“Mommy, can we open something special each day of Advent this year?” my daughter asked me as we were driving home. I don’t know how to answer her. Because I don’t honestly know where we’ll be or how things will look for us then. Suddenly realizing that Christmas is only a little more than two months away is scary, because I may be living out of boxes. Actually, hopefully we will be living out of the boxes, the question is whether we’ll be in this house or the next one with those boxes.

Living in limbo is no fun. We’re trying to keep things as normal as possible, but I find it hard to keep up with things at the best of times. Most of my creative pursuits have been left on the sidelines and I find myself missing that time to recharge. All the handmade gifts I had planned for Christmas are looking improbable at best.

The laundry piles up and all I can think is that I should be packing boxes. I realize I need something that is sealed in one of dozens of boxes in the attic. Part of me would rather to decide to stay, rather than continue on this way. (Though when my oldest two begin another fight about how destructive my four year old is, or my seven year old spews her venom on her little brother; it renews my motivation.)

So each day I get up, and give it the best I can. Cook the meals, do the dishes, do school with the kids, try and clean the house. In between I make lists of bigger projects we need to tackle over the weekend. I worry about finding a house I like, and getting our house rented. My kids are continually frustrated by my inability to commit to their future ideas and whims. Life in limbo, while exciting in it’s anticipation, is exhausting in it’s routine and yet, it’s draining to be preparing yourself for a theoretical future.