I have always struggled with change.
Maybe that is how I ended up moving back to the same street I grew up on.
I love what feels comfortable.
I love what is familiar.
I remember when we moved back here to the house we are currently in, how I had to uproot my whole life to be able to get it.
We had lived in a huge house on almost no land in the middle of town, surrounded by concrete, but I wanted my kids to be able to ride their bikes and go outside without fear of them being taken or hurt.
My heart longed for a return to the country.
Then, the perfect thing came up: a tiny house in my old neighborhood on a big plot of land, with dead-end streets, and trees and flowers everywhere.
To move here, though, we would need to give away literally half of what we owned.
It has a one-car garage and no real storage to speak of.
We had to decide what was most important to us.
My mom had lived with us for ten years, and when we moved, she also moved away to live with my brother.
Between the loss of having her close, the physical demands of a move, and all the change,
I felt like it all might actually kill me.
I had never felt so laid bare.
Money was tight. I couldn’t make the furniture fit.
The world would not slow down.
I saw then, more than ever, how much life was like a river: ever-changing, ever-moving.
You have to get on board or get left behind.
I was on board,
but I was kind of dangling.
We had to sell things that I held dear to be able to downsize.
I remember selling my girl’s old crib, and watching the new owner drive away with that wood railing bearing the tiny teeth marks I recognized so well, and how I stood in the open garage just sobbing.
I realized, during that time, how much change is a struggle.
I would go on to recognize that struggle as if it was my own evil twin.
It showed up when my oldest packed up to move out,
when the daycare baby I had loved the most got old enough to go off to school,
and again when my middle two graduated.
It shows up every January as I pack up Christmas.
The old year gone, cheery comfort packed away, facing that “Now what?” feeling.
It showed up this year as I snapped my 14-year-old’s “First day of high school” back-to-school picture.
She went off to start her next chapter, and I saw that old foe sitting there when I looked at the now empty car seat beside me.
But, something else I’ve learned through observing myself, is that every time I have faced that same change resistance,
later on I look back and see all the good I would have missed if I hadn’t let life keep pushing me forward.
Selling all our stuff to move to this tiny house in the country has meant living in what has become my favorite chapter.
There would never have been another situation that would have allowed for my oldest to move in next door, but because she did, my grandchildren both live in a house attached to me!
The little girls I have been so sad to release out into the world through the years have grown up to all be beautiful, interesting young women.
I cannot imagine my life now without their wit, conversation, and inspiring independence.
Each thing I have released has meant a now-open palm that waits and trusts more than it used to, knowing that something else I maybe never dreamed of is about to be put in it.
There truly is a season for every purpose under heaven.
Today I woke up to see the message that things are changing with the Bob and Sheri Show, and how it will be sent out to the masses.
I thought about all the years this show has been less of a radio show to me,
and more of a companion.
Through early morning commutes…through the time of my life when I was a single mother…
There were times when this show was what put a smile back on my face during some very difficult periods.
It has been steadfast and consistent when so many other things weren’t.
I have already faced the change of having the show removed from my local radio station.
I’ve been listening to the podcast version for years now, so this is not the change for me that it will be for some people.
The news this morning, and reading the comments afterwards pulled at my heart because I know the feeling it brings to have something you love start looking different around you.
Like moving and not knowing where your forks are: You just want things to feel put in place where you can find them.
But what I know about the Bob and Sheri Show is that it is like a Velveteen Rabbit that we have all spent years loving into realness.
It’s not just a show. They’re not just reading a script. They’re not just saying how much they love us.
Everything they say, they really mean.
These are our friends, and they’re not going anywhere.
This is just another one of those changing seasons.
I have learned to pat myself on the back with love, and to remind myself that it’s going to be OK; That something looking different doesn’t mean emptiness or a thing ending in sadness.
I’ve learned to face the future with the belief that sometimes we just don’t know the good things that are coming.
Sometimes we don’t know it yet, but we are trading concrete for trees and flowers.
Mom Outnumbered
Hi! My name is Kerri Green; Wife to Justin, and mother to four highly entertaining daughters -Alena, Chloe, Tessa, and Paige. I am an artist, a writer, a daycare provider, a lover of people, a believer that there is humor and beauty in all things, and the author of Mom Outnumbered; a blog about real family life, and my observations of it. My goal is to make people laugh, to be there for them when they cry, and most importantly, to let them know that they are not at all alone in this up and down world. I live with my family in Sebastopol California, and I am opening the window into our life. So welcome! Come in. Sit down. Just please don’t mind the mysterious wet spots.
