We’ve been in the new house for 6 weeks now. Well, one month and seven days anyway. And it still doesn’t feel like home yet. I mean sure, there’s the unfolded laundry on the bed, the dishes in the sink, and who knows what the kids’ rooms look like. But the feeling of ‘home’ eludes me still.
I haven’t gotten to my routine of grocery shopping and cooking yet, meaning we’ve been eating out way too much. I have made a few meals here on my new gas stove. And the gas stove still frightens me. Especially when I use the oven. I know the inspector inspected it and gave it all thumbs up (heated to a perfect 350F when set at 350F), but the on and off noises freak me out. And things cook faster, and handles get hotter. I still haven’t rearranged the kitchen from when my sister-in-law helpfully unpacked.
Our bedroom is done, for now. I have a drapery issue to overcome. But the painting and furniture is done. The new living room furniture is all here now. The backordered ottoman/coffee table arrived last week. The kids rooms are 80% unpacked. Nick’s office is shaping up nicely. My office has picture frames and books on the floor still. I’ll move my mom’s dining room furniture in the next week or so. The guest/craft room upstairs will continue to have it’s door closed. The guest/storage room upstairs will continue to wait on Nick to find the bed frame screws. I have about a hundred billion spackle spots to sand down (and then paint) on all the walls in this house. And I still have screws to pull from the high spots on the stairwell landing.
I will continue to look at my yard and it’s complete lack of landscaping, combined with it’s pleothora of weeds and cringe at the thought of trying to do even a little yard work in our sweltering 100+F degree days. Mowing is a pre-dawn activity around here. And the neighbors don’t get mad, because they’re all up doing their own yards. I continue to look at my back yard and laugh at myself that I thought I was going to get a garden planted back there next spring. I’d better start saving my sheckles.
Maybe it will start to feel more like home when the kids come back next week. July has alternately dragged and sped by. They’re staying a couple of extra days since we needed to juggle the weekend visitation schedule so they’re with their dad the weekend he gets married. Am I the only one that thinks 13 and 9 are too old for a ring bearer and flower girl? Not my event though, so I bit my tongue at that news.
I’m not sure what to do ‘next’ on the list. It all seems to happen on a whim. I’ll walk in the door from work, get an urge to hang a picture, get tired of looking for the hammer, grab my sanding block and sand a few spackle spots until my arm is tired, and then move a box from one room to another before sitting down, exhausted and go to bed watch a few episodes of Deadliest Catch off my DVR. (Sig & Phil are my favorites. Sig’s brother Edgar is totally insane, but is the closest person I can think of to a real-life MacGyver.)
It will all get done over time, I know. But my perfectionist ‘get it done right now!’ attitude is irritating me. And if I can’t make it perfect, I’m not going to bother to do it at all. Yeah, I know. I’ve got a sickness. And it wasn’t even all my years of therapy that helped me figure that out.