This Christmas, I took almost two weeks off work (yeah! insert
double fist pump here.). It started off like a real vacation should
— visiting family and friends, decorating the Christmas tree and
eating way more cookies than I should have.
But after the presents were unwrapped and the leftovers
devoured, I took a good hard look around at our house. And it
wasn’t pretty.
Hey, I’m a working mom married to a working dad with three kids,
who, if it weren’t for a little thing called school or child labor
laws, would also be working. I’m too busy to do much more than the
basic home upkeep during the other 50 weeks of the year. Too busy,
I tell you! Really!
When I’m on vacation, I’d much rather lounge around and watch
movies and eat Christmas cookies than clean. In my book, the “c” in
“vacation” does not stand for “clean.” It stands for “cookies,”
“candy” and “chocolate,” all of which taste best while eaten on the
couch during said vacation.
Now don’t get me wrong — every Saturday morning the Huffman
cleaning crew is put to work (usually along with a hefty dose of
complaining). We hit the hot spots — the kitchen, bathrooms — the
obvious stuff. The dog hair dust bunnies get vacuumed, the
dishwasher is emptied, the toilets are scrubbed.
Unfortunately, the things I normally wouldn’t have time to
notice during the rest of the year became all too obvious as I was
lounging around eating all those Christmas cookies last week.
A house that was new 14 years ago is showing its age. And like a
teenager, there is no end to its complaints. “Paint me!” yell the
doorjams. “Clean me!” scream the floorboards. “Dust me,” sulks the
screen door.
The offenses go on. A 2002 paint job in the living room looks
like it needs a date with 2012. Blue paint drops from another paint
job dot the carpet in one bedroom.
Battles between the girls have left their mark on walls and
doors. I don’t think she was trying to actually break it down, but
whichever sister left the black scuff marks on the bottom of the
bathroom door sure gave it her all.
The kitchen and appliances we so carefully picked out in 1998
are showing their age. The fridge has started making an ominous
rattling noise. The gas stove burners have become temperamental in
their teen years. There’s always one or another that refuses to
light.
And don’t get me started on the girls’ rooms. I watched that TV
show “Hoarders” the other night and started wondering if a
de-cluttering intervention with one daughter might be
required.
I’ve decided that our house would be the perfect candidate for
one of those home makeover shows. You know, the show where a
“before” home is turned into an “after” with the help of an amazing
design team, crafty builders and clever hosts who always look way
too overdressed to be doing any real work.
These people don’t mess around. They descend with their army of
helpers carrying crowbars, power tools and truckloads of new
furniture. Elaborate sketches are drawn up. Walls are broken down,
entire floors built or rooms added on. These people have paint and
power tools and they aren’t afraid to use them. At our house, we
have some paint and we have some power tools, but we don’t have
time to use them.
During the makeover, the homeowners describe their “perfect”
room. The designers come up with all kinds of fabulous
interpretations of those wishes, including a spa-style bathroom
with massage table, indoor basketball court and theater-sized
TV.
The lucky family then is whisked away to Disney World or some
such place while the “before” home is magically transformed.
A mere 48 minutes later, they are greeted by what seems like the
whole town, cheering their arrival — usually by limousine.
Clutching hands, the family steps through the front door, where
the “after” is revealed. Jaws drop, the tears flow. There’s usually
a lot of “Oh, my God”–ing and other expressions of amazement.
I think we need to get into this game.
Attention Hollywood: The Huffman house is at your disposal. We
don’t require an indoor bowling alley, volcano-style fire pit or
computerized refrigerator. Well, an extra bedroom and that
spa-style bathroom would be nice.
We won’t be the neediest family you’ll encounter, but if it’s
tears you want, we can do that. We’ll give you buckets of tears.
I’m also offering copious amounts of fainting, swooning, or any
other wild expressions of disbelief.
You deliver the makeover, we’ll deliver the drama.
I’ll even bake Christmas cookies.
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