It feels like forever since I lived in a normal house.
A house that wasn't storing boxes of hardwood. A house that has a banister around the stairwell. Where I didn't store paint stripper on my landing and nail up my curtains.
This long weekend, my mom and dad again came to help out in the fight against crappy-house-syndrome.
I exaggerate. My house is not crappy. It's wonderful. Despite everything, I am still in love with it. But it is as much, if not more work than a marriage. With problem children.
However, I am very much to blame. I'm the one who wanted to move the closet to the other wall of the bedroom. I'm the one who actually thought it could be done in a long weekend. Who foolishly believed it wouldn't disrupt our lives for longer than two weeks. A month, if you considered the furniture moving, painting and cleaning.
But one thing led to another. We decided to restore the banister as we put in the new floor. To re-drywall (ok, that was actually necessary). And paint. And rewire a bit. With a new ceiling fan. All very good ideas.
But it's all taking such a long, long time. And I'm tired.
I know - everyone has these things. If it's not your house, it's your spouse or your child or your parents or a needy friend or a sick pet. They don't go away. You just take care of it because that's what you do.
After the wonder that was this weekend, I'm starting to look towards the end. I do believe that by the end of Autumn, we'll have our lives back to "normal." There will be more to do, but I'll have put the caustic chemicals away and be able to put up art again.
I can't wait.
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