Sayonara

I've learned, raising small children, that people in general and some people in particular struggle with transitions in life and institute some wild coping mechanisms to deal with change when it happens.  My children deal with change a lot better when they can anticipate it, so we do a lot of calendaring and planning about what happens next.

I knew that the high would wear off from the sheer joy of getting this renovation started, and sure enough, as I drive by the house every day and see a muddy lot where my house, garage, and garden used to be it's making me a little melancholy.  I know this nostalgia is a temporary stage, because overall I am so, SO excited about this project, but I'm going to miss the sandbox my husband built for my son when he was just barely toddling.  I'm going to miss the hydrangeas I had finally gotten to "take" in my wild north side garden bed.  I'm going to miss the sunshiny bedroom where I first tucked in both of my brand-new babies.  I'm even going to miss the creaky, drafty floors that made me double-up on socks even in the mild Houston winters but were as good as actual air-conditioning in the muggy summers.

Bye, sunshiny baby room.

Everything has its season, though, you know?  The season for using iron stoves in Houston has passed, so someone long ago filled in our chimney for it.  The season for my babies' room has passed, because, God be praised, they are growing every day.  So please, celebrate with me as I get out of this funk by thinking of the other stuff in my house whose season, thankfully, has passed.

Hello, Ancient and Dangerous Hot Water Heater!  I know that the plumber said it's very unlikely that you would rocket into the air through the roof of my house.  I know that he also said it's unlikely you would explode for any reason.  But the way you've been struggling and wheezing lately, I've had no confidence that he had any idea what he's talking about.  See that sticker on the side there?  It's clearly of a dude being engulfed in flames because of the water heater.  And when your water heater makes noises like an angry cat, that's what you anticipate happening.  Sometimes even have nightmares about it.  Then you take your 400th coldish shower in a row because 9/10ths of your water heater is mineral build up pinging around its insides, and you kind of wish it would rocket through the roof.  So check you later, Water Heater.  I will not miss you.

See that open door?  That's my pantry.  It's across from the washing machine.  It's on my (totally slanted) back porch/mudroom, about 35 steps (or a five minute drive) away from my stove.  It has three deep shelves in it.  It's next to the above hot water heater, which is in an uninsulated closet.  I know it's nice to HAVE a pantry, but if I had gotten bashed in the head by that door because a child came flying in the back door (since you can't have both doors open at the same time) ONE MORE TIME, I would have completely lost my crackers.  If I had needed to carefully rearrange the contents of that pantry one more time because it's impossible to effectively store anything on deep, crooked shelves, I might have never recovered.  I do worry that I'll be less healthy once I have a truly functional pantry because I'll be able to get food without having to walk seven miles to get it, but in general, Pantry, I will not miss you. Enjoy the dump.

Not to be excluded, Backdoor/mudroom/laundryroom within inches of the back door and on a slanty floor, when I am enjoying my new separate mud room and laundry room on floors that are level, I will not miss you, either.

I will not miss you, Terrible Water Pressure.  Not one bit.  There's part of me that think's it's charming that I lived in a house with 100-year-old cast-iron pipes, I admit.  The rest of me got really annoyed with having to clean the aerators of all the faucets three times a year because the water was so full of rusty gunk.  The rest of me also really appreciates that using modern plumbing, I don't have to take 10 minutes to wash up because three's more than a trickle coming from the faucet.

And you, Romantic-looking Cast-iron Tub/shower.  I know it's not your fault that you were poorly restored at some point and the pits in your finish required actual hard-core scrubbing with a Martha Stewart concoction and a scrub brush to get even kind-of clean.  I know lots of people think the whole old-fashioned tub-curtain thing is kind of cute, and I hope you are finding a good new home somewhere.  I, however, have no wish to ever again have a shower in a dim, small place with poor water pressure and cold water.  I do not want suck in and flex in bizarre shapes the whole time I'm washing because I'm trying really hard to not bump into the clammy shower curtain that surrounds me on all sides.  And I never again want to have to apologize to my guests that yep, that's it.  That's my shower.  So farewell, Tub/shower.  I won't miss you at all.

 Oh, Stick-on tiles in the bathroom and back porch.  For being made, essentially, of paper, you really did last a long time.  I would totally recommend you to anyone for a short-term fix.  But you weren't meant to last eight years, were you?  And you were just not equipped to deal with a potty-training boy; that's ok, neither was I.  You can only be bleached so many times before you get puffy and start peeling up, and you can only get peed on so many times before you just start to be made of stinkiness.  So it's just your time to go and truly, I wish you well, but I will not miss you.