Over the weekend I had one of those “oh wow” moments.

I had been complaining to Mr. Spreadsheets about how much I don’t like our house. And it’s true, I just do not like it. There’s nothing wrong with it, I just don’t like it because I’m obnoxious. But my biggest complaint is that it has 20 years worth of someone else’s bad DIY projects and the kitchen is by far the worst of it. Since I spend a good portion of my time in the terrible and tiny kitchen it’s a constant reminder of what I do not like about this house. You get where this is going, no where mature.

So I was complaining about our house, which is just ungrateful, and Harry Potter walked in and said “Mom I’m so glad that we have friends again.” and left.

Yep that shut me up real quick.

If we had purchased another house, say one with a decent kitchen or without the lovely stained glass in the bathroom he might not have made these friends, and just for that reason I can push through the kitchen cabinet painting project.

But let’s get beyond my selfishness.

When we left Texas everyone was pretty sad. We had lovely friends and the kids had lots of opportunities to play with other children. And then we moved to Georgia and they had each other. They loved this as much as I love our kitchen.

But over the last little bit they started to meet other kids and now they’re entering that friendship stage. They’ve had kids over, seen kids at the pool, and have gotten to the point with some where the game is ongoing across multiple play dates.

So to that end maybe this house is worth it.

But… I still don’t like it. Seriously, why didn’t people need storage in the 1990’s? Where did they put their junk?