So the move was hell - torrential rains, flash flooding, heavy book collections, sewing machine collections, general collections of sh*t.
(sadly, this is only about half of my stash.)
A hell that also spread to others who were thankfully helping us. Others will find it a source of amusement if you have tubs labeled “houndstooths” and “herringbones” and “unravelers.” They will accuse you of having chintz, but you will be glad you know people who know what chintz is and are willing to help you haul the aforementioned heavy, excessive collections in the rain.
The “new” house isn’t very old – a baby boomer in person years, and isn’t very attractive (yes, the vinyl siding followed us and we can’t afford to replace it) but it is modest and cozy and all ours (along with its problems – we woke to a dead boiler this morning).
It is also filthy.
This is what happens when you don’t have an exhaust hood over your stove:
I have to go in for a second or third scrub before I can even think of painting.
The house also had kids in it, and every room has evidence of them – stickers stuck to walls ceilings floors, glitter everywhere, scribbles on walls ceilings floors, little toy parts in cracks and crevices, and dubious and disgusting sticky places.
Speaking of stick, many people like this decorative crap for a child’s room:
But each little cheery leaf and branch and bird leaves sticky goo.
And your kid is no artistic genius,
so why didn’t you clean that sh*t off when you wanted to sell your house?
N triumphantly killed the rotting jungle gym in the yard:
and I’m totally thrilled we’re surrounded by hills again and that we have a window over the kitchen sink once more, not to mention plenty of gardening space.
I also love the little bits of residential archaeology that come with sprucing up a new place – the kitchen was at least two shades of green in the past – maybe it needs to be again…