Twas Brillig

I’m just waiting for someone to yell, “fire.” I’m ready, my aim is set. The limbo between “aim” and “fire” seems interminable.

I’m pattering around my quiet abode tonight all by myself. Four little darlings lie sleeping in their little beds—they’re so beautiful when they sleep, their long dark eyelashes splashed across their creamy pink faces. Everything is so quiet, so still. So perfectly right.

Brian is five hundred miles away tonight, and will be for a few weeks. It’s only been one day—hardly long enough to even notice that he’s gone. But I feel the distance acutely. I miss him.

He saw our house tonight. Our offer was accepted. I’m already contemplating the placement of our paintings and mirrors and photographs. Which child gets which bedroom. Which tables go where. Which couches I’d really like to give to charity because I don’t think I can stand to look at them anymore… In my mind, I’m decorating a house I’ve never actually seen in person. And yet, I consider it home.

Isaac was diagnosed this last week. No surprises. I’d been calling him “autistic” for a while now. But it’s official now. The psychiatrist who diagnosed him told me that he usually makes moms cry when he issues such a diagnosis. I assured him that I’d already done my crying. “But now I feel empowered,” I told him. “I can finally start getting him some help now.”

Not that I think there will be no more tears. I’m realistic enough to understand that this is going to be a lifelong journey, with ups and downs, tears and laughter and sometimes both combined. Usually both combined.

I’m beginning to look at our stuff. Our junk. Our ridiculous piles of “necessities.” I suppose I get peevish like this every time I move. I’m now looking at our possessions in terms of, “if I pack that now, will I need it before I actually move?” And the answer is almost always no. Goodness, if I’m not going to need it in the next few weeks, do I really need it at all? And yet, into the box it goes.

My gal-pal Charrette (have you checked out her new blog? You must!) and I were laughing about that yesterday at church. Come to think of it, Charrette and I were as irreverent as the children we work with in the Primary—snickering and chattering while someone else was teaching the lesson. Whoops. I’m sure the teacher really loved us yesterday. Anyway, the teacher was telling the story of Lehi to the Primary children. Lehi, Sariah, and family were commanded to leave Jerusalem and to leave all their possessions behind. “Lucky Sariah,” I whispered to Charrette, who readily agreed.

Not that Sariah was lucky. But I DO wonder if, since her plate was so very full and so very much was being asked of her, if God was truly blessing her by telling her she didn’t have to deal with all the stuff.

So, I’m packing, but I’m leaving out some clothes for everyone. Some pants, some t-shirts, and something to wear to church on Sunday. Princess Fluffy’s school uniforms are all left out, because she might as well get as much use out of them now. (When we get to Colorado, she and Bubba will enter that delightful world of… um… public school. Oh, it’ll be fine. But I’ll miss the strict uniforms we’ve had here.) Anyway, if somehow we end up staying here in limbo for longer than we expect, then we’ll each end up wearing the same outfits to church week after week. Isn’t it stupid that that bothers me? For all my talk of disgust with my possessions and my desires to just throw it all in the garbage, the truth is that I can’t bear to part with any of it. In fact, I went to the mall tonight and bought myself yet another new skirt and pair of shoes. Ludicrous.

There’s so much more to say on all of this, but really I’m just rambling. Filling the silence. Missing my sweety. Contemplating my life and the many new twists it’s suddenly taken. I suppose it’s easier to harp on tangible things like possessions than to actually figure out my new reality. Maybe that’s why I bought yet another skirt and pair of shoes…

Come on. Fire, already.