I want to give a long and thorough update for the Blackhurst Klan, but for now- a moment of therapy. When Todd and I moved to Houston so many years ago, we arrived rather weather-torn and battered. We had been through the rick-a-ma-roo and it showed- but I don't have to tell you this, many of you were there! For several years while we were happily adjusting to our new life- I held back a little. Oh I still did all the normal routines and didn't even notice the changes- but I held back. Some of my foundations of trust had been permanently broken and although we recovered with flying colors- I stayed reserved. One day while visiting a friend, I oohed and ahhed at her decorating. It was so perfect, each empty space filled with family identity- vacations, artwork done by a child, knick-knacks with special attachments, quotes to live by, recent family photos- framed and mounted. Stepping into the house opened up something in me that had been closed. The idea of home.
Although Todd's job was going extremely well, we had made lasting friendships, and we loved our school and church- I hadn't made Houston our home. Emotionally, I think I felt like the idea of home was not a permanent place, it was something that could change in an instant. It was something that could be taken- with force and without remorse. The idea of home had altered to something intangible and fragile- but by being in my friends' home, I realized something valuable. Home is wherever I make it. I've had to "therapy" myself a bit through some of it, but over time I have realized that yes- we could lose our home in a heartbeat. Tornadoes, floods, unemployment, greedy banks, or war could all take our house away in an instant. The reality that it could be gone in a moment should not leave me stranded, although it did for a while. This is MY home. Where I raise my children. Where I invite my friends for parties, for books clubs, for dinner. It's our haven from the cruel world. Our resting place. Our happy spot. Our pillow to cry on. Our halls to scream and shout and fight in. It's ours, because of the people who live here. So instead of thinking- maybe someday- I hang pictures on my walls. All over. Nails.Thumb tacs. Hammers. We paint- because a playroom should be sun-shine yellow and not chocolate brown. We add value and declutter a bit here and there so that when we walk in we exhale from the worry of the world. We make it ours. Every scratch of paint tells our story. It's not going to be perfect and someday we will walk away from this house- because that is the nature of life. But! We will walk away knowing that we put our best into these walls. That we lived with our eyes open, unafraid of tomorrow, and our pictures on the wall.
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| From trash to treasure- the slats on the wall are from the crib Todd and I painted for Ava before she was born. The number 5 was part of the decorations at my baby shower for Cora. The rest are pictures from our most current photo shoot. It's not quite how I want it forever, but I really like it for now. |
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| My great-grandmother's dining room table- that was also my grandmother's sits in my piano room. It's a recent addition to my house, and is on temporary loan but this is my favorite room to sit in- and as you can see- I have good company! |
