Nesting.

Yesterday, when Lachlan left for work, our home was...how can I put this lightly...tsunami-aftermath-esque. We'd spent the few hours we had at home on Sunday afternoon doing odd jobs to prepare for our upcoming home-study. Lachlan worked on officially sealing up our kitchen cabinets with those annoying little child safety latches...apparently access to dishrags, trash cans and chemicals is bad. (I've been foiled in my attempts to dispose of garbage ever since.)
I took on the task of the laundry room. We've lived in this house 2 years, and I have organized, cleaned and reorganized this room upwards of 6 times. Each time however, it ends up a big pile of "just throw that crap in there and I'll deal with it later." So, I reorganized my stockpiled pantry of toilet paper, spaghetti sauce and shampoo, and reassigned the tossed items of the past 6 months to their proper rooms, finally breaking myself of several appliances, linens and odd and ends into a yard sale pile, (note to self: organize a yard sale.) Needless to say, when the laundry room was finished, it could have donned the pages of Real Simple, where the rest of you would say, "yeah right, no one has a laundry/storage room that looks like that." But then, I could have panned out into the family room beyond, and you would have breathed a sigh of relief, knowing that, all the crap you have in your laundry room and storage, was now just in organized chaotic piles all over our basement.
I ended Sunday by scattering the chaos around the house, moving boxes of dry goods to the kitchen, a "return to friends pile" in the dining room, a box of too little baby clothes outside the attic door. It was all progress, but messy progress.
Back to yesterday.
Knowing that my job this week boiled down to two tasks, 1. keep kids alive, and 2. prepare for home-study, it was clear that Lachlan expected to come home to breathing children and a more organized and prepared home. At 4pm, I sent Lachlan the following text.
"Before you come home and accidentally hurt my feelings, you should know that I have worked my butt off today doing things you will never know I have done."
I passed off the alive part of Ellory to my sweet and amazing neighbor and friend, Beth. While Ezra and I tore apart the rest of our home.
Now, before you tell me, I already know that our social worker will not be opening my refrigerator, or even if she does, she will not judge the sticky goop on the bottom shelf as a sign of unfit parents. I know that she will not care about the FIVE boxes of 3-12 month clothes I have packed away from Ezra's room. She will not be alarmed to find my dishtowels and cloth napkins had made their way into the same pile... However, this has become much more than "post an emergency escape plan," and "make sure all your fire alarms are in working order" kind of home-study checklist. This my friends, has turned into full on obsession, in what may be over a year before we even see a picture of Baby Buna. I want everything perfect. I want to be prepared. I want Baby Buna. But for now, throwing out 1 month old Advil PM, and scraping the goo off my refrigerator shelf is all I can do. So. Here I am. I've torn my whole house apart in the past 3 days. Now I have 2 more to put it all back. All for my Baby Buna.
I'd call it borderline crazy, but nesting sounds so much sweeter.




Please pray for:
Us Coffeys here, as we continue to prepare our home and hearts for Baby Buna.
Our home-study that will take place Friday at 3pm.
God's provision-- we need to sell our car quickly to have the funds due our social worker. We had a great showing tonight, and are hopeful they will make us an offer tomorrow.
Faith the Lord will provide, and discipline and wisdom to manage our resources.
Mostly--Baby Buna, wherever he/she may be-- conceived or not, born already or almost-- that he/she would somehow know we are coming.