The end of the a longgggg day

I am sitting on my couch. Our couch.

I never want to get up.

Well that's not exactly true because when I get up, I get to go to sleep in my bed. Our bed. So maybe I do want to get up. Eventually.

It was a long day, but the movers worked incredibly hard and unpacked all of our crates in just one day. The manager said that he thought it was a record for a three-story house.

I was assigned to the truck. JB was assigned to the house. This means that I watch as each and every item comes off the truck. They call a number. The manager checks it off his list. He tells me what the Turks have said is inside that box. If am confused (like the one that said coffee machine instead of coffee table) by what they mean, they will unwrap the box for me to see the item. I then tell them where to put the numbered box.

JB is in the house directing the movers (I think we had six) to put the items in more specific locations within the assigned room.

Our nice movers decided to unwrap and take the lids off all the boxes that had toys in it. Just so that they could see the expression on the boys' faces when they showed them the toys they hadn't seen in three months. That meant that by the time the day was over, our two little men had basically pulled every toy out that we owned.

Oh well.

My neighbor and friend, Kristy, was a lifesaver today taking the boys for a few hours, Abigail for a bit after that, and then having us over for dinner at the end of the day. What a blessing that was.

The house is an incredible disaster, but the job is almost done. The movers do have to return on Monday to put back together all the items that were dissembled for the move. But other than that, we are complete again.

The only glitches of the day were that the entertainment center we hoped to put on the third floor, won't fit up the stairs. And the boys' twin beds won't allow their door to shut. Otherwise, things went flawlessly. There appeared to be no major damage to any of our items. JB's new desk from Turkey was slightly scuffed up on one corner, but it is nothing extreme.

There is just something about having all of your things that makes a house a home. There was a big debate in the comments on a post I did previously asking for prayers that my stuff gets here promptly. One reader suggested I look at the bigger picture -- thankful that I have a home with the wildfires brewing in Colorado.

I must digress for a moment to say two things.

One is that I, at no point, forget that my stuff is just that ... stuff. I mean, that's even what we call it. Stuff.  Nearly all of it is replacable. And truly, if it fell into the ocean and was never seen again, it would be sad, but I would move on. However, having it makes me feel like our home has come here with us. I've often wondered why the government allows us to take so much stuff with us from place to place. It's so expensive to allow us to do that. Why not put us in furnished homes and be done with it? And I think it is for morale. Having your things is incredibly comforting.

The second thing I wanted to say was that I think it is important for us to always remember that it could be worse. The commenter was suggesting I remember that it could be worse. I respect what she was saying, even though it did hurt my feelings a bit, but I wanted to make sure people understood that I  am keenly aware of where stuff rates. I have spent significant time in Nigeria and witnessed so much poverty in Turkey as well. I live a life beyond the majority of the world.

Tied in with that is the fact that I don't talk very often about how I grew up. How JB grew up. We didn't grow up in wealthy families. Both of us grew up in lower middle class families. I attended Christian school because my father worked there. JB attended Christian school because his parents worked there so that he could attend. I lived in a trailer park for my entire childhood. And while I never had an issue with it, I remember that it always bothered my mom. I remember that always being "just enough" money. I remember skipping Christmas some years. I remember not dressing and doing things that my friends did.

I never even knew a doctor growing up. The fact that I am now married to a doctor is so not who I am at my core. Who JB is at his core. My dad was a school teacher. My mom was a house cleaner. JB's dad was a carpenter. We understand what it is to live the way most people live -- week to week. Paycheck to paycheck.

Even when I was going through infertility, I was aware that I could have had it soooo much worse. The truth is though that it is important we remember that. It could always be worth. But God cares about the little things too. On the grand scale, my stuff rates pretty darn low. But I can still talk to Him about it. I encourage my kids to tell me their problems. Even the little ones matter to me. God loves me even more than I love my kids. He sees it the same way.

Okay, off topic but back on it now. Did I tell you our stuff is here?!