Out the Window

There's boxes in my guest room now. I pulled my car up behind the building today so I could load them into my car. They were in a corner of my classroom, gathering up from all the staff who have donated to my desperate email fund. I drove them home and lugged them up the hill to my apartment. And now they're in my guest room, where in just a couple weeks they'll be taped together and filled up with clothes and books and dishes - all the things I own. 

I'm moving out to Fletcher, to a little studio basement apartment of a church member. It's a long story, but in a nutshell my apartment complex never game me my new lease information, meaning I'd have to sign a lease with an unknown rate for a year - something I do not have the financial ability to do (and who would?). I called the front office in the midst of it all and they told me it was possible I didn't have the information because corporate was planning to renovate my apartment, meaning I'd have to pack myself up and move out for a few weeks, just to move back in and have my rent increase even more. At that point I knew I had to go.

I was in Texas at the time. I walked out of my parents' room where I'd made the call and sobbed. What was I going to do? Where was I going to go? I texted the pastor of my church, asking if he knew of anyone who rented out a basement. He responded and said he might - to give him some time. That same day, he gave me the number of a woman named Beth - told me she said I could give her a call. I called immediately. She told me about her little studio - how she'd just put in a washer/dryer, how it had French doors with lots of sunlight, its own little patio. How it would cost me $800 a month - all inclusive. The people who were currently renting were supposed to move out end of December, but they'd decided to stay longer, probably until the end of January. My lease is up February 9.

As soon as I got back to North Carolina, I went and saw it. It was perfect, and though someone else was interested, she hadn't talked to her since November and told me that if I wanted it, it was mine.

I love my little home, the place I live now. This is the first place that's ever been all mine. I had a little garden here. There's an adorable little neighborhood I like to walk to, or sometimes I'll go a little further and walk by a stream in the trees. Savana and Guerin have dropped Pepper off several times, and I've taken her to the park to play while they go grocery shopping. This is where Natalie and Rachell have spent countless weekends, where all my best friends came for a big housewarming. This is the home that held me when my brother went to rehab. When he relapsed. The walls that echoed in silence, that held my cries. It's where Pep took some of her first steps when she and Savana and Guerin came for lunch so many times after church on Saturday. It's where I discovered an insatiable love for reading. Where I did a puzzle and played games with Dan, and where I sat when he called me to end things, wondering how I'd be able to adjust to being alone. Again. And then I did.

It's a place where I leaned into being quiet. Being still. Where I lived for a few months without Wifi, and longer than I care to admit without a bed frame. Where I'd get out of bed and PreHeat the oven before hopping in the shower, all so I could make myself some toast. And then Nat bought me a toaster oven. Bless you friend.

I've loved my time here. These walls have held me in solitude, in loneliness, in joy. And now I'm leaving them to find a home in new walls - a new space - a new town. 

Today we went on a field trip. Every morning the kids have a question that they answer in their journals. Today's was, "What's the best thing that could possibly happen to you today?" One of my kids wrote, "The best thing that could happen to me is that I get to ride the bus!" 

I was honestly a little panicked as we walked the downtown streets of Asheville, passing many adults I did not know. I have twenty-five children, and my only concern today was that they all made it back to school without being abducted. They could yell through the play all they wanted.

My kids had seat buddies on the bus. One girl's mom came as a chaperone, so her seat buddy, Jaysen, didn't have a seat buddy anymore. "Miss Seals, Emmalyn's gone and she was my seat buddy," he said, "Who am I gonna sit with now?"

I told him he could find a new seat buddy, as I'd told the kids they could sit with someone different on the way back. This seemed to appease him for a moment, but then he said, "Oh, you can be my seat buddy." He said it like a fact, not an invitation. "I'd love to be your seat buddy, Jaysen," I said.

And so on the way back, I sat by Jaysen. I tried to talk to him, but he mainly wanted to stare out the window. I looked in front of me and saw Logan and Samuel, the best of friends. They were sitting in silence too, staring straight ahead. And so I just sat next to Jaysen and didn't say anything. And I realized I really like having a kid as my seat buddy. 

When we got back, we talked about the play and the kids drew a picture or wrote about it in their journals. Then we did 30 minutes of testing, since I had a lot of time to fill and we are quite behind. And then for the rest of the day, I let them play. Some kids were drawing on the white board, some played with legos, some made spinners out of building blocks and had contests. Afterward, little Brady threw his arms around me. "Thank you for the free time, Miss Seals." 

I've had a lot going on in my life the past couple weeks. Little Mozzie Lee was born. I got to be there for the birth and have spent most nights with him since. It's been everything, but I've been feeling pretty exhausted. I think moving is looming over my head, like a giant unknown - something I can't quite prepare myself for. 

Sometimes I wish I had a job that wasn't so demanding, so that if I wasn't feeling one hundred percent, it wouldn't have such a giant impact on my day. A job where, if I didn't eat breakfast, I'd have time to grab a snack. Or if I was tired, I could kind of take it easy, without it meaning that'd leave me with a giant group of kids that were out of control. 

But do I really? Would I really trade it? Would I want anything but the hugs and smiles and giggles and laughter and stories of my kids? Could I live without it? Could I be just as happy without them?

So yes, my guest room is filled with boxes. And I feel really overwhelmed by it all. But then I think of riding the bus with my kids today, watching Jaysen staring out the window, in awe of everything he saw. I think of Brady's arms around me, thanking him for the simple gift of letting him be a kid. Of Emma Jean, who talked to me nonstop on the bus ride back, talking so quickly she stumbled over her words and I had no idea what she said, but we both giggled the whole time. And that makes me grateful, makes me think of all the incredible moments and gifts whirring past me, like the trees out the window of the bus. 

So for tonight, I choose to look out the window. To see it all. The boxes will get packed.

My little Emma Jean. When I asked her where I should put a box of tissues today, she loudly declared, "Up your BUTT!"