Layers

When I painted our dining room two years ago, I didn't know there was a tear in the wall until I took down the curtains and exposed the area beneath the windows. I kept going, though, and painted through it, around it, knowing that we'd address it someday. That someday was last week, when Phillip tried to superglue the paper down and instead the paper fanned out and cracked some more. It's tearing and fanning because it's eight layers thick: decades of floral and horse and who knows what else that no one has bothered to mess with since 1933. Not even me. 

I love this house. I love those eight layers of wallpaper. But all I'm doing and all anyone has done so far in this house has cover up, make pretty, what actually needs redone. The house needs someone who's going to be here a while, who will reconfigure the kitchen, who will scrape the white back to wood, who will finish the basement. 

We were going to be here a while longer until a few months ago when Phillip said the house was feeling too small. It's ideal for one, lovely for two, crowded for three, and over-crowded for four, based on how we use the house. It's small, which means sound travels very well. Which means Phillip can hear most things when he's sleeping during the day, even downstairs. And we want Jack to have his own room, to not feel like a guest when he's here. I want two bathrooms. I also want a front porch and a second story and a dishwasher and four bedrooms and an attached garage. But this is where I get nervous because bigger isn't always better and dream houses aren't always tomorrow houses and we're three/sometimes four but the bulk of our clutter right now is bulky baby equipment and we seem to be rushing now because our realtor told us she wants to put it on the market by May. 

There's a house in Countryside we're interested in. It's a ranch with no front porch, no second story, no fourth bedroom, and not much character. But it's walkable, spacious, updatable, quiet. With appropriate bathrooms, covered patio, sleeping basement, fenced yard. It's not at all what I pictured for our next house, but it's practical. And the next house doesn't have to be the dream house. Or it could become the dream house if I adjust my dream to practicality. 

We could put an offer on the Countryside house. We could finish up our house. We could move in the next few months. Or we could keep working, keep looking, ease the stress. 

Does the stress increase by nature in a house that feels too small? Does the stress increase by nature when you buy a house worth more than double your current home? Does the stress increase by nature when you have a five month old and sometimes a five year old and you and your husband are working full time on different shifts and you're trying to connect and trying to grow and trying to be everything to everyone and feeling like you're failing? 

Wherever we go next, I want to take the time to do it right. If there's wallpaper, I'll strip it. The kitchen, I'll reconfigure it. The floor, I'll restore it. Our next home will be where our kids grow up. It will be a place that Phillip and I choose together for the first time, where we say this is ours together. It feels--it is--big and confusing and exciting. 

My perfectionism isn't helping, but I hope the next owner appreciates that my paintbrush has touched nearly ever inch of this house, that I'm putting it back out into the world with as much love and pride as I have to give. It will shine. 

P.S. So much this: "A Letter to my Husband: The First Year of Parenting" 

Our cottage this Easter morning.

One half of our adorable living room (I'm taking photos as I get done)

Five months in

Paige has discovered Scooter, the large living, breathing being in our home that doesn't look like her mom or dad. She studies him, she grabs for his nose, and, tonight, she squealed at the sight of him catching popcorn Phillip tossed to him.

She's starting to laugh, straining to sit up, bringing her toes oh so close to her mouth. She is such a happy baby. My joy.

As she grows, we're outgrowing our sweet cottage. We love this house, its charm and its surprise, but it's not functional now for how we use it, with Aunt Darla here during the day with Paige, with Jack part-time sharing her room, with Phillip spending his second and third shift weeks downstairs. So we're painting and touching up. We fenced in the backyard, and we're renovating the bathroom. The house is going to be just the way we want it right as we're leaving it.

But we're looking for our next heart's home that we can make our own.

Decisions

When the baby naps, you must decide from among the following in the 15-45 minutes you may have to do any of the following:

• Take a shower. This is optional on days off. The world will have to forgive a disheveled first-time-mom. 
• Eat. With two hands, your options multiply. But what is on hand, sounds good, cooks in under 5 minutes, and can be eaten in 10? I'd feel more productive if I ...
• Do chores, like laundry, dishes, vacuuming. Doing chores makes you feel like you're accomplishing something, so this is an attractive option. 
• Leave the house. This you must plan before the nap begins--can you predict if she will be asleep or at least content in the car seat for the duration of the outing? 
• Work. Whether it's work-work or volunteer work, this option takes a calm, steady mind that is often difficult to achieve in such a short window. You will most likely save this for later, after she's down for the night, but by then you're too exhausted to have a calm, steady mind and will mostly likely opt for sleep.
• Watch Gilmore Girls. Sure, you watch this when you're nursing, but do you take the time to relax and watch without the little one in you're lap? You're in the final season, and you're annoyed with the plot and some of the characters (never Rory), so you just want to get it over with already. 
• Bake. Stress baking feels good. Sugar tastes good. 
• Write. This, again, takes a calm, steady mind. Or maybe it doesn't, and you should just write when you're over-tired because your filter may be off and you need to authentically capture your first days as a mother. Your sub-options are to get somewhat creative and write a blog post that your mother will read or write in your journal with all of your unfiltered feelings. Because you feel pressure and accountability from others and never yourself, you will most likely choose to blog. 
• Read. On your phone or iPad maybe, but a print book feels too luxurious right now. Almost as luxurious as a ...
• Nap. Ha ha. Just kidding. This is not a real option. It has never happened.