Playing House

Though J~'s small house is nicely apportioned, it's as if he and his ex were just camping out in it. There's clutter everywhere, and only a touch of method to the madness. "We were going for a theme of controlled chaos" J~ says.

Not anymore, you're not.

I'm not complaining. I'd so much rather this than moving into a place that feels complete without me. And J~ is thrilled to embrace the changes I suggest. In fact, just last week I did some shuffling of furniture while he was at work. It felt just like one of those sneak-attack home improvement shows where the lucky victim arrives unsuspecting and then walks around with their mouth in a big O, gasping and jumping up and down and crying and knocking the microphone away to hug the winsome hostess. Well, a little bit like that. There was the delighted O-mouth, and there was hugging, and there were tears. There may have been a little kicking up of heel, but I can't swear on it.

B~ loves it too, since part of the deal is that his room is included in the improvements, which means new paint and a new bookshelf and an allotment of space for his personal gaming system. We're talking twelve year old boy heaven with this last item.

Over the weekend the nesting spirit started to really kick into gear. On Saturday we went to the flooring store to look into replacing the well-worn kitchen linoleum. On Sunday, after rain curtailed our plans for hiking, we went to a furniture store, where we found ourselves purchasing a bargain basement but not unattractive and very comfortable couch and matching love seat, to be delivered next Wednesday. And then we wrote a list of all the other bits and pieces the house needs: rugs, paint (we've got paint chips laid out all over), a few kitchen gadgets, and furniture galore.

Babies or not, eight or eighteen or forty months from now, or never, it's going to be good.