I’ve been so tired. I’ve been neglecting this place because, honestly, it’s been the furthest thing from my mind lately. And you know what? I miss it. I’ve been here sporadically, but it’s not the same. It’s been forced and posts have been born out of guilt. It’s like I’ve been giving it food, water and shelter, the necessities of life, but have failed to provide love. That was overly saccharine, but it’s true.
I’ve been coping, barely, with being a pseudo-single parent for the majority of the day. Well, not the whole day, I do work, but for the part of the day where there is usually two parents, there has only been one. AH has been spending every waking hour outside with my dad, building our shed, which means I’m left to feed, water, shelter, and love our children alone, save for an exchange of pleasantries in the morning and a kiss and a hug before bed.
AND LET ME BE CLEAR: I am not complaining. He’s building this shed as a first step towards bettering our lives. Yes, that’s a heavy weight to give a stupid shed, but it’s true. We’ve lived in our house for three years and we’ve never, ever, been able to enjoy our backyard. It’s been a vacant, baron, wasteland; a postage stamp-sized plot of sod with no other purpose than to be cut and watered. We’ve never sat outside and enjoyed the evening, the girls have never ran around like fools, we’ve never really had friends and family over for a barbeque. It’s just been out there, doing nothing.
So this shed is Phase 1. A place to stick our stuff so it’s out of the way. But me being me, I required a cute, miniature house-like shed, with windows and lighting and flower boxes. And AH being AH required a sturdy concrete slab, solid framing, and proper vinyl siding. All built from scratch, done right. Because like Mike Holmes says, if you’re going to do it, do it right.
Phase 2 is a brick patio. We’re out-sourcing this phase of the project because a) we don’t have the time or energy to invest, and b) that’s why God invented lines of credit. It’s going to be large enough to host our barbecue, patio furniture and a wee bit of walking space, as well as double-wide round steps and a walking path from our side gate. Nothing fancy, but that doesn’t mean inexpensive. Landscaping is pricey to say the least. But what the hell. If we waited until we had the time, energy and cash, it would never get done.
And Phase 3, the Ultimate Phase, the Phase We’ve All Been Waiting For, the Reason This Is Being Done In The First Place, is the trampoline. The girls got a trampoline for Christmas and it’s been sitting in the basement, still in the box. Taunting the girls with the picture of two kids jumping for joy on the label. Every day Eirinn asks us to set it up and every day I have to tell her “not yet.” She’s heart-broken and anxious to start jumping. But not yet. That’s Phase 3. We’re only on Phase 1.
And while we’re still working on Phase 1, I’m flying solo. I’m the #1 Chef (hot dogs anyone?), the #1 Disciplinarian, the #1 Clothing Changer, the #1 Bedtime Routine Doer. And I’m not complaining. Really, I’m not. I’m exhausted and occasionally irrationally frustrated and certainly lonely, but I’m not complaining. I want this done, so AH must work. It’s almost done; the end is near. We have quotes and designs coming in from a variety of landscape architects (it sounds fancier if you add “architect”) and once we get over the shock and awe of how much money this is going to cost, Phase 2 will commence.
And after Phase 2 comes Phase 3. I can’t wait for Phase 3. Because after Phase 3 comes Phase 4, and Phase 4 is when this is all over. Phase 4 is when we’re a complete family; two present parents, two happy, bouncing kids.