Finally, pictures of the house. I've gone back and forth about this because I have a complex about bragging, or having people assume that I'm bragging. I try to squelch this instinct because 1.) I claim not to care what people think and 2.) I rarely assume someone is "bragging" when they're telling me something good about their life, and also 3.) I talk so much about the challenges and the "bad" parts, I hope people know that if they're jealous and coveting of one part of my life, they'd better be prepared to deal with all of it - and I've laid the majority of it out here (to recap: pathologically lying stepson, internally unmotivated stepdaughter, two screaming, control-hungry pre-schoolers, spouse with self-run business and conflicting hours, in-law issues to the hilt), so buyer beware. On to the tour...
The front yard and driveway, where our kids ride, I mean fall off of, their bikes. Also known as the place where our neighbors learn the source of all that recent shrieking in the neighborhood.
Come on in. Our kids are the rulers around here, but they like visitors.
Oh come on - you just got here. You're not escaping yet. Be very careful as you turn around. This is the hallway that John coated in Pledge.
The Pottery Barn couch (bought specifically for this room after we had the contract on the house) makes everything all better. You can sit anywhere but the corner. That's my spot. I fall asleep there most nights before John comes in and finds me drooling in yet another failed attempt to watch a week's worth of The Colbert Report.
Downstairs half bath - something we never had at the other house.
The kitchen. John and I hear angels sing every time we walk in here. You could make gourmet meals here every night, if you weren't us. We just like the fact that I can toast an English muffin and fry an egg while John simultaneously makes the kids' lunches without either of us ever having to sigh with impatience about the other one being in our way (no dysfunction around here!). Who knew that was possible?
Sigh. Oh, kitchen. How I love thee.
Mudroom. The built-in lockers and shoe cubbies pretty much sealed the deal for us. If you knew of the shoe and backpack carnage at our old house, you'd understand.
John's office. What? You think it's strange that a photographer's office doesn't have any photographs? Hey, some people have been busy sliding around on their new wood floors. Give a guy a break.