My House Is Me And I Am It.
Today was rough. I cried a lot. I cried at home. I cried at work.
I thought I was done with holiday challenges until I found out this morning that our freshly topped off 300 gallon oil tank leaked into the ground of our front yard within two days. Much waiting and work to be done in the coming weeks to fix this. Right now the hard part, aside from the cost, is not knowing how serious the contamination is.
Then, at work, I learned that the young child of someone we know died after a year and a half of battling cancer. My heart ached and I sobbed in my cubicle. It is the saddest story I have ever known and I grieve for them.
In one of their blog posts, there is a quote from one of the child's favorite books:
"My house is me and I am it. My house is where I want to be and it looks like all my dreams." (If you know what book this is from, please let me know.)
Of all that happened today, this quote pulled at my heart more than anything. It condensed what is important to me and crystallized my understanding of what my children see in their limited world.
Robin and I are in love with our home. We love every imperfection. It is us. To me, it is a member of the family as a beloved pet would be. When we were stranded in Portland, I felt as if we left it behind to fend for itself in the cold. This attachment is partly why it's so upsetting that the ground, our ground, is now saturated with oil. I want it healthy again. "My house is me and I am it."
The house also anchors everything my children know. They know school, they know the park, they know the grocery store, but they will always come home. Home is where they will find comfort. Home is what they will remember. I want it healthy for them. "My house is where I want to be and it looks like all my dreams."
I'm low, but I really have no right to be. Our front yard may be ripped shreds, but it will heal eventually. I would do well to recognize our luck and the insignificance of the incident.
I thought I was done with holiday challenges until I found out this morning that our freshly topped off 300 gallon oil tank leaked into the ground of our front yard within two days. Much waiting and work to be done in the coming weeks to fix this. Right now the hard part, aside from the cost, is not knowing how serious the contamination is.
Then, at work, I learned that the young child of someone we know died after a year and a half of battling cancer. My heart ached and I sobbed in my cubicle. It is the saddest story I have ever known and I grieve for them.
In one of their blog posts, there is a quote from one of the child's favorite books:
"My house is me and I am it. My house is where I want to be and it looks like all my dreams." (If you know what book this is from, please let me know.)
Of all that happened today, this quote pulled at my heart more than anything. It condensed what is important to me and crystallized my understanding of what my children see in their limited world.
Robin and I are in love with our home. We love every imperfection. It is us. To me, it is a member of the family as a beloved pet would be. When we were stranded in Portland, I felt as if we left it behind to fend for itself in the cold. This attachment is partly why it's so upsetting that the ground, our ground, is now saturated with oil. I want it healthy again. "My house is me and I am it."
The house also anchors everything my children know. They know school, they know the park, they know the grocery store, but they will always come home. Home is where they will find comfort. Home is what they will remember. I want it healthy for them. "My house is where I want to be and it looks like all my dreams."
I'm low, but I really have no right to be. Our front yard may be ripped shreds, but it will heal eventually. I would do well to recognize our luck and the insignificance of the incident.
posted by Anne at 9:08 PM
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