Grumplestiltskin

In the past 3+ years, Tribe has given me…

1. new friends and a way to keep track of the old ones
2. thoughtful conversation
3. a medium for blogging
4. laughing to the point of physical pain
5. community experience that has turned into a career
6. my best friend who is now my husband. *extra points for that one

all for free.

Now, they get my $5 every month and that doesn’t even BEGIN to cover it.

Thanks, guys. I really can’t say it enough.

That’s actually a misstatement. You can go when there is an open house.

I knew as soon as I saw the a-frame sign a few days beforehand that I had to go. It wasn’t until later, when Aaron raised the point, that I wondered if it would be “weird” to go back there.

When I moved to New York in 1999, I wanted to *really* live there. I didn’t want to feel like I was biding my time until I returned to my real home, and so I decided to sell the house where I had lived for six years before leaving. I wasn’t away too terribly long and when I returned, the valley was in the tail end of the dot com boom. The low inventory of homes on the market combined with money seemingly falling from the sky like rain, had driven home prices to double digit gains in the interim. More than that, it was a time where if you were in the market for a home, you basically took what you could get because competition was so stiff. I bought a house not too far from the one I had left and when I would find myself in the neighborhood, I would perform a ritualistic “drive-by of regret”. I wished I hadn’t let the house go. The new house was never right. My life post New York wasn’t right. The two things were irrevocably linked for me. The house was the thing I could fix. Another move later, I fixed the rest.

Would it be weird to go back there?

That house always felt so good. I literally loved it. I used to turn on the lights in the evening and walk around the block just so I could see it glowing from the inside as I approached and feel it draw me in, not believing that I lived there. It still feels the same way. Two people have lived there since I did and they really haven’t changed much at all. The address plate that I screwed onto the porch is still there. The chrome pot rack that I put in the kitchen still hangs right where I left it. Best of all, the screen doors in the backyard still creak exactly the same way they did when I left. If I close my eyes I can hear them, but more than that, I can feel the sound they make. We spoke to the owner about the house and all the idiosyncrasies that made it mine and now his. He told us to wander around as much as we wanted. He gets it. He doesn’t really want to leave it either, but his family has grown and can’t stay.

Walking back to the sidewalk, Aaron asks if I’m okay and the blur of the last 15 minutes starts to lift and the tears start to roll. It isn’t until a little later that I understand why I am so wrecked by the experience. A lot happened in that house. That is where I lived when I finished college and started working. That is where I lived when I got married. That is where I lived when I brought my first son home from the hospital to the room we had painstakingly painted with wide blue and green stripes in anticipation. That is where I grew up. That was the last place I felt safe before five solid years of uncertainty, upheaval, and wondering what I could do, how I could be better, and how to salvage the unsalvageable. That was the last place I felt “home”. Walking those halls was inhabiting the girl I was when I lived there. I barely recognize her. It’s like watching crappy home video of a birthday party for someone on the news after they have disappeared and everyone knows that they are most likely dead. Your heart breaks for her.

I love my new home, and it is one. I love walking down the sidewalk and seeing into the windows and feeling the pull to the front door and it is no less than I had before. I love the traditions we’ve set forth. I love that we often look around, count kids and realize our house is where the neighborhood kids want to play. None of our kids came home here from the hospital, but they come home from school, from brownie meetings, and from soccer games. When I think about home now, I think about *this* home and the rooms where we tuck in the kids and the paint we chose together for the walls and how when I stand on the first step on the porch, I am suddenly the right height to kiss Aaron without standing on my tip toes. It is also where we got married. It is a whole different life. My mistake, it is a whole life, first one I’ve had.

1. Fred
2. Candy
3. Sinbad
4. Pepper
5. Captain Nemo

It’s Aaron’s Birthday. WOOHOOO! It isn’t easy being so “baby-faced” and middle aged at the same time.

except you and you and you.

I’ve got 10 invites to give away. Come and get ‘em.

Was the usual chaos. Four monkeys dressed, fed, be-lunched and dropped off at summer camp. I dropped by the post office and grabbed a coffee for me and one for Aaron, since he was trapped at home with some installers working on our kitchen. In the ten minutes I was there, I learned our fancy new kitchen gear was going to cost an extra $600 or so bucks to install properly. awesome. When I decided I should head to work instead of listen to the tally rise, I went outside and saw my next door neighbor leading a hunched little figure from the car. Wearing pajama pants, no shirt and a blue hooded sweatshirt, he’s got sunken cheeks like a P.O.W. We got a little wave in and he turned around and gave us a huge smile. While I got in my car outside his house, I looked over and watched as he rang the doorbell and his mom answered. He was home days earlier than expected and for a while there, it had looked like he might not ever be home again. As I saw his mom take him into her arms, it was clear I was witnessing a moment that will undoubtedly be one of the greatest of their lives. no happiness like that. I’m floored. I so often get caught up in the morning hassle and race and miss what matters most. What an amazing reminder.

1. last beverage: strong coffee w/ half and half

2. last phone call to: paying my mortgage by phone cus I am a horrible procrastinator with no use for the mail.

3. last cd played: Mixed CD from Aaron

4. last text message: an ad from AT&T

SIX HAVE YOU EVERS:

1. dated someone twice? probably

2. been cheated on? duh.

3. kissed someone & regretted it? yes

4. lost someone special? hmmm….not really

5. been depressed? post partum, man. it’s not for kids.

6. been drunk and threw up? oh yes. Nothing to see here, folks, move along.

LIST FOUR FAVORITE COLORS:
1. green 2. orange 3. navy 4. pink

IN THE LAST MONTH HAVE YOU

1. Made a new friend: yes

2. Fallen out of love: not a chance

3. Laughed until you cried: yes, a bunch of times

4. Met someone who changed your life: not that I know of

5. Found out who your true friends were: doesn’t that require some kind of catastrophe?

6. Is there something you want to tell someone: Sure, by that’s an MP, not a YP

7. How many kids do you want to have? five.

8. Do you have any pets? no. way.

9. Do you wanna change your name: I’m hyphenating in about six weeks.

10. What did you do for your last birthday: goofed off and painted a mug that then blew up in a kiln

11. What time did you wake up today? 7:30 and didn’t get out of bed until 9.

12. What were you doing at 8:00 last night? eating dinner w/ Hurley

13. Name something you CANNOT wait for? Hmmm…I’m pretty patient.

14. Last time you saw your father? Last week at the little league play offs.

15. What is one thing you wish you could change about your life? have my monkeys full time

16. Have you ever talked to Tom? I know lots of Toms.

17. Who’s getting on your nerves right now? No one, really.

18. Most visited webpage? my work

19. Coke or Pepsi? coke zero….with vanilla grey goose.

Great kid. Sweet kid. Very sick kid. Not one of mine, but when you’re a parent every kid is a little bit yours.

His appendix burst and he’s in the hospital fighting a horrible infection. He needs juju.

If you read this, please take ten seconds and do your best?

Thanks folks.

brilliant.

www.shorpy.com/leave-it-to-beaver