So now life is back to where I wonder at night whether we can stretch the laundry one more day and have enough clean underwear for everyone in the morning. Jesus' mercies are new every day. But dirty clothes are not.
I wake up lately and expect to get so much accomplished each day. I wait for perfect opportunities to slip in a project. But they never come. Bums me out. When will the windows ever get painted? When will we ever fix the wall? And the last thing I've had time to squeeze in is blogging. Sadly, though. Because I'd love to look back at all we've done with this house and remember the small, somewhat precious things. Like when the marble countertops were an 1/8 inch too close in the kitchen and our stove didn't fit.
Or like the time last month our elderly neighbor stopped by with her dog who ran around the house and peed three times in three rooms. Then peed on our Christmas tree. You know - just for good measure. (Dear Rufus, you are officially uninvited from our house ever again.)
Then a call came in last week. To my dad - who is our general contractor. Someone drove by, saw his remodeling sign, called his office and said they were interested in buying our house.
Hold the phone. Shut the front door. This was big. This was exciting. This meant that maybe we were on the right track with all our hard work. It also meant maybe this wasn't our forever house. Ha. Anyone who knows me and is reading this just rolled their eyes that I ever alluded to this being our forever house. I've never stayed in a house more than 2 years. John and I have moved 7 times in 4 years of marriage. So, yeah. Prolly not gonna stay here forever either.
Anyway, we're not selling. At least not yet. But it kicked us into overdrive. What if the price had been right? We'd be crazy not to sell, pick up everything and do this all again in another house. Right? But our base shoe isn't even down yet. And there's scarcely a single wall with a solid two coats of paint on it. It was time to stop watching football and get sh*t done.
I'm proud to say after three months of gripping the edge of the trashcan pull-out with the tips of our fingers, I've finally installed the cabinet hardware. Party time.
And the yellow trim is nada in our living room. Quig's bedroom windows have been scraped of paint from the glass. Grasscloth wallpaper was ordered and has arrived for Annie's room. The kitchen backsplash is on order from England. The range hood is sitting on the floor in our dining room (which is better than before when we didn't yet own one.) I've chosen a light for the kitchen island. I haven't ordered it yet. But whateves. It's out there. It's been identified. That's progress! The second coat of paint went on John's office windows last night. The first coat went on in August. Oil paint takes a LONG time to dry between coats, folks. So we went to Florida while we waited. Say what? It only takes a day to dry? Nah, we'll pretend the Florida trip was necessary. Necessary for the soul anyway.
When we came home, I even found the time to take a Christmas picture. Or two. Actually, I shot about 73 pictures. NONE of which were good of both kiddos. So, yes, I photoshopped Quig's head in the final pic. Darn right.
And, yes. We bribed Annie to smile by giving her a sucker. No, we're not ashamed.
Yes. Her hair is horribly dirty. It looks like a matted pony tail because it is a matted pony tail.
Yes. John is still as good a photography assistant as he was back when we did all of Annie's weekly pictures.
Life is happening. Faster than ever. I'm more tired than I thought a person could ever be. And I only have two kids. And no job. But my bones feel heavy these days. But, I'm here. We're plugging along on the house. And if you ever again wonder why I haven't posted in weeks it's because I'm napping. Or it's because I'm way too busy to nap. And certainly too busy to blog.