For those of you who haven’t heard the spiel, we are going to be living in Brian’s grandmother’s house, which is in a great neighborhood close to the university. The only caveat is that it hasn’t been touched up or whatnot since about 1973 (yellow shag carpet! avocado appliances! silver-and-hot-pink flower wallpaper! macrame plant holders!). Therefore we and my in-laws have been embarking on that most treasured of American pastimes, remodeling.
The theory was that it would all be finished by mid-July, but here we are on 7/12 and the house still has no stairs.
That’s right, no stairs, just a rickety frame of slats to get you from upstairs to down. According to Ye Olde Contractor Lore, the stairs are traditionally the last thing to be built. (Why? Whyyy? WHYYYY?) Meanwhile, I feel as if my brain is moving through a fog of paint chips, molding strips, and carpet samples. Auugh.
Where are we now? In jolly old West Point, also known as the tiny town where my parents live, also known as Suburban Purgatory. There isn’t much here besides llama farms and a Wal-Mart. Ten years ago when my parents first moved here, there was no Wal-Mart. The arrival of the Wal-Mart was a big deal. Sigh.
You’ll note the charming image of the city hall at the top of this posting. They built that thing a couple of years ago and are so proud of the clock tower that it appears on the front page of the town website twice. Like: “hey, look at what an up-and-coming town we are! We have a clock tower!”
Oh, I shouldn’t be so negative (although I should note that the original name for the town of West Point was “Muskrat Springs”). We got to see the adorable local 4th-of-July parade (Ella was extra cute when it came to waving at the people on the floats and scored beaucoup candy and a Frisbee, while Jeffrey rode in a truck in the parade with my dad and threw Tootsie-Rolls at the crowd). I’ve discovered that there’s a rather awesome donut shop just up the road (double fudge cake doughnuts, swoon). There’s a playground just behind my parent’s house, and on the odd day when Brian is around in the evening, we pile the kids in the car, swing through Arctic Circle for vanilla cones, and then drive out to Antelope Island to watch the sunset.
Plus, it’s always great to see your kids forming that primeval bond with their grandparents. Hurrah for the grandmas and grandpas, for they doth rock my preschoolers’ worlds.