One bright spring day a little over a week ago I sat with my son and we shared a snack underneath a big gorgeous gazebo. It was straight out of a movie. As we walked up the stairs, he peeped “Mommy! Cats!” Who knew? There were two tabby cats on leashes lounging in the sunshine, their owner unaffected by our surprise. (I am sure she gets it all the time, right?)

After choosing just the right spot for our “Will & Mom Time” we quickly took off our shoes and lifted our faces to the sun, much like the felines to our left. I can’t say we talked about anything spectacular, but we did connect on a level that I will cherish for years to come. My heart, so full of love, burst from my smile and landed in those big, dark, handsome eyes of his. Playfully he’d smile back and then giggle as if I told him a well timed punch line. This went on for some time. Every so often I’d lean over and nestle my head in that soft tuft of hair and kiss him softly. This to me said more than all the words I’d said in the previous month combined. This closeness.

Weeks earlier I had become consumed with the results of my actions rather than the effort itself. I was too busy looking forward toward all the things I thought were my obligations instead of getting on the floor and touching my heart, that ever since my two children were born, has existed outside of my body. These two magnificent creatures are only with me for a short time, but in that time I have every answer to every question before me. My children have opened me to the very life lessons I am on this earth to understand. Now all I need to do is to be open enough to receive.

So for the past week or so all I have done is take it all in. The quiet moments. The loud, crazy times. The laughter, the sadness and the love. Instead of take everything so seriously, I’ve adopted a playful approach of saying “Really?!!?” when before I would have taken their fantasy language to heart and matter-of-factly corrected their flight of fancy. They are little children, and for that I am grateful. This little break lifted the burden I built brick by brick and left me a childlike wonder. Can you just imagine?

Hope.

Lately I’ve been on this design frenzy searching for ways to make us feel cozier, more relaxed, more secure in this new house. Put our mark on it. Make it our own. And little by little it starts to resemble us with a small change here and there and it feels easier to live.

Hope.

Last night we had much-loved friends over and my heart swelled with the feeling of love and security. Of purpose and stability. Of acceptance and generosity. For so much talk about what’s wrong in the world, I clearly know what is right. And I’ll hang on to this feeling for a really long time.

This season felt surrounded by acceptance. I have to admit I didn’t know what to expect when we decided to spend Christmas on the East Coast with my in-laws instead of celebrating with my family in the Midwest. At first it felt like we were hiding away from the members of my family that still don’t understand or accept Hope’s gender transition, but my feelings changed when I saw how excited my kids were about the switch.

Our family on the East Coast embraced Hope despite their rigid cultural background and even more strict gender roles. Still, they open their arms wide to accept us for exactly who we are- imperfect, fragile, different.

It felt like entering a witness protection program being there even though I noticed some signs of our past life here and there. One day I caught Hope running her finger along the top of a beautiful 8 x 10 picture frame that displayed a photo of her when she was a little boy. I stopped in the doorway wondering if she would ask for the picture to be taken down like she has at my mother’s house. She stopped, stared for a while and then just gracefully dropped her finger to her side and skipped away. I wiped the tears that trailed down my cheek and slid along my neck.

Only once during our visit did we sit in the same room as these pictures and ironically the subject of conversation turned to the long line of family members that have the same name. The tradition of their family is for the first born boy to have his grandfather’s name so that the family name is preserved throughout history. I watched my father-in-law’s face as he talked about the names so proud and yet so soft. It seemed like any other conversation and then drifted into another and another. No one mentioned the fact that Hope is actually her grandfather’s namesake, legally reflecting his name on her birth certificate, but I felt it hover above us and then drift off like a candle that had been blown out.

Even after we returned home, I longed for the security we have there. The feeling I have searched for my entire life. This year I didn’t get a single wrapped gift, but I did get the best present I have ever received.

Despite feeling good about starting to move into a dream home, I became anxious. I’m one of those people where everything has a place so the addition of the boxes made things cluttered. My breathing became erratic like a newcomer finishing their first 10 mile run. Big, big breaths without much relief.

In the wee hours you could find me checking Craigslist for a chandelier or a child’s bedroom set. I didn’t want to miss a deal. Nor could I move into a big gorgeous home and have it be cold, stark and empty. Undone. Nevertheless, who has any money for big purchases anymore? Intro migraines.

Fast forward to me walking around this amazing new space with wonder and pride. Oh, but what about the hideous wall colors? I need to do something about that. And what about Hope’s barren room? A few stray homemade pictures tacked on the wall with adhesive from her Dad’s toolbox. Not the dream room I imagined all these weeks. The microwave didn’t work, the garage door broke, the heat on the top two floors putzed out, the tv isn’t hung and the island counter flips on you when the slightest pressure is applied. A work in progress, right?

“At least we have a home” became my mantra. I tell myself it’s okay to feel the desperation, it is part of my Leo make up.  But when I am honest with myself I see some cold, hard facts. Many people would literally kill for this place we moved into- furnished or not. And more importantly, who am I to focus solely on things being exactly the way I want them to be right now? Have I not learned anything from our journey thus far?

My precious child consoles me when I feel frustrated about things not being “just right” and I look into her eyes. My eyes start to tear and I smile. Here is a child that is far from where she wants to be physically. She’s been so patient with the process of growing her hair, something that has been so important to her for so many months. She doesn’t pity herself. Although she has a lot to complain about, she never does.

It’s funny. I have wasted so much time trying to create the perfect home when in fact I already have it. The perfect home isn’t built with stuff, it’s grown. My children are my ideal home. And the best way to honor that is to throw the laptop aside more often and sit on the rug and play. To really listen to their stories and enjoy their imagination. To weave together those moments that make up home for them, and for me. Years down the line I bet you they wouldn’t be able to recall what lamp was where, but they will know what it felt like being together. What it felt like to be home.

So many new feelings swirl around my brain that I’m enjoying a little writing hiatus to just sit back and feel each one as they come and go. Uninterrupted and under-analyzed. And in some weird way I’ve let go.

Last night after making our first Thanksgiving meal in the new house our family snuggled by the fire to play games. My eyes became sleepy with pure satisfaction so I did something I would never do – I took a grateful look around the room, blessed each person and fell asleep. I am talking out cold.

Everything was as it should be. And it still is.