Thursday, June 10, 2010


After years of rubbing elbows in apartments, the amount of space we have now seems grossly unnecessary.

Which is odd.

Looking for apartments, we saw two- and three-flats that had 5, 6, 7—one even with 10 bedrooms—and we daydreamed about how each room could house a different passion. Music room. Meditation room. Sewing room. Legos (?) room. We have so many hobbies, we could easily find reasons to fill each room. When I first saw Hathaway House, I had a minor panic attack. Too small! Only three bedrooms??

And then we moved in, and I still felt it was too small. Then came the day to clean, and I realized it was maybe too big for my level of laziness.

Already, I keep a pile of things at the bottom (and top) of the stairs so I can consolidate trips upstairs to the bedroom/office/library.

An exciting discovery! Tim and Mo punched a hole in the 2nd floor ceiling to get into the attic, and they found the attic is enormous! I am currently daydreaming about a reading nook, exercise space, general hiding place. This is year down the road, but we'd really like to fix up the attic. Both Tim and I love secret spaces. Plus, how much does it add to the resale value if we can say, "three stories"!?

Things are coming together. My parents have brought up three of the six chairs they found at an antique mart in Kansas and have refinished. An oak dresser we are using as our Reginald (our word for a foyer dresser). Today I set up a small dresser with mirror that we found in my mother-in-law's basement for our bedroom, and am regretting the dark purple Tim has approved for that room. With a dried sprig of milo in a rustic brown vase, this dresser sets the stage for Country Antique, and makes me long for a soft, light room like my mother would design.

My parents are here this week, and are MACHINES. This weekend was planting time. My parents brought a redbud twig and an oak stem, along with an herb garden, and multiple pots of zinnias, marigolds, and tomatoes and peppers. The trees have been planted and are wilting a bit, but still alive. The zinnias sprout hopefully in the front yard. The crazy storms this weekend seem to not have dampened the spirit of my green garden.

Already, my mother has taken a toothbrush and Simple Green to the kitchen tile to reveal that the black grout is actually burnt orange! My dad hauled a truckload of muddy dirt from the suburbs to our backyard. (I helped marginally.) The rest of the week promises updated electrics, new ceiling fans, and an organized pantry.

At least once a day, if not more, Tim and I look at each other, and say, "I can't believe this is ours!" We're curious to see how long it takes before the sheen wears off, and we're no longer in absolute awe of our house.

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