I can always tell when I've lived somewhere at least six months when I get the urge to rearrange the furniture. This time around, unfortunately, the six-month itch hit right after John left for SOS. I still managed to wreak chaos in just about every room in the house, much to Conner's consternation -- not just because he was recruited to help with certain things I couldn't sweat out on my own; but also because the last time we'd hit the six-month mark he was only nine-years-old. And in boy years that's, like, a lifetime ago.
And it has been a bit over-the-top chaos supreme, what with all the painting projects I've had going simultaneously -- because painting in a house while living in it with preschoolers really forces you to reevaluate that whole Finish a Project Before Starting Another One mentality that I would like to have. It's more like, grab 10 minutes, or 20, or a whole hour if you're lucky, or two if you don't care what havoc you find wreaked in the rest of the house once you come out of your I'm Getting Something Accomplished Reverie.
At this particular moment, as I write, there are random sections of edging that I have not finished painting in Sean-Peter's room; untouched chunks of wall in the family room behind furniture that I didn't take the time to move out of the way; strips of trim in various shades of beige in parts of the house still waiting for that coat of glossy white; swaths of new color in our master bath where I just had a little paint left in the pan and gee I wonder what it would look like in here? This isn't to mention the random pieces of wall border that I have picked at here and there, hoping to get lucky to have whole strips come off with no extra effort on my part. So far I'm still hoping.
Sometimes I do wonder if it's all worth it -- after all, we're just going to move again one day. And I totally understand where Conner was coming from when he would throw out comments like, "This will all be done right about the time it's time to move again." Or, "This house is its own tornado."
And, indeed, when you're trying to paint multiple walls and trim and doors in your house whilst otherwise feeding and clothing and tending to three children, something's gotta give. There's enough dust in this house to carpet a small Sahara. And you probably wouldn't want to stop by and ask to tinkle in the loo right about now. (Although there might be some cleaning wipes underneath the sink. You could help yourself.)
But this is part of what makes a house a home, I do believe. And when all is said and done we will have a somewhat clean home full of color that I am confident we will be living in for at least a full year once I put away the brushes. Why I'm not confident that it will be longer will have to save for another post.
And I was going to write about the busyness of this week, how it seemed to take the cake for the busiest week of all weeks, when the two adults who live in the same house barely exchange hellos as they pass each other in the night. But more important things await -- like a movie from the library with my son, who is so impatient to start and so looking forward to both of his parents actually sitting and watching a movie with him that he just did the dishes that have collected all day, all this beautiful day, so I could sit here and give you this, a look at said child earlier while he did a little mowing. With, er, a little help. Or, at least, a little following.
I was getting the biggest kick out of this version of follow the leader, of these little ducklings following their adored big brother. Although he, um, wasn't feeling the love.
(Look closely. Yes, that's a get away from me! shove, caught in the act.)
But they were undeterred. Can you blame them?
But now it's time to start the movie. And to sort dirty laundry. (Literally.)
March 30, 2012
5 years ago