Did I tell you that we’re living with my parents during the remodel? Whenever I mention this to friends, I always get one of two responses: (1) You must be SO looking forward to moving, or (2) You must be SO grateful that you don’t have to pay rent AND a mortgage. My response I always: “Yes, I am.”
Of course, I miss the big things like, oh you know, personal space and not feeling like I’m in high school again, and more, er, quality time with my husband.
But lately, it’s really the little things that I’ve been missing. I miss scented laundry detergent. (My dad insists on unscented everything.) I miss an old Lebanese cookbook that I found at a used bookstore. (All of my books are in storage.) I miss my big white dinner plates, the ones that John and I registered for when we got engaged. (To me, food just looks so much more appetizing on big white plates.) And you know what else? I miss my veggie peeler, the little green one from the Swiss set of three that I bought on a whim at Williams-Sonoma. (My brother Matt has the one from the set I gave my parents.)
Don’t misunderstand: I’m still as materialistic as ever. I still wish for a foolishly expensive purse. And I still love to think about what car I might like to drive next … and all of the furniture and accessories that we simply must have before we move into our house.
But I guess living with my parents has helped me realize that a sacrifice–of any size–encourages us to remember the little things that we love. So: Thank goodness that we don’t get everything we want. And thank goodness that things don’t always go as planned. Thank goodness (thank God) for our seemingly imperfect circumstances. Without them, we might lose sight of what really matters.
(P.S. Dear John, please disregard this post. Any man who can live with his in-laws for this long is deserving of the husband-of-the-year award for the next five years. Thank you for your patience. I love you!)