Monday's Memoir: (I need a scanner for these pre-digital memories)...

Sam and I had looked several months for a place to live. To buy.  A condo, a small house, something.  It was difficult to find something the right size/location/price range for a family with a small baby and a husband who was working full time and going to school full time (with a few years left to go).  I was working occasional Saturday mornings, but we were young and living on love, as they say.   We ultimately decided that maybe we should continue renting for a while.

Through a family friend, I found an apartment to rent that was chee - eep.  It had two stories (yes, space!) and was in decent shape (I guess).  One side of the townhouse was a very busy, loud road and the other side?  A dark, somewhat hidden (spooky) alley.

But there was Space.
And rent was Cheap (did I already say that?). 

I was sold.  Having a colicky baby in a one bedroom basement apartment was extremely stressful.  The idea that I wouldn't have any neighbors above me AND I had a room where I could let baby sleep in a room seperate from the t.v./kitchen table/computer and with a door to close was the ultimate find.

(And the rent was CHEAP.)

ahem.

My husband hated it.  For 4 years he endured that place.  I felt it was Providence that we landed the place when I found out less than a year later that I was expecting twins.  (You know.  Space. Cheap.  In case you forgot).  He wasn't convinced.  Sam would have preferred... nice looking.  Not falling apart all the time (consequently cheap rent meant landlords who were VERY reluctant to fix things).  The semi trucks and sirens outside our bedroom window all night long weren't a huge selling point, either.  Which I guess I can understand (haha).

It wasn't a pretty place, but I was determined to make it clean and organized and I did a pretty good job at certain times of obtaining domestic bliss here and there.  Which is saying a lot for a gal like me.  I have a vivid memory of an evening cleaning routine that involved loud music, my daily allotted 1 can of diet pepsi and a lot of getting it done (including ironing).  Sam was working the swing shift, so it was just me and my little 9 month old side kick those evenings.

But that's not the memory I wanted to post...

I have in my mind a vivid picture of one particular moment while living in that apartment.  I was changing the sheets on my bed.  Young Ed, about 9 months old or so,  had learned how to pull himself up along furniture and walk along side it.  He was at the other side of the bed watching me work.  As I threw up the sheets and let them fall to the bed, the material brushed that sweet little boy's upturned face.  He blinked fast and smiled big.  So I did it again.  And again.  We laughed and it was a moment of pure bliss.  I was so crazy for that kid.  For that smile.

 I was caught up in my mundane tasks and a sweet little boy turned it into magic and fun. 

I hope to never forget that image.