Embrace the mess

 

"Embrace the mess" is generally good advice for parenthood, whether you're talking about things not going as expected or the state of your playroom. I've never been particularly good about heeding that, as I like to pretend I have control over more things than I do. But life in general has gotten a bit messy these last few weeks, and I've been mostly fine.

Juggling planning for the baby and planning Max's bar mitzvah have been consuming. I also have a mild case of pregnancy brain that has me doing things like blurting "Where's my phone?!" as I'm holding it. Then our kitchen renovation started yesterday. The one we've been saving up for, the one we decided to still forge ahead with after I got pregnant, the one whose start dragged on until we found a good contractor (finding a good husband was way easier) and pinned down the cabinetry (semi-custom, from StarMark Cabinetry) and the kitchen design. We're redoing the powder room, while we're at it. We figure that after the baby comes we won't have the time or energy.

We spent the weekend packing up the kitchen, piling up boxes in the living room and front entryway and turning our dining room into a kitchen. Our kitchen is right above our furnace/storage room and the contractor said dust would get down there, so we had to move out a bunch of stuff into the finished area and cover up things with tarps. Good times.

We still have to pick out all the usual renovation items—cabinetry hardware, lighting, tiles, flooring. In theory, that should be fun except there are a bazillion choices and when I ask Dave's opinion he says, "Whatever you want, honey!" so I'm on my own. I found some reasonable knobs and drawer pulls at Home Depot, and a couple of splurge-y fixtures at Restoration Hardware. Someday, I'd like to rent a room in that store and live there.

I'm feeling a little overwhelmed but still, remarkably calm about the chaotic space formerly known as our first floor and the dusty area that was our kitchen. Perhaps the pregnancy hormones are helping. Perhaps it's the fact that I grew up in a very cluttered apartment (my dad was a bona fide hoarder) and part of me is used to it. Perhaps it's that I've gotten us into this fine mess and have no choice but to deal. Embracing takeout and meals that can only be microwaved: That's not too hard at all.