In the past few weeks, I believe that I have officially entered in to a new kind of “low” as I live in the midst of our construction war zone. Even though my sweet Kendall and I decided to bite the bullet and hire a sheet rocker to finish our upstairs walls and we see new progress every day, the process has been completely overwhelming for my homemaker’s heart.
Throughout this whole renovation process, the various stages of progress have not had nearly the overwhelming, depressive influence as this dusty stage has had on me. Sheetrock dust has not only taken complete control of our home but has also rudely disrupted all of the small aspects of home that I had arranged in the nooks of our home. The dust is in my purse, in my shoes, on the pieces of mail I’ve placed on the counter and on my kitchen table.
While I understand that my “stuff” has to be moved and shoved around in order for progress to be made, I feel like I’ve been robbed of my only comforts of home. Even our master bedroom, our little getaway, has turned into a hoarder’s nest for all of the things that we don’t wish to be ruined by dust or large droplets of sheet rock mud.
There’s nothing worse than coming home after a long work day to cook supper, only to have to perform an archaeological dig as you would to uncover a dinosaur to find my stove. Some days I’m just tired and end up calling Kendall on his way home from work to ask for burgers and shakes for supper. Though I always love a good burger, once I’m finished eating, the wife guilt ensues for not making something myself.
That’s when I silently vow that once this construction process is over, I will make everything from scratch. I’ll get a steer to butcher my beef and plant a small wheat field in the backyard to harvest and make my own buns so that I will no longer have to feel guilty about eating a hamburger ever again.
Just when I think that I am going to be swallowed up in my sheet rock dust, a little light shines at the end of the tunnel. You see, where there’s sheet rock dust that means that a paint can is nearby, and paint means the end of my war on dust. Soon, roles will begin to change, as my handyman will step down as head contractor, and I will get to step up to my greatly anticipate role as head decorator.
I’ve been working to collect paint samples and am putting splotches onto our fresh sheet rock to take them out for a test run. It’s amazing how much that one little splash of color on the wall gives me hope. It’s a little sign on the wall that brightness and color are ahead, and very soon I won’t have to shop-vac our supper table before we eat.
Just today after we were leaving church, my dear friend Corina who is a part of our Bible study asked if we were ready to paint. When I replied yes, she shared that our whole small group wanted to have a painting party this Friday for us. “Courtney, we are going to get your whole house painted in one day!” she said. I wanted to burst into tears right then and there. In just a few short days, our house is going to completely transform.
I literally cannot wait.
Even though I had suffered through a couple of days of feeling completely overwhelmed by our current living situation and it’s not exactly in a state that up for hosting, it does my heart a whole lot of good to have people over. I love for them to be able to see the progress with fresh eyes and not affected by the dust. Without even realizing, their encouragement has been a life saver to me as I hear them compliment all of the new additions that they notice our home. It’s a reminder that even though it’s dusty, the progress continues and we are getting closer than we were yesterday to getting our house to feel like a home once again.
People always tell me that Kendall and I will look back one day and remember how chaotic and adventurous it was to live in our dusty home for a little while… But that’s when I’ll reach down into my pocket, pull out a handful of sheet rock dust and throw it at ’em.
Dust has brought the cranky out in me, and I’m so incredibly thankful that this dusty season in our life is nearly over. Maybe one day I will want to remember the dirty days of the Critchfield dust bowl of ’18, but today is not that day. Bring on the paint!
Our doors are open and you are always welcome.