Everywhere I look, I see things that don’t belong to me.
I imagine space where there isn’t space. I imagine warmth coming from the cold wood stove. I mentally replace all the fluff with beautiful, necessary objects. My objects. My beautiful cookware. My bed. My beat up old coffee table. Jack’s little wooden kitchen. Some sort of proof that children live here.
I see a house. The land sprawls all around it. Inside, it is bright, and happy, and the creativity just flows. There are instruments. There are textures and colors and soft, squishy pillows. There is food – oh yes, there is food – and there is laughter. There are flowers in vases and bookcases full of classics. The music is intriguing and maybe jumbled by a child’s sweet attempts, but it’s enjoyed and it’s treasured and it’s framed in a picture on my kitchen wall.
More importantly than the house or the things that fill it, there are lots and lots of people. Family. My husband. My children. The house pulses with the beat of footsteps. They’re everywhere. They play, and cuddle, and eat up bowlfuls of my motherlove. There is always a pair of arms to give an embrace, there’s always a sling to fall asleep in while Mama works, and there is endless conversation, whether verbal or physical. We love, we create, we learn, we grow, we live.
I can see it. I imagine it, but I also believe it. And every day, I just look around and build it all up around me.
I will not always be surrounded by things that do not belong to me.
The day will come. That day is coming.
And the loving and creating and learning and growing and living? That can start right now.