I walk into the living room after sitting outside — determined despite the hoards of mosquitoes intent on biting any unprotected flesh — and say to my husband, “I’m officially in the wanting-to-have-kids camp.”
“Say what?” he asks. He was distracted by Fallout and the dogs wrestling.
I repeat myself, a little embarrassed by now.
“Oh, okay.” He goes back to playing Fallout. This is our life.
I sat outside on a bright-ass yellow Adirondack chair for thirty minutes. People pay for this kind of view, I keep thinking, so I decide to make myself take advantage. It’s ridiculous how often I wish we’d go camping or hiking or rent a cabin the woods so I can spend some time staring at them, even more so when I remember we have some right in our very own backyard.
Eighteen months ago, when my then-boyfriend brought me to look at this house, I was horrified. I couldn’t see the wide hallways and huge closets and so. much. square. footage. for what they are: awesome. I could only feel the creepiness of being in someone else’s house – an old person’s house. And now? I love this house. Well, as often as I hate it.
A month later, with the house under contract and closing only a few days away, my neighborhood-snooping husband was looking online when we noticed this property was almost two acres. Whaaaa? So we snuck back to explore. I was enchanted. Literally.
“It’s like we own part of Central Park!” I told my mom. “With trees and woods and a clearing, no less!”
I keep wishing we’d go out of town, spend some time in nature, rent a cabin in the woods, and yet, I have woods. I own woods. So off to the woods I went.
Thirty minutes later, I realized a couple of things. First, it’s incredibly hard for me to just sit. I had to constantly fight the urge to read something or write something or come back inside. I love the view, but I didn’t know what to do with it.
Second: yea, that thing about being in the want-t0-have-kids camp. In those thirty minutes, most of my thoughts came back to kids.
“I could use some of these photos in a kid’s room,” as I took one of many mediocre photographs.
“I don’t want to move. I want to raise my kids here, always have, remember?” Yes, I ask myself questions. “Then they’d play in the woods but near enough so I could hear them scream.”
“I never noticed how steep the hill is,” as I surveyed our domain. “It’s really amazing to be on top of a hill looking down into our little valley… but it’s a little dangerous.”
So I came inside and updated my husband, he of the easygoing unruffledness. And then he went back to playing video games while I blogged about it.