Work In Progress

The other day, I pulled out a yellow notepad and drafted two handwritten pages about my life as a new homeowner. The move made for a lot of adjustments, but I was determined to conquer organization battles, clean the kitchen three times a day . . . anything I could do to stay on top of it all. I was busy, but felt good because finally, I saw how this whole "taking care of a house thing" could actually turn out all right.

Later on in the week, random distractions popped up and suddenly, my new, productive persona was gone. Dishes in the sink, junk on the table, and not a thing to show for it all. To top it off, everyone I knew was starting to ask how the house was going, what changes I had made so far, could I send pictures . . .

Whoa. Okay, hold on a sec.

I started to wonder how far behind I actually was on the house. I mean, how long is too long to leave unpacked boxes in the spare bedroom? Or go without installing the toilet paper holder onto the bathroom wall? Or, wait--am I supposed to have all of my paint colors picked out? Or . . . one paint color?

I am not a pro at decorating . . . I'm not even good at hanging my clothes after doing a load of laundry. But I am starting to see that my delay in creating the "perfect" (or semi-functional) home is made okay by a few things.

I love how the afternoon sun streams into my kitchen windows, turning everything golden.

I love walking barefoot on soft carpet.

I love sitting on the front porch during thunderstorms and watching the rain pour down.

I love how my husband put on his work clothes earlier this evening and announced that he was going outside to mow the lawn.

I love our house.

I love our home.

Forget perfect. Somehow, this is better.