Love Letter

Dear CMS Family,

(I seem to be writing a lot of letters via this blog these days.)

I just left most of you at the calling hours for one of our colleagues.

Did I really just type that?

During this time, I hugged all of you; we stated our shock that we were even there; you said you "heard the news" and offered your congratulations; and then we guffawed at how much shorter my new commute will be, as though making this move to a new district was a no-brainer.

Did we really just talk about that at a funeral?

(And for my non CMS readers, I accepted a position at another school district.)

I walked out to my car with one of you, saw some former students on the way, and got into my car.

As I merged on to Ronald Reagan Highway, Landslide came on the radio.

I ugly cried from Ronald Reagan all the way to 71--and you know Landslide ain't that long of a song.

I nearly had to pull over as mascara flooded--and stung!--my eyes.

Now, part of this could be that I've decided to change nearly every aspect of my daily life in a very short period of time; part of this could be that I was mourning the loss of our Angie.

But more than anything, I was mourning the loss of all of you.

I have been feeling for the past few days like I just broke up with a boyfriend, and although I was done with the boy, I wasn't done with his family. I didn't want to lose the physical or emotional connection that I had developed with them.

I keep using the words "loss" and "lose," and to be honest, social media will never ever let me lose any of you.

What I will miss is the daily interaction...the smell of coffee in the office; the copy machine jammed at 7:05 a.m.; sneaking goodies left on the counter; begging the secretaries for another pack of post-its, or white out, or poster board, or five minutes of sanity; talking to my neighbors in the hall between bells about the ridiculous class we just had, or the latest glitch in ProgressBook, or what we are doing on Spring Break (because there is one this year!); the sign-up sheet for the holiday luncheon...and check out days; and the annual kick line to the Hallelujah chorus down the center hall on the very last day.

What I won't miss is the smell of onions on chili days.

Or waiting to pee between bells.

Or the roaches.

And there will be new coffee smells, and new neighbors to gossip with, and new secretaries to beg for supplies from, and new copy machines to curse at, restroom lines to wait in, computer programs to abhor, and holiday luncheons to make spinach dip for.

But there will not be your faces next to these things.

To say this CMS family has been dealt enough tragedy to fill an NBC dramedy (because we are a bit comical as well) would be absolutely accurate.

And what holds each one of us up is the heart and soul we don't just pour into our classrooms, but into each other.

Because that's family.

So many faces at Angie's funeral tonight that have long retired and moved on, and they come back because it's what you do when it's family.

I don't know that any other profession, or even building in our district, could possibly understand how close we are.

That connection...well, I'm going to miss it.

On a personal note, yet related, I'm not dealing well with leaving you. This is mostly because I don't take kindly to change, and I'll be the first to admit it. Little things, like a change in manicure, or a change in type of car, I can handle. But this whole life upheaval is freaking me out.

As you know, Greg and I left the first Kauffman homestead this weekend. We went back on Sunday to grab a few outdoor items, and to mow one last time, and laying in our (now former) side yard, was a dead cardinal.

The irony wasn't lost on me (non CMS people--Colerain's mascot is the cardinal).

One day later, we were running home from the gym back to my dad's house (where we are staying temporarily), and some of the neighbors stopped us.

"Look at this baby hawk," they said. "She fell from the tree. She seems to be doing okay...just trying to show her the way back home."

And again...my new school's mascot? Well, although not a hawk, a bird of prey: Eagle.

So when the Universe played Landslide as I left the funeral--and all of you--behind, the irony in how I was feeling in that moment was so palpable.

I've been afraid of changing cause I built my life around you.

I'm taking my heart with me, but I'm leaving every last bit of love for my cardinals.

Take care of each other.

Then again, it's what you we know how to do best.

Kristin

So long, Longbourn

Dear Z. Family,

I suppose this is a bit unusual, to a.) leave any kind of note to the new owners of a home and b.) to just go ahead and post it on a blog, too, but for me, this is essential closure on the walls and the roof that we have called home for the last seven years.

It's also a bit like writing a "Things to Remember" note to the babysitter...

...not to worry, there are no bedtime rules attached, nor emergency contacts, "no snack" lists, or remote control instructions.

Rather, I am leaving you the pertinent stories that these walls hold--the ones they'll never tell that should  be shared.

Let's just get started.

First and foremost, you must know about George.

We purchased this house from the McDuffies (George and Patty), who owned this home for a good fifty years before we did, and George was a biology teacher. The reason they converted the laundry room into a garage? George kept little alligators in the basement--one chased Patty to the steps and she told George if he wanted his laundry done ever again, he'd move the washer and dryer upstairs.

George also had a pet boa constrictor--Louise--whom he let have full roam of the house. He would start baths for Patty, and she'd go to get in, only to find Louise had made herself quite at home in the tub of warm water.

When we excavated the backyard a couple of years after moving in, we expected to find all kinds of wild animal skeletons. It was actually really exciting to start digging.

The best we got was a horse skull. In a garbage can. In the shed.

Not to worry, we've removed that for you.

George also collected license plates (aside from animals). When we initially looked at the house, every wall of the basement (and I literally mean "every") was covered in license plates. One was inadvertently left behind. We've left it downstairs for you. (We already checked--not worth much.) But it's a part of this house and its history.

George passed a few months after we moved in. Every once in awhile you'll get a note from a doctor's office that he's long overdue for a check. Have a chuckle that someone's not very good at record keeping, and don't worry about passing along.

There are also some miscellaneous items--highlights, really--that you should note:

• Spend as many summer nights on the back deck as you can. You can hear just about every Riverbend concert--especially when it's just a little bit overcast--and it is fantastic free entertainment.
• Reds fans? You can also hear the home run and game winning fireworks on about a 10 second delay as they carry down river. 
• The neighbors behind you in the little green house throw a spectacular Halloween party--we were never invited (I don't even know their names) but you should definitely befriend them because it always looked like fun (we're talking huge tent, tons of kids carving pumpkins, beer, bonfires, and fireworks).
• While we are on the topic of Halloween, you should probably only buy one bag of candy...unless you really like candy. We had about eight trick-or-treaters last year...including our own kids...so don't overbuy. 
• We have loved on nearly every inch of this house. Very few things are still from the various eras this house was built and added on to. As we rehabbed, we cursed poor George and Patty for making everything "custom." You just can't rehab custom...cheaply. So as you go and make your own changes, please know we made every effort to make your life a little easier. 
• Our street is always the last to get plowed when it snows. Cambridge is always fine--so don't look out the window and think, "Oh my gosh I'll never make it out!" You will. Just get to the end of the street. Also, Mr. Jim next door is pretty handy with a four wheeler. Not only have we seen him plow snow with it, he's also excavated front yards. He's pretty nice, too. He'll do anything for a six pack of Budweiser. 
• If you turn left out the street and walk to the end of Cambridge, there's a horse farm and a huge pond for fishing. Who knew? Probably not you, which is why I'm sharing. 
• Every once in awhile you'll hear what can only be described as an angry donkey sound. There's a guy up the hill who owns some pretty cool animals, including a zebra that he has tamed. Befriend someone who knows him so you can go check it out--go pet a zebra!
• The HGTV master is pretty spectacular, right? We've revealed secrets about our show in the paper attached to the DVD copy we've left--we decided you should see the full before and after process! 

Lastly, and perhaps most sentimentally, you are reading this on June 24th. In three days, Greg and I will be celebrating our fifth wedding anniversary. 

We used the wedding money we were given to do much of the work on this house...the kitchen you are standing in while reading this, and that amazing backyard.

As a result, we held our wedding reception here.

All of our nearest and dearest friends and family filled this house and its outdoor spaces with love that night. They celebrated us and we celebrated love.

(The AC unit is also five years old...as wedding luck would have it, it died. On our wedding day. Before ninety people came to pack themselves in.)

As Greg and I pack our belongings, and I find myself tearing up on a daily basis, I hold in my heart that home is not so much the walls and foundation, but a feeling we carry inside ourselves wherever we are.

So in addition to that license plate in the basement, we left you a little something else in the fridge.

Crack it open on June 27th. 

Toast us.

Toast you.

Toast this house.

Welcome home.

The Kauffmans