Room

We're getting close. Or possibly we're still very far away from the moment our kids come home. At this point we are certified, licensed, and ready to go. So much so, in fact, that next weekend we will have two foster boys in our home. Not ours, we will be providing "respite" care for the weekend, because their foster mom has to go out of town and can't take them. Last night I joked that they are a "practice set," I'm sure their mom would not appreciate that. It's more that we're acting as state approved baby sitters.


And yes of course, I'm even excited just to have these little pumpkins in our house for a few days. Nothing specific to them, their status "in the system," or the anticipation of our parenting days to come. I'm excited because they will, for a short time, fill a literal void in our house.


I want someone to create a photobook of waiting rooms . . . no, that's at the doctor's office . . . rooms in waiting . . .empty rooms. Yesterday I figured out we aren't the only ones with a "waiting room." (thank you apartment therapy ).


Ours has two beds, two windows, and a book case. At least that's how we described it in our Scrapbook of Worthiness (the creation of which was it's own special hell). In the past few months, since Barbie gifted us the beds, Carrie helped me build them and Maggie, Jenny, and Nando helped make them soft I've seen the room as 1) a cute set up, like an IKEA display, 2) a funny twist on "guest room," and 3) an empty space. Every night I stick my head in there I say a few prayers, I make sure the beds are still made (yes, this is what I've chosen to fixate on) and I think about what good morning song we should sing. I figured out the state of the room is very important to me. I was crushed to come home and find the slats of the blinds all twisted and mangled, even though I could care less for the blinds themselves.


I don't picture what our house will be like with kids, I can't even begin to. I just know it will different, and I know that I won't have to stumble over words when trying to talk about that back bedroom. If I call it "the kid's room," "the boys room," "the waiting room" I feel crazy. Like batty, daffy, overly sentimental, and dramatic. If I call it "the guest room" people are very confused to see the two twin beds, I usually end up saying the "umm .. uh . . the back bedroom with the beds."



For a little while I took to thinking of it as a sleeping porch (it has nice windows and is very quiet). It's my favorite nap spot, our friends (and our nephew) have slept in the beds, and the dogs have taken to hiding under the beds. But, most of the time, it actually is empty. And its weird to live in a house with a space that isn't being used yet. The _yet_ starts to have a lot of weight.




This post has been brought to you courtesy of:
Medication that made it hard to find my journal
and
A conversation with Sara who is thinking about adoption and a little nervous