Don’t Kid Yourself

Yep, that’s construction adhesive smeared and dried on my couch.  Good thing the couch was free…

I think sometimes I give off the wrong impression about living on our acreage, like it’s glamorous and all flowers blooming and happy little animals skipping about like they do for animated princesses.

Lately, this is an example of a typical meal for us.  Without a garage to store our tools, the dining room table almost always is a home improvement materials hot spot because every day (save for Sundays when we take a day of rest), we’re going to need access to the items.  More than once, Evelyn has run to the table and shouted at me to move the drill out of her way.  Honestly, I don’t blame her.  I am looking forward to the day when I can eat a meal without a paint bucket as the centerpiece.

Then there are the few rooms that remain as of yet unfinished.  I am so grateful for places like our master bedroom, nursery or upstairs bath that are completed.  However, there are a few rooms that remain in dire need of attention like the downstairs bathroom and the front porch room, destined to be my sewing area.  It’s incredibly difficult to look at all of the nice trim work and painting I’ve done in one room only to see out of the corner of my eye the ragged edges of an incomplete doorway that still needs to be fixed.  I’m trying to see the progress we’ve made rather than the work that still needs to be done.

I could go on and on about the constant dust and dirty home, the date nights spent at a home improvement stores or being constantly scratched up, bruised, sore and having all my fingernails broken from wrestling unruly or scared animals but that’s not really the point.  The point is, whenever I feel the urge to rant about the hardships about living on this modest acreage, I remember that every lifestyle has its challenges.

I once lived in a huge city in a rundown apartment where there are barely even scruffy patches of grass to enjoy.  The lack of open space or anything green was incredibly difficult for me.  And as much as my animals drive me nuts at times, the only animal I befriended there was a scraggly stray cat I named Root Beer.  Life in the suburbs can be equally frustrating trying to keep up with the Jones’, hearing your neighbor’s every conversation or worrying that they might do something drastic, like paint their house a vibrant lilac purple.