That house is not a home

Right now, I’m lying on Josh’s couch watching Children of Men at an inaudible volume while he sleeps in his own full-size bed for basically the first time this summer. Usually we’d be at my house, sleeping in my big old comfy queen-size bed with the TV in my bedroom on at an inaudible volume. Even though I’ve told him we don’t have to stay at my house every night, I get the feeling he likes it better, because he’s never alone, there’s more food, and we have more stuff to play with. And it’s cleaner (in some parts).

But I realized last night the vast multitude of reasons for why I should not be sleeping at my house right now.

1. I am tired of cleaning up after other people. I don’t mind loading the dishwasher once in a while because hey, I use bowls too, but when I’m the only one capable of putting things away that don’t belong on the floor or the end tables or the bathroom sink, such as toy trucks and Laffy Taffy wrappers and empty CD spindles, it gets tiring. Especially when I also hear the phrase “It wouldn’t kill you to help out more” the one time I don’t want to load the dishwasher.

2. Heather and her three children - all boys, I might add - are still living with us. I realize I’ve failed to mention this since I’ve been home, I suppose because I’m trying to pretend it’s not actually happening. Heather is one of Radcliff’s soccer commissioner-slash-coach volunteers, and her son Kyle and my niece Sydney play on the same team. Heather is having marriage troubles and apparently was living, WITH HER THREE SONS, in a truck before my genius of a mother invited them to stay with us.

I cannot begin to explain what a nightmare this is. Heather never seems to have money, so she never replaces the things of ours she uses like paper towels, shampoo, and, you know, food and stuff. And her boys are NOT shy about eating the food out of a stranger’s pantry, let me tell you. The boys themselves are complete nightmares, because they have been given absolutely no discipline. And, once again, they do not pick up after themselves. Our house remains a pigsty, as my mother used to say.

3. I finally convinced my mother to let me turn on the air conditioning yesterday, as it is June, the hottest month of the summer (historically speaking, anyway; global warming may be setting me up for ridicule), and what better time to have the air on? Well, we have two systems: one for the original part of the house, one for the add-ons, including the entire upstairs and two of the other three bedrooms downstairs. Well, the original air system is working fine. But the new one - the one that cools Jennifer’s and my bedrooms upstairs (just remember, hot air rises) - is not. It’s blowing air, but it’s not cold. When Roger and Mom went out to look at the system, they discovered that apparently these three boys and my niece and nephew (whom the boys have had a terrible influence on) decided to climb all over the system and crush the pipes and tubes on the ground with their little feet. So it’s going to take a lot of money, and probably time, to fix. And as I was packing an overnight bag in my room last night, I nearly suffocated. There was no way I could’ve slept in there one more night without air conditioning.

So I’ll be hanging out here until dinner, at which time we will both go and take advantage of the beanie weenies I was told were being made tonight. And if the air isn’t fixed, I’ll probably come straight back here. And I’ll probably bring more stuff. And if this keeps up, I’ll end up having the entire contents of my bedroom at Josh’s house.

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