-Erika “I’m high on paint fumes” Ray
I can relate to Carmen’s post in one huge way: I have NO idea what to write. One, I thought I had a few days. Two, haven’t I rambled enough about myself? What could be new and fresh? Well, I came up with jack shit. Or I didn’t spend enough time thinking of something new or fresh. It’s probably the first one because I’m pretty fucking lazy. My posts usually pop up in my head a few days before the deadline or over-night for my blog. I don’t have a stash of topics to write about as I don’t really know anything. I’m a fly-by-the-seat-of-my-pants kind of chick.
So I won’t rehash my loves or my hates (i.e. Howard Stern and people brushing their teeth). I’ll tell you current nuggets about our move. Considering it’s the only thing on my mind these days.
- I used to hate painting. For decades, I was shitty at it. Sometimes I was shitty on purpose so I didn’t have to paint. I’m not ashamed that I’ve done a few bad swipes in order to drop the brush forever. But facing an entire house in drab taupe, I knew I needed to pitch in. Found out that I enjoyed it and was pretty good at it. Primed and finished almost half of the bottom half of our house. After that? I’m back to my hatred of painting. My right side is sore whenever I look at a roller. One more room and we’re done DONE.
- Curtains are my nemesis. I hate them. I want to cut the shit out of every curtain I see, try, and take back. I fucking hate curtains. And when you do find the semi-perfect ones, you have to iron them. All 84 inches. Four times when you’re covering two windows! I just finished some roman shades for our kitchen. Found the perfect material. Used my gift certificate money. Waited. Bought a pattern. Sewed. Had my mom sew. Forced Mark to mount them to the wall. You know the end of this story, huh? They look like pure shit dipping over the kitchen sink. Gorgeous cotton materialized into pure shit. Back to square one.
- We’ve been living without a couch in our family room since we moved in. Why didn’t we move the living room couch into the family? Because I wanted one room to look semi-finished. I don’t care if only the dog sits in the living room. I want one room that doesn’t look exactly like a crack den.
- Next time we move, we’re buy a kegertor. No joke. Beer seems to go with a move. Paint with a beer. Lay floor with a beer. Argue over curtains, have a beer! Smash your thumb with the hammer? Beer break. We’re closing in on the “This looks livable and OK for now” which means we’re closing in on the end of beer. Next time, we’re getting a keg. Who cares if we’re in our sixties?
- I have a two car garage and winter is knocking. We’ve never had a useable garage. We bought this house dreaming of a morning NOT spent chipping away at ice. You know the end of this story too? Can’t park a car in it. Next winter is going to be awesome. I think.
- All my hobbies are acting up. Sewing machine needs serviced and possibly replaced. My camera has been a bitch for the past 6 months. All my soul savers need some lovin’. But that kind of care means money. And we’ve got one house still on the market and another house that needs another can of paint. More lamps. At least one bed frame. Blah, blah, blah…
When we bought our first home, we knew it was temporary. The day we signed the papers and called it ours, we knew it wasn’t our “Die in home.” So from that day, we prepared for the next house: saving money and putting off address stamps. Someday we’d be in the house our boys would grow to call their home. The home that hopefully one day, they’ll pack their bags and leave behind. I say “hopefully” not because I can’t wait for them to move out (well…), but “hopefully” because this home is where we’ll create our roots. Doors will be slammed with anger. Walls will shelter apologies. Doorways will hold secret kisses. The kitchen will nourish hundreds of tummies. The backyard will be a blanket for imaginary adventures. This house will be our home. And that’s why every argument over curtains, smashed thumb, or a sore right side is completely worth it.