We’re still in the process of moving. We have vacated our duplex and now our stuff is in two garages, one not-lived-in house, and one room that looks like a laundry volcano explosion. I’m have to admit, it felt like a major step in the wrong direction to be carting my worldly goods back into dear old Mom and Dad’s. However, I can’t say there’s much to complain about when I get home from work to find a home-cooked meal on the table, or when Leslie plays beauty shop on my hair every time I need it straightened or styled. I’m getting pretty spoiled, in some ways. It will be very ideal when I live in my own sweet casa, but have my take-home chef and personal beautician a mere minutes away.
In other news…
From all of our house work, I’ve realized that there are two ways to approach home improvement. There are those who see a something broken and think, “I can fix that.” Then, there’s others who see something broken and think, “I guess I need to buy another one.” I’m definitely in the latter category. It’s kind of embarrassing, because it makes me feel a little bit like I lack tenacity. But I have to admit, when I’ve been scraping a door for two hours (or, two days) and the paint is still not all gone, I start thinking to myself, “How much could a door cost? Fifty bucks? One hundred? It would be so worth it.” True story: one time in college I went to Lowe’s and priced stove drip pans because mine had black gunk on it and I didn’t want to wash them. This is not the way of the Watsons. I’ve scraped along side my mother-in-law, and even when I’m about to cry in despair, she’s still plugging along as if the thought of complaining hasn’t even occurred to her. It’s been a good exercise in perseverance for me.
In other news, in case God is needing some new methods for eternal punishment, I have some new ideas. One, scraping stubborn paint off of a complicated, ridged surface. Two, painting white paint over white primer. I’ve been sympathizing a lot with Sisyphus lately.
So, now you know what I’ve been doing lately instead of blogging. Stick around- either life will settle back to normal and I can tell you some great stories from my new batch of fourth graders, or I’ll have gone crazy and I can tell you about some of my new neighbors in the asylum.