I finished staining the deck this morning. I can’t tell you how ridiculously proud I am. I did the railings in late september, and half the floor in october, and now, november seven, I have finished the stairs and about 8 boards.
I was pretty convinced that I wouldn’t get it done, especially since the weather turned cold. And I was so damn harsh on myself, so condemning of my easy going nature, which can sometimes allow things to be left undone. I looked at it every time I went outside and told myself I was a loser.
It is true, now, that I am fine with things being left, when a distraction presents itself. Like, folding towels. I’ve never folded a pile of towels the same way ever. And I revel in the wierdness of that, and I bow in honor to those who care about how their towel piles look. Your towel piles are definitely better than mine. Definitely.
But the idea that I don’t finish things? It has to come directly from motherhood. It has to. I mean, its not like I run off when the diaper is halfway changed, but with the rush, run, holler of raising young children? There was much that was not finished. And now that they are teens and quasi self-sufficient? It is time to let go of who I thought I was and figure this shit out, just based on what I actually do.
The deck is done, bitches. The deck is done.
AND. Does that title fill you with nostalgia for a song? Because it does for me. Hold on, let me find it. HERE IT IS.
Love you to bits,