Nathan and his dad and our ward in Tulsa worked so hard loading us up in Tulsa, and we are so grateful.
I coughed and wrestled a toddler.
What a funny thing to come home again, with good help from friends here.
It is good to be home.
We are setting some things up differently intentionally, because this is not my before-children house, or my dead-mom house, or my cancer-is-coming house, or my miscarriage house.
This is our house, as a family of eight.
Some of it is the same, some of it is rearranged, and other things are new like our brand new (secondhand steal) table:
Nathan has gone to trade the truck for our car, until Saturday when we pick up some storage unit things this truck was too big to reach, and I have cleaned up and plugged in the record player and started the vinyls playing to make it our home again.
It’s lovely, and we are grateful.
Our bed is put together, and the kids are camping out on cots until Tuesday, when the swing set and bunk beds come.
They think it’s a fabulous game.
Less fabulous was being stuck on the back patio for safety during the unloading of the truck because the yard was too muddy from the storms. Kyrie, especially, is was not impressed. It looked especially sad with the big gates on each side up and closed, installed when DHS made us lock up the patio when we started fostering, since we had a pool. It was like a giant playpen, or jail, those poor babies.
By the time the last thing came in, the children were too tired to even argue about bedtime, and I was too sore from coughing to be very cheery about it. But I found everyone’s blankets and pillows and stuffies, which is quite the feat on moving night, let me assure you.
But we have made it, and all are tucked in, and Nathan and I will soon collapse before tackling tomorrow.
Thank you. Thank you so much.