wickham gray, simply white, flint.

Paint.

How fun.

I was raised by a man who loves structure.  A master at creating space, manipulating floor plans, turning a building into something organic and alive and the right fit for its community.  And now I'm married to a man who has spent the last two years sketching out master bedrooms and entertainment areas and who will one day design and build a place for us to stay for a good long while.

And we are suddenly here in our journey.  Suddenly and quickly and startlingly at this spot where we are signing mounds of papers, paying attention to prices at the grocery, packing lunches and talking about very adult purchases: vacuums, lawn mowers, grills and patio furniture.

But oh my word, it is not all dreamy and breezy here at this part of life like I thought it would be.  It is tension, calculating, wavering and hard words.  It is one moment a team and the next breaking off, gathering it all in your hands and trying your best to think it all out: the what ifs, the one hundred and ten years old foundation that is tired and funny, the years and years of payments, what it would take to add on the missing things (like a garage and a driveway) and soon we're farther apart than we've ever been.

And that is scary.  This is scary.  This is trips to the local paint shop and fun planning.  This is hard negotiation and huge trust.  Late nights, icy tones, and there is no patience to be found here in this space.  This is too much margarita on a Mother's Day Sunday after missing home and talking to her on the phone just makes it lonelier.  It's earlier that day when a woman you have only met twice looks at you and says Is it hard?  It must be.  It is hard for girls to be away from their families.  And someone laughs but I could feel the tears burning.