Hemnes, Schmemnes.

After I went to Bacon & Butter on Sunday, and after I took my first of what I hope will be many neighborhood walks with Kitty, Eric decided we were going to Ikea. I didn’t know he even had an interest in Ikea, but I jumped at the chance to go.

Before someone mentions how cheap Ikea furniture is, how sub-par, lemme interject. I know it’s not what you’re going to call “real” furniture. But it’s not awful looking, and I need a coffee table that I can put my feet on and then sell at a garage sale when I get sick of it. I need some bookshelves, man. So we’re going to have cheap furniture in between our “real” furniture and we’re all going to be okay. I’ll leave you to your lathe–we’ll agree to disagree.

Anyway. I’d been making an Ikea list for weeks, so when Eric announced he wanted to go I changed into my comfy shoes and hopped in the car. There’s been so much to buy in the first few weeks of this new house. I am uber-thankful for that weird month between mortgage payments when you buy/sell a house, but we’re nearing the end of that beautiful time and that beautiful (spendable, extra) income. I am going to get myself to Ikea to buy some canisters, $2 toilet brushes, and step stools, dammit, because next month we have to pay the man.

I was kind of tired when we left, and I also didn’t think about it how thorough Eric can be. It’s one of the things I love about him–he is meticulous as all get-out, and as such, he proofreads every single review I write before I send it to an editor. But homeboy’s thoroughness really begins to shine in a museum or box store. He’s not going to miss a single thing. We are going to see the entire place, which means we are going to walk every single aisle and look at every single tag/blurb/display/sign.

So we did that. My body started to give out near the bed frames, and by housewares I was looking for empty end-caps to grab a sneaky sit.

Despite my tiredness, It was fun, and I’m happy that all of this house doing and shopping means the two of us get to spend time together looking at house stuff in a way we really haven’t since before Addie. It’s fun to have a new, empty house that we can fill up with dreams*.

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*and stuff that gets assembled with an Allen wrench.

Waiting is the Worst

One more day of living out of a suitcase. One more day of not living in our own house. One more day of sharing one sink and one bathroom. One more day until I can UNPACK MY COFFEE MAKER.

Eric says I’m like the cats: if you move my stuff around too much it makes me weird. He’s right.

Real quick: what the hell was I thinking when I put my coffee maker in storage? Okay. We did think we were only going to be living in the temporary house for two weeks–which turned out to be a false assumption–but I seriously underestimated my need for brewed beans. Sure, I said, I can drink instant for a few weeks. Nope nope nope.

Also, why didn’t I realize until a few days ago that I could have just used a French Press while we were here? We have water. I am a moron.

I couldn’t sleep last night. Not that I’ve been sleeping that well in the temporary house anyway (shout out to my Uncle Tom, who I know loves to read about how tired I am…), but I can’t seem to settle even though we’re in our own bed. I hate ceiling fans, and I still miss ours like crazy. The temperature is wrong all the time. Too many things on my mind–a mix of excitement about moving in and fear that this really isn’t going to happen. Where I go, in the wee hours: Maybe I made up the whole house thing, and I’m going to find this all was some kind of mistake, rather than a multi-month, labor- and thought-intensive, expensive process that involved me signing my name on a stack of papers as thick as War and Peace. But then, we don’t have our old home anymore. In the middle of the night it seems possible that we could have left that house and we’d never get this new one and we’d be stuck in uncertain limbo. Cats, frozen between rearranged couches.

This move has to happen this weekend. It has to.

The kids are good. They’re so excited that I really do hope we get to move in. They need a win, at this point. The ins and outs of real estate escape them; all they know is we’ve been saying “not yet” a lot. I’m ready for them each to have their own rooms again and to have some free time to go outside and explore the creek and parks around the new house. I’m glad they get along, but we’ve all been spending too much time in each other’s bubbles.

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September birthday buds.

Last night for dinner, I cracked crab with two friends who’ve been in my life for 20+ years. It was so much fun. We drank beer and ate cupcakes and just didn’t do anything productive. As I drove home I realized there hasn’t been a lot of fun happening lately, and I really miss it. I’m such a nerdmobile, I almost cried. I was so happy (and tired, natch). Other than a few bright moments when relatives have rescued us, it’s been a long couple of months. In fact, pretty much since my surgery I’ve been holed up in the house or out getting shit done. Not a lot of hanging out or drinking beer with other humans. My body is finally — 4 months after surgery — feeling and acting like my body and finally not hurting. I am thinking it might be nice to join civilization again. Not jury duty civilization, or work civilization, or the driving-kids-back-and-forth-across town civilization, because that’s been happening. But fun. Maybe I could have a conversation with my husband that doesn’t involve a sewer line or a moving truck, and maybe I don’t need to feel guilty about taking two whole hours to eat dinner.

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Sweet baby Jesus, I can’t wait to have a real cup of coffee in my new kitchen.