Two years ago when my husband and I first looked at the house we live in now, what we noticed first was the endless stream of beautiful hardwood floors. The flooring runs throughout the entire house like a main artery connecting our boys' bedrooms at one end of the house to the foyer and living room and onward to the master bedroom, the family room, dining area and ending in the kitchen. I was smitten. From the time my eyes laid upon those floors, I felt the house speak to me.
Fast forward to the present and these smooth, hardwood floors are full of dents, nicks and (gasp!) a few small holes due to the endless dropping of toys and heavy objects by my two older boys. Everything from the big dump truck to the small wooden trains to small chairs being toppled over, to a standard sized bowling pin (don't ask!). I cringe as I'm writing this, remembering the scuffed white bowling pin being dropped on the floor by my then 2 year old. The sound of the pin hitting the floor felt like an explosion to my ears as I thought of the mark that would be left behind on the precious floors. I just about died inside. I know I blacked out for a moment.
These smooth floors have now gained "character" my husband tells me. I get that he's trying to make me feel good. Put a positive spin on the situation. It's not quite working.
Trust me, I'm not the materialistic type. Really I'm not. I don't need to have the latest of anything whether it's clothing or shoes or appliances or furniture. I'm still trying to wear several clothing items that I obtained back in college twenty years back. Items I should truly let go of and replace, especially since my body has changed due to having birthed 3 children in six years. I just like having a nice home. A neat, orderly, clean and beautiful oasis that we, as a family, can step into and breathe a sigh of relief. One that is aesthetically pleasing to the eye and inviting to all, friends and family alike, who walk into it.
To me our dented wood floors are symbolic of a bigger issue and begs the question I often ask: can I have an attractive looking home while raising three children? I've been told not to expect much now that I have kids. To get used to the sticky walls, the rooms cluttered with toys and other bric-brac, the crayon-marked curtains, the scuffed floorboards. To not even think of getting new or nice anything: furniture, art, appliances, until the children get older. Really? Do I have to wait more than a decade before my home is house beautiful again (my youngest is only 6 months)? Ten years feels like a long time.
Honestly, I'm not looking for magazine house beautiful just a beautiful home. I really believe I can have it, still. Am I crazy to have that belief? Am I holding onto a pipe dream?
If any of you have any advice or feedback, I gladly welcome it.
In the meantime, I'll continue living for the dream, as I run my finger over another gash in the floor. Now where did this one come from?