That's my theme song right now. The school comes along just to end it part. 

My 104 days are nearly up. 
No more reading till midnight and sleeping till 9. 
No more pinning pretty pictures on Pinterest as I sip coffee on the deck. 
No more reading in the sunshine.
No more jumping into the redneck pool to cool off when the sunshine becomes too much. 
No more.
No more. 
No more.

Wednesday is my first official day back to school, teacher days packed with meetings and workshops and CPR and decorating bulletin boards. They're a nice segue into the school year, a tiny wake-up-call before I really have to drag myself up at the crack of dawn and be ON for the next 15 hours. 

My body is fighting the early hours, but my brain can't let it go. I showed up at school three days last week to set up Room 3. I heaved and hauled and hanged and stapled. I chatted and mingled and helped and stared. It's practically done. All I need are some kids and maybe a new pair of sensible shoes. Well, some lesson plans would be nice.

Truth is, I can't wait for school. I need the routine for my slothy self. I need it for my family. I need something to count on in this time of upheaval. (Upheaval: the time when you're selling your home, moving into a rental, and pretending like everything's the same.) I need some things to just be the same every single day. Even if that means I have to schedule going to the bathroom. 

My 104 days are most assuredly running out. But my brain is already on fire for the next 360.

Streaky Formica and Leg Lamps

Sometimes God wants you to act weird. He asks you to do some things that might seem, well, beneath you. He expects you to sacrifice a few pieces of furniture and such for the greater good. He even has the audacity to ask you to - gasp - go without a front porch!

A couple of years ago? Ida been, "What? Who, me? I'm OK, God. I'm OK. Me and my furniture pieces and porch with the swing and that view of your creation? We're good.")

But now? Hey, we here at Casa de Richert are pinched wide awake on this journey with God. He's asking us to downsize. He wants us to do more with less. He thinks being close, as in crammed together in half the square footage, will bring us closer to each other, closer to Him. He wants us to do it in a 1950s rental house near the center of town. No suburbs for us. Nu-uh. We're goin' downtown.

So, maybe I'll see you there
We can forget all our troubles
Forget all our cares so go

Downtown, things'll be great when you're
Downtown, don't wait a minute more
Downtown, everything's waiting for you
Downtown

Read more at http://www.songlyrics.com/petula-clark/downtown-lyrics/#t4IW2OgmlrDgshx0.99
Anywho. The boys and I went to look at this rental that Curt and I first saw last Sunday. They liked it. They apparently are unaffected by streaky formica. It's a good thing we never spoiled them with granite, no?

Each saw their future room. Boy 1 and Boy 2 loved them. Oh, to see life through their eyes. We truly would be living "downtown".

So, just what separates my boys' perspectives from my own? Hmmmmm. I'm too embarrassed to even fathom it. What, with me living in absolute security and comfort in a world where many go without food. I don't want to guilt a single one of you, but I'm sure this tiny house is a mansion by a stretch. To think that I'm delighted to have a closet for my clothes! I should be thankful to have pint-sized dry stretch to lay my head. 

Still, it's an adjustment for us, but one I'm sure we'll fit into. God is good that way. We have faith that He will provide. There will be money to make our tithe. There will be extra for the missionary we want to support. There will be room for a Christmas tree and the toaster and Pistachio the Mixer that is alone a luxury. (She can whip up a mean chocolate pound cake, let me tell you.)

When I think of where we stand in the great scheme of things, I know we're beyond blessed. And this little formica kitchen with streaky stripes and '60s decor provides for us in spite of what we deserve. 

We are blessed beyond our deserving. 

We are blessed. 

And can't you just see the leg lamp here???

the leg lamp worthy award window

Pantaloons and Kudzu

Ever since we got home from Hatteras Island, I'm conflicted, is what I am.

It happens whenever we go south. 

We hit the Mason Dixon Line, and then the Stuckey's pop up, and before you know it my accent is thick and drawling and I'm practically pulling on my pantaloons in anticipation of being home again. When I am finally home I actually breathe better. I sleep better. I feel better. It's just a better existence for me down south.

And so I'm conflicted on account of I'm not there now. I'm back in Connecticut where I have a total of zero family outside of my own personal husband and two sons and cat and hamster and two African dwarf frogs. Yes, I count my blessings that my family belongs to an amazing church and I teach at an amazing Christian school. We are supported and loved by God's people wherever we go, even here in Connecticut, but we do choose carefully. Still, Curt and I feel a tugging, a pull to head south. I'm like a goose feeling the winter approaching. I'm ready to take wing.

I simply miss home. And I've tried to get back there without leaving.

I have been reading southern writers all summer long. Even the Ron Clark book on teaching is decidedly southern with his awesome North Carolinian voice booming off the pages. Anne Rivers Siddons has been my author of choice, having exhausted Pat Conroy and Dorothea Benton Frank and Lee Smith. Southern Living is on my living room table. But it's just not enough.

I miss those hugging mountains and friendly people and cheap-o gas and neighborhood streets where people I know still live and call me by name. I miss Chick Fil A nuggets (oh yes, I just went there) and my momma and the crazy kudzu covered shacks on the side of the four-lane. 
I miss voices like mine. 
I miss wanting to talk to people in the check-out line. 
I miss home.

a kudzu covered shack on the side of the four lane

Curt and I decided way back in the spring that we were over-burdened with our mortgage, paying far more than the Dave Ramsey recommended percentage of our whole budget. We put the house up for sale ready to downsize. I don't know if you know, but Connecticut is pricey. That's why we drive to Mass. for gas. It's worth it. So the house went on the market and we kept it spic and span which is not easy with two boys and a cat and hamster and two African dwarf frogs. But we did it. 

And tonight we signed a contract with a buyer who wants to live in our house. They even want the redneck pool! We haven't come close to the price we paid, but we are thanking God that we'll be able to pay off the mortgage and pocket a little extra in savings. All this seems like a blessing and a sign.

We have no idea where God is leading us next. We have a list of rental houses to look at this weekend. Curt has his job. I have school starting in a couple of weeks. We're prepared to stick out the fall, the winter, the spring here in New England. 

But it is our Sun Stand Still prayer that we can go home after all is said and done. We are ready to go home. We are praying it. We are walking in faith -
     Goodbye beautiful house! 
     Goodbye big rooms and huge back yard! 
     Goodbye home ownership!

We're willing to turn our backs on you to get where God is taking us.

Home. We pray it's home.

Goodbye 52

Saying goodbye sucks, frankly. 

Goodbye, lovely beach.

Goodbye sea oats.

Goodbye sand.

The sand I'll miss 

when it's between my toes.

Not so much 

when it's elsewhere.

Goodbye water boy.

Except when you're in the redneck pool.

Goodbye pensive boy.

Except when you're thinking about other stuff.

Goodbye boogie boards.

Goodbye dancing boys and girls.

We'll miss you perhaps most of all.

What with your completely unself-conscious ways...

... of dancing on the beach...

... and doing calisthenics...

... and putting it all out there...

... for us timid island people

too ashamed to shake it

on the sands.

Goodbye Elizabeth and Bob and twins. 

Until next year. 

Same time.

Same place.

Goodbye week 52.

Thank you, Lord, for the blessings of being here.

And for the opportunity 

to make choices to bless others.

I don't think we did anything huge 

on a grand miracle-working scale. 

But we felt your love pour through us 

as we went about our business.

And we gladly let it shine.

Thank you, dear Lord, 

for this amazing week.

Please keep us and help us 

to feel this love 

in the next 51 weeks

till we are back here again.