September 12, 2007 | Mama Smith

our hamster cage

This morning I lay in bed, staring out our second floor window at the walnut trees huddled together in our backyard. My mom said you feel as if you’re walking through a tree house stepping in to our bedroom. I love that we haven’t covered them over with light-blocking blinds or decorative shades yet. I love seeing the sun pour through the branches in the early morning.

This morning the beauty of it all nestled that achy homesick feeling inside me. Probably because these were my favorite mornings in Mt. Airy. The crisp, sunny trees around our side yard. Drinking coffee together while Brighton ran around barefoot in his pjs yelling for Olivia across the street and Levi cooed in his car seat. An easy walk to the park. A brief, but grounding conversation with acquaintances at the coop or the coffee shop. Feeling like I belonged somewhere. That people knew me. Expected me to be a part of their daily routine. That I knew how to get from point A to point B and even point C between the two without backtracking to A.

I can see I am going to love Greenville. Love the clean streets. The unbelievably kind people everywhere – at the grocery store, the gas station, the bank. The eclectic downtown. But right now, tonight, I just long for familiarity. I was standing in my beautiful new kitchen actually missing my scratched white porcelain kitchen sink. Not because it’s better. Not because I actually want it back. But simply because it’s familiar. It represented to me the whole of my life there in Mt. Airy.

I talk big when it comes to adventure and changing things up, but when the changes actually go into effect, I’m a major weenie who just wants her cozy, familiar hobbit hole back.

Last night Matthew, Callie and I set out for a movie to relax from a stressful day while Mom babysat the boys. We returned one hour later after wandering around the outskirts of Greenville, completely lost and completely annoyed. Annoyed at this new place. Annoyed at streets named 2 Notched Rd and Bent twig Road. Annoyed that we only know where a handful of things are and that we have no clue how to get from one to the other without returning to starting point A – our home.

We feel like hamsters running through those little tunnels from one point to the next, not knowing how they’re all connected and that we could probably save a lot of time going from Lowes directly to Whole Foods, instead of going back home, then back to Whole Foods, the only way we know how.

These things come with time. I know. I’ve moved to five different towns in the past five years. Yet even with previous experience reminding me familiarity here in Greenville will happen, that I’ll wake one morning and drive to Whole Foods without even thinking about it, that the guy at our gas station with look forward to Brighton’s visits as much as Stephanie did at the coop, that we’ll find a park we love, the growing pains as we adjust aren’t any less jarring.

Though there are still boxes to unpack, I decided to unpack the familiar little “trinkets” that lined our shelves and tables. It’s helping me feel as if this is home and this is now where we belong. Above is Levi’s toy shelf. A shelf Matthew made me in Colorado after we were engaged.

These boys are loving the company and attention of both Callie and my mom. Yesterday Callie and I took Brighton to a kids fountain downtown that spurts water unexpectedly. Brighton caught it in the face and was too shocked to move. These are the things I’m missing with our camera! Today I tried to capture a few moments.

Levi was spoiled today with a sink bath from Mimi and story time with Aunt Cal-Cal. They aren’t going to know what happened when Mom leaves, then Callie a few weeks afterwards. I’ve said this in practically every post, but I honestly don’t know how I would have survived this time without them.