Must be nice
April 12, 2007
That was the subject line of an email I got this morning. On a morning when I already am in a funk wondering, WHERE THE HELL IS SPRING?!?
Hail? Ice storm? Three inches of ice covering my driveway?
What is next, locusts?
Must be nice to be you.
Well, yes it is actually nice to be me, thank-you very much. But not for the reasons that you think.
It is nice to be me because I have a house filled with people who love me. People who routinely drive me precariously close to the edge of the crazy cliff, but people who love me nonetheless.
You think you are so perfect
No, if I were perfect I would have made little people who wouldn’t drive me crazy. Also they would have better toilet aim, not color on themselves, and hang up their coats without being reminded.
Showing off all your perfect furniture
Most of my furniture is from IKEA. I had to cart it home in flat pack boxes. And then assemble it myself with a teeny tiny allen wrench. And while I do really like it, it isn’t Ethan Allen, nor do I pretend that it is.
It could be yours too along with a plate of Swedish meatballs for $1.99.
This week marks 4 years that we have lived in this house. Four years that we have been pouring our blood,sweat, tears, and even a thumb into making this house a home.
It may seem when I post photos that suddenly our house is fixed up like magic, but that isn’t true. I don’t blog about every little detail of everything we are doing to the house because it is boring. Does anyone want to read, “I painted another wall today” or “I stripped some wallpaper” or “My god if I have to look at this white peeling vinyl kitchen floor another day I might kill myself.” We constantly are working on something, usually more than one project at a time.
The rest of this is probably only interesting if you are renovating an old house, dream of renovating an old house (you poor poor deluded soul), or wonder what the hell I do with all my free time. So I’ll put below the fold. Every single thing in these photos that has been done, we have done ourselves. With our own hands.
Our own very tired hands.
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