It was 9:30 at night. My insane need to nest, coupled with my husband leaving for eight days on a work trip (three days after our big move), had me a little furniture assembly happy.

I’d been staring at that white kids bookshelf online for two weeks before I purchased it, so when it finally arrived, I was beyond ready to bring my kids corner vision to life.

The directions read: one hour assembly time. We both laughed thinking we were smarter than everyone else who sets up furniture. There was no way it would take that long. Half way up and an hour in, my husband muttered under his breath, “I think a divorce attorney designed this damn bookshelf”.

We’ve had a few days like that in the new house, where nothing can go right. Hanging a bookshelf feels like attempting to summit Everest and drywall is public enemy no. 1 (second to my husband). 

We’ve also had a few days where everything goes right. The new rug matches perfectly, our front porch swing serves as a happy waiting place for Nonni to arrive, and we share a special quiet moment with all three of us laying in bed, looking up at the new walls that will hold our memories over the next years and welcome us into a family of four (five including Sammie pup).

Every time we pull into the driveway Maisley exclaims, “new house!”, in her high pitched voice that almost has a hint of a dutch accent.  She has embraced her new space without an ounce of reservation. She runs around outside in the backyard any chance she gets, two continual stubbed toes to prove it.

While I had laid awake the first night in our new house clinging to my emotional baggage about change and the move, she slept soundly and innocently. I want to be more like her in this new phase of life.

Worrying less about the bookshelf (which will probably become a pile of broken wood after two kids use it as a jungle gym), and more about running freely, living for the things in life that make us feel good; swinging, playing, drawing, reading and giggling.