What’s that old saying about spilled milk?
Well, it wasn’t exactly milk, but I found myself crying over white paint today…not even spilled paint. For those of you playing along at home, I finally found the right white (Sherwin Williams Shoji White ) and the minute I discovered it, the tears were flowing. Then the flood gates opened yet again while I considered the sentimental journey of packing my entire house as I pull up stakes to move to the mountains. Basically, I was crying over everything.
I’m not entirely sure if I’m finding myself suddenly nostalgic or if I’m simply suffering from PMS…again.
I’m going to go out on a limb and say, perhaps PMS is working in conjunction with a bit of nostalgia. After all, I just helped my son get situated in his very first place. It’s simultaneously exciting and heart-wrenching to watch my oldest child go out on his own. I’m sure he feels the same way. I’m sure he falls asleep each night almost wishing he was still home…close enough to ask me for a drink of water.
I’m sure of it.
And next I’ll be helping my daughter find her way. She’s younger…maybe less ready in some ways, but at the same time, I often think she’s more of an adventurer. More like her father than me. Fearless. Always willing to jump off the high-dive of life. So she’s been clawing at the nest for some time, ready to leap…to spread her wings and fly.
And I’ll miss her. I’ll miss them both horribly.
And this is precisely why I need another box of tissues. The extra soft, lotion infused kind. Feel free to send a box. I think I packed mine.
Until the next time…I’ll be drying off the packing boxes.