Tuesday, June 2, 2009
I love my house. It is a Prairie style Sears catalog house. When we first moved here I would think how lucky I was every time I walked up my front staircase, feeling like a princess with my hand on the banister. Our house isn't that amazing, but it is the first one we've bought and comes after a long line of rentals, so in comparison it is pretty nice. It has some lovely details: glowing wood floors, two stairways, lots of windows, etc. I am finding, however, that, as with other inanimate objects, my feelings are not returned and it does not love me back. I am beginning to wonder if it, in fact, hates me. Last night it rained. I had been longing for rain all day as I looked at my limp basil and forlorn hydrangeas. Was I going to have to break out the hose? Around 6:00 my wishes came true and it poured and hailed, with the wind gusting for about 20 minutes. Okay, a little overeffusive, but thank you for watering my garden. We had about 2 hours to recover and then started the thunder and the lightning. My girls were a little nervous, but I put them to bed and then went to get the laundry and almost died as I slipped and slid by the back door. There was water pouring in through a window. Great. M got a towel while I took the laundry upstairs. I walked in my room only to see a patch of wetness spreading across my ceiling. Wonderful. Couldn't it just rain without providing the accompanying stress of our entire house falling down around our ears? Besides, we have other problems at the moment. Our basement has a 3 foot deep hole and construction debris throughout, our kitchen cupboards are all coming unhinged, and our doorknobs are not functioning correctly. Recently the little latch doohickey wouldn't come out so the bathroom door wouldn't shut. With the help of a friend, I took out the whole thing and got the spring inside replaced. When I put the doorknob back on, I think it was too tight so in the last few weeks the threads have been stripped and smaller people were having trouble opening the door. Finally I took the whole thing off again since I didn't want anyone getting stuck in there and we have been using a stool to assist with privacy. Well, this morning our handy fix it guy put the latch-y thing-y back on, but without a doorknob, and I waltzed in there without noticing and swung the door shut behind me. As soon as I heard the telltale click, my heart sank ~ the tragedy I was hoping to avoid had claimed me as its victim! I looked around and saw that there was nothing that could help me open the door. I knew it was useless to call out since no one was around to hear and I hadn't brought my phone in with me. I was grateful that the baby was in the room instead of out in the hall alone (I actually do occasionally get to go to the bathroom by myself, but not very often). I tried not to worry about all of the things I should be doing, and instead made plans to enjoy the unexpected downtime brought about by my sudden imprisonment. Fortunately I had a pile of the "Church News" to read and happily planned some church history stops for our summer trip. Also, the bathroom is equipped with a few toys so that kept the boy busy for about 30 seconds, after which he wanted to play with the toilet bowl brush (yuck!), tried to get the cleaning supplies, emptied the hair "pretties" drawer, and climbed all over mommy. After a while I cleaned the bath tub and the blinds and was gearing up for some more scouring when I spied the handy fix it guy down on the driveway. "Yoo-hoo!" He looked around in bewilderment. "Up here! I'm stuck in the bathroom." We were in there for an hour, but I had feared that it would be much longer. I would say the worst part was that it happened at 11:00 a.m. and I was starving! Needless to say, it is becoming clear that there is no love lost between me and my house and I am considering trying to give it the slip.