I suggested keeping a bucket by the bed...

Years ago, the Pretend Husband and I lived in this tiny little cottage that was "quaint" but also "freezing" because the heater didn't work properly most of the time. And we so looked forward to buying a house together (a house with luxuries like "space to maneuver without stepping on Molly" and "heat that worked.") And when we got that house, we dreamed of someday living in a bigger house that we could fix up ourselves and bring our future children home to.

And now we have that house. We've slaved over that house and celebrated such milestones as "only having to paint the bedroom twice before agreeing on the color," "not chopping off any appendages while using tools ourselves" and "figuring out where that gushing water is coming from with a minimal amount of damage." Sounds so perfect, right?

Well, let me tell you about my weekend. Although we are living in the master bedroom on the second floor of the house, the only working bathroom is in the in-law apartment off the back of the first floor of the house. Not a problem because they are connected through the house's living room so the PH only has to go down a flight of stairs, go through the living room, walk into the apartment and find the bathroom.

Except this weekend, we had the floors in the living room refinished. Which meant to get to the only working bathroom in the house (as well as the only working kitchen and only working TV), we had to go out the front door of the house, around the corner through the snow, up onto a deck and into the apartment. Imagine what the neighbors thought each time they spotted me running through the yard with wet hair, wearing a bathrobe and rubber boots (although maybe they didn't think too much of it since I happened to be running by the canons my dad has guarding the yard, so how weird do I look next to that?)

Luckily, our trek outside through the snow ended this morning once the final coat of polyurethane was dry enough for us to walk on the floors. But now before I left the house, walked around outside, walked into the apartment, remembered something I left upstairs in our bedroom, walked back around outside, walked into the house, walked up the stairs, walked back down, walked back around and re-entered the apartment (rinse and repeat just about every freakin' day). Oh, and not before the PH told me his plan in case he had to use the bathroom in the middle of the night... which was to walk to one of the windows in our bedroom, open it and pee out. Seriously, how have our neighbors not all moved away by now?!?