November 2008.

That is the month we purchased our first little house. A few days after we signed the papers we started demolition. Today it's still a work in progress, and it kind of got to me this week. I'm sick of renovating. 3 1/2 years is a long time for a "project" of sorts. A project you can leave in a workshop or a garage is one thing; leave it, forget about it, come back when you want... It's different when it's your home. I'm constantly dusting, always sweeping the grit, vacuuming the dust and dirt. There seems to be a lot of little things unfinished, areas I would rather wear shoes in, things I hate looking at now because it's a constant reminder we are living in chaos. No matter how much I clean or de-clutter, I'm never satisfied, I never feel at ease about my surroundings.

I'm really good at ignoring it by keeping my eyes on the TV or a book, but that doesn't last forever, I'm always forced back into reality: we still have a lot of work to do.

My husband works hard. Father and Father-in-law? Amazing, both in their own right. So many other family members and friends and hired professionals have had a hand in turning this little dump into a strong, warm, safe, inviting home. Our home. And though it may seem like I'm complaining, I know this is what we chose. I know we are incredibly lucky. I know this won't last forever. But it's all we know right now, and it's getting to me. I'm sick of being that "half-finished house" on our street. Like a lot of things in life, it's hard to see the finish line. I know it's going to be a beautiful home, it already is. I just want it to be a finished beautiful home.