While a lot of our friends are off enjoying Florida sunshine for Spring Break, my family is planted firmly in Ohio…well, as firmly as one can plant thyself when it’s raining two inches a day.

We have been using this time to catch up on doctor’s appointments and accomplish some much needed tasks around the house.  You have beaches and sand?  We have waiting rooms and window cleaning.  So there!

Yesterday, my 12 year old daughter stumbled out of bed and declared, “We should tear out the living room carpet today.”

And because all 12 year old, sleep-deprived kids make rational declarations, I agreed.

We have been wanting to tear up the wall-to-wall carpet for years.  We had it installed in 1998, before we bought our first puppy and before we had our first child.  At that time it was a very light, off-white color.  Because, apparently, new homeowners in their late 20’s are pretty rational too.

By the time our son was born in 2002, the carpet was looking pretty bad despite bi-annual cleaning.  When our boy, the one known as Mr. Reflux, started crawling, small spots would appear everywhere from his constant battles with stomach contents.  It wasn’t pretty, people.

So, yesterday, I took the advice of the 12 year old, grabbed a crowbar, pliers (oh my, the staples!), work gloves and a box cutter and went to work on our 13′ x 23′ living room carpet.

I knew there would be spots of paint on the hardwood, because when we renovated the house we painted the ceilings last and by that time we were pretty sloppy and just wanted to be done.  But, despite the paint, I was pretty happy with the condition of the floor.

We started in one corner and by the time we reached the opposite corner of the room nearly six hours later, we were exhausted.  My arm was so tired from slicing the carpet into strips for the trash men to take that I could barely grip anything, but we saw the light at the end of the tunnel and fought through the pain in our hands, knees and backs.

Until we tore up the last piece of carpet to find this.

And, suddenly, we weren’t seeing the light at the end of the tunnel, but rather the light from the basement laundry room.

I think this looks like a good place for a plant…don’t you?

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April is a scary month.

Oh, sorry…let me clarify.  April is a scary month for my husband when he sees our bills.  April is when I redecorate.

When the sun finally comes back to Ohio after months of teasing us with the whole, I’ll come out, but only for a minute once a week thing, I get the urge to buy new towels.  I blame the lack of vitamin D.

But, it’s not just new towels.  I start refinishing furniture and painting walls, which leads to needing new rugs, then new pictures, and oh my, those candles don’t even match anymore!

I have lugged an armoire up the stairs and a treadmill down them.  My king-sized bed has been bounced around like a ball.  I hang blinds, buy new pillows and change cabinet hardware.  I pack stuff into boxes, store it in the basement, then revisit the boxes I packed the year before.  If the items fit into my new scheme, I pull them out.  If they don’t, then I try again next year.

Come April, changing things around becomes the only thing I think about.  If only it would translate to my eating habits and exercise routine because I’m pretty sure that wearing shorts would make me happier than having a whitewashed coffee table.

Then I wouldn’t scare my husband with the bills or when I get ready for bed.

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Five cans of green, spray paint: $24.00.

Two gallons of white, ceiling paint: $38.00.

One box of sand for texturizing: $4.00.

Ending up with one white toe and permanent flip-flops: Priceless.

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I have five more work days until summer break starts. FIVE. I am excited about this for many reasons, but mostly because it will free up time to paint peeling ceilings and doors which dogs slam their noses into because they think they are ajar. Judging by the velocity at which our two dogs run into our storm doors, they clearly picture an enormous lamb shank on the other side.

I also work as a cook (read: lunch lady) in an old school with a single window air conditioner which blows out such a lack of cold air that we might as well have a politician standing in the corner. Or my hair dryer. Same difference.

I took the job because my son sometimes chokes when he eats, which has happened this school year exactly none times. I’m pretty sure my boss thinks it was a lie and that I really wanted to work there because I truly enjoy smelling like pepperoni.

There are benefits to my work outside of that choking thing and the fact that I have the same days off as my kids and never have to worry about child care. Mainly, that I can occasionally sneak a curly fry and that when we make green beans there is a veggie steam that coats my skin. That’s right. Free facial.

But, my house misses me. A lot. If I could read her emotions by looking at her cluttered basement or weed-filled flowerbeds I would see her crying. Crying like she just watched The Champ. She’s tired of her stained carpet and unwashed windows. I think my house would leave me for another owner if it could.

So I have started my list of summer chores. It’s long and ambitious, but I’m confident that I will have the energy and motivation to get some stuff done. If I can cook for 200 people in a kitchen that is to me what water was to the Wicked Witch of the West, than I can certainly get a few chores crossed off of my list.

Because even though my house is falling apart, the central air conditioning works like a charm.

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