Where I live

Apr 28, 2023

I live in the woods. Technically I live in a house, but the house is in the woods. These woods were a selling point for my husband and me when we purchased this house six years ago. It definitely wasn’t the awful ugly green carpet that I made my husband replace before we even moved in. It wasn’t the layout, because I still do not love that I can’t see my living room while I’m in the kitchen. There are SO many stairs here. But it is in the woods. Two and a half acres, nestled into a neighborhood, a tree lined driveway, and a beautiful forest for the kids to roam and play in the back. It was this private slice of heaven, brimming with wildlife. The neighbors we see most often, besides the birds and squirrels, are the deer. They greet me in the morning, while I’m sipping my hot coffee staring out the back door. I love the deer, I love the woods, and I love that I can still get to a Target in five minutes.

I live in my car. Most days I feel like I spend more time in my car than I do anywhere else. Many mornings, we drag tired limbs, still not fully awake,to the car by 6:30 am. The drive is quiet while children slowly eat their breakfast, and attempt to either wake up or sleep more. The first kid gets dropped off by 7 am and then I drive to the next school parking lot where I sit with the other two for a half hour waiting for drop off. I repeat this same routine for pick up. This year I decided if I’m going to live in my car, then I’m going to live comfortably. I travel with a Stanley Tumbler full of water and a travel mug full of coffee. My large leather tote sits shotgun when a child isn’t there. It carries my books, journals, knitting supplies, bandaids, and snacks for the whole family. A deck of cards sits in my center council and is used multiple times a week. I don’t love living in my car, but I also don’t have a choice. I suppose my children have to go to school, I suppose it's my responsibility to get them there. Next year my oldest will be driving his own truck, taking himself to school. The thought kind of terrifies me. Maybe living in my car isn’t so bad.

I live in the kitchen. Almost seven years ago I gave birth to one of the most picky children alive. She could live off of chicken fries, Nutella sandwiches, and snacks. This girl loves her snacks. Having the snack monster and two growing boys (8 and 15) occupy my home means the kitchen is where I reside. Don’t feel bad though, because the kitchen is actually one of my favorite places in the world to be. Making something delicious with my hands is therapeutic. The way following the steps to bake bread calms my soul is a gift from God. Oh, and watching people take the first bite of something I made. It’s a feeling I can’t quite put into words. The kitchen is my happy place. I love the view into the woods my kitchen provides. I love that I can hear my children jumping on the trampoline, or see my daughter scaling a fallen tree with a baby doll in her hand. There are very few problems that can’t be fixed by turning up the music loud and singing while I cook. (Except of course the problem of my terrible singing, but I’ve learned to live with that one).

I live at the grocery store, which should come as zero surprise if you read about how I live in my kitchen. I can not decide if I like living at the grocery store. Some days I will happily meander the aisles, carefully selecting food that sounds good to me at that exact moment. I will stop and compare brands and flavors, and even whip out my phone to quickly find a recipe that just sounds good and collect all I need to make it. However, other days I go in on a mission. I bring my list and my walking shoes. I grab a cart, put my head down, and get to work. Distractions are an absolute no for me on these days. Luckily, I can mostly make these days happen when my kids are at school. Kids and no distractions, haha. I know I’m not the only one laughing at that. During the summer months, when my children are my constant companions and it seems they eat about twelve times more than they do during the school year, my residence at the grocery store increases exponentially. Unfortunately so do my distractions.

I live in books. I sit surrounded by them at my desk daily. I have at least two stacked on the side table next to my spot on the couch. I sleep with a book on the pillow next to me, placed there when I could no longer hold my eyes open and managed to turn the book light off and close the book before drifting off. My husband often jokes that I'm the last one to walk out the door when we are going somewhere because I have to remember to grab a book. I get lost in the lives of characters of fiction books, often referring to them like they are my friends. I highlight pages of nonfiction books that both inspire and convict me. I have ordered at least four books this month. I can be found laughing at good dialogue or sobbing at the end of a great story. I wouldn’t call it an escape, because I’m not running from anything, just running to something. The beauty, the mystery, the hurt, the hope, the grief, the joy, I live for all of it.

Inspired by Nora Ephron’s Where I Live essay from I Feel Bad About My Neck. Click here to read the next one in the series.