One son moves out, and just like that, the youngest sees his chance. Can I take his room? he asks before the door even clicks shut behind his brother. And honestly, who can blame him? So began what I now call the Great Migration. Furniture flying up and down stairs, closets emptied and reloaded, a gaming setup that apparently requires enough cables to wire a small city.
I have never climbed so many stairs in my life. Not just climbing, though. Climbing while carrying things. Heavy things. Closets. Bed frames. Boxes of who-knows-what. And computers, plural. Because no, a single laptop is not sufficient for a teenage gamer and part-time 3D printing enthusiast. We have printers too, both paper and plastic melting kinds.
New rooms, New muscles
With the new room claimed, I figured it was the perfect opportunity to create a dressing area and a music space on the top floor. Because if you're already sweating and moving furniture, why not go full home makeover?
Let me clarify. This is not a Pinterest-worthy setup with white walls and minimalist shelving. This is me, on the floor, trying to screw in shelf brackets while balancing on one leg and wondering where that mystery bolt belongs. I’ve found muscles I forgot I had. I’ve also found socks I forgot I owned.
The quiet while he’s gone
Now the youngest is off on a school trip, and the house is eerily quiet. Which gives me time to finish the chaos, but also means no one is here to help. Or distract me. Or interrupt my thoughts. Which is both a gift and a curse.
There’s a weird space that opens up when the house is silent. You start to hear your own thoughts again, and mine have been loud lately. I’ve lost two friends recently, and when something like that happens, I tend to clean. Not the light dusting kind. The full-throttle, rearrange-your-life kind. When my head gets messy, I try to sort the things I can control.
Almost done, but never really
The garden is nearly finished. The rooms are slowly falling into place. And painting the house is still on the to-do list. That last part always feels like the most exhausting. Not just physically, but because it means everything else is done, and now you have to stand back and let the dust settle. I don’t know if I’m ready for that.
And of course, it’s going to rain next week. But maybe that’s not so bad. Maybe it’ll force me to sit, to rest, to actually notice the work I’ve done instead of jumping to the next task.
Finding focus again
I’ve lost my focus a bit lately. Somewhere between the stairs and the screwdrivers, I dropped it like a missing sock in the laundry. But now that things are quieter, and the house is finally catching its breath, I hope I can too.
Maybe that rainy week will bring it back. Or maybe it won’t. But who knows, maybe focus lives in places we never think to look, like behind a closet or under a pile of cables.
With love,
From a slightly tired but still hopeful mom