Teething and Other Disasters

For you two and a half loyal readers, I apologize for my sudden lack of posts.  Look.  My one year old is cutting six teeth and free time is a phantom, a taunting memory of something lovely which is no more.  But to console my avid followers who have felt a sting of purposelessness without my regular posts and who feel as if I have betrayed them to a life without the meaning that comes from reading about my children who like to poop in public (a run-on sentence feels good sometimes) I have a gift.
Bam! A sleeping baby.  Just gaze upon this ball of snuggly sweetness and all will be well.

 

Let us return to the final chapter of the journey to Massachusetts.  I left off with our son's query as to whether we were homeless or not.  It was not an easy question to answer because in the truest sense of the word we were homeless.  We overused the word "adventure" with our kids when referencing our lack of home, job, friends, church, toys, stability ... the boys probably now associate that word with all things unpleasant and uncertain.
We lived in the Bedford Motel many a day and spent those days watching the beautiful fall leaves blow away and our money with them.  The house/apartment/anything we could get our hands on hunt lagged on and on.  Again and again we were turned down.  We drove further up the coast and landed in Salem.  The town of witches.  We drove endlessly until I found a Craigslist add for an apartment for rent.  The price of the rent was astronomical but we were without options.  I called the phone number and the man was extremely friendly and said that he just wanted to take his dog to the pet cleaners to get the poop out of her fur and then he could meet us to show us the house.  Okie dokie.  You do that.  We drove to the address in the listing and found before us a three story black Victorian with a large grey porch and autumn mums all around.  That and the fact that it was way above our budget immediately landed this place in the "way out of our league" category.
I really don't remember seeing the apartment at all because I was so focused on trying to corral my extremely rowdy boys.  They had been strapped into their seats for so long that when they were released it resulted in a cataclysmic burst of spastic behavior.  It was so bad that I could not stop my oldest from sniffing and licking the walls.  They were throwing themselves on the floor, laying on their sides while using their feet to propel themselves clockwise.  Mortified I whispered fierce threats through clenched teeth and could scarcely make eye contact with the guy who was showing us the place.  I had no thought that we could possibly get this place so it seemed as if we were waisting the time of this seemingly nice person who was probably waiting to pick up his dog and wondering what was wrong with our bizarre children.
I fairly ran out when the tour was finally over, ready to brood and stream while furthering our search for a place to live.  Once the kids were lassoed and buckled in and we were ready to drive away I saw that my dark and miserable attitude was not matched at all by my husband's mood.  He was all smiles and hopeful thoughts.  A real bucket of sunshine, which is not the most pleasant thing when one is set on being morose.  He then told me that he thinks that there is a pretty good chance that this place might work out.  At my raised eyebrows he elaborated.  Apperently, while I was busy plucking my children out of the bathtub and trying to stop them from licking the major appliances Andrew was having a very pleasant chat with the guy showing us the apartment.  He told him about Jack's past and why we had moved here and the two talked about life and God and music and really hit it off.  A glimmer of hope began as I saw a chance arising here.  Later that night we heard back from the landlord who said that he was really moved by our story and would really like to just outright rent the place to us without doing any reference calls, he would just need to get a check on our credit and be back with us in the morning.  That was such great news that we decided to call it a night and celebrate by quitting our house hunt early and going back to the motel room.  The next morning we were driving to get breakfast and got the call.  The guy, Charley is his name, called to tell us that he did not get our credit check back but that he did look at the web sight for the church that we had just left and was really moved by Jack's story and by all the work that we had done within the church and just wanted to offer the apartment to us no questions asked.  (!!!!!)  Holy smokes, people.  That was the best news we had heard in days.  I suddenly wished I had looked at the place a bit more because I couldn't even remember what it looked like or how many rooms it had.  We scarfed down our breakfast and raced to the apartment.  We signed papers and handed over gobs of money in exchange for keys to our new home.  Finally, we can rest after our long journey.  The apartment was flooded in light and character.  It was so beautiful that I hated to fill it with our things.  I wanted to keep it cavernous and shining.

Our neighbors downstairs were very friendly and also had two kids and the neighborhood was quiet and quaint.  Down the street was a massive park complete with a small cove and beach as well as a genuine settlement from the 1600s.  Have I died and gone to heaven?
Perhaps not, but we had definitely landed in a much better place than we ever would have hoped for.  We filled the house with our things and found that lacking a couch and kitchen table and any counters in the kitchen was less than ideal so the only logical step followed.  Ikea.  Nuff said.
Moving is stressful no matter the circumstances but the plus is that we get to recreate our living spaces.  Time to make our house a home.