Gee, am I ever glad you weren't at my house on Monday.

I was beyond cranky. Our yard felt like the size of four football fields, all of which needed to be mowed. And I was mad at our house, because it's not really at all a 'Blondie House' like I wanted. Like a neon sign, "Buyer's Remorse" flashed in my brain. 

And Tom brought home a bookshelf from the curb, one which would have looked great painted white, but was not the right height for the plan we've discussed and discussed--and he knew it. But I walked around the whole house anyway, desperately seeking a place for it, and found space only upstairs in my little blue library, yet even if we could have lugged it up those (steep, boxed-in) stairs, we'd have broken our backs. 

We then walked out to the barn and, not having been in there a few days, I was horrified that Tom had shoved junk into the walkway to both storage rooms, making it impossible to get inside either, and my lawn mower was wedged-in tightly in a corner, making it useless, too.

Seeing all that, I told him, "I can't handle this! I'm going back into the house," and stomped back inside. After which Tom straightened the barn (lest he incur more of my wrath, I suppose) and later we shoved the bookshelf into one of the storage rooms (after I talked him out of keeping it in the walkway...?) where it fit just right.

And rather than make you embarrassed that you even know me, I'll leave out a few other gruesome details.

Of course, I have my excuses. This is our third staycation of this summer. Our third! And like the title of that great Berenstain Bears classic says, we've had Too Much Vacation. On these staycations, Tom and I eat bad, bad for us food, lay like slugs in front of the tv watching Netflixed Stargate and drive around to yard sales till we're bleary-eyed from Thursday till Saturday or Sunday.

We are too old to live like this, but we're taking too long admitting that, or rather, finally living the way we should now that we're past 50.

So there was that.

And too, I'd not been praying lately, "Restore unto me, the joy of living out here." That's one important prayer, indeed. Remember when I blogged about that here? Because when you pray that, God reminds you that hey. If your house and yard aren't the way you like them, then it's your own darn fault:

You've gotten lazy. Ungrateful, too.

You've stopped searching for new ideas and inspiration.

You've started seeing problems as burdens instead of challenges.

You've lost your creative spirit.

You've lost the fun factor.

Alas. Lessons and reminders abound everyday for me. How about you?

Anyway, remember that verse which says, "Count it all joy when you mess up"? (Last part is my interpretation). Well, I think I get that, because I'm actually glad that I sometimes have those types of Mondays. 

Why? Because now I totally understand when you have them, also. If you tell me you both love and hate your house--I understand that. If you say you're struggling with eating right--I get that. If you tell me you have a husband with no organizational skills (to put it sweetly)--I can say I have one of those, as well.

Cranky Mondays help keep me relevant in this blog. If I didn't have them, I'd be all Life's Just One Big Peach Pie All The Time and who can relate to that? There are quite enough blogs out there which share only the good stuff and hide the rest. 

And although I'm oh-so tempted to do that at times, my longing to be relevant remains greater.


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Speaking of houses..... Oh! I loved Yvonne's house. Kindred Spirit City.


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Count it all joy!


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