Social media can be so deceiving. I have sometimes found myself, comparing my life to those that seem to have it all, only to realize I am only seeing their best ten percent. I can think of a handful of people that bear such a stark difference to their online persona, that it use to disappoint me, now, I recognize it just makes us all human. We all have our "thing" we battle, it's just wrapped up a little differently for each person. If you are worried that this epiphany is the message behind this post, fear not, it's just a jumping point.
I have had so many friends message me, and proclaim how excited they are for us, and our big move, and how much they are enjoying hearing about our adventures thus far. I am thoroughly enjoying being able to stay in touch with everyone virtually. One of my very close, intuitive, friends checked in on me to see how my HEART was doing. She said, "I know everything seems to be going smoothly, but I wanted to see how you are really feeling about all the change, It's got to be hard." It was then I remembered, my purpose behind my writing, was to document the highs AND the lows. And while I have been able to laugh at most of the obstacles that have come our way, like our possessed washer/dryer, I still have moments when I feel heavy and I miss home. I don't want to deceive you.
Today, I woke up homesick. I drank my coffee at the sink and told myself, "Baileigh, your attitude defines your day, get it together girl." So, I walked to the park, let the sun hit my face and I felt lighter by mid-morning. In between working and returning emails of local realtors I kept coming to dead ends. Whether the house I really liked was already under contract, or the one I wanted to see most likely wouldn't be on the market by the time we were done with quarantine, everything hit a roadblock. I love making a house a home, and I almost feel useless when I can't do that for my family. It sounds very "Beaver Cleaver" of me, but I don't really care, I find a lot of joy in caring for my crew. It is my most important job.
So I have my second pep-talk of the day. This time I say, "Baileigh, stop making it about you, it's not about you. If you want to make a home, start by making the home finding process less stressful. It will all work out." I suddenly get that fiery ping in my gut and decide I am going to treat everyone to an amazing Italian dinner. (Zac is a huge fan of Italian Cuisine.) I'm talkin' fresh herb meatballs, in a bolognese and red wine reduction sauce. Rich flavors atop fresh, and might I say, expensive gnocchi, paired with a side of roasted green beans and brioche toast. I was feeling VERY guilty for my bad attitude, and I thought the calories would outweigh the curse words I said earlier. I like that kind of math. As another declaration of my adoration, I was going to give the girls haircuts and play another few hours of Catan at the dinner table. I felt like I was really back on track to my A+ Wife/Mom game.
I jet down to the store while walking Nola to grab a few extra ingredients for what is sure to be a meal to remember. I then race back to the flat, freshen up my face, spritz some perfume and get to cooking. Making the final lap of the race that is dinner, I only need to drain the gnocchi and start to plate my masterpiece meal. I have sampled the sauce and I'm proud of my creation. I bring the boiling gnocchi over to the sink to drain. Because we are in a temporary apartment, lacking many kitchen utensils such as a strainer, I use the lid to drain the water from the pot. As I begin to pour, steaming hot water runs down my arm and I drop the lid and gnocchi down the small second half of the sink. I cry out, "NOOOOOO, Oh my God, NOOOOO." Zac comes flying in from the back to take a quick assessment of the situation and respond to my death shriek. There I stand cemented in place. I am soaking wet, holding my now burned hand in a towel, and just like a faucet, ALL of the disappointment and frustration of the day comes streaming down my face. I had been dancing on the edge of insanity and a soft dough dumpling of a pasta just catapulted me into "Cray Cray Land". (Population -1 crazy wife.) Without missing a beat, Zac fishes a spoon from the drawer and starts to recover any of the pasta still swimming in the undrained water. He then, grabs a tea cup and starts to dive deeper into the drain to grab any runaways. He looks at me, with his big endless brown eyes, and says "its ok babe, we will wash them, it will be fine, it will still taste great I bet." (Secretly I know he is thinking, one, I do not want to eat this shit. Two, I hope her sauce is good and will cover that "sink flavoring".) I take a step back while he quickly moves around to catch and clean my gnocchi mess. This my friends, is what I like to call a "longtime-love-note." In the beginning its flowers, and dinners and all those things that are suppose to reflect love. But after you have been with someone a long time, its moments like these that make all those things seem so cliche and trivial. Because anyone can spend money, or plan big trips or coordinate big romantic gimmicks. Who is going to chase your piping hot gnocchi down the sink drain, and then eat it to make you happy?
I am so stunned by his act of incredible and instant kindness that like being pulled in a sling shot I am propelled back far enough to see the bigger picture. This move is going to continue to hit snags and bumps, and I am going to have moments where I think all is lost. Houses may continue to slip through my fingers, but the right one is going to land on my plate even if we have to fish for it a bit. We are prepared to dig in the hard, even if we only have a spoon and a teacup.
That's my real, authentic, struggle right now.
Below are images of me coping with carbs. Bon Appétit.
Scene of the crime. My flat kitchen sans strainer.