Thank God. I briefly thought I might never see computer-screen-induced eye strain again. Mmm hmmm. I just don't know where to start.
I make my own baby food these days. Not a word of a lie. I can't find the time to unpack the dishwasher or mop the floors but I can peel, boil and blitz three butternut, sixteen carrots, five sweet potatoes and a partridge in a pear tree without missing a beat. Into ice trays and freeze, pop them out into lovingly labelled freezer bags and Hey Presto! One less serving of maternal guilt.
I have also side-stepped the lashings of guilt (and untimely death) that are packaged into cigarette boxes these days. Yes I have. And so has Shane. Aren't we great? Three months down, a lifetime to go. In a moment of complete stupidity last weekend I thought I would really test out my newly detoxified system and take my dogs for a walk on the farm. And, before you scoff at my idea of exercise, let me explain that I mean a REAL walk, complete with terrain-appropriate footwear. I dare you to not take me seriously.
Down into the paddocks we went, tramping down knee high grass, hopping over rocks, piddling on every second tree (the dogs, not me), whistling 'The Sound of Music' (me, not the dogs) - country life-like, right? I was so very taken with my scene of bliss that, when we turned around and headed back up the hill to the house, I broke into a run. I don't mean a jog. I mean a full-stride, wind-in-your-hair, glorious RUN! We got back with tongues hanging out and tails wagging, the dogs drank a gutful of water and I, well, I threw up from the exertion. And then couldn't walk the next day. Or the day after that. Sigh. On the upside, I didn't die. Hell, I'll probably do it again. Run, not vomit. Or maybe both.
We've discovered a number of strange things about this house. An optimist would call them 'quirks' or 'character'. My husband calls them 'fucking stupid'. My opinions range between the two extremes. Things like the wardrobes in the bedrooms that have no doors, I consider quirky. Clearly the previous owners had no secrets and very tidy closets. But I can put doors on them at relatively low cost or hassle, so it doesn't bother me.
Then, there's the fact that the kitchen doesn't actually have a sink. There's one in the scullery, but that's a whole other room. And it's a pain in the backside to have to walk out of the kitchen, along the passage and into the scullery everytime you need to fill the kettle or drain the rice or wash the dishes. I concur with Shane on this one. It's fucking stupid.
And then there are the things that baffle me entirely. Like how every single outside security light is wired to just one switch. Which happens to be the switch for our ensuite bathroom. Which also happens to be the switch for one of those noisy, idiotic extractor fans in the ceiling of our ensuite bathroom. How is it that, at some point in history, someone thought it was a good idea to be sleeping with the bathroom light glaring into the room and the fan humming along, reminding you that all corners of your house are lit up like a Christmas tree? On what planet does that qualify as a restful environment? Hmmm?
Fortunately, I'm not a stickler for details. It might bother other people that every room in this house is a different colour. That every window has a different rail / rod / blind / pelmet. Every tap is different, every door, every everything! But the whole of it comes together into a place that I love and that feels like home. And as far as I'm concerned, that's all that matters. 1, 2, 3 - aaaaaah.