If you ask me today even I will tell you I love/ed our townhome in Little Elm and if we would have been in the position to buy it when the bank offered it to us, we would have jumped at it. I will be the first to tell you I am not the best house keeper but no mattered what I tried, I couldn’t keep up in that house. I thought something must be wrong with me, I see all these women in person and on the internet and there homes never look like mine.
When we found out where we were moving and decided to live on post, I prayed to placed into a home that would be the right fit for our family. I was so worried about little things that it never occurred to me that the townhome I loved was part of my house disaster downfall. I secretly hoped for the newer townhomes similar to what we were in.
Then we received the call we were being offered a single level row style home (with covered parking something the newer builds didn’t offer), after some discussion with Casey and prayer we decided to accept. Move in day came and felt a wave of relief when we walked in but at the time couldn’t have told you why. A few weeks passed and our belongings arrived, we were unpacked and settled in less then a week. I don’t remember it being that easy the last time we moved (then again I was 18 weeks pregnant and had a 2 year old when we moved last).
As I was laying in bed the other night and I was going through the next days to do list, it dawned on me. The relief I had been feeling was that I wasn’t drowning in a messy house, I was able to clean as the day went on with out leaving the boys on a separate floor where they would get into stuff of following me getting in my way cause they wanted to be with me. They can play or watch tv while I clean or help me (which they have been doing more of) and still see me for the most part. I was drowning in our last home and didn’t even know it.
Disclaimer: At this moment there are lunch dishes in my sink, counters that need wiping, floors to mop, a pile of stuff on the chair in my room, clothes in the dryer, a basket of socks that need to be matched, and the never ending need to dust.