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How’s your grass growing?

My grass is presently that shade of sickly yellow that you see at the end of winter, but I’m not worried. I know that some water, fertilizer, and some sunshine will fix it right up in no time.

Why is my grass suffering so much, you ask? Well, that’s a great question that I’m not sure I even have the answer to.

For the last three weeks, my computer page here has been empty. It’s a sad, blank white, but my mind is so full.

My closet is bare, but my heart is filled to the brim with emotion.

My head is full of thoughts, but the words all seem empty, like my kitchen cupboards and my walls.

It’s a strange place this “in limbo” of moving. I feel like everything is happening all at once, but in slow motion.

I’ve challenged myself to just sit with the feeling. It’s heartbreaking and exciting and awful and wonderful all at once. It’s a strange sort of numb feeling after it all settles, and it makes me wonder, “What the hell was I thinking?” Lol. Maybe that’s where the yellow grass originated from.

Do I regret the decision we made to overhaul life as we knew it and make a cross-country move? Absolutely not.

That being said, there are definitely a lot of unknowns floating around in my brain lately. I don’t know exactly what life will look like for the next month. I don’t know what the next year will look like either. I don’t know which dance studio we should choose, where to look into music lessons and sports for the boy, or when we will see our family and friends again once we move.

Here’s what I do know…

I know that I am immensely enjoying late night Netflix binge sessions and early morning walks without the pressure of the morning rush to work. I love mid-morning Starbucks runs to fuel hubby and me as we pack and late nights dinners where bedtime is not a concern. I know that I haven’t done my hair or makeup for weeks, and I’m wearing tanks and too short shorts (for a 42-year-old) in between swimsuits and pajamas. And I don’t care a bit what anyone thinks about it.

So despite the moving truck outside and the boxes stacked up in our dining room that scream “life change,” I’m choosing to pay attention to the small changes that make life in the present amazing.

I revel in the almost-teen boy’s giggles as we watch TV together, and I even love the outrageously loud girl tribe that is screaming and voraciously laughing as they run up and down the stairs before sleepover bedtimes.

I am making time for coffee with long time dance moms and lunch with newer teacher friends. I’ll miss them all more than I’ll let myself think about right now.

I am spending time sitting on my couch without worrying about lesson plans or screen time or how many ice-cream bars my kids have eaten before lunch.

I’m drinking more water because I can pee anytime I want to (only teacher friends understand the novelty of this), and I’m soaking up the desert sun on my pool float without worrying about the coming Monday.

I am spending my minutes worrying about connecting with hubby since we get him all to ourselves for a whole month. I’m worrying more about watching the dancer girl smile during her final classes and less about the logistics of life. I’m worrying about capturing memories here in this house that I’ll remember fondly and less about whether or not my makeup is done or if the floor is mopped.

I know the coming weeks will bring stress and uncertainty, but I know it will be worth it. I know we will all grow as people and as a family, and I know we won’t regret taking this opportunity that was so graciously handed to us due to hubby’s amazing work ethic and leadership skills. I know the situation will allow us to pay off bills and explore a new part of the country that we may end up falling in love with.

I know that we are ready to tackle the unknown. If you’ve ever met me, you know that the unknown is one of my greatest fears. I like to fly by the seat of my pants about as much as I’d like to have a root canal.

However, I’m choosing to embrace the uncertainty, feel the apprehension and label it as disguised excitement, and be open to whatever life has in store for us.

I’m choosing to water my own grass. Because it’s okay to have real, yellowed grass instead of fake turf. Afterall, that real grass is awaiting new life. It just needs a little perspective.

Be grateful (for opportunity disguised as uncertainty), water your own grass,

and drink coffee.

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