In which I apologize to my house, and deflect blame.

Good morning, House. And good morning to all your Various Parts and Problems. Some of you have been together from the beginning, since this House was built. Some of you have only recently arrived. I’m here to say I’m sorry.

<– Before      After –>

To You, Basement

I’m sorry that every time I go down to you, Basement, I talk about how much I loathe going down to you. How your mustiness repulses me. How I walk with fear, wondering what horror I will discover when I’m down there. Will the cracks in your back wall be wider? Will it have bowed in to the critical one-inch mark? Will the sump pump have broken and flooded the floor, ruining the cardboard boxes full of stuff we never unpacked? I’m sure you were much happier with your previous owners, who had you nicely finished. But don’t blame me for your current condition. Yes, I’ve cut into your walls. Yes, I’ve pulled down half your ceiling tiles. But it’s not my fault. Your previous owners neglected you. The steel beams are for your own good. I’m just trying to help.

 

To You, Bathroom Door

I’m sorry that I punched you in frustration when the girls were fighting after their bath. The cord from the hair dryer was getting caught around K’s neck while E was falling off the stool in front the sink and conking her head on the toilet. But don’t blame me for your current condition. You shouldn’t swing shut on me in such a small, chaotic space. You didn’t used to do that, and I don’t know what’s gotten in to you.

No room for combat here. Note that door is swinging shut.

To You, Bathroom Wall

I’m sorry the doorknob put a crack in you. And I’m sorry my patch is so amateur. I’m sure you’re embarrassed in front of the other walls. You deserve a proper fix. But to be honest, I may or may not get you one. Don’t hold your breath. And don’t blame me for your current condition. Blame the door.

To You, Bottom Drawer Under the Coffee Maker

I know, I know. Your rails are broken. I’m sure it would be easier to fix you than to manipulate you in and out every day. I wish you were my only problem. But don’t blame me for your current condition. Talk to Basement. Or to Back Porch.

To You, Back Porch

You wonder why Front Porch got fixed when you did not, don’t you? I felt you were not an urgent problem. And mostly you are not. Unless the rain comes sideways through your screens, which doesn’t happen often. Thank goodness, because you would be so expensive to make right. Yes, my wife rugged over your crack. Yes, you are sinking where you meet the house. But don’t blame me for your current condition. Whoever enclosed you this way should have known better.

Serenity (in good weather).

Or until a hard rain, at least.

In Conclusion

House, know that at the end of the day, I am on your side. I have to be. I bitch about you. I mutter and mumble. I speak openly about how much you trouble me. But you’ve been a great House for my family, even if you do kick my ass. My wife loves you. And the girls have thrived with you. They loved learning how to ride their scooters in your kitchen last Christmas. And they don’t seem to have gotten tired of chasing each other through the indoor racetrack created by Half-Bath. Those girls adore you. Which almost makes the other stuff worth it.

Almost.

 _____________________

Written for the WordPress Daily Post: Wronged Objects

featured image: commons.wikimedia.org