changing rooms

Our current home, rental 5a62b, is a decent sort of place. Not my favorite, by far. That would probably go to our little apartment in New York, the upper two floors of a house that had all kinds of character. I say probably because its great defect was a lack of laundry facilities (and a dishwasher) and I have to say that I like having a home with character AND a washing machine.

I spend time on Sundays in the nursery at church with the small ones. I have been gathering information on the {ahem} sorry man who developed this neighborhood (from one of the other women in there, not the toddlers).

He so obviously had little or no practical imagination when it came to building houses. Our current layout is a one floor affair which I do not love, with a total of three bedrooms, two of which are extraordinarily smallish. Whoever designed this house simply did not take into account the difficulty of arranging the small rooms for more than one person to live in.

This past weekend I moved the older girls in together. Their twin beds fit in snugly. If I could afford it, I would outfit the beds with pottery barn accessories and that would be helpful aesthetically, but as it is, the room is basically beds and that's it.

The other room is better. My son, although approaching three, still happily sleeps in his crib, and I see no reason to change that for the moment. So he and the baby (not so much baby anymore, she's almost two) each reside behind bars, giggling at each other in delighted fashion every evening when I put them to bed.

It's very true that each room accommodates well one twin bed and one crib. And as it was, my children were happily situated with the early birds in one shelter and the night owls in the other.
But I kept thinking that I needed to give the girls a chance to room together. To enjoy each others' company; to learn to sort out the difficulties of sharing a room with someone decidedly not sleeping in a crib.

The first few nights were rough. The girls were delighted during the day and smashing mad once bed time arrived (Name that book: Day play, we play all day. Night fight! We fight all night!) It's one of those transitions that require a little time. But I think it's going to be a good thing, for first daughter and second daughter, alike. (At 8:17 at night, they are both in bed and quiet!)

* * * * *

My grandparents lived in their house in Colorado for many decades. It was where, after finally moving around here, there and everywhere, they were finally able to settle down and put some roots into the ground.

I say the house I live in is a simple affair, but compared to the abode of my grandparents', it's practically Buckingham Palace. But I am utterly convinced my grandparent's desire to live in a palace was nill. Their house suited them very well.

My visits to my grandparents house became few and far between as I grew older, with Things To Do, and People To See, things and people who lived around me and not in Denver. It was wonderful to walk down their hallway a few weeks ago and into their living room to see the pictures of grandchildren everywhere, the painted roses on the china in the cabinet. When Ben and I hauled the kids out at 4 a.m. ready to head back home the day after the funeral, I stood in the dark house for a moment and said goodbye.

My grandpa moved out here yesterday, to live in a retirement home. He is less excited about his move than I am about my current residence. He can't remember why he's here. But we've brought him home to be close to three of his four children. So that his grandchildren, who he doesn't always recognize, can visit him and keep him company. He wants to go home. He misses my grandma.

He is a sweet old man, and he's having to change rooms, and it's hard.

But I hope that he will settle in, just like my girls have settled in; that he will find he enjoys the company, like my girls enjoy the company; that all will be well, and well, and well. That all that begins will end well, and well, and well.