Wednesday, August 8, 2012

Waiting.

This is my mini-rant/brain dump of the day. Sorry in advance. 

I've learned why August is always referred to as being smack-dab in the middle of the "Dog Days of Summer." 

I'm trying so hard to be patient for 29 more days until we close on our house, but it's proven to be harder and harder every day. I told Brandon last night that it feels like the month before your wedding: you're just so ready for it to get here that you're almost over it. 

Everything is annoying me about our apartment at this stage. Everything:
The loud neighbors, the tree that produces so much sap that I don't bother getting a car wash anymore, the crack in the ceiling that gets bigger each day, our bedroom that is 10 degrees warmer than the rest of the house, our ugly Formica counter tops that I've just taken to chopping vegetables on because I don't care anymore, the doors that are too small for the door frames, the neighbor's Chihuahua that runs back and forth...back and forth...back and forth...and yips for hours on end, and the incessant Friday, Saturday and Sunday pool parties that put college parties to shame. 

I'm so ready to move into this house that I can taste it. 


I know there will be issues in this house. I'm not dumb. That's how it works, right? You're so anxious and excited to move out of your teeny apartment and the day you move in, the A/C breaks. But it's my house, my A/C and my place of solitude. 

This is the first place that is mine. Well, ours. 

Since moving to college in 2005, I've lived in a dorm room {hell on Earth, though fun at times}, a duplex in Waco, a loft-style apartment in Waco, an 800-square foot apartment in Dallas, and now our current apartment in Waco. My car, affectionately called "Old Faithful" has never parked in an actual garage a day in her nine years of life. {Parking garages, yes.} 

And as much as I hear people tell me that I'm going to miss this time in my life {cue "You're Gonna Miss This" by Trace Adkins, which, yes, makes me bawl every single time} with just us two in a 1,000-square foot apartment just trying to get by {I swear that's a country song..}, I am ready. 

I'm ready to move on to my next adventure with my husband by my side. 


I feel about moving into this house like I felt the summer before college: I knew I was going, I knew that it would be different, but I had no clue what it was going to be like. 

And in college? There were some learning curves. It wasn't all Saved by the Bell: The College Years like I thought it was going to be.  Just like I know that in this house, there will be some learning curves. It's not going to be an episode of HGTV in my house, and I know that. But I'm ready. 

And just like I look back on college with a sense of longing {and laughter and shaking my head at my 20-year-old self that thought I was "soooo busy"}, I think we'll both look back on our time as 25 and 26-year-old newlyweds, living in a tiny apartment with our first pet, Oliver. And we'll laugh at how ready we were to get out of that tiny apartment, but look back with a sense of longing at how simple, quiet and just-the-two-of-us it really was. 

1 comment:

  1. I can relate!! After Dave and I got married, I moved in with him & his roommate!!!! I couldn't wait to get out of there! It will be here before you know it!

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