Fall. Change. Resistance. Me.

~~~  Just rambles to help me work through change  ~~~

I am not ready for fall.  I am not ready for trees in charisma of oranges or yellows.  I'm not ready for fireplaces or blankets or s'mores on the hearth.  I'm not ready for pumpkin lattes or sweatshirts or football.  I'm not ready for fall.

I'm not ready for change.

Fall for me is different, this year.  Fall to me is big changes, swirling changes.  Fall to me is letting go.  Letting go of summer.  Letting go of my baby as a baby.  Letting go of my home.  Letting go of the last that was established when I was a "me" rather than "we."

This fall, for me, is letting go.  But my heart isn't ready to release to change.

My baby will crawl this fall.  She is animated and energetic and alive and squirmy.  Her legs kicking against the air, her arms writhing agains the floor.  She's ready to go.  But mommy is not.

My home was mine, as a single.  The last piece of what I did, as me.  Financially.  The last bit of pride in my work, my money management, my stake in providing.  Moving means letting go completely of that.  Of being provided for without anything financial to show.

Moving means letting go of the last piece of when I was decorating for me, and only me.  Slowly that was chiseled, when I married, when Camilla came.  So what was my "perfectly decorated cottage-style" home, is now a mesh of whites and dark woods, painted chests and bronzed antiques.  Its partially me, but not fully.  And moving means decorating with us three in mind, not just me.  But finding a way to blend my cottage-style with Mark's style with babies running in the house...  And I've a brain block, heart block, and just can't seem to formulate a new me-style with a new us-house to create a beautiful, homey, welcoming, airy we-home.  Letting go.

Fall seems to take dreams and the fullness of life and put it under wraps and hibernate all the energy of summer.

Without teaching, without schools and kids buzzing and schedules formulating and bells ringing, that energy that could-be fall instead feels damp and heavy outside my home.

I like summer.  I like beaches.  I like water.  I like walks and flowers and green trees and the colors of white and yellow and green and pink bursting everywhere in and outside my windows.

But fall looms upon me.  Its changing tide unyielding to my resistence, my protest.

And change will come.  It does come.  And someday I will find myself in our new home, under a blanket, snuggled with my husband on our couch, drinking red wine or hot coffee or brewed tea, with our baby crawling at our feet.  And I'll be okay.  I'll be a home with my three.