We moved house on the weekend. It was a massive affair. And now I’m sitting on our bed, surrounded by boxes stacked almost to the ceiling in our room, surrounded by even more boxes outside, in our new home.
The past few days have been long and weary. There hasn’t been much time to think, just barely enough to keep on packing and moving, and collapsing exhausted at the start of the next day (when you realise it’s 2am).
I don’t like moving. I always feel melancholy because it forces one to make difficult decisions and say goodbye to possessions that one would need to leave behind and not bring to the new place.
Like our beloved and trusty nine-year-old white Ikea changing table and chest of drawers. That chest has been a wonderful companion, seeing our friend through two children, seeing us through two children, becoming more than just a changing table and a storage for clothes, it also became a place to store our children’s art supplies and completed artwork as well. And now, it’s returning to our friend again to serve as a clothing cupboard for her third child.
And the children’s wooden crib. DS had outgrown it without us realising until just recently. I’d become over reliant on it to keep him contained for naps, but he has started climbing out of it on his own accord, and that’s made it become more hazard than safety measure.
And a whopping twenty-six milk storage and feeding bottles, and two electric Medela pumps. Reminding me of those crazy working and expressing days in the office. I can’t believe I’d ever get attached to an electrical piece of equipment, but quite seriously, I can’t bear to part with them. So they’ve gone into a box labelled “FRAGILE” highlighted in bold and large font and in more times than I could count all over the box. When the boxes with my kitchen crockery have only had the same word written across it once.
These are just a few of the many instances where I paused as I packed, wishing I really didn’t have to.
It’s now 10:56pm, thirty minutes since I first sat down and powered up my computer to type.
And I need to get back to the other day-to-day stuff that doesn’t allow us a break, moving house or not.
Keeping the folded laundry. Sorting through the mail and bills. Sending out the last of the urgent email replies and shutting down the office computer. Washing the remaining dishes and clearing the children’s bath.
Time to snap out of the melancholy and get moving. Again.
Spotted out of the corner of my eye when I was clearing the laundry bag in the bathroom. Built by the boys, this only lasted a few minutes before it was torn down to make something else.
DS wanted to build train tracks so DH built the circular track and our little guy added the buildings around the track.
Sometimes in the middle of cleaning the rooms, I discover little gems left behind by the children. This Friday series was started with the intention of celebrating the imagination and creativity in a young child’s world…and hoping that it’ll bring a little ray of inspiration and joy to your day, as it does mine.
There’s nothing DS loves more than imitating his sister’s actions. So when she gets the crayons out to draw, he too wants in on the action.
It’s still pretty much squiggles and circles for him, although there is a certainly a story and a definitive intent behind every squiggle as he describes each to me when he completes it.
Can you spot the squiggle turtles? 🙂
You will need the following materials: Artblock sheet, scissors, coloured paper, glue, crayons.
1. Fold the artblock sheet in two.
2. Using the scissors, cut out a door frame and windows.
3. Decorate your house any way you like, using coloured paper and crayon to add details.
4. Lastly, cut out the letters d, o, o, r and paste them over the door. Carry on decorating if you wish. 🙂
Our two-and-a-half year old son.
At any other time, I wouldn’t have blinked an eye.
But in his Sunday clothes, seven minutes after we were due to leave home for Sunday church service…!
We borrowed a book the other day from the library, titled “The Girl Who Loved Wild Horses” by Paul Goble.
DD has been poring over the book every opportunity she gets, as it is about her favourite animal. It has some really beautiful artwork and received the Caldecott Medal for illustration in 1979.
The other day, in a moment of inspiration, she drew this.
I love the way she coloured the sun. And I love how it is all about her favourite things – horses, family, and a playground slide and seesaw.
This evening, when I brought the kids out to play in Grandpa’s garden, we noticed patches of weeds all across the grass. Imagine, it’s only been two weeks that the garden has been left alone, and all this has sprung up.
As I sat there, a thought struck me about how some of the weeds with flowers and interesting leaves actually looked quite pretty and added an interesting dimension to otherwise plain ol’ crab grass.
And what a shame it would be to uproot them.
But then the parable of the sower in Matthew 13: 1 – 9 came to mind.
While it’s not an immediate word-for-word match, I thought about how the thorns, representations of the “worries of this life, the deceitfulness of wealth and the desires for other things” choked the seeds, and how in a somewhat similar fashion, a garden full of weeds, pretty or otherwise, will eventually become an eyesore, and hinder the healthy growth of the grass.
A timely thought indeed, in the middle of the first quarter of the year when new goals and objectives are still fresh.
To stop me in my tracks and challenge me to consider if I have any “weeds” in my own garden that need pulling up – anything deceptively pretty, that appears to offer me a difference from the ordinary but is actually seeking to undermine – so that my spiritual garden can flourish in the new spring, unchoked by the weeds of this world.
Have you weeded your garden lately? 🙂