Friday, January 28, 2005

We are in the process of removing old, ugly, pet-stained, carpeting from our front room (which will become our living room). It wasn't installed properly and had seams running down the middle of the room. Since the day we visited the house prior to purchase, I have said that the carpeting would go, I would install wood flooring, and buy some new furniture to make it less like a closeout garage sale house. Prior to my employment bad news, we went out and spent a portion of Steve's Christmas bonus to make my dream a reality.

Last weekend, while snowed in, we started to tear up the carpet and paint the walls (another pet peeve of mine is white or cream colored personality whatsoever). Aside from a little window breaking incident with the sofa delivery guys, it's coming along nicely. I'm very excited that we will finally have one room that is "done."

I have to admit that this progress means my house looks even more like a bomb went off than it normally does. All our furniture is crammed into our current living room, dog cages are stashed wherever they would fit (we have five), including one in the kitchen right in front of the microwave oven, Sam's toys are haphazardly stored in places where we may never find them again...all in all it's a MESS. You can't even GET to the bathroom at certain times of the day.

But the strange thing is that I'm at a stage in my life where this just doesn't bother me. I seem to be lacking the gene or chromosome that makes normal women/wives strive to make their houses into showplaces worthy of Better Homes and Gardens. While I'm excited to have my new living room completed, I don't feel the sense of urgency that I know I should. Why is that?

1 comment:

Backpetal said...

I believe I lack that same gene or chromosome. You wouldn't see my house in a magazine either, unless it's the "before" photo on one of those makeover-a-slob's-house projects.