top of page

The Condo

This week has been all about getting the Condo prepped. It’s been a while since I’ve lived there, and the condo is what it is. It’s not glamorous. We decided to re-paint, install new carpet, and replace 3 of the windows. It’s in an older complex, but it’s family friendly and there are trees which make it all the more inviting.

My kids are excited about the prospect of making new friends there. There is a fantastic new play area just a short walk away, which gives them hopeful optimism. My husband is excited about sitting on the front porch and offering wine to people walking by. I’m not sure how that is going to turn out, but the fact that it could be possible is, at least for him, exciting.

My husband and I are different in lots of ways. I wouldn’t say opposites, but definitely different. He epitomizes outgoing extroverted-ness. Case in point, on Saturday we walk over to check out the pool area with the kids, and a random lady yells out “Hi Mark!”. He responds with equal enthusiasm, but walking away he tells me that he has no idea who that was. This happens everywhere. He will talk to anyone and everyone. He’s very open...and overwhelming. You will get way more information than you probably wanted. I, on the other hand, am more of an introvert. I enjoy people, but I get overloaded by them. A night out with friends will be awesome, but I may need a few days to recuperate. My husband will be inviting them to stay through the night and have a repeat the next day. Another example, I like my cupboard doors closed. He likes them wide open. His solution is to opt for cupboards without doors... I’m practicing my breathing.

To give you a better picture for comparison, early in our marriage an incident occurred which taught me that, in these types of things, we don’t have the same point of view. Even if I think I’m being very clear, we don’t understand things the same way. It was one of the first times we were having company over for dinner. I was nervous about it, wanting everything to go well. I spent quite a long time cleaning and picking up the house. I even went and bought flowers for the front porch, thinking that would be nice. I like entertaining. I like putting things all together for a beautiful presentation from top to bottom. That’s not to say I don’t like when friends just pop by for a visit. That’s great too, but when I’m inviting someone over for dinner I like to do it up. In any case, just before our guest arrive I tell my husband that dinner is almost ready, and that the house has been cleaned with the exception of our master bathroom and closet, and I joked about not taking the guest on a tour of those areas. Why I mentioned that in particular seems a little weird perhaps, but in retrospect I think there was something subconsciously telling me to be specific about that. It seemed as though we were on the same page, and all seemed well as we both anticipated our guests. When we heard the car pull up, my husband jumps up, and out the garage entrance he goes….the yucky, horrible, cramped garage, which if you have an extra 2 pounds is going to require you to buff the sides of both our cars just to get through. You know where this is going I’m sure. Here come our guest, right through the garage, through the laundry room and right past the random fish tank that we hadn’t decided where to put yet. Forget the flowers.

I was not exactly happy, but they are our friends and thankfully didn’t seem to think anything was amiss. Wine fixes lots of things, so this was all quickly forgotten as we started on the hors devours and wine. With my husband, there is never a lull in conversation. He will talk about anything and everything. Well, pretty soon the conversation turns to his guns, which living here in the Southwest most everyone has. This topic should have put me on high alert, but I was distracted by getting dinner out. The next thing I hear is him saying “Come on!!”, and up they all get. Like little ducks following their mother, all of our guests go tromping right through our master bedroom, into the uncleaned master bath and straight into my disorganized closet where they proceeded to cram in and hang out for what seemed like an eternity checking out my husband’s gun cabinet. My husband had at that point in our marriage not learned what the "death stare" was and seemed oblivious to it. I’ve since rectified that. I’ve also learned to think ahead. If something would bother me, but would normally be unlikely to occur, I should expect and prepare for it. He has also learned to be a little more cognizant of what he now knows bothers me. It’s a work in progress.

So, this Thursday is moving day. I’m stressing out somewhat. I hate procrastination, and now that it’s this close I’m antsy and want to get it over with. I’m on hold for a couple more days while the work gets completed on the condo. My husband keeps calling me about what seems like every little detail down to what color to paint the back patio floor. I didn’t know we were going to do that, although now that he’s brought it up, I can see that it definitely needs it. I love that about him. He likes making things nice and he is very thoughtful. I’m starting to worry that what was going to be a cheap housing solution is now going to cost quite a bit. I’m not complaining. If we aren’t comfortable there, then the whole plan is going to start to fall apart. I’m thankful that he sees that as well and is going out of his way to make it nice. Only three more nights here. I admit I’m feeling a little melancholy about it. Oh, and it’s our last night with Fudge. I’m sure that’s not helping.

68 views0 comments

Recent Posts

See All

Adjectives and Superlatives

My wife makes chicken almost every week, much to my protestation. It's not that I hate chicken, I just dislike the majority of factory farm chicken found in supermarkets, more on that later. I'm also


"Energy moves in waves. Waves move in patterns. Patterns move in rhythms. A human being is just that: energy, waves, patterns, rhythms. Nothing more. Nothing less. A dance." Gabrielle Roth It's funny


bottom of page