Skip to main content

A moment of joy

Finally, after two years of saving and scraping, going through planning permission, negotiating with the leaseholder, getting quotes from numerous builders and many trips to Ikea, our kitchen extension is nearly finished.

As I type the sitting room is full of boxes - the rest of the flat-packed kitchen units, assorted lighting and a range of strange objects that will no doubt prove essential - with a fine layer of dust on every surface and piles of stuff everywhere. Alpha (who, in my unlearned opinion, is borderline OCD) is tearing his hair out and even I am getting a little twitchy. The kids love it though; chaos is integral to their state of being.

I would very much like to post a 'before' picture of the gloomy, pigeon-poo splattered side return with an 'after' shot of my 85% completed new kitchen with glass roof and electronic windows (the excitement!), soft-close doors (the joy!), pull out larder (I can barely contain myself!) and laundry area (be still my beating heart!) but I can't find the lead for my camera; a state of affairs that currently seems to apply to every object I own. The disorder in the sitting room is understandable but I'm still baffled as to why the building work has made my entire sock collection disappear.

The appliances go in on Monday and then the count-down to completion can start in earnest. I can hardly wait. Dusting has never seemed so appealing.

Comments

divrchk said…
Congrats! Keep looking for the camera part... I'd love to see some photos!
sarah said…
There is nothing nicer than a new kitchen! We just finished ours in October and sometimes I just go sit on the floor in there and smile.

There are before (oh, the horror!) and afters (joy!) in my blog. It's still tiny, but so pretty.

Congrats!

Popular posts from this blog

The Grim Reaper

Firstborn is obsessed with death. It started with the odd comment, such as; "Mummy, what happens when you die?" OK, I thought, I was expecting this at some point, what a cute little curious brain she has. So I trotted out all the cosy Heaven stuff and left out all the things that could worry her, such as worms and bones and holes in the ground. This went down pretty well, although somehow Firstborn made the jump from my view of Heaven (filled with love, joy, always warm, never rains, has a huge discount designer shoe outlet and I never have to pay my Visa bill) to her own view of Heaven; a wonderous place where small girls don't have to eat their vegetables before they're allowed pudding, and where Barbie dolls grow on trees. Anyway, I digress. Last week Firstborn started shouting "Kill! Kill!" in a bloodthirsty tone while bashing her hithero-beloved teddy against the wall. This was topped by her purposely flushing her favourite My Little Pony down the loo. ...

It's my party and I'll cry if I want to

A friend recently emailed me to say that her big memory of her stay with us last year is that she had a great birthday, one of the few where she didn't 'act like a spoiled grumpy princess'. She tried to give me all the credit but as I explained to her, it was all down to having a fellow female organising the birthday fun rather than leaving it to her partner. Her email got me thinking about birthdays and how very different men and women are in their attitudes to celebrating special occasions. It also had me thinking about my birthday two years ago when I threw a major tantrum in the Carrefour car-park after being told that we were off to do the weekly shop, kids in tow, which was simply the final straw at the end of a very uninspiring day. In contrast, my birthday last year was rather lovely (a morning on my own in a spa with no mobile coverage, pure selfish bliss). This year - in a few short months, eek! - I'll be hitting the grand old age of 38. This will be my las...