We've been in our house for about 5 weeks now and we love it. I love pottering around the inside of the house, trying to figure out where the best place for a 10-year-old sentimental Orangina bottle really is while my husband is waging his own personal war against our weed-ridden lawn outside. I love coming home and knowing it's ours; that we can do whatever we want to it instead of being able to do nothing because our landlord was...well, a landlord. Just try and stop us (well, me really) from painting the garage fuchsia, Landlord. Just. Try.
People have told me it takes years for them to be truly unpacked and settled and whatnot. Frankly, as someone who's been swimming in boxes and stray, cat-chewed pieces of packing tape since the middle of May I will not have it. I have goals, and for once in my life they will be met. The house will be unpacked before the end of August.
Gosh. What else is going on...oh, right. It's almost August, which to some people means the start of back-to-school shopping, the NFL pre-season, and inexplicable Christmas shopping. To me, it means that every single weekend from here until Labor Day is booked. Between having company over, going to Massachusettes (which remains the only state I cannot consistently spell correctly), my Best's bridal shower, my husband's birthday, parent's anniversary, and my nephew's guaranteed-to-be-awesome pirate-themed 4th birthday party, my schedule and memory are going to be weeping. I've already decided that come Labor Day, I'm not doing a blessed thing except reading whatever book in the A Song of Ice and Fire series I happen to be in. And laundry. Probably laundry.
I'm looking forward to autumn and winter. We actually have trees now. Mature trees that will, with any luck, turn gorgeous colors in a few months and will retain a stark kind of beauty come winter. Oh, winter. I miss you and all your dark turns.
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