The snickerdoodle is 4 and a half months old, and as was the case when the other two children hit that age, I am feeling all of my creativity pouring back. There are a thousand blog posts rolling around my head right now and the fictional characters are beginning to talk again (over each other at the moment. I need to sort through everyone to find Tracey again). I stained a bookshelf our friend Loran made us a year ago (and put it beside the couch and now I need another one for the other side. hint hint), re-covered an office chair and have been pouring over the Design*Sponge book my sister bought for me. I went into Home Depot for a new filter for my vacuum cleaner and found myself looking longingly at power tools. I want to renovate something.
The irony of all of this is that while I am googling “Can I change the color of my leather couch?” because it suddenly MUST BE RED, in the desperate dream of a home that one day looks like adults live in it, my apartment currently resembles what would happen if a frat house and a day care ever bred. (by the way, yes, you can re color leather for about the same price as buying a brand new sofa. Just FYI)
The new semester has real activities, and we spent several days fighting hair dwelling parasitic insects and I have a preschooler, a toddler and an infant, and the weather has been comfortable enough to go outside, which eats into my chore time. I could blame any one or all of those things, but the truth is this: I have always lived better in my head than in real life and I have a tendency to believe that what I imagine could happen one day is more important than the reality of what really is happening and going on and needing to be done right now.
There is nothing wrong with trying to make my home both more functional and more beautiful, but only if I am also keeping up with the mundane necessity of clean dishes, swept floors and scrubbed toilets.