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So, I haven't updated the blog world about our moving/non-moving experience. To make a long story short, we decided not to move. I don't talk much here about our home or where we live for a couple of reasons. First, I try to be somewhat private in this very non-private format. I love to share about Helen Claire and what we've been up to, and what she's doing now, and look back at the posts where she was tiny and see how far she has come and how much she has grown. But, since this blog isn't private (and I want to keep it that way, because I like looking at other blogs, and I think most people are good and are here for the right reasons- if you are a creeper, please just leave), I try to be careful about particulars. For example, I don't give out our address, post pictures of the outside of our home or Helen Claire's school. I don't put pictures that I think someone could abuse on here... you get the idea. Second, our housing situation is a sensitive topic for me. We don't have a big, fancy house. We don't own our home. We rent a small guest house-- a remodeled pool house to be exact. And, I struggle with that.

Isn't that ridiculous! I know it is, but I also can't help feeling like what we have isn't "just right." You know what, though, what we have is enough, and it is just fine. Jonathan and I both grew up in small houses, but within those walls were lots of love and good, sweet memories. When I was little, we lived in "Granny Posie's house." It was my Papa's mother's house, and the four of us lived there until I started fourth grade (I think). Anyway, the house was itty-bitty. There were not a ton of creature comforts, and I am sure it was not my parents' ideal situation. I remember the Rainbow Brite room that Vickie and I shared- with its red carpet!!! I remember my Daddy killing a mocassin on our swing set (as I was swinging) and telling me whatever I did, to stay on the swing and be very still. I remember that I could ride my bicycle to Granny and Pa's, and I remember the camellia bush outside. But, what I remember most about that house was moving away from it. I was so sad to leave our home and felt like we would never be happier anywhere else. Even though it wasn't perfect, it was where we lived as a family.

My mother was here the weekend we were supposed to move, and as I thought about what to do, she even said that she would give anything to have us all back in that little house again, and that those were some of our best memories. That is sort of the same experience Jonathan and I have had after this whole process. We found out we were having Helen Claire in that house; we took our carseat to be checked out just down the street at our local Fire Department; we brought our baby home from the hospital to that house; we learned about changing diapers, taking temperatures, giving amoxicillin, tylenol and motrin in that living room; we rocked endless hours sitting in our chair next to the window where we watched the baby bird that was born about the same time as Helen Claire. She learned to crawl and walk on those floors; I made her home-made baby food and gave her some of her first meals in that kitchen. Our little pool house is not perfect; it has issues, we get frustrated with how tiny it can feel, but it is all we need. In some areas of the world, it would be a mansion, so we are grateful for the blessing of a home, for our little yard that our baby can play in, for our wonderful and sweet landlady, who takes good care of us; for a roof over our heads and for being able to rest in the knowledge that home is wherever the three of us are together.

From the looks of things, I think we are going to be just fine.

Here's to staying at the pool house a little while longer!