The wallpaper we bought during the early days of the pandemic finally went up in the powder room off the living room. I have absolutely no idea what inspired Todd to wake up one day and go, let’s put this up, but … it’s UP. He made the wainscoting and we’ve painted it white and the bathroom looks amazing. It still needs some sanding and touchup but overall I’m happy with the results.

He had to take the light fixture down, a bronze-toned set with two upturned opaque-tan glass globes, that hangs over the mirror. I decided to wash them, you know, since they were dusty. As I’m washing I see that the tan is coming off! Because they were never tan to begin with. That, my friends, was dirt. Grime. A decade and a half of dust cooked on by standard incandescent lightbulbs.

Look, I’m pretty sure I mentioned how dirty this house was when we prepared to move in. In Todd’s previous life he shared this house with a girlfriend (with a daughter) who was breeding poodles and running a grooming business from the basement. There were 15 dogs and two cats living here, and three large bird cages in the kitchen. The house was routinely a mess, such a mess that one of the birds learned to say “what the fuck” repetitively, copying Todd when he’d come home from work.

In August of 2013, after evicting a second set of “tenants” and getting the green light to move from PA, I spent many days deep cleaning. Or so I thought.

The main floor was my priority – it had everything we needed for immediate occupancy: three bedrooms, two and a half baths, a large living room and kitchen. The basement was otherworldly dirty and it went through many cleanings and changes as the years progressed. It may be hard to believe that I’m a fastidious cleaner, given the aforementioned example, but I am. I like cleanliness and order. I need cleanliness and order. I have, however and for my own sanity, compromised on how high the bar is because – dogs. And a motorhead husband who works on cars and also makes wood-things in his wood shop.

Anyhoo, it wasn’t until the wallpapering event that I even noticed the sticker on the bottom of one of the fixtures that tells you how many watts a bulb can be. Friends, I never once looked closely at that fixture in the eleven years I’ve lived here, and I pride myself on my attention to detail. Which is why I always thought those globes were tan. But holy shitballs – they’re white! and they look amazing now. Like a whole new light fixture.

This will be the last iteration of that bathroom, though Todd casually mentioned that this doesn’t make it more sellable and I. Don’t. Give. A. Fuck. Funny that he would mention it since I’m usually the one thinking about our home’s resale value. Oh, I know what it was!… he’s debating on whether it’s worth building a bar in the basement and I casually stated, it would probably make the basement more desirable.

I repainted the master bathroom a few years ago while he was away at a conference and no it wasn’t a surprise. We’d picked the color together and now we’ve both realized we don’t like it. So – we’re going to repaint it again. And then he mentioned the unthinkable – he suggested we might paint the vanity and THEN he showed me the color and I nearly passed out with joy. So – stay tuned.

We’re both happy with the current color scheme in the basement and the new flooring that went in some time ago, except that Todd is wavering on the bar and what direction I want that to go. Todd needs to build this thing and I’m all for it if it keeps him from pacing around the house sighing heavily and narrating his online slots game in real time while I’m trying to read.

I found a new color for our bedroom walls that I want to do, but the master bath comes first and then the kitchen. The kitchen is scheduled to be repainted a lighter, brighter color (and better lighting too!) and the tile floor to be replaced, a dirty job I’m not looking forward to but it must be done. This year. Since we bought the tile four years ago and it’s sitting in a basement backroom waiting to be called to service.  

There are little odds and ends – like new front porch lights that are stuffed into our coat closet – that we need to attend to and by we, I mean Todd. And now that spring is upon us and my daffodils are outpacing my crocus and I just came from the Flower Show with its ostentatious reminder of unattainable garden skillz I don’t possess – I’m highly motivated to make the front gardens better. I’m actually doing my research, though I really wish Aunt Dianna would come down here and advise. She has stunning gardens around her home and I failed to mention that in her cast bio.

In a perfect world we would be rich and we could just hire landscapers to make our street view stunning. In a perfect world we wouldn’t live in a split-level house, either. Also in a perfect world I would buy that $1.5M condo in New York and never look back. Somehow and I have no idea how that happened,I got subscribed to City View, so I get daily emails with listings and stupid me opens them up and daydreams about, what if. Todd looks at me dispassionately and says, I hope you come back to visit me sometimes.

I don’t know. Sometimes I really miss the city. Then I remember the memories I made there and how for everything there is a season, a time, and a place, and that season was everything I wanted to be, once upon a time. I was wise enough in those youthful days, though, to recognize the toll it can take on you too. The cost is more than money. And, had I found some way to stay, where would I be now?

Mom is fond of making statements about how, “everyone has a path.” “That wasn’t your path,” she would say. Now, I know I’m on a path but the path is kinda slow and straight, like a desert highway. Not much to see. Am I happy? Of course.

I am here. I enjoy the home we’ve made. I’m supported and cared for by a man who values and adores me, the snoring and constantly reading books and talking too loud after too much coffee me, tattoos and all. I can’t imagine it any other way. Or I can, and I’m grateful it isn’t.

We talk a lot about where we go next. We talk about moving to Ocean City. He talks about North or South Carolina, or even Florida since we know so many people fleeing to warmer temps. I am determined to never be too far away from my children. We talk about downsizing – it’s too much house for us sometimes, we think. But then where do we go?

He talks about retirement and what that looks like, what he would do next. I don’t see myself making any employment changes for the foreseeable future, at least not voluntarily – unless the next time someone calls to scream at me about how they wasted their time bringing their kid in just to be denied antibiotics and run the risk of picking up a secondary infection in the office and how they have never been treated so poorly or been so disgusted, I scream “shut the fuck up” back. Temporary insanity, I’d claim.

The real response to her 5-minute rant after she finally came up for air: What can I do to help? Nothing, she said. Will I get a survey to fill out? I want a survey and I’m going to tell everyone I know how terrible your doctor is.

I wish we’d get surveys to fill out about patient families. This one walked in rude from the get-go. Aggressive with my coworker who was only asking the questions we’re required to, to do our job. Stormed out and punched the door opener like Mike Tyson.

That one refuses to bring children in because we, like the American Academy of Pediatrics, are pro-vaccine and one of her daughters has had some mysterious ailment ever since her last vaccine five years ago and NO ONE CAN TELL ME WHAT’S WRONG WITH HER. Why can’t anyone figure out what’s wrong with her? And she hates that “we” make her feel like a terrible mother for refusing to vaccinate her children. That was a tough call because she started crying and ranting about liberals and how scared she is and I pulled up my compassion panties and offered my best, I’m so sorry you are dealing with this and no one wants to make you feel like a bad parent.

I’ll leave you with the last one, who self-scheduled a sick appointment, for the following day but hadn’t actually READ the attestation she checked off to acknowledge she understood it was next day. She kept insisting it said it was for TODAY. Thankfully, we had an opening to slide her into, but she would not stop insisting it WAS for today. She signed off on those standard things you sign at any doctor’s office, like HIPAA and billing acknowledgments and joked that she never reads this stuff. Ma’am, you did NOT just say you don’t bother to read. And then she said down and continued to talk about it, with her child, and it was all I could do not to stand up and say OMG WILL YOU GIVE IT REST?!