the end of the Other line. So far back, I couldn’t even see the entrance to Motherhood any longer. Suddenly, I knew the pain the others had felt as they were thrown from the line. I was overcome with sadness, and confusion, and raged at the injustice. I didn’t deserve this, I was certain. I tried to reason with him as his massive face loomed darkly over mine.  “You have it all wrong. I did everything right. Didn’t you see that woman, she’s the one you want, she doesn’t even have a ticket, take her instead”. I frantically pointed to anyone I could see who wasn’t following the rules and should be in my place instead.

He didn’t care. He turned away, and began stalking his next victim.

I laid on the ground, crumpled in a ball, and sobbed. I shook with the anger that consumed me. “Why did this happen?” “Why me?” My screams went unanswered. There was no reason. All I wanted was to be back in Motherhood.  I could still remember the light and warmth that had enveloped me from the place at the entrance to Motherhood. But it was long gone now, and all I could feel was the coldness, all I could see was the darkness, and all I wanted was to die.

There were a lot of women in this place at the end of the Other line. More than I could have imagined. And many came up to me, gently and quietly, and surrounded me. “I’m so sorry you’re here with us. You don’t deserve to be here. When you’re ready, let us show you around”.

I didn’t want to look at them. I hated this place and everything about it; even the other women around me. I laid in my dark damp spot for a long, long time.

Every once in a while, someone would gentle offer a hand, or a reassuring word, or a cup of hot tea. Someone was always sitting next to me, without having to say much, just to let me know I was not alone. “When you’re ready, we’ll help you up. But there’s no rush. We’ve all been there, we know.”

After a while, I sat up. I looked around at the women surrounding me, and finally took a good look at this new place that would eventually feel like my home. The place at the end of this Other line was in a dark clearing. 

Not much light shone through the tall trees that surrounded us, but if I moved just so, I could see out to the meadow I had recently been in as I had waiting my turn into Motherhood. I could still see the woman, standing in line, happily waiting their turns; no idea we were all here, in this dark place, trying to make sense of what had happened. My eyes had adjusted to the darkness, and I could finally see all the woman around me with clarity. There were more women here than I could have ever imagined. Their faces showed the same weariness I could feel on my own, but they gently smiled with compassion as they gathered around those of us who were new to the Other line. They too had been thrown from the line.

Some were on the ground, like me. Some sobbed, some screamed, some sat silently and stared blankly ahead. Some were laying down, some sitting, some half kneeling; beginning to stand. Others were standing tall, looking out into the meadow. Some were taking their new place in the Other line, once again holding tight to a Motherhood ticket. All had faces that spoke of their pain. All had stories to tell. None of us ever to be the same again. 

The Savannah Basket

This post has nothing to do with grief or loss. It's about something that made me smile. And we all need those things in our lives after loss... okay, maybe it's a little about grief and loss.

Way back in Oregon last year, I found a beautiful Pottery Barn floral print laundry basket liner, and matching ironing board stand. They were on clearance (yay!), and I had a coupon (double yay!), so I snatched them up.

Look, how pretty!

Since you have to do laundry, why not do pretty laundry?

I loved the Savannah basket too, but alas, it sells for $99 and I couldn't bring myself to pay that much for a laundry basket.

(But look how pretty!)

I figured I'd run to Michael's and find one to fit the liner and save lots of money.
Sadly, no such exact-dimension basket exists. Well played, Pottery Barn...

After an actual six months of looking online and in every store I could find, still, nothing fit the liner exactly, and I don't settle when it comes to things I'm obsessing over I really want.

And then, with all the moving and no-where-to-live and no income business that was going on, I put it out of my mind, and the pretty laundry set sat back in it's packaging in the box in my closet.

When I came upon the box and was reminded of my quest, my next plan was to save up for the actual basket after Bryan finally found a new job. I tried to justify it as a special indulgence for myself after all the stress of the last few months. You know, treat yo'self-style. (Self care is vital after loss! There's the grief tie-in).

I told Bryan about my plan with high hopes for a "Oh, honey, you've been through so much lately, let me just buy it for you now," response, but instead got the "$99 for a laundry basket??? who would pay $99 for a laundry basket?" have-you-lost-your-mind response. And despite my super-persuasive "But, Bryan, it's Pottery Barn!" argument, I got a firm, "No way!" (and, yeah, he's right.)

So, once again, I turned to the online marketplace to find what eventually became called the basket. (Since I was always on the hunt, wherever we went. "Be sure to look for the basket!"

Then, the smile-inducing thing happened.

During our new home search, we went to tour a home that had recently come up for sale. While there, we came upon a sign that said, "Excuse the mess in the garage, we're getting ready for a garage sale". No biggie, it's what you do when you move. We walked through the door, looking to see if we wanted to own the garage, when I came around the corner and saw the basket, just sitting there, all perfect and lovely, looking practically new, on a little table with other things waiting to be sold.

I ran over to it, picked it up, read the Pottery Barn label, and cried out, "Bryan! No way! Look! It's the basket!" I'm sure our realtor thought I nuts because suddenly I was more interested in a laundry basket than the home, but he didn't realize the importance of this find; it's the basket!

We left the home, deciding it wasn't for us, and I watched the neighborhood like a hawk for the sale. I was going to be the first one through the door to claim my prize.

Three weeks later, and still no garage sale. I started to panic, (you know, because my life is so full that a laundry basket in a garage sale is important...there's another grief-thing), "What if I miss it!?" I decided to take action.

I drove to the house, rang the bell, and was greeted by a cheery lady. "I'm sorry to bother you, ma'am, but I have a question. I was here a few weeks ago, and saw you have a laundry basket in your garage. I'm wondering if it's part of the garage sale, and when that sale might be happening."

"I'm not sure what basket...but the sale is the second week in June". (At that point it was still several weeks away, and clearly, my life couldn't move forward until I had the basket.)

"If it's no trouble, I could show you which basket. Would you consider selling it to me today?" (?????)

"Sure, okay, let me open the door for you". She opened the door, and there, all lovely and perfect, sat the basket, still on it's table. I snatched it up, and asked, "How much would you like for it?" (Please, be less than $99!!)

"Umm... how about $3?" she said.

Inside: $3!! DONE and DONE. Outside: "That sounds good, let me grab my wallet." Happy dance down the driveway, retrieve my wallet, and gladly hand over the three measly little dollars. "Thank you, so much! You've made my day!"

The poor woman probably thought I was a loon, but I happily carried my basket to the car.

I called Bryan, told him "I just saved us $96!", but, always the pragmatist, he didn't agree, since "You were never going to spend that much anyways," but I felt the victory.) He did say, "Good job!", and I took it.

Now, my basket is all decked-out in the lovely floral liner, and I can do laundry with a smile.

(yep, it's the older model, but let not split hairs)

It's the small things that make life easier, day to day.

When a Loss Mom Attacks

Earlier today, while standing in a check-out line, something happened. It was not good.

There was only one line open, even though there were lots of people wanting to check out, so everyone was forced to wait in the same line. I was running through my shopping list on my phone to be sure I had gotten everything, and wasn't paying much attention. But, after claiming my place, I realized I had make a mistake in choosing my spot. The woman in front of me moved over and I saw a brand new baby in her cart. Ouch. Not my favorite. Then, she leaned over and pulled a small boy off the ground. He had been crawling under the front of the cart and I hadn't seen him. Double ouch. My very least favorite combination; a boy around Samuel's age, AND a new baby. Proof, live and in person, that I "should" have more than one child by now. Double proof of my failure as a woman.

I was already sweating, and cursing the world under my breath. I don't seek out contact with kids since Samuel died. Especially babies and little boys, and there they both were, not five feet away, and I was stuck in line. My stress level was high.

Suddenly, my phone became super interesting and I laser-focused on my screen. Unfortunately, for me, Super Mom was one of those chatty line-waiters. The line was not moving very fast - someone had some issue or something - so she turns to me and says, "They need to open another line! I can't keep this one - nods down to small boy - quite for much longer!" ha ha ha, big smile, hoping for a "yeah, parenting is so hard!" response from me. (Not today, lady!) I just stared at her, threw her a little hehehe, while biting my lip and making covert fists. (Must be so hard to raise your alive son, lady...not). Back to phone screen. "You know how boys are..." Big smile like she deserved an award for raising a boy. At this point I'm about to lose it, but I gave her my best fake,  "Yeah...ha...ha..." while screaming inside and trying to decide how much we actually needed milk, lettuce and toilet paper...

"Do you have any kids?"

(Oh, for freaks-sake lady! Can't you see I'm super busy with my phone and trying to ignore you?!)
But there it was, The Question.

My heart raced, as it always does when a random person asks me that super invasive question. I scrambled internally to decide which version of the story to present to this nosy lady I'd never see again. Having been a loss mom for four years now, I could already tell she was one of those people who would have a cliche locked and loaded, ready to shoot at me as soon as the words "he died" came out of my mouth, but I don't deny my son. So, I picked the shortest version of the answer and steeled my heart for the oncoming comment.

"Yes, I have a son, too. (Big smile from her, we can now commiserate about how "hard it is").
"He died a few years ago". (Enter the same look of horror everyone gets when I say those words without warning).

No sooner did I say "died" then, she puts her hand down around her son, and actually pushes him behind her - you know, so the death that hangs on me doesn't get on him - "Oh my god! What happened!"

Not, that's terrible, or I'm sorry, but "what happened".

(Oh, random stranger, let me tell you all about it, so you can find the part that gives you permission to think it was my fault, aka, never going to happen to you). At this point, my heart was pounding and I longed for an escape, but I was stuck in the line. (Can you believe she actually pushed her son away from me like being near me is going to kill him too?? I'm pretty sure that escalated everything.)

"He was very sick and could not stay with us". (PLEASE, lady! Leave me alone!!)

(Nope...) She reached her other hand out to touch my arm, and says in the most sanctimonious, self-righteous syrupy-sweet voice, "Well, it was probably better that he died, then. He's in a better place". Sideways head bob, and the weird smile people make when they are trying to convince you of something.

Let's just say I completely lost my cool, and deserve a metal for not punching her right in her face. Did she really  just say it's GOOD he died because he was sick? REALLY!? It's ON NOW LADY! (Basically, she pushed the big red button and all hell broke loose inside me).

I stood there shaking with anger, my eyes seeing red, and I put my hand on her arm, looked directly at her eyes, and did my very best to match her condescending "I know what's best" voice and said  (it's about to get ugly in here, you may not want to keep reading...) "Well, if it's better to be dead and in heaven, then I hope your son gets to go too, very soon." (Yeah, yeah, I know, not my finest hour).

Let's go ahead and say she wasn't too thrilled with my response. She backed up and said, "What a horrible thing to say!!" She whipped around as if I'd slapped her, and ignored me as best she could. I guess she's the only one who gets to say rude things in this conversation.

(Bonus: I just gave her her reason to think I'm a horrible person and that's why my child died, and her's never will; you know, because she's perfect and only horrible people's children die).

Apparently, it's only a "better place" if it's my son who goes there, not hers.

I left my cart  and pushed out of line and went to the car to have a nervous breakdown. (number 837894, if you're counting). All the tears and sobs and screams at the injustice in the world came tumbling out.

Was that what I should have said? No. Not at all.
Do I actually wish her son was dead. No. Not at all.
Did I act out of grief and stress. Yes. 1 million percent.
Did she say a terrible thing. Yes. 1 million percent.

You might be reading this and think, Wow, what a monster to say that! But you don't get it.

She basically told me me it's better my son died than lived since he was sick. For a Carry to Birth mom, them's fightin' words. My son's life is not in any way less valuable or meaningful because he was sick. He is not "better off" for dying. He should have never been sick, and he should absolutely be here with us. Before you freak out on me, remember, all I did was say the same thing she said to me back to her, so she could realize how ugly it it to say  that a child should die.

I already know that someone is going to say, "But she wasn't trying to be hurtful, she had good intentions". Let me just say, I'm sick up to here (my hands way above my head) of having to hear terrible things from people who refuse to learn how to respond when they hear a child died. SICK OF IT. And, I'm SUPER tired of people taking the side of the person who said the hurtful thing. Believe me, I have enough to deal with every single day without also having to just sit back while people say horrible things to me about my son. Just like every other mom, if you attack my son, I'm going to fight back.

There's only one response to hearing someone tell you their child died. (Are you ready? get a pencil:) "I'm so sorry". The end. That's all. And never, ever ask "what happened". It's none of your business, and I guarantee you, when you ask, it will make the parent feel like you're trying to figure out what they did wrong to make it happen. Plus, you're asking them to re-live the very worst moments of their entire life, just to satisfy your curiosity. Nothing good can come of that.

I wish none of this had happened today. I don't want to be an ugly person that says things like that to people. I normally fine dealing with things like this (believe me, it's not rare). The only thing I can say is that it was the perfect storm of me feeling out of control, overwhelmed, and attacked.

Welcome to living with grief, and trying to go pick up groceries on a regular Friday morning. And the best part? I didn't even get my stuff, so now I have to go back tomorrow.

Indiana

I was going to call this post "The Big Move", but hmmm, we've already done that twice, so I guess it's just a normal move at this point.

Because we apparently like to move across the country every couple years, we're in Indiana now. A new time-zone, and a whole new experience to go along with a new job for Bryan (hooray!!)

We stayed in Minnesota for about six weeks. We house-sat for my aunt and uncle, I took over care for my grandmother while we were there, and Bryan worked hard to find a new job. It was nice to catch up with friends and family for the time we were there. I enjoyed spending time with my grandmother, and we had fun getting re-acquainted with her and my aunt and uncle once they returned home from their missions trip. Thankfully, we were able to trade the house-sitting/grandma care for a rent-free place to stay. (Which works out well when you have no income...)

Our original plan was to unload our moving pod at their house, and then re-pack and re-load it once we knew where we were going. After we arrived, we decided not to take delivery on the pod. It just didn't make sense to unload it all knowing we didn't have a home. So, we lived with the two suitcases and five boxes of things we had in our car for six weeks. Thankfully, the house we were watching had most of the things we needed to exist, and we just got creative with outfits and lived simply and made it work.

Honestly, there's something to be said for having less. But that's a whole 'nother topic.

It snowed and iced and froze and melted and did it all over again several time during our stay. It was unpleasant. But, you know, it's Minnesota in the winter.

As I mentioned before, once we made it through the holidays, the phone started ringing and Bryan got several more interviews, in several states. At the end of February, he flew out to Indiana to interview for a job in a city called Goshen. He also spent a few days scoping out the area.

Just after he returned, he received an offer! I can't tell you how relieved we were! It did pose a bit of a dilemma because Indiana is not the first place (or  really, tenth place) on my "places I want to live" list. My only experience with the state is visiting a friend at Purdue a long time ago, and I mostly just stayed on campus. It would mean moving sight-unseen to a state where we would live permanently (knock on wood). But California wasn't calling, so there you go.

Do you get to pass on a great job just because you don't really want to live in the state it's in? Technically yes, but really, no. Bryan said it was a nice city and I'd like it, so he took the offer and a few days later we re-packed our car and cats and once again said goodbye to family, and friends, and mountains of snow.

We drove the comparatively quick eight hour drive in one day and arrived in Goshen in the evening. We had reserved a hotel room for the first week, so we unloaded and started our hunt for a house to rent while we learned the area.

Isn't our life an adventure? Sakes!

As we began exploring our new town, I realized this was going to be an adjustment. Goshen and the surrounding areas are very much small towns. Size-wise, they aren't tiny, but attitude and environment-wise, absolutely. There's no shortage of camo here! Basically, I'd describe what I've seen of the state so far as what would happen if a farmer and a hunter had a baby. You know, my kind of place (not even a little).

Oh, and that baby has an Amish friend.

This area of Indiana is Amish country, something new to me, but very interesting. There are yummy Amish restaurants, and beautifully-crafted furniture and hand-made things to purchase. So, it's not all guns and tractors.

Unfortunately, the small town issue means everyone under 25 and their little sister is pregnant or has five children all 9 months apart. It's tough. I guess no one has anything better to do here than have kids just out of high-school (middle school?). Again, not my kinda place. It's very damaging to my heart to see another example of people just having babies like it's no big thing.

Unfortunately for me, that's not how life works for everyone.

Anyways...

We searched high and low and were coming up with nothing to rent, until we happened to meet someone who happened to know someone who had a home to rent on a short-term basis.
Good thing we talked to strangers!

It's a very small little rambler, just across from a gun-range (don't get me started...), but there's a nice river in the backyard and it's got enough room for all of our boxes that I refuse to unload unless absolutely necessary.

We're tying so hard to find a good home, and it's a struggle. For some unknown reason, there are simply not enough homes for sale here. And the ones that are for sale are not great. Who knew people still have wallpaper, and borders, and carpet in every room??

At this point I feel like I'm just complaining, so let me be clear that I'm very glad to be in a home, with food to eat, and Bryan has a great job that he's really liking, and we can make it anywhere, so it's going to be okay.

The past few years have felt very tough. It seems like nothing good stays and we're always unsettled. I'm really hoping we can find a good home, put down some roots, and create a new life here. Maybe I'll get in touch with my country-living side (a lot of my family is from Iowa) and it'll be a good place to live.

And it's April - a very extra bad time of year - I'm sure everything is just seeming extra hard because I'm extra emotional. And every day without Samuel is just empty, no matter where we are.

This weekend is Samuel's fourth - can you even believe it? - birthday party. We're flying back to Minnesota to celebrate his life with family and friends. Then next week, my sweet little baby is turning four in heaven. It's been way too long already, and I have a lifetime left to go.

Think of us in the coming weeks. And remember our sweet son with us.

Back to Minnesota

Well, we've arrived, safe and relatively sound.

Apparently, after a year without snow and ice and frozen temperatures, your body develops an aversion to those things and doesn't easily re-acclimate as you might expect. I literally feel like I'll never be warm again. And that's not a nice feeling.

The past few weeks have been very busy. We loaded our moving pod last weekend. We did it entirely by ourselves, which simultaneously seriously sucked, and feels like an accomplishment. We can do hard things! (Like we didn't know that already...). We sent our things to MN and signed the house-closing papers on Monday, and then I had one last dinner with my favorite friend. I gotta be honest, it really hurt to say goodbye to her. She's the one person who really gets what life is like for us each day, and I'm going to dearly miss her.

On Tuesday, we packed the car, cleaned up the house, and set off for Montana. We kept behind a blow up bed for our last night, and slept in the Samuel room. It felt like the right place to say goodbye to our Oregon home.

Goodbye House

The temp when we left

The strange thing about grief is that it changes how you react to other grief-inducing moments in your life. Leaving Oregon involves grief. It's leaving behind a place we wanted to stay, and a life we wanted to live. It meant returning to a place we purposely left. And weather we never wanted to live in again. And leaving a dear friend who really made life easier to live.

But, oddly enough, despite the feeling of tears being lumped in my throat, I didn't cry. At times I think I used up my lifetime allotment of tears crying for Samuel, and mostly have none left. But I also wonder if experiencing such a great loss gives me the ability to just go with life as it comes instead of fighting it, because I know for sure that you just don't have a real say in how life is going to turn out. Or maybe I'm just dead inside. All are equally possible at this point.

So, we drove to Montana the first day, and I have to say, it was the scariest driving we did the entire trip. The mountains in Idaho are treacherous in the winter. It's down-hill, icy roads, no lights, heavy wind, and trucks passing you going too fast. I told Bryan we were going to meet Samuel, several times per hour. Sadly, we did not get to go to him. But happily, we didn't die in a fiery crash in the middle of the night on a dark icy highway, as I assumed we would.

Death-trap road in ID. What you don't see is the sleet and show coming at us straight on , and the huge trucks zooming past at 70mph. 

Due to the ice and rain and messy driving, it took us significantly longer than we anticipated to arrive, and did not get to the hotel until the middle of the night. By then, I was frazzled, and the cats were completely done with the car, and we were beyond ready to dive into bed.

The next day, we woke to a much prettier scene.

Missoula, MT

We ate breakfast at the hotel, and then packed everything - including two cats who were quite upset the trip was not over - and headed to North Dakota. The drive was significantly better, and we made it by the evening, as we'd planned.

the super exciting drive through North Dakota. Very scenic, as you can see. 

The final day we drove to Minnesota. We were going through Fargo, ND, so we took a detour to see Bryan's alma mater, NDSU. It was fun to see where he lived for those years.

 

The Engineering Building

We arrived in the evening on Thursday. My parents met us at my aunt and uncle's house* to greet us and help us get settled.

*In case you don't remember, we're house-sitting for them for the next two months while they are traveling. It's a good opportunity for us to have a place to stay while Bryan continues his search for a job.

When I climbed in to bed that night, the tears finally came. I'm sad to be back here. We left this state on purpose, and coming back feels so defeating. I never knew how much living in snow and ice really is a detriment to life until we left, and now we're right back in the middle of it. As I write this, it's -8 degrees outside. No one should live in a place where you cant' even leave your house because your skin will freeze and you can die just from going outside. It just feels bad, physically and emotionally.

But, if I try to find the bright spot, it's that I am close to some friends and family I haven't seen in too long, and will get to catch up. And, I know things could be much, much worse, so I'm trying to be thankful for a warm home to stay for these next two months.

As for Bryan, it's funny, and also we figured, as soon as the holidays were over, it was like the phone wouldn't stop ringing. He has three promising second interviews (with three companies) this coming week. I'm really hoping he finds a job he loves - and one that, you know, pays him money - very, very soon.

It still feels like our life is up in the air, because we don't know where we'll land, but for now, we're safe and have food to eat and friends and family to care for us.

Once again, I want to say THANK YOU to everyone who has been supporting us. We are truly lost for words by the love we've received.