Yes, you read that correctly. I’m in love, I’m in love, and I don’t care who knows it!
The object of all this joy? this rapture? this newfound affection?
It’s my house.
I’ve always been grateful for my house, even with all her flaws. After all, those flaws aren’t the house’s fault. She didn’t ask to be upgraded (and I use that term verrrrry loosely) by a man who is a great roofer, but lacks the ability to DIY. (Is that a real term? Guess what? It is now.) We were so glad to move from our teenytiny duplex into our home, even with all the former owner’s… handiwork. It was nice to spread out. The house is big enough to use the main level for living and the basement for storage. I’m sure one day soon we’ll have to convert the library to another bedroom, or my office/craft room into a guest space, but that’s going to take a major renovation of the entire downstairs area, and for now, the space is good enough as it is.
After a week of crisis cleaning and some really specific attention to our clutter problem (*sigh*), I’ve decided that our house is really amazing. I mean, really, fantastically, beautifully amazing. It may be 24 years old, but it’s been updated enough to give it a fairly modern feel. It’s spacious and open and bright and comfortable, and with every pile of stuff I throw away, I can’t help but admire my house for how nicely it serves us as a home. To me that’s the very best thing about it. It’s our shelter, sure, but it’s so much more than that. It’s what we play in, pray in, make memories in, laugh in and cry in. It will be the home our children grow up in, and the home our grandkids will visit us in. It tells the story of our life as a family, from the pictures hanging from the walls to the toys strewn about.
Sometimes it spills our secrets, like the time I fell asleep nursing a newborn Anthony, when Hannah (who was 2) used that unsupervised time to draw a three-foot square masterpiece on our living room wall (white!) in dry erase marker (blue!). After two years, it’s still there. It’s faded a little, along with the paint, but it’s still a good memory (although at the time I was really upset). Occasionally it keeps some secrets from US, like why won’t the downstairs toilet flush properly? or where in the heck can we get a good view through 500 square feet of cement to make sure there are no electrical wires (or an appraiser’s body!) buried in there?
I kid! I kid!
I was still in cleaning mode today, and I decided to rearrange the living room furniture. Actually, since there is a piano on one wall that weighs sixty tons, all I did was swap places with the coffee table and the couch, from the north wall to the west, in front of the picture window. Then I moved the rocking chair to the east wall, next to the piano, moved a floor lamp from the southwest corner to the northeast, and hung a few pictures. The room looks bigger now, and I can’t get over how light it is in there. My kids love the change, too. They have spent the better part of the afternoon playing games and reading stories on the couch. Every time I walk past the living room, I do a double-take and then I start grinning. I am so happy with how it looks! Even with the toys and books on the floor, it’s fantastic. I can hardly wait to read my scriptures in there tomorrow, with the sun at my back and a feeling of lightness and order surrounding me.
I hung some things in my bedroom, too, and I love walking down the hall and seeing them above our bed. I tackled a project in there, which was long-overdue: I gathered up two separate clothing-catalog returns and boxed them up to take to the post office on Monday. I love that the mountain of clothes isn’t sitting in my corner anymore, mocking me. (Tell me your things do that to you, too. Please. Lie if you have to.) It will be nice to crawl into bed and see the wall. It’s been a while. *grin*
Change is good. It’s funny how such little changes can make such a big difference. FlyLady would be so proud of me!
Did I mention how much I love my home?