Wednesday, October 23, 2013

Back in my own bed.

I'm back in my house after about two weeks crashing with my parents. I know, I know, I vascillate between oversharing and being far too secretive. Though I would like to keep some shred of privacy, I've come to realize that this blog is a lot more interesting when I just lay it all out there.

This isn't my bedroom. It's some
Anthropologie bedding I covet. But
being back at home gives me the same
feeling I imagine having an Anthro
bedroom would elicit.
Anyway, David and I have been renting our house out for short-term rentals, vacation rentals, and the like, for a while now since money has been tight. Now we are kind of addicted to it and can't seem to say no when we get requests. Part of it is probably that we did some research on college planning for the wee boy, and now we are terrified that our kid will end up a musician or something equally horrible if we don't have the cash to send him to Harvard, where he will obviously be attending.

The point of oversharing is that I have to tell you how happy I am to finally be back in our house. It feels soooooo good that I can think of nothing else to write about this morning. Last night while the wee boy was eating dinner, I just waltzed around my kitchen fantasizing about all the pumpkins I could roast and bread I could bake. I fondled my KitchenAid Stand Mixer, and I cleaned the stove, though it was already clean. I poured a glass of wine, cut a wedge of brie, and a few slices of granny smith. I took them all up to my very own bed and read a book about living in Paris.

I'm not a domestic, by any means, but I do love home (and Paris).

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