It is my mantra.
Soon I will be fully moved into the house. 40 days in fact.
I have missed Dave these nights when I am at home; I miss the teens when I spend the night at his house.
I am listening to drilling, hammers and wood being cut into pieces to fit a wall, a TV, an Xbox….
I am painting the toddlers room with visions of hanging quilts and chalk walls, window gates and gates on the stairs to keep my one year old from leaping off.
I am cleansing the space and making sure there are no hidden dangers lurking to disrupt our relationship.
We fall into bed exhausted with thoughts of what it will look like, what it will be like to curl up next to one another once the projects are done and the house is quiet. I imagine the sound of a kids wandering to get some water at midnight, or scurrying into the bathroom when it’s time for school to start. I can sit at a stop light and imagine the mornings when his son curls up into bed with us and plays in the sandbox as we sit on the back porch and talk.
The packing and unpacking will be done. The last bit of art placed on the walls and I come home to a quiet home, the sound of footsteps disappearing as they run to the park or the greenbelt behind the house. Squeals of laughter in the pool and that knowing look between he and I.