In Between and Remembering

Every day I come over to this little blog and begin a new post with all kinds of good intentions. But every idea for a post flutters away and I find myself staring at the dreaded blinking cursor.

The truth is, we're kind of in between things around here. The trick has been for me to find satisfaction in transition, to feel settled when things are shuffling. It's a difficult thing to do, but we're figuring it out.

Another family photo, for your viewing pleasure.
Lyla wouldn't smile without the puppy.

We're hovering somewhere between midterms and graduation, between book submission and book decision, between Lyla being a baby and being a toddler. We're in limbo between taking out loans and earning a salary, between throwing out old things and buying new ones, between preparing to move and actually packing boxes.

But in the midst of it all, some relatively decisive news came our way. My parents told me they're planning to sell their house a little sooner than they originally thought. There's no date set, but they will probably move before I make it back to Idaho from Texas even once.

With that news, I got pretty sentimental. I remembered taking naps in the cool basement on the green couches on lazy summer days. I remembered my dad pushing the couch right up close to the TV so the screen seemed bigger when we watched Redboxes. I remembered sitting in my bedroom's window seat as a teenager, wistfully writing poetry and listening to Goo Goo Dolls as I awkwardly navigated my teens.

I remembered sitting on my bed with my best friend Laura, reliving the woes of our dates while still in our formals.

I remembered sewing pajama pants with my mom in the guest room -- a project I abandoned prematurely and left her to finish. She's a patient woman, that mother of mine.

I remembered Ryan Olaveson staying at my parents' house for dinner after we hiked Mount Borah together. I thought I might like him. I remembered him leaning on the doorbell one night after a date and getting really flustered. I remembered the last night I really spent living there--the night before I got married. I looked in the closet and saw it empty, and that was when the wedding became real to me. I was so excited, but for some reason I still cried.

I remembered more recent visits, when Ryan and I came and stayed up late playing Scattergories with my parents and sister. I remembered Jarlsberg cheese and Coconut Dreams cookies. So when I learned those visits to my parents' house were limited, I packed up Lyla and left Ryan with a weekend of uninterrupted homework doing and basketball watching.

I guess part of me hopes my one-year-old can cultivate some memories of her own in that house, even if they're glimmers. If nothing else, maybe she'll remember being loved there. Because really, that's the gist of my memories anyway.