On Moving On
I've had trouble stringing two thoughts together lately, largely because we're planning to list our house soon. I've spent far too much time scouring MLS listings and wondering why the hell everyone can't just be like me. Who would ever call a 6'x8' closet a fourth bedroom? I have rugs larger than that. And what drove another owner to finish the entire lower level of his home with thin wood-imitation paneling? Of course, we're also remembering the jaw-hanging moments of our current home: Plumbing fixed with aluminum foil (which necessitated a new sub-floor in the upstairs bath and a mostly-new kitchen ceiling), electrical to the dining room severed in order to provide an outlet in the half bath (good thing my father is an electrician!), the gloppy river of caulk that was used to cover over the moldy old caulk (which we painstakingly removed and replaced on Saturday).
Truth is, I love my house. I don't want to sell it. I don't want to move. But I have no choice. There's no way we can keep our sanity and all three children, here. I suppose it's good that I'll be leaving with a clean conscience. Nothing hidden, nothing covered over with a thin layer of cheap paint (or aluminum foil). We simply don't do that sort of thing. Ever. Sure, there are things that will make a new owner wonder, "What the?? What were they thinking?" Different things for different people. But when fat Aunt Helga comes to visit, she won't sit on the potty and end up in the kitchen sink. Well, don't take my word for it. See for yourself.
It's my prayer that I will not "Be Overcome" in this search. Caulk and three kids do not go together, and I spent far too much of my weekend thinking, "I'm tired of being stepped on," and the like. The whole point of this change is to shift our lives to someplace less stressful, someplace where homeschooling can be a natural part of our lives, not something we take from one room to the next, precariously balanced on the lapdesk or spread over the dining room table or spilled on the kitchen floor, and always being put away half-finished because, imagine!, other people in the house need to eat or cook or walk across a room.
Perhaps the passage should read, "Bless those who nail drywall over plaster and lath, and call it "refinished"; bless and do not curse them; weep with those whose garage roofs have fallen in upon their heads because they left the loft windows open all winter. Live in harmony with one another even though five acres of impassable, poison-ivy-infested woods separate you from your nearest neighbor...."
Humor aside, I failed to accomplish those things (the real list of things) this weekend. May we all keep perspective, be our ceilings be vaulted oak or aluminum frame and Styrofoam tile.