File 62 - Dwelling DIY

I have been binging HGTV.  I seriously can not get enough of that shit, these days.  There is something comforting in the sounds of demolition, all the different styles of tile and hardwood, and the kitchens....OMG, the kitchens!  For a girl who loves to cook and, more importantly, eat, this is the best part.  Watching the big reveals, devouring my quarantine snacks, crumbs on my shirt, shameless AF.

But, all of this dwelling DIY has me side-eyeing my house.  Especially, under the circumstances.  Indoor real estate has gotten exceedingly precious.  Our dining room is now an office.  And a classroom.  You know what is not done in there?  Dining.  Okay.  That's not true.  I mean, two nutrition breaks, right?  And a coffee break.  I vowed that my laptop keyboard was not going to turn into a crumby catastrophe, like my one at work, but that ship is leaving the port and I am helpless to stop it.

I decided that I wanted to make a little writing space.  A tiny area that was just mine.  A spot that I could retreat to, where I could be creative, without any remnants of Super Mario, poop jokes, and The Rona.  Or Anxiety.  She can stay the f**k out.   Maybe even with a touch of femininity.  Although, to be honest, I have never been very good at that.  So, I racked my brain and figured out a spot that could work.  I considered all the closets, but none of them had quite enough space.  I liked the idea of them having a door that closed and that no one would think to look for me in there, but, alas, there was just not enough space for both myself and a desk.  Still a valid hiding spot, though...

The only the other place that I could think of was in our spare room.  My husband already had a work space setup in there and we had a bed for guests.  Seeing as how us having guests anytime soon is way less likely, than me losing my shit, we decided that it was time for a bed swap.  So, we moved the bed out and my desk in.  Right under the window.  And I'm in love.  I have to share the room with my hubby.  But, when I am sitting in my writing nook, with my back to him and my headphones on, with my murder podcast - VOILA!  I am on my own little writer's retreat.

One issue did arise, though.  This always happens on those HGTV shows, too.  An unforeseen problem that they have to deal with.  Mere minutes after the desk was placed in the room, I heard the familiar "bump..bump...bump.." of something being dragged down the hall.  My youngest baby had decided that he also needed to have a "creative space" in this room, and was dragging his Little Tykes desk from his room.  My heart sank, as my head involuntarily started shaking no.  "Clunk." The leg of his desk was literally touching the leg of my desk.  I had started to explain that this arrangement was not going to work for me, but he had run back to his room.  "Bump, bump bump."  He was dragging his chair down.  I mouthed "hell no" to my husband.  He got his chair set-up and then stood, with his hands on his hips, looking rather pleased with himself.

Look, I share everything with my littles.  My bed, my food, my private time in the bathroom, my personal space.  Now, I even share my office space with them.  Mama needed this spot.  And maybe that's selfish.  This writing nook was the big reveal that I needed.  So, I explained that he could come and work in this space, sometimes, but that his desk could not stay.  He feigned outrage and then forgot ten minutes later.  Now, I can sneak away and write, devouring my quarantine snacks, crumbs on my shirt, shameless AF.

Does Mama need to lose her shit?

Not this week.