At night I stay awake well past my bedtime.
I push myself later than I should, willing eyes to remain open.
I then dawdle for ages brushing my teeth, washing my face, and then there's the removal of my contacts. Nightly it feels as if someone has asked me to climb Mt. Everest backwards.

Then I go to sleep on the left side of the bed. Hubby and I didn't decide on spots, it just happened from the beginning. If we switch it feels like I'm at a sleepover.

At some point in the night I hear the scuffs across the carpet of little bare feet. Sometimes I'm begging sleep to come, other times I hear it through my fog of dreams. The Princess pushes the covers back and climbs into the little nook, head on my right arm, tucked under my left. She fits there. And moments later I can hear the rhythm of her breath on my wrist. She is perfect.

It's stopped driving me crazy this sleeping pattern the children have. I spent years analyzing, talking with friends, doctors, family, strangers all in hopes of finding the fix. Now I can see the end coming. The Prince stills scuffs his (bigger) feet across the floor and climbs in under the (bigger) nook of Daddy's right arm, but it's later in the morning and he's up and playing solo earlier.
I can see the age is inevitable where the mounds of kisses I smother their chubby cheeks in won't be cool. Tickles will be lame. Raspberries will be weird.
So I am inhaling this time, and while there will be countless mornings where I long for a full bed and deep, uninterrupted sleep; when that day comes I'll be reminiscing of the times when The Princess would suck her thumb in dreamland and occasionally remember that she has to pull it out to breathe.

Excuse me while I say goodnight, spend a little less time prepping for sleep and more time waiting for that precious and fleeting scuff that I am sure to hear...

Thank God for worthy distractions.

We are in the final stages of prep to stick our home on the ever changing market for the world to see. And I am pooped.

FIVE days. FIVE. F - to the I - to the V - to the E.
That's how long it took to clean and purge and dust and wash and stage. All while working and with the Munchkins (whenever my dear mother didn't save me from them).

I am feeling the pangs of leaving a home now. The Hubby graciously took me down memory lane when cleaning my office. "Remember when Seth used to curl up in the closet and sleep? Remember when, remember when, remember when."
Dangit. We lived a lot in this place. We laughed, we cried, we fought. We brought home The Princess to this house and The Prince took his first steps here. We nursed booboos and cared for sickies. We had dinner parties and barbecued the crap out of our barbecue so much so that I don't know if that poor sucker would have enough left in it to cook up a decent burger.

While I think I've been good with letting go of the stuff and cherishing the memories, I am aching over all the work we are leaving. Dude. Do you know how long it took to put in that laminate flooring? Or the built in shelves I slaved over? Who cares if they're a little crooked. What about the benches in the kitchen or the walkway that took weeks of drama purchasing and returning the stones until we picked the right ones. My mother's fingers will never be the same after over 1080 bricks.

This is our history, and while it's not customary to put out old photos of "Before and After" gosh darnit I wish it was. It's not perfect. But it is damn beautiful, even if I do say so myself.

So letter to the future owner of this house,

Please note that if water spills on the floor, wipe it up. No one wants unnecessary damage to the laminate.
That tap in the kitchen sink took me 5.5 hours to install. Along with a little help. It was hell, but it looks hot now, no?
Raccoons like to hangout in my favourite tree, you know the one in the backyard, the huge stunning maple, yeah that one, and if you have small children watch out. I'm pretty sure they have a taste for babies, aggressive little buggers.
My Dad put insulation in the roof when we moved in. It's still working. He deserves a thankyou.
There are new pipes in the basement. You don't want to know the headache that was, or the nightmare of an 18 foot hole in the driveway, but do enjoy the benefits of proper sewage function.
Those benches in the kitchen? Don't throw them out, for the love of God. Please don't throw them out. I spent hours upon hours planning and building them, nevermind the 12 trips daily to Home Depot. I wrecked manicures and scratched arms and lost sleep making them look just right.
Oh and one last thing, then I promise I'll stop.
The back deck may look like it will only take a couple of hours to paint. It's deceiving. It took 8 hours. It's fully finished, and we're leaving you a full new can of the same paint just in case. We're simply that generous.

Sincerely,
Current Owner (aka: maid, cook, accountant, repairman, carpenter, painter, designer, gardener, etc.)

I am so grateful for the small breaks throughout this time.
Like bailing on filling in holes to grab a drink and a date with some of my favourites.

I am attempting not to drown in the list of To-Do's.
At this point they are not so much To-Do's but more like Must-Be-Done-Now's.

Life is quickly swirling and while I am lapping up the moments I am wishing my Fairy Godmother would come and Bippity Boppity Boo it all into shape.

Spring is fighting it's way through the snow storms that refuse to leave without force and we are preparing for our own season of change as a family. Interesting how life shifts with the weather…

I have abandoned The Hubby with the monstrous load of dishes eating away at our countertop. The papers begging to be organized for taxes are calling my name and thanks to a little girl who loves clothes as much as her Momma, there is a 10ft X 5ft mound of laundry that must be tended too.

Tomorrow is a biggie for us, in the grande scheme of change. Tomorrow we hope and pray that some lovely people will see our home, want our home, and buy our home. Is it too much to ask that they also have green thumbs to keep my (mother's) garden flourishing?

Onward adventure!

Back to daily grind pics after this batch I promise.

But each shot is like a ruby that I didn't want to keep to myself...

I still have the best in photos yet to come so will you bear with me for one more post? Please, pretty please. I promise the shots are worth it!

Words are continually failing me when I try to explain last week.
Pictures will have to do…
For the next two posts.

But in an attempt to describe it all lets go with:

MAGNIFICENT
STUNNING
GLORIOUS
INSPIRING
RELAXING
MAJESTIC
OVERWHELMING
SOOTHING
REFRESHING
JOYOUS…

I am fairly certain I don't have the capacity to write what I'm feeling. As I sit by an open window, breeze blowing warmth into my room, birds chirping happily I can hardly take it all in.

On Tuesday I was a hair model for Sis. Primped and primed for a styling competition chatting with Mel about her time in California only a few weeks before.
Hours later I got a call…

"Hi Rebecca, would you consider coming to California tomorrow?"

WHATTTTTTTTTTTT?????????????????

I do believe at that point I admitted that there was no way I could respond in a calm adult manner and I proceeded to giggle/squeal/scream/cry/scream some more for the next 10 hours.

You see my MIL pulled out some ribs and a shoulder and couldn't handle all the prep and serving for the tradeshow down here. Hence the sudden call to me. Oh Heaven!

Last week I complained to God that I was done with winter. I was becoming more miserable daily and I needed a break. I needed warmth and sunshine, quite possibly more intensely than ever before. But it was completely out of the question for our family.
I sit here now by the open window amazed by Jesus' provision. A friend two nights ago quite bluntly informed me that I can never doubt if our Heavenly Father loves me. Because while life can get a little messy, as life has a habit of doing, He takes care of me in the most spectacular ways.

Once the thrill of California settled in the panic of flying hit home hard. I have a deep fear of heights. Flying means reaching altitudes of 36,000 feet. In the air. In a massive piece of metal. But my desire for heat and sunshine was strong enough that while I fumbled through customs and security, and I had guards who laughed (with) at me for clearly being so new, I got on that flight to Chicago. I held the seat in front of me and I did it. Only once was I mildly concerned that I would pass out. Okay, maybe twice.

By the time I made the connect in Chicago I was able to look out the window and enjoy the rockies and the fields and the view flying in over LA.

Once picked up from the airport I was whisked to Santa Monica Pier by my in-laws. I saw the ocean and I ran. And as I ran I realized that I was out of shape. But I kept running until my feet hit the frigid water as I promised my Mom I would do. And then I may have shed a tear along with giving a humble prayer of gratitude for feeling the sand and the Pacific between my toes.

I can't take it in yet. Today we begin the Tradeshow. I will see Disneyland, I will lay in the sun and I will bask in the beauty of California.

Alright Baby, you win. Lets move to Cali! ;)

In a perfect world I would get sleep. My children would wake up happy and cooperative. I would be able to focus on all my tasks 100%, 100% of the time. In a perfect world I wouldn't get grumpy every March and I would play outdoors enjoying the crisp cold air. In a perfect world the dude sitting beside me in Starbucks right now wouldn't be rude to the person on the other end of his phone and my latte wouldn't give me a tummy ache. In a perfect world my car would never need work, my hair would look flawless and I wouldn't raise my voice. In a perfect world my house would be clean and I would always have a store of fresh socks to wear. In a perfect world I would call my friends on a regular basis, plan fun family activities and be able to stop over-talking when I get nervous. Hell, in a perfect world I wouldn't get nervous. In a perfect world The Hubby and I would see eye to eye on everything and I would make dinner every. single. night.

But in a perfect world I clearly would not be me.
So I will take all my imperfections, list them off one at a time and accept that I am a permanent work in progress.
Yet in spite of my never-ending faltering, I clearly am doing some things right.
My kids are damn polite. I love my family and (for the most part) they love me. I would still pick The Hubby 6.5 years later. I have had friendships spanning decades and I can make a pretty sexy necklace from scratch.

With that said…
Thanks to www.random.org I have selected a winner!
Joanne (Comment #8), all that extra sweat paid off in this department! You WON! E-mail me, twitter me, whatever you'd like!

Thankyou everyone for your comments. From the shoes, to surviving a serious trauma, it's refreshing to know that is glamour in the everyday. You make me smile...