|Bathroom before: I don’t know what I was thinking five years ago when I chose this tile. Actually, I was thinking that if I couldn’t get it at Home Depot, my wild fantasy of white subway tiles didn’t exist.|
We are making joint decisions about things little and big. Like the decision to stay where we live now instead of pack it all up and move closer to the beach and Steve’s parents. At least, for now. The tradeoff: make our home, our modest 1947 condo that I bought at the absolutely wrong time in history, an amazing space. Which means re-tiling the bathroom and giving it a classic, beachy feel with subway tiles and barely blue paint, consulting with our neighbor about practical and stylish storage solutions, and painting pretty much any piece of furniture we find on the sidewalk white. You’d be amazed at the perfectly good things that people throw away in Glendale. Steve’s mom loads us up with decor magazines she gets volunteering at the library each week. Those help.
I suppose we’re nesting. Which is strange to think about — a 49-year-old man with teenage daughters, a grown son, and a toddler grandson. And me, 40licious, who’d just as soon traipse through a tropical jungle halfway around the world than stay home for Christmas. We’re getting closer. Our agency has posted our profile on the chance that it might pique interest from a birth parent who is interested in placing her child for adoption.
The dogs think that this is all for them. Trips to the home-improvement store! Mama staying home to keep an eye on the tile guy = extra attention! We’ll let them go on thinking that for now.
|Our bathroom as it is now.|