Sometimes I think my house is too much for me.
Nice problem to have, right? And I don't necessarily mean "it's so large it's a struggle to keep it clean", because a) it's not THAT large and b) I live with two other people who are very clean and neat (and one who is not, but can be regularly threatened into cleaning). I can't get the dog to clean, but she's really cute and snuggly so I forgive her. (Everything) I don't live in a world in which just because I'm the mom I'm expected to do everything myself. That's not how we roll, 'round these parts. Thank God, because if that was the case? I'd probably say this house is too much for me to keep clean. But I digress.
When I say my house is too much for me? I mean:
OH MY GOD. I GET TO LIVE HERE. IT'S OVERWHELMING.
It seems silly, I guess. My house is not a fancy mansion. I will never appear on an episode of MTV's Cribs. We have less than an acre of land. Many (most) things in my house are as old as the house. Many things in my house could use a little updating.
There is something about this house, something about this place, I just can't explain.
Okay, maybe I can sort of explain it.
It's the little things.
It's this well-organized beast:
I can't even get the whole thing in the picture. Crazy.
It's this tree. This tree that sits right next to my office on the ground floor, right next to my bedroom on the second floor. Seems a little too close sometimes, but I still love it:
This magnolia , that drops shiny leaves all year around:
Everything, yeah, EVERYTHING about this view.
And this fireplace, too. I don't even mind the gold.
(Okay, I did look up on Pinterest how to paint it. But I don't MIND the gold).
The way this tree looks like it's bending:
The unintentional anatomically correct stain on my garage floor (DON'T LOOK MOM):
But most of all? These people.
Sometimes my love for these people, for our home, and for our family is almost to much for me.
It's overwhelming sometimes that I get to live here. In this house, in this space, in this world, with these people.