Our front door is broken. Sometimes our garage door won’t open all the way. And our backyard has a virtual swamp smack dab in its middle that, save an actual drought, can never be fully mowed.
That’s just the outside of our house (and doesn’t include our crumbling front porch). Once you step inside, you’ll find peeling varnish on the hardwood floors, doors that either won’t latch or won’t open without some muscle, and a large crack in the bathroom ceiling.
Oh – and did I mention that our ice maker doesn’t work (and hasn’t for several months)? And that our microwave (funny enough, the one behind the ice trays in the photo above) blew up shortly before Christmas? And that I came home from last week’s vacation to discover that our dishwasher – which has been dying a slow death – is dead.
I’ve been slowly washing every single dish I own tonight. And trying not to grumble. Surprise! I’ve been more successful in the cleaning than the not grumbling.
To top it off? Two of our couple friends (friend couples? I never know.) have moved recently, so Annalyn has become obsessed with moving. While I’m relieved that she’s moved on from questions about having babies and where do babies come from and does God grow babies in the oven, having my three-year-old ask – repeatedly – “When can we move, Mommy? Why don’t we have a new house, Mommy?” is a little grating.
I’m not ignorant or ungrateful. I know that my house is a mansion compared to so many in this world, and that I’m blessed beyond belief to have a home in the first place. I know that. And I’m not really pacing my short hallway and wailing about oh-poor-me. But I also don’t have a concluding message for you about contentment. I’m thankful for what we have, and I know it’s not a forever home – or even a many years more home.
But would it be too much to ask for a working dishwasher?
How do you deal with a less-than-perfect house? And how do you feel about hand-washing really dirty dishes
left by your husband while you were on vacation several days ago?