Some of my friends have stated, correctly unfortunately, that in order to be in our “family” you need to knock down a wall. I blame my father for this–he started it the day I left for college. Busted down the wall between the bedroom and the old kitchen. When I returned at Christmas, I was demoted to sleeping in the unfinished basement. I took it rather personally…
But I learned a lot from my dad. My husband and I have managed to knock down at least one wall in our house (except the first one–not enough time) since 1988. In our current house, we knocked down the wall dividing the living and dining rooms before we even moved into the house. We just didn’t go quite far enough…so now, four years later, we are preparing to finish what should have been done the first time around. (In the last four years, we also completely demolished and rebuilt the basement…without any unnecessary walls, I might add).
Nathan happens to NOT be teaching summer school this summer…budget cuts, you know? Apparently, parents are truly in favor of their little children studying Spanish during the summers when the bill gets paid by the school district, but when the buck stops with them, it actually DOES stop with them, so Nathan is all mine for the summer vacation. You all should start praying for him now…
We decided that taking the wall between the kitchen and living room down to counter height and adding a peninsula would be a good idea. Of course, that means relocating the refrigerator, stove, microwave and dishwasher and a few other cabinets, but, miracle of miracles, everything will fit nicely when re-positioned. (Doesn’t that sound simple?) If only it were so simple!
My father, who I credit with our need to bust things out, thinks we should just give it a rest, but he wasn’t here yesterday. That would be WEDNESDAY, the worst day of my week, each and every week. That is the day that the little Tornado comes and upsets my apple cart. Every. Single. Week.
Yesterday, I was on the other side of the kitchen wall making lunches. The cherubs were on the living room side of said wall. It was quiet. No fights. No whines. No drama. I smelled danger.
I walked around the corner to see them having a pow w ow around my daughter’s purse. Her lip balm was multi-tasking–Bam Bam was the guinea pig and was having his hair spiked, arms and legs moisturized, and all around getting the spa treatment from those two little girls from Down Under. What can I say? That wall needs to come down so I can keep my eyes peeled and see them EVERY SINGLE SECOND. Sigh.
I got them cleaned up, scolded lightly, then got them playing with toys (imagine that, playing with toys!). I returned to the kitchen (maybe 10 steps away, on the other side of the wall) and heard splashing, giggling and child-sized foot stomping. Don’t ask me how, the wall was in the way, but Bam Bam had managed to carry a one gallon jug of water, drop it on the floor, where it promptly burst and puddled. Oh joy. Oh delight. Sigh. That wall has to come down. Soon.
I am going to teach the kids the Joshua and the Wall song. Cuz that wall is coming down. Do you think if I walk from the kitchen to the living room silently 6 times and then blow my trumpet on the 7th time that the wall will come down on its own?