It’s been a long few months around here with many ups and downs. After losing our beloved dog, we found a new one. A puppy. A puppy with way more energy than we are used to.
We decided it’s a good time for us to move. We greatly underestimated what it would take to make that happen.
And around all the puppy raising and house prep there were/are friends and family and of course, work.
I’m dreadfully, almost painfully, behind. I owe responses to plenty. I can now see the light at the end of the tunnel.
I’m thrilled about that, almost as much as the fact that my office floor is once again visible and even more excited that there are no more trips to Goodwill in my near future.
For months, I’ve longed for the days where the world (at least my corner of it) cools and starts to drift to sleep again. Autumn has always been my favorite season (I blame the fall festival at my elementary school.) And now it’s finally here with its delightful chill, incredible color, and drizzle that reminds me winter is on the way.
I long to return to the simple pleasures of cooking at home rather than grabbing fast food or hurrying together a cold sandwich. I look forward to enjoying a, once again, spotless home and embrace the simplicity.
I look forward to our move, to making a new house “ours.” To exploring a new town, making new friends, and finding new haunts.
What I don’t long for, don’t look forward to is keeping my floors clean along the way to our various showings and open houses. It’s a necessary evil, obviously. But I am flat out amazed at how hyper vigilant I am through this process and how quickly every blade of grass seems to find its way into my house. Onto my freshly vacuumed carpet or recently mopped floor.
I’m not exaggerating. I can clean the kitchen floor and less than five minutes later, I’ll see a speck of something taunting me.
Moms know my pain. Normally, this wouldn’t bother me or appear on my radar as an issue, but…see my previous statement about being abnormally vigilant.
So no, I’m not looking forward to being good friends with my mop, broom, and vacuum. What a riotous foursome, let me tell you.
Honestly, I’ve stressed about this quite a bit. I probably take too much pride in my home, and I do love to show it off. But I’m done. I’m letting it go. No more stressing.
Buyers and agents track stuff in left and right, and all I can do is clean up after them, not worry that they’re going to see the dirt they brought in and decide not to buy my house.
The Mister read some good advice and I’m going to remember it. “There’s nothing my house can do to talk people out of buying it, but there’s plenty we can say to turn them off.” So I’m not going to apologize if they find that spec that’s been making faces at me. I’m going to do as Elsa says and let it go.
Let it go.
The house will sell. I’ll keep my normal cleaning routine. I’ll cook in my own damn kitchen because I paid for the right to do so. I will enjoy my favorite season, embrace the wonder of the changes around me, get to work on my next project, and by golly, I’m going to soak in my tub.
