House Rules

Hello from mountain country!

I'm nestled in between the Rockies and the Purcels and couldn't be happier.  I'm with family and couldn't be more tired  excited. 

All jokes aside I actually have a mild case of Housewife Fever.  Aside from waking up before the sun to get the girls ready for school, it's a pretty appealing lifestyle.  Of course I'm here a short time and there are only so many temper tantrums two little girls and one little boy can fit into two weeks... right?  Either way, the idea of spending my days in a kitchen making meals (gluten free in this particular house!) and baking goodies is just about enough to make me have a baby of my own.  Ahhhh.. kidding.  But on some level I'm anxious to get "there". 

On an entirely different level, I'm so utterly glad to report that my life is nothing of the sort.  My time is actually my time.  I go to work and I do my thing.  I'm writing this blog because I feel like it and no one is hollering my name to change their diaper, read them a story, play outside.  Not usually.  I'm a free bird and I la la la love it.  There are days when I long to decorate my house and look at fabric patterns and design the layout of my ensuite master bedroom leading to a balcony with a view of the alpine slopes of a mountain overlooking a sandy beach which extends to a crystal blue ocean.  The usual.  No big.

That's definitely part of me, definitely somewhere inside.  But for now, I'm happy to look at fabric patterns for my clothes and design my own bedroom and not be responsible for anyone else in my life.  I like this solo thing.  I think I'll have a hard time giving it up actually.  And I can design a place complete with co-ordinating colours and dishware sets and stainless steel appliances faaaar before I actually committ to a person. 

Trouble.

Don't ever let me buy a house on my own.  No matter how much I try to convince you that it's a good idea, it's not.  I'll die alone.  I will have hosted three trillion dinner parties and girls' nights and tupperware shindigs, but only one side of my bed will ever get used and my personal trainer will be the first one to find me cold. dead. corpsed.

That's not okay.  So although I've got some time (plenty, actually) to get used to the idea of comitting to someone-good, bad, ugly, unmentionable-it's still something that terrifies me.  But in this case, scary is good.  It's not like it's a shag rug carpet or anything.