The weather has finally started to cool off here in the South, and I find it soothing.
Foremost, it makes me feel more at home, because I’m from the Midwest and by now it’s gotten chilly there. And then, it’s more comfortable to play outside with BG. Cooler temperatures also help my Rosacea and other inflammatory issues. And it sparks nostalgia for me, which prompts me to cook and bake and light candles and generally feel cozy.
So I feel better. Calmer. More peaceful.
The holidays are upon us, and I have some special things planned for BG. We’re going to a “Donuts with Santa” event, The Nutcracker, and (since tea time is a thing here) I plan to take BG to one of the holiday teas for kids at a swanky hotel. She is old enough to be excited to do these things, but young enough that she probably won’t remember them. But I will.
I’ll be cooking holiday meals at our house, just us, because I believe most of the people we know here have family close by. The holidays are awkward because both Mr. MLACS and myself have stopped speaking to our parents (indefintely), our relationships with our siblings are tense, distant, or non-existent, and we aren’t close to our extended families. I worry that BG will feel shortchanged by not having big family holidays.
And then, wouldn’t it be nice to make holiday memories in our dream home? The one we are still paying the mortage on even as it sits vacant and uninhabitable, while we bide our time in a rental home. We’re trying to find a new lawyer, because the guy we *thought* was representing us just stopped returning our phone calls. It’s bewildering.
Despite our estranged family situation and transient housing situation, the holidays will be merry and bright. Mr. MLACS is home every night (instead of being away more than half the time) and we have our rainbow baby-now-toddler.
Truly, BG couldn’t be any cuter. She makes me laugh! She is a stinker and likes to run away from me and have me chase her–I have to “catch” her for every diaper change/mealtime/putting on shoes/etc. I love hearing her laughter and the pitter-patter of little feet as she runs through the house. I love watching her mimmick everything I do–demanding I give her her own bit of pie dough and parchment paper so she can roll out the dough with her mini rolling pin, just like Mama. It is a hoot to watch her play doctor with the cat (the cat is very tolerant, bless his heart), pretending to give shots and telling him to say “Ahhhh”. And I love watching her cuddle on the couch and read books with Mr. MLACS.
In my current situation, I realize that home is not the house you grew up in, or the town you grew up in, or the house you own.
Home is where the heart is, and mine is here ❤