Books and Bobbleheads

Funny thing about retiring. I am not only reinventing myself but now I have extra time to tackle changes to my home and my family. I am not quite sure this is why I wanted extra time.

At some point, our daughter told me that I should turn her room into an art studio. It was one of the hardest things to do, to create a space just for me. Now her beautiful room has a different purpose and a very different reason to enter. We used to stand in her doorway and smile at her curly hair spread out adorably on her pillow next to Murray and next to a pile of laundry that always seemed as unmanageable as curly hair could be. Somehow, she managed them both. Now, there is no curly hair covering a pillow in her room. There is no bed or pillow in the room. Just Murray remains to keep me company when I paint at the easel. In my heart, it will always be Katie's room. Just as her name will always be Katie, not Kate. Sorry, 'bout that sweetie. Some things cannot change.

Zach's room has remained empty since December. He comes home every now and then to say hi, to fix a toilet with a saw, to walk Murray, or to join us at the table whenever I get carried away with extra food. I love how close he and Michele are. I love that they can just pop by for a few minutes. With each visit, Zach comes downstairs with another bunch of books, a few shirts, and more random stuff to bring to his new apartment. I don't mind his things staying here. That big bedroom at the end of the hallway still has his name on it. We can hold his stuff as long as he wants us to hold his stuff. Hopefully, he will keep Sundays this fall for watching the Jets in the den. Hopefully, that will not change.

Zach's room was always used as a guest room. He would happily give up his queen-sized bed for visitors and sleep on the couch. Now it really is a room anyone can crash for the night. He has his own queen-sized bed somewhere else. Yesterday, in an effort to attack more areas of the house, I approached Zach's room with the same trepidation I did Katie's room. By noon, the furniture was shifted around, the dust bunnies swept away, and a new quilt fit for a guest is now the feature of the room. His furniture is still his furniture, but in a new arrangement, it feels new. Books and bobblehead dolls are the only visible memories of my son's childhood. It will be a nice place for Dave to sleep when he comes to visit in a few weeks. It is still a nice room, but it has changed. Too much is changing all at once. I don't know how I feel about this.

Katie's room, Zach's room, new bathrooms, and now the living room without Sam's piano. Too much is changing this year. I was envious of everyone else's neat homes during my children's childhood years. I dreamed that I could have a house a visitor could just drop by and not be embarrassed about my mess. In retrospect, it was not a mess. It was never a mess (okay, maybe sometimes it was), it was just a loving, busy home for a family. One by one, each room is getting redefined this year, just as I am redefining me. I can now put a red rope in front of the doors like they have in a museum for people to just admire the spaces. Spaces that are not being used to their advantage. Spaces that are not lived in. My house should be a house for a family. There should be messes, noises, and footsteps on the stairs. Too much is changing all at once. I don't know how I feel about this.