I cannot compartmentalize them to help them quiet down so they swirl around like in random abandon and make my heart race.
The only solace I can think of is to write them down. Writing is my therapy and I haven’t been doing much of it lately, so maybe this will help.
There are some people who are made out to build homes. They flit smoothly, seamlessly from one decision to the next. They are composed. They can conceptualize where they will someday want light switches and how textures and colors will work in harmony to create the space they envision for their family.
There are others who are not cut out for the job. Little things throw them into a quandary of pro and con over thinking, lining their mind with details they will probably never again think about once they let themselves go forward. And the decisions that don’t get flustered about in the first place, and are made easily with a smile, get second-guessed eventually down the road when the pieces don’t fit together as they were supposed to.
I am the second kind of person.
I am not good at this.
Right now we are supposed to be deciding stone and countertops and what color of metal roof should compliment the undecided stucco color below. Flooring decisions have been made and re-made, and our trim guy has looked at me plenty of times with a look that says, “you don’t have any idea what you are doing, do you?” And my silent answer back is “I sure don’t.” Walls will be painted tomorrow, unless I cannot make the decision, which will throw off shower tiling and cabinet installation…and flooring, and our move-in date.
Which, of course, isn’t decided yet anyway.
The problem isn’t that I don’t have a vision. That I have. I know the feel I am going for. I know I want clean-lines and natural light and contemporary simplicity. And I know very well what I don’t like. But there are so many options and choices I am overwhelmed.
What I really want to do is snuggle on the couch with my children and lay in bed at night with my husband and think about something other than eaves and shelving.
I am not complaining. Each of us in our family send prayers of gratitude up to Heaven every day for the opportunity to create a place for our growing children that is thought-out and perfect for our needs. We feel deep gratitude for such a wonderful “problem” to have.
I am just reminding my future self that this is lot harder than I figured it would be. And please, future self, don’t ever get a bug to do it again!
I have a newfound respect for normalcy. For those days when my children come home from school and I can cut up some strawberries for them and look into their sparkly eyes as they tell me about their day. For those times I can sit and watch the dances they make up without having my mind split in forty-nine different directions to try to put out fires for things that are waiting to be done. For time to cook balanced meals for them. For the chance to call a friend or reach out to those who may need an extra hand. I don’t like being the one in the darkness grasping to hold on by the tips of my fingernails.
Last night Claire and I lay on our backs at the top of the stairs (I have no idea why there of all places, but that’s where we found ourselves), taking turns holding her book up high and reading about various “Series of Unfortunate Events.” And as I looked at her as she snuggled in close, I felt such an overwhelming gratitude that I get to be her mother. All of their mother. I get to be a wife. And a sister/daughter/friend. And that in general I don’t have to think about drywall and landscaping and how to cut up tile to make a new funky design. Because in the end, those people I love more than anything on earth along with my relationship with God are all that matters.
How I need to keep that in perspective right now.