What IS Stressful

We've slept in a bedroom 2 nights in a row; more than we have for the past 15 months. It's an odd feeling to be encased by a room as we sleep. And our bedroom is totally different than it had been. There is a long closet on the west side that our bed had been on, making the room seem longer and narrower. The old closet is gone, so we are putting our bed on that, the north, wall. Not to mention that some walls are totally new and all are texturized. Gone are the give-away old-farmhouse cracks in the plaster walls and ceilings.  There are also outlets on each and every wall. It is a totally different space. Still incredibly light and sunny with gorgeous views of the valley, but different.

The living room is large and cavernous and echo-y without our dressers, bed and temporary closet. Our bedroom is crowded and messy. The closet is finished but very un-closet like. There are, as of yet, no rods or shelves or doors. My husband's pesky day job keeps interfering with the business at hand of finishing up the millions of little projects still left lying around. Though, we are getting to them, one pesky job at a time.

Re-building a house is, by itself, not stress-ful.

I repeat. Re-building a house, by itself, is not stressful. What is stress-ful is having to shop, cook, clean, do laundry, do dishes, move stuff around ad-infinitum because you are living in the re-build, replace lost stuff, find lost stuff and kick yourself for having re-purchased it, feed people again, talk to kids, force, coerce and threaten gently encourage the kids to do their chores and school, homeschool, have a relationship with my husband that consists of more than just coordinating schedules and car usage, pay bills, do finances, celebrate holidays and birthdays, go on walks so I don't end up crippled again, read stuff so my mind does not atrophy, get ready for school to start again way too soon, order books for 2nd semester, share the computer, be nice to others, not run with scissors and believe that God loves me extravagantly.

It's always something though, or more likely, 10 things at once, so if it wasn't the house re-build it would be some other challenge. And, I'm sure, cynicist realist that I am, I 'm sure that once this project is done, there will be another one. It's fun, most days. It's a blast to be creating something beautiful, and useful. But I confess, I have hit the wall being tired more than once.

I'm reading another Lamott book: Plan B....she quotes Levertov, writing of Mary, the Mother of Jesus,

"She did not cry, "I cannot, I am not worthy."
Nor, "I have not the strength."
She did not submit with gritted teeth, raging, coerced.
Bravest of all humans,
consent illuminated her."

Lamott responds, "This is so, so not me." Ayup. So, we continue. One more pesky project at a time, fitted in between meals and  holidays. This is what it is; life. There is no clean, beautifully decorated Martha Stewart or Norman Rockwell snapshot, in my life anyway. It's always been like this; it's always been unexpected, a bit rumpled, things mis-placed because there is so much going on. I'm not waxing poetic, believe me, I'm just clearing my head of the jumble and demands and the needs of the people  and the place that I live with, which are legion. Forgive me this therapeutic moment, because blogging is cheaper than therapy.

See,  I'm better now. Off to clean the bathrooms. Miss R's beau was, literally, struck down by the stomach flu and had to postpone his flight to the Territories by a day. We hope to meet him this evening. Meanwhile, still have to finish cleaning up some of the mess from moving the bedroom to the actual bed. room.