As I turn
and examine the dull wooden floors of my dining room I’m reminded of children. Children who insist on playing with modeling clay and play dough on shiny glass surfaces. Children who dribble morning cheerios and milk into the grout between my kitchen floor tiles. Children who creep sticky, red, m&m-tinted fingers along white hallways and onto light switches. Children who shove matchbox cars and polly pockets into baseboard heating units and weld keyholes shut with thoroughly chewed gumballs. Small dirty handprints on bedroom doors, stick-figures drawn on steamy bathroom windows, and a clump of something green and dried on the bottom stair. ::shudder:: I’m not even going to ask.
Bah. I love the little monkeys. What’s a home if not for the telltale signs of the inhabitants?
My point being that the husband got the green light to work from home. Yippee! for me on several accounts. Firstly, I’ll have the love of my life home with me. This presents several new opportunities for unwinding and relaxing together. No longer will our mornings be harried marathons of perfect timing. Late nights at the “office” can actually be accompanied by a warm supper, and lunch breaks will actually serve as a break for me too. I can run my errands and leave the papoose with Papa if I so desire. I'll have an adult to talk to during the day; this may cause my head to explode.
So why was I grouching about a messy house?
We’re moving. Which translates into I have to polish this monstrous house into sellable condition…strip the floors…steam the carpets…paint the walls…I’m freaking out because people will tramp through my house every weekend prying into the most personal of spaces…I have to sort through and free-cycle 50% of the boxes stored in the cellar…scrub…scrub…scrub…coincide closing dates…negotiate…negotiate…renegotiate…pack up…tearfully say good-bye to my loving parents…
And yes, that is actually what the inside of my heads sounds like. It’s a constant stream of consciousness in there. Microsoft Word can bite me.
I organized my shoes today. It’s a start.
Bah. I love the little monkeys. What’s a home if not for the telltale signs of the inhabitants?
My point being that the husband got the green light to work from home. Yippee! for me on several accounts. Firstly, I’ll have the love of my life home with me. This presents several new opportunities for unwinding and relaxing together. No longer will our mornings be harried marathons of perfect timing. Late nights at the “office” can actually be accompanied by a warm supper, and lunch breaks will actually serve as a break for me too. I can run my errands and leave the papoose with Papa if I so desire. I'll have an adult to talk to during the day; this may cause my head to explode.
So why was I grouching about a messy house?
We’re moving. Which translates into I have to polish this monstrous house into sellable condition…strip the floors…steam the carpets…paint the walls…I’m freaking out because people will tramp through my house every weekend prying into the most personal of spaces…I have to sort through and free-cycle 50% of the boxes stored in the cellar…scrub…scrub…scrub…coincide closing dates…negotiate…negotiate…renegotiate…pack up…tearfully say good-bye to my loving parents…
And yes, that is actually what the inside of my heads sounds like. It’s a constant stream of consciousness in there. Microsoft Word can bite me.
I organized my shoes today. It’s a start.
posted by Renée at 10:35 AM
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