On Doll Houses & Real Houses

I’ve only purchased a few items via Craigslist: my glider, our stroller, and this doll house.  We got it for Laura (and eventually Ellie) this Christmas, from the sweetest lady.  She lived well over an hour away, but met us minutes from our house during a snow storm.  She mailed us extra furniture she came across. It’s been a feast for Laura’s imagination, and she plays with it daily.  Along with these sweet wooden dolls, several other playmates inhabit the house: figurines, stuffed animals, anything that can squeeze through that little front door.

Little did I know, that night when I stayed up well past 4am re-wallpapering and sanding, that in a matter of weeks we would be looking for our first home, and eventually settle on one not unlike the little Victorian Laura’s playthings live in.  We’ve embarked on the, how shall I say,  adventure of purchasing a short sale, and this week we heard that things are moving in the right direction.  Still, I like to say we’re cautiously hopeful.

It can seem like a big deal, a house.  And in some ways it is.  I have moments of total meltdown where I wonder what we’re doing, and if this decision falls into line with the goals and dreams that have fueled our marriage, and my sense of identity. Thankfully, Ted’s usually able to keep his cool during these glorious rants, and we grow through the process. (I  like to think I do the same for him, too.)  So today, with all the unknowns and questions, I’m comforted by the companionship I have on the journey and I’m challenged to remember where my real identity and home is found.  And instantly I’m at home.