End of an era

Source: housebeautiful.com via Charity on Pinterest

It would seem after four long years we've nearly come to the end of an era. Every single room in our fixer upper has been renovated, redone, refreshed and revitalized! It finally feels like home. Almost.

Our master bath, which is deep in the throes of renovation, is the last major project. Our faithful tile setter arrived today and began to work his magic on our wonky walls and strange early 90s architecture when apparently it was cool to build every room with weird angles.

The bath is a hybrid design I call Zen-Glam. All the lines will be clean and spare but I will add in a few glamorous touches to make it sparkle.

The room is smallish by modern ensuite standards and a bit awkward so we stole some space from our master bedroom, which is very spacious. Honestly, the ensuite felt like an afterthought in the strange way it was laid out. But we're experts at working with what we have by now. Plus, I never wanted palatial, just pretty.

The walls are painted a pale shimmering grey the colour of an expensive French silk nightie, fittingly called Silver Satin. All the trim will be white and the crisp white vanity is topped with gorgeous Carrera marble. We have a stunning oversized beveled mirror to top it off and a fancy classic hotel stye sconce to illuminate the space.  A curvaceous freestanding tub with dead sexy hardware will sit under the window quite nicely and the shower will be frameless glass with a shiny rain shower fixture. I really can't say much about the toilet except that it has the dual flush feature and is not beige, so yay for that.

I can't adequately express how excited I am about having a master bath again. It's been so long! It hasn't been a complete hardship sharing with the kids, but let's face it, it isn't ideal. Can't wait to soak in a tub where nobody else has showered, to spend a girly moment applying makeup which fits neatly back in its own drawer organizer or to simply pee in peace. Oh, the luxury!

Of course, I still need to buy fresh, new fluffy spa towels, a bath mat, pretty glass vessels for our cotton balls and q-tips, but might as well wait until the dust has settled. No bathroom of mine would be complete without an orchid (pink, I think), a luxe candle and a buddha, so those are on the list as well. There is nothing worthy of photographing just yet, but stay tuned.

Everything is gonna be okay... maybe

I am not okay. I am not okay right now, but I will be. Hopefully soon because in an hour I have to go pick up my kids.

I am having some sort of a mental breakdown today.You see, more than once I have resolved to be a writer. Or, more precisely, to be a writer who actually writes, since I can't not be a writer. I just am. Just like I am female, caucasian, heterosexual and blond. Well, maybe not the blond part, but the point I'm trying to make is that I am inherently a writer. It's part of my genetic code, in my dna kind of a thing. And for the record, I am a natural blond. Tow-headed as a child, then deepening into a soft flaxen colour and finally a honey shade by early adulthood. But I've been *chemically enhancing* it for some time now, so who knows the truth? And who cares? Very few adults stay a pale blond throughout life. Can we move on now?

Okay, clearly I used that hair rant as a distraction from what is truly bothering me. Killing me, really. Breaking my heart. As I mentioned, I need to be a writer who writes and you know, gets published and stuff. I have managed to procrastinate since the turn of the century when I worked at a local newspaper and hated it, got totally stressed out and sick and then ran away. From that job, I mean. I am a procrastinator and I naturally seek out distractions from things I find overwhelming or scary or insurmountable. I'm not sure why this is so scary for me. I think it's because it's my truth.

 Facing the truth can be terrifying.

I've managed to kill a lot of time raising my children. They are my world. But then when they stopped being so little and moved into 'taxi mode'  (this is when Mom spends most of her time driving them around, instead of that in-depth, hands-on care that toddlers and babies require) I noticed an empty feeling. The parts of my heart dedicated to my family and marriage were full, overflowing really, while the part that was just for me felt empty. I knew this was a bad thing, because everyone knows one must care for oneself before we can take care of others properly. Just like when the oxygen masks drop down on an airplane. We are instructed to put our own masks on first, then assist those who may need help. But trust me, motherhood is the ultimate distraction from caring for oneself because there's this little thing called Mommy Guilt. It's included for free once you become a parent. Some people are strong enough to overcome this condition and are able to somehow care for their own hearts as well as their precious offsprings. I'm not that tough. I've been a mother for a decade now and even though I've filled countless journals and notebooks with writing, never once have I been able to muster up the dedication to myself to make something of it. That's right. I've procrastinated for more than ten years. What the hell is up with that?

I have, without much success, been working on saying no to things. It's hard for me to say no when my kids ask me to do something with them. Luckily, they're not particularly manipulative so I can't really blame the entire thing on them. But in terms of family obligations? I'm pretty much screwed. I do whatever it takes. Cooking, cleaning, driving, counseling, tutoring, spiritual advising, lego building whatever.

Oh, I also neglected to mention that guy. My husband, The one I am happily married to still. I believe our dedication to growing together instead of apart is one reason why we can still be in love. So, instead of spending my evenings writing, I spend them with him. Plus, I'm actually pretty pooped by evening and not feeling particularly creative. (Creativity usually pops up when I'm laying in the dark trying to sleep. Creativity and Insomnia are, like, total BFFs in my world.) Anyway, snuggle time on the sofa is more appealing than staring at a blank screen or empty notebook page while engaging in extreme self loathing for not following my dream. However, and this is a big one, I am a bit worried that eventually all of this will catch up to us and I will begin to resent him. That would be really shitty since never once has he said, "Woman, stop following your passions and sit on this couch next to me while I watch home renovation programs!" Nope. Never happened.

The fact is, it's me who has to do this. I am the one who has to force, physically force herself to sit down and write. I already know I can do it. I have to find the strength to make and take the time. No one else can follow my dream for me. It sure would be nice if someone could do some of the legwork though.