Had an interesting, nearly knit-free weekend, and I'm still tired.
I got two rows done on Miss L.'s swallowtail when we were out for coffee and a bagel on Saturday, while N. was being an angel. He promptly turned demon whenever we were inside the house, though, and it lasted all weekend. Fighting naps, fighting dinner, fighting the bath. Usually when this happens, he ends up with a cold 48 hours later, but the defiance has been going on for weeks. Then I remember he's two. And realize this is par for the course to some extent, for the next while.
This morning, I logged into fb while the boys were eating breakfast, and noticed my brother had posted pics of his place. Which was my Grammie's place until recently. He and JR have done some rearranging, bringing their stuff in, and it looks great.
But it's not Grammie's house.
I can see the ghost of what I knew, in the marks on the carpet where her furniture sat for 30 years. On the walls, all of our baby portraits and our grad photos left faint eggshell rectangles when the rest of the wall has long since bleached out to white. The tile in the kitchen is the same, but the table is different, and somehow there's more space than there ever was.
I'm so happy that they're taking it over, and if they decide to stay it'll be even better. But it's not the house I grew up in. It always freaks me out when I see how different a place can be with someone else's stuff. Our apartment now looked completely different when our friends lived in it two years ago. This is becoming J's place, and I'm happy, but some part of me thought he'd move into it furnished and leave it as it was. I never even considered the fact that he'd probably take the photos down. That killed me.
I guess I need to be thankful that I'm not seeing it stand completely empty before handing it over to some stranger. I'm not ready for that.
*sigh* What a way to start the week... time for coffee, I guess.