206 patrick place...a special place in our hearts

We are preparing to embark on yet another new chapter in our lives: moving into a new home--a really new home. One that we built together. Part of me can't wait to move in, to have more space, and for Grace to have a real bedroom (not an office with a Pack 'n Play in it!) As with all big life transitions though, every new begninning means saying goodbye to some other part of our lives. We're moving out of our apartment. Wait, we're moving out of our apartment. The first place we ever lived in together, the place where we planned our wedding, our future, the place where we brought our first child home.

There was a huge red wine stain on the carpet that I removed today (at the risk of not getting our security deposit back!), and as I sprayed and scrubbed I thought about some of our best times. Where the stain was was in the same spot on the floor that Jeff and I slept on our first night in this apartment, before our bed was moved in. The carpets were slightly damp from having just been shampooed. That night I stared above me, pleased that our livingroom had vaulted cielings. Vaulted cielings. I had arrived. Wow--what does it mean that our new bedroom has a vaulted cieling!? Even Grace's room has one. She's ahead of the game.

I thought about other spills--a goldfish cracker I once threw at Jeff's head that lived under the couch for months, Cheerios that can never seem to stay in my bowl as I have breakfast in front of the TV, chocolate cake from birthday parties, cracker crumbs from Jeff's nighttime snacks, popcorn he can never seem to get into his mouth on the first try...then later, formula drips from a bottle that has tipped over, spit-up from a laughing baby.

We've made many marks on this apartment. Nail holes where our wedding picture once hung, dents in the carpet from Gracie's swing. Not all the marks are so tangible though. Some of the marks are in my mind as wonderful memories. I remember where we all sat playing Cranium at our Halloween Dinner Party where Bryan brought a cake he baked (and decorated!) himself. I remember our Wii parties where we bowled until the wee hours of the night. I remember laying on a heating pad to relieve my pregnancy backaches and getting my feet massaged at the same time. I remember drinking a very expensive bottle of Caymus...with pizza and chicken wings! I remember carving pumpkins on the kitchen floor. The list goes on...and on.

Gracie is going to love her new home where she will have room to run around and go hiking in the woods, swim in the pond (well, maybe!), and play basketball with her daddy. But this is where she began...this is where our family began. And I can't wait to drive past, point to the apartment complex across from the hospital and say, "That's where we lived when you were born!"

there are no bad apples

In our refrigerator is a drawer that only ever houses a bag of apples, usually McIntosh, sometimes Cortland, but always grown in New York. Every evening when Jeff packs his lunch, he reaches into the bag inside the drawer and pulls out an apple to put into his lunch bag. If he happens to pull an apple from the bag with even the slightest bruise, he places it in the drawer outside of the bag and reaches for another apple. Only the best apples make Jeff's lunch while the rejects sit idly, waiting for someone to cut off their bad spots and enjoy them despite their flaws.

This morning I decided I would have an apple for breakfast. When I opened the drawer in the refrigerator this is what I saw: A drawer full of bruised apples amidst a clear plastic bag containing only a few apples--some unmarred by bruises or softspots, others maybe flawed yet undetected by Jeff's critical eye. My point is that there were far more imperfect stragglers than there were pristine red orbs suitable for Jeff's lunch. In a way, I felt sorry for the lonely bruised apples. In a way, I identified with them.

We strive for perfection. We all want the best, to do well, to be successful, to create perfect masterpieces, but I wonder--at what cost? Do we make others into bruised apples cast aside as we endeavor toward perfection?

Lately, I have been feeling like a bad apple.