the honey home

the new (old) house

In just a few months will be the thirtieth anniversary of when I moved into this house for the first time. I was the same age that Anselm is now–just a couple of months past the second birthday.

It’s kind of funny how things work out, isn’t it? Actually, it’s really not. We’ve prayed for years for the opportunity to move. We’re so thankful for our answer.

I took a few pictures today to have some “befores” on hand, as well as to be able to show this place we’ve been pining over for so long. I feel like I should add a disclaimer, though: it needs work. No worries, because work is what we’re planning on putting into it. A lot. Of work.

new house-14

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the lure of slow living, part two: on busyness.

tosl-4

I wrote this about a week ago, in the midst of our packing:

I have just gotten Elvie to stop crying and go to sleep and am sitting for a couple of minutes in the silence. It is late for the boys–usually they are up by this time–but they must be especially tired to be sleeping late. And as if on cue, that thought is followed by the appearance of Ephraim, bleary-eyed and bed-headed, dragging his blanket over to where I sit. We exchange our good mornings, huge and kisses; he goes back out, and Clive comes in for the same morning treatment. After he wanders towards the bathroom, I get up to get Anselm out of his crib, where I can already hear him protesting his brothers’ absence.

When everyone is changed, dressed, hugged and with teeth brushed, we head downstairs for breakfast, a chatty row of ducklings still clutching their favorite blankets and talking about oatmeal. We eat–I’m last because I’m waiting for my coffee to finish–and one by one they ask to be excused and trot off upstairs. Once they are all squared away with toys and a show so I can focus on another day of packing, I hear Elvie begin crying from the other room.

Some days are just like this. Not every day–yesterday wasn’t–but some days I seem to bounce from child to child to child to child, kindergartener to preschooler to toddler to infant, in a sweet and essential cycle of hugs and kisses and meals and ouchies and nursings and what’s this? and where’s that? and sorries and forgivings and several other words I could also make up right this moment. There’s no exasperation in days like this (well, except for when Elvie is inconsolable for no apparent reason) but it certainly feels very busy.

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starting over

I woke up this morning with a weight on my chest. I fed Elvie and changed her, then spent the last few moments before the boys got up sitting on the bed and brooding.

I was thinking about our move, about the new house, about all the idealistic plans that have been cooked up for it, pinned for it, sketched for it.

And you know, I was more apprehensive than excited about the looming renovation.

Don’t get me wrong! I cannot WAIT to get up there. I’m so excited to finally make the move. I started purging my stuff yesterday in preparation for packing and seriously downsizing, and I spent a lot of today wondering if I could hire someone to do that for me so I could just go ahead and move up there and call it a day.

But those house plans…those lofty house plans…they are getting to me.

I’ve decided I have PRSD.

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the ham house

There’s a little building behind my parents’ house whose name might confuse some.

We’ve used it as a dog kennel, a chicken house, a storage unit, a garage for horse-drawn vehicles, and, most recently, a junk collector. But we’ve always called it the Ham House.

hamhouse 1

it’s seen better days.

What’s a Ham House? It’s exactly what it sounds like. It’s a building that was built for (and briefly used for) hanging and smoking hams.

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meal planning with a bullet journal

Last month I had a question about how my bullet journal made meal planning easier for me. I started to answer, but decided there was too much to say in a comment and that I should probably post about it, so I could be rambly and thorough and give the whole embarrassing picture.

I say embarrassing, because I just don’t really understand what’s so difficult about meal planning for me. But seriously, I would get so wound up and flabbergasted every time I tried to do it that I would try to move on to other tasks and fail utterly because I would forget how to do them. I’m not kidding. Once Jeremy interrupted me mid-meal-planning-attempt and asked me to cut his hair. It took me about three times as long as normal because I was so upset that I forgot how to cut hair. Congratulations to you if meal planning is your spirit animal and you’re sniggering right now at this pathetic confession of mine. I can’t explain it. All I know is that any attempt at planning our meals made me crazy and overwhelmed. It’s nuts, I know.

kitchen

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