Roomies

A couple nights ago, I was laying in bed hoping that Bobby would stop crying. Mary was making her own whiny bed time protest. 'Please go to sleep,' I willed them. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw my phone continue to light up with new texts from my college friends. While I needed a good laugh, I knew yet another glimpse of a small electronic device would make my newly minted migraine even worse. I looked up at the ceiling instead. Not tired enough to fall asleep, but too tired to do anything more than that.

I looked at the stain up there. Water dripped through the crawl space about a year ago leaving a brownish, textured mark that bothers me most after I've ritualistically cleaned the house for the week, inevitably missing this one spot. There's a similar watermark on the ceiling of our sun room. And then there are those two notches in the wall, imprints from the previous owners' over sized artwork and carelessness. We need to replace all the windows too. They are likely as old as our pre-war house and in a couple instances haven't aged well.

The stain on the ceiling tends to lead to thoughts of the other things: leaky faucets, creaky floors, doors that jam, chipped paint, and when comparing to others or expectations or ideals, the feeling that there isn't ever enough room. That with another on the way, what we have won't suffice.

For the past couple months, I've been scouring Redfin looking for an upgrade. Another bedroom, another bathroom, a bigger kitchen, more land, less neighbors, all at the right price. I've forced my love onto a couple contenders, but in reality they had shortcomings. More importantly, it's not a logical time for us to move. There are too many question marks in our future - too many paths that have potential.

That night, as I was looking up at one of the many flaws in our house, trying to deal with yet another headache fueled by a combination of work stress, high energy kids, and third trimester fatigue, I heard Mary say, 'come on Bobby it's time for bed. Let's be quiet now.'
Bobby snapped back, 'no. I don't want you, Ma-ree'
She soothed him again, encouraging him one more time to go to sleep. A plane announcing its proximity to O'Hare flew over head.
'What's that Mary?' he asked.
'It's a plane, Bobby'
'Oh, is that a plane, Mary?'
'Uh huh.'
'We going to sleep now Mary?'
'Uh huh.'
You asleep now, Mary?
'Uh huh'
'Okay, Mary.'

They were quiet. And five minutes later asleep. A minute after that, I was asleep too.

Peter and I had already been in twice trying to get them to calm down. One last story, one last song, one last cuddle. Turns out, all they needed was each other.

Over the past week, I've noticed more and more benefits from the kids' cohabitation even at their young ages. They are sharing more and fighting less. Talking instead of teasing. Actually helping each other. And the lengthy bedtime ritual is consolidated to one room and generally one parent. Amazing.

With the pace of life recently, I have hardly been stopping to recognize the milestones, and over the past ten days, there have been quite a few. Mary graduated from preschool. Bobby graduated from his crib into a big boy bed. The two of them graduated from brother and sister into the realm of roommates. And I graduated from the fear that what we have isn't enough for our growing family. In fact, it's plenty.

Good things can come from small houses ... as well as flaws that need fixing, shared rooms, and an acknowledgment that greener grass doesn't mean a happier home.

Lo.