Some of Them Have Boarded the Train

While I'm standing in the train station still staring at the ground, shuffling my feet, and humming an ignorant tune as I refuse to fully acknowledge the train headed our way, lots of other people are (fortunately) aboard that train.

Alexis and the husband, for example.

Alexis is totally and completely responsible for the one tiny outfit hanging in the closet upstairs. She has been diligent in her search for the just-right-gender-neutral thing, and she finally found that which she was seeking. She carefully removed the tags, placed it on a tiny hanger, and used a little footstool to put it where it belongs.

I wasn't sure she knew how to hang clothes up. It was an interesting experience.

The husband is even more gung ho. Someone has to compensate for my lack of nesting, and I guess it's him. Long overdue projects are getting done left and right, and more notably, there's like -stuff- in one of the bedrooms. He has been slowly but surely doing what I said I would do and transforming a room into a liveable space instead of a giant walk-in closet.

He painted.

He cleaned the carpet.

He hung up a new blind that wasn't long ago recalled because of safety issues.

Then he started going into the storage room.

His hoarding tendencies are well-documented. From floppy disks to cash receipts for a bottle of soda, he keeps EVERYTHING. It is legitimately a problem that requires a constant battle because I'd rather not see my own home featured on a television show. Left unchecked, he would be that bad. I'm not kidding. If you ever run into me out and about, ask about the hallway at our old apartment. I'll tell you details about how it was packed from floor to ceiling with what could best be described as absolute crap.

But now ... now he is in his glory days. One day he walked into the storage room and walked out with a crib. Alexis' crib. It was in there. Then he pulled out a pack-n-play, a high chair, and boxes and boxes and boxes of other stuff.

Each and every time he pulls something even semi-useful out of that room, he shows it to me and gloats. "Good thing I kept this!" over and over and over and over and OMG HOW HAVE I NOT SHOVED A STAINED ONESIE WHERE THE SUN DOESN'T SHINE? Every moment of hoarding is being justified and celebrated with a parade, fireworks, and confetti.

It's his every dream come true.

Which is all to say, slowly but surely it's starting to seem like there might be another human living in this house soon, even if I am still hanging out at the train station.

I really should order that fabric for the bedding ... eventually.

Comments

[Corrine]

At this rate you might go into shock when you finally board the train. :)