It's not an empty house anymore

It’s been six days since my last blog. Six days since my last confession! I used to have to blog every day. I’m not sure if this is progress or not. Maybe it is. Maybe it means I’ve stopped obsessing so much and have started living a little bit more.

My friend L. and I go for walks. We took a long walk this weekend. Only two miles, but because we were crawling through snow banks and balancing on ice ponds, it took us over an hour. I love L. for lots of reasons, but one of them is that she’s just as neurotic as I am. We talk and analyze and obsess together.

This blog is sort of like that for me. A walk with a good friend. Sometimes through snow and across scary ice patches, but still worth it.

I’m sort of groaning at the simile in the above paragraph. Forgive me if I wax poetic. It’s part of my DNA.

Part of the reason I’m not blogging as obsessively, is that my life is not as emotionally wrought with turmoil. Now the turmoil is just every day living of running up and down the stairs taking care of the kids, running errands, working, writing, spending time with Kealoha. He started moving in this past weekend. He brought over his two cats and computer. So it’s official. He’s moving in. This was our first week together in one house.

It’s nice having him there. The kids love him. I love him. But there is an adjustment. First, the cats hate each other. My cat Mist turned into a demon (and doubled in size) when he saw Mercedes and Bubba enter his territory. The two new cats are now sequestered in the basement, while my two cats have the rest of the house. At night, my cats are very annoying so Kealoha and I aren’t getting a lot of sleep. Plus, there seems to be fur everywhere.

Simone was playing scavenger hunt and pointing out all the new things magically appearing in our home. “That blue cup is new! That lotion is new! That cat toy is new!” I’m trying not to freak about all the cat fur and the messiness of moving stuff in. It helps to come down in the morning and see Simone sitting in Kealhoa’s lap at the computer while she plays Barbie Fashion and he gives his input into which colors and patterns he likes for the dresses.

Sometimes, when I slow down, when I remember to breathe, I’m reminded that life, every day boring life, can be really poetic. I’m not going to get all Homeric here. I just mean that there is a beauty to a house filled with people and the effluvia of living. Decapitated action figures, lonely barrettes, Kealoha’s blue plastic tiki cup, my Wonder Woman coffee mug, books, unopened mail, Netflix we have yet to watch.

It’s purtty.

So. Yeah. Nothing major. Life is moving on, I guess, and I’m trying to go with the flow. I’ve so far avoided any panic attacks, but that’s probably because I went for a long walk with L. I may need to call her up before I start obsessing about how do you ask your live-in-boyfriend to do something without sounding like a nag or a mom. It’s a fine line and I’m determined to learn how to walk it. With a swagger. And possibly a feather boa.