Well, hello there.

It’s been a while.

Next year I should just post a “gone swimming” note and promise to see you in September, because really, I need a little summer vacation.  There were each days and family trips, farm-fresh veggies and plenty of ice cream, plaster dust and paint samples.  There was the obligatory bloggy guilt and then a little blogistential crisis.

But today was the first day of school – the first day of kindergarten for my baby girl – and the house is even (very nearly almost) done, so it’s time to get back into the routine.

I’ll be easing back into things here, but I really am back.

And I promise a house tour soon.

because I’m not.

because I just got home from dinner with friends – burgers and fries and keep-the-drinks-coming – and my family is sound asleep and I should be too,

but I’m not.

I’m fifty different kinds of worked up.

Some you can guess and some you can’t and some are too cliched to mention,

but I just thought

I want to go home

and I meant Rockport, where my under-construction-old-farmhouse waits with boxes and stuff and a million loose ends,

and it made me smile,

even through the tears.

I started packing right around the time water started pouring through the kitchen ceiling.

Portland beckoned – with the promise of friends and restaurants and a dry, comfortable place to stay – and it’s been delivering.  We’re running into friends everywhere we go (kisses and hugs and aren’t-the-kids-getting-tall!), eating at all our favorite restaurants, visiting all the best playgrounds. The kiddos are even in camp, giving me a couple of hours in my beloved coffee shop, every day.

And it feels like home.

It feels like the last six months might have been a dream, and I’m waking up in my familiar life, and just going about my business.  Like I clicked my heels and whispered There’s no place like Portland, and here I am, safe and sound.

It makes Ari sad, or at least a little wistful, but to me it feels like a gift.

Like our world got bigger and our family got tighter.

Like home.

I don’t have to tell you how many times I’ve dreamed of meeting you, in real life.  We’d sit down with a cup of coffee, or a glass of wine, or a gaggle of kids treasure hunting on the beach, and make things official: we’re friends.

But then there’s the flutter of anxiety: what if we’re not quite the way we’ve imagined each other?  What if our connection is mostly a dream?

I took the leap yesterday.  The kiddos and I drove down to Portland, hopped on the ferry, and went to meet Maegan and her beautiful family.  Tessa and Rayne were almost as eager as their mamas, since they have a bloggy friendship too.

And let me tell you, this connection is for real.

Calder would follow Layla anywhere.

Maya inspired more than a little baby fever in all of us.

And we all had a fabulous time.

Corinne described it as effortless, and it was.  It was hanging out with good friends: smiling at the connections, commiserating over the squabbles, sharing the moments of real life.

What about you?  Have you met any bloggy friends in person?  How did your connections translate into real life?

The best thing about construction (other than a built-in excuse for messy floors) is the never-ending string of surprises.  One day you’re going along, minding your own business, and the next thing you know, there’s a giant digger in your front yard.

Or someone is cutting the roof off your house.

(That part wasn’t a surprise to me, but it sure shocked Calder.  He thought he could trust these guys, and then they go and do this?  And Mom’s okay with it?  The world gets stranger by the second…)

The big excitement this week was supposed to be framing the new roof.  Ryan and Matt and Gary (who, incidentally, are Calder’s favorite people in the whole world right now) worked long, hot days on Monday and Tuesday, and when they packed up last night we finally had a sense of what the addition would look like.

And then it started to rain.  And it just kept raining, with absolutely no regard for the fact that – tenting and tarping and best intentions aside – we don’t have a proper roof.

Ryan stopped in this morning to see how we were doing.  They weren’t going to work today, what will all the rain, but he wanted to make sure we didn’t have any leaks.  Calder ran to the door, eager to share the latest surprise: “It’s rainin’ in the kitchen!”

So the poor guys had another long day, this time in the rain, and we’re getting a new kitchen ceiling.

There’s never a dull moment.

Yesterday I mowed the lawn, baked oatmeal bread, spent four hours at the lake, got my kids to eat turnip greens, checked in with my mother-in-law, chose new windows for the barn, shaved my legs, posted renovation photos on Facebook, did the dishes, and read countless picture books.

So why did I feel like a failure?

Because I didn’t return some lovely phone calls?  Because I lost the thread on Creativity Boot Camp and haven’t blogged?  Because I admitted to maybe-new-friends-who-are-training-for-triathalons that no, I don’t run, or bike, or swim?  Because I just moved for the second time in six months and my house in under construction and I’m a little overwhelmed?

I mean, really.

What kind of bullshit is that?

I’m not just hanging on – I am rocking this.  And whatever crazy set of expectations ever leads me to believe otherwise, well, that’s just crazy talk.

There is a moment every summer.

I find myself standing on the SIBA dock, cold ocean beckoning and warm wood begging me to stay dry.  My toes curl around the edge, and I can think of a million reasons not to jump, and then I do.

Sometimes the water is so cold that the swim is nothing less than misery, and I’m shivering on the dock as quickly as I can climb the ladder.  Sometimes it’s heaven, and I swim all the way to the Cove and back and only get out when it’s time for a clean shower and a cold cocktail.

Either way, it is never, ever a mistake.

I feel the same way about Creativity Boot Camp.

I had a million excuses before I finished reading Maegan’s first post.  The beginning of construction and the end of school, the house guests and the freelance efforts, and wouldn’t it be something else next time?

So I’m diving in.

Follow along here.

The first time it happened was a year ago, maybe two, and it knocked me off my feet.

We were here for the weekend, admiring the schooners in the early morning, when a kindly crew member invited us aboard.  The baby was strapped to my chest, and I climbed the side confidently.

But as soon as my feet hit the deck, it was all over.

Now I’m no stranger to anxiety.  Palpitations and shortness of breath have been my companions for decades, and I’ve learned to live with them.  It’s taken some talented therapists, kind friends, prescription medication, and a glass of wine here and there, but I can honestly say that I’ve mastered Zen and the Art of Freaking Out.  I can breathe my way through a panic attack, honor the anxiety, and assess the root cause.

But this was different.

My heart raced and my chest tightened, for sure, but my vision distorted too.  I was sick to my stomach.  I was utterly calm and utterly out of control.

It took a few days to recover – and I’m shaky just writing about it – but luckily schooners aren’t something I have to confront on a daily basis.

Except that I live here now.  And everyone sails.  And last week, Calder’s class was invited aboard the Schooner Surprise.

I forgot to be anxious ahead of time, but the minute my feet hit the deck, it happened all over again.  The racing pulse, the difficulty seeing and breathing clearly, the utter impossibility of carrying on a conversation.  And this time my son wasn’t secure in the Ergo; he is two years old, and he wanted to explore.  So we climbed around the deck, watched the sails go up and down, turned the wheel, and – worst of all – went below deck.

I wasn’t particularly friendly or talkative on this field trip, but I was brave.  I didn’t let on that I had, in fact, completely lost my shit, and my Little Guy had a terrific time.

I’m not sure why I am so completely petrified of large sailing ships – perhaps there’s an answer in a previous life, because I don’t know of one in this life – and I recognize how ridiculous it is.  But there you go – My name is Kathleen, and I’m a schooner-phobic.

By the way, Captains Jack and Barb are incredibly kind.  They raised their kids aboard a sailboat, which makes me feel faint but strikes other people as pretty amazing.  In other words – it’s not them, it’s me.

What about you?  Do you harbor any irrational fears or phobias?  How do you handle them?

Here’s a little advice:

If you find yourself in a new town, where you’re missing your old friends and can’t quite count on the new ones –

If you rely on long distance friendships, some with people who have known you all your life and some with people you’ve never met –

If your sense of self is all tied up with words and writing and being a part of something bigger than your everyday world of drop off and pick up and snacks –

Don’t quit the internet cold-turkey.

Get it set up in the new house before you leave the old one.

Keep blogging and checking your email and updating your status, and don’t – DO NOT – let yourself get totally disconnected.

But if you do, don’t be afraid to cry.

And when the high-speed internet finally comes back, drop me a line.

I know just what you’re going through.

We couldn’t have asked for a better landing spot.  Cozy, clean, close to town – our little rental has made it easy to get our bearings.

But we’ve been eating dinner at someone else’s table and sleeping in someone else’s beds for five months now, and we’re ready to go home.  It doesn’t feel like we’re moving – how can it when we don’t really live here? – but I’m filling out change-of-address forms anyway.  And I really should be packing, even if the books and toys and clothes that litter this house are nothing compared to the quantity of stuff waiting in storage.

Finally, that stuff is on its way.  Christmas comes this week, in the form of a great big moving truck full of things we’ve been longing for – our bed, our books, our canoe, our bikes – and things we’ve forgotten all about.

Most of it will get unloaded into the barn, where the floors are freshly refinished but the walls are still uninsulated boards, because we’re  starting construction this week too.

Our beautiful little house is little – about 1000 square feet smaller than our big old house – and we need another bedroom.  So Ryan and his crew will build us one, adding a second story to the kitchen ell and bumping out the front of the house to add a mudroom downstairs and a hallway upstairs.  We’d hoped that construction would be wrapping up by the time we moved in, rather than just getting started, but we decided we’d rather do it right than do it fast.

I did plenty of reading, talked to some builders, and then I got myself an architect.  I mean really, why just throw a bedroom on top of the kitchen when I could have an architect?  We had vision meetings, where I showed her the slightly-embarrassing idea book I’ve compiled for this house, and emailed each other pictures.  We quoted A Pattern Language and sat on the living room floor surrounded by elevation drawings.

It was a little bit of heaven.

And my house will be too.