Frills and Folderol

Living in a house that's being renovated for a year and half (and the road stretches ever on) has been difficult at times. Not because it's impossible; not because we don't have what we need and more; not even because of the tools lying everywhere.

It's more been that intangible sense of home that I've missed. The colors. The frivolous things that aren't necessary but make you feel as though you've got your name stamped on the place. The sense of being interwoven with the walls that enclose you.

As time has gone on, those more ethereal things have started taking shape. Thanks to a lot of hard work from Rundy and me chipping in where I can, the skeleton of this old house has put on some flesh and started to breathe. It's beginning very much to feel like Home.

And it doesn't hurt that it's Christmas time.

 

 

Waxing Moon

Rundy just took pictures of my pregnant self for the first time. 

We just entered our seventh month together, my son and I.

She Said It'd Never Be So

Nope.

No animals in the house.

No scratching furniture, no chewing things, no cleaning up messes made by the hardly-housebroken.

I grew up with a mother who was pro-animal and anti-having-them-in-the-house. So...when Rundy and I woke at 5:30 in the morning on Black Friday to the yowls of a sickly, half-grown feline sitting on our doorstep, my natural inclination was to take care of the unceremoniously dropped off kitty, but to do it in the great outdoors.

But then it got cold. And I have a tender, weak heart. And Rundy's heart is basically mush.

And so it happens that we now have a cute gray and white kitten who curls up next to our woodstove and chases our shoelaces and climbs into our laps.

And who lives in our house.

Rundy named him Munchkin.