nesting

Several friends warned me welcoming a missionary home induces the same sort of nesting instinct as expecting a new baby, but I didn’t quite understand the phenomenon until the last few weeks. We’ve been cleaning and dusting, raking the yard and hanging photos– all without the heartburn, varicose veins and every-three-minutes contractions.

Erik seems just as afflicted as myself. He was the one painting the ceiling, worrying Ben would think we’d trashed the place while he was gone and bemoaning the state of the boys’ shower (really, really gross. I’ll spare you the photos).

I’ve always loved channeling that nesting energy into projects, so I welcomed the chance to tackle long-dreamt-of-but-never-carried-out ideas.

We do a lot of living and and dancing playing in our kitchen, thus the walls were covered with scuffs and scrapes. Ready for a new shade, we chose this gorgeous blue. I love it. Covering the walls with this color was like opening the aperture three stops on my camera– so much light!

Besides a silly Xander, you might spy my sewing machine on the table and a quilt spread on the music room floor. 

The quilt won’t be finished before Ben arrives home, but isn’t it gorgeous? I’ve been collecting fabric the entire time he’s been gone and I’m finally pulling it together.

Eventually, we’ll paint the entire main floor in serene blue, but spreading the color on our way-too-tall entry hall might take us a while. Instead we pounded in dozens of nails creating a massive family gallery. Most of the frames were from my mom’s basement stash or crowding our bookshelves– the big empty one will hold a new photo of all six kids during the one month we have them home. You can see the hammer and a handful of frames to fill on the landing and we plan on changing out the photos regularly. Of course now I want Erik to build a giant bulletin board for all the prints we couldn’t hang, but I think I burned him out too quickly.

Not all nesting projects turn out as planned. At my annual haircut, my fabulous friend Ashli suggested we weave in a few highlights. Not wanting to waste her time, I grabbed a box of L’Oreal at the grocery store which promised “triple the highlights.” And yes, I turned my hair orange. Tried to fix it and turned it blue. Smurf blue. Darling Ashli saved me with a dozen bottles of who knows what and two evenings of her time. Truly, she’s a saint. Lesson learned. But at 43, I figure I was well overdue for a major hair crisis.

 

Ah, it’s amazing how a few blooms transform the yard….

Just as a baby doesn’t care one bit about the hand-knit sweater, beautifully decorated nursery or scrubbed kitchen floors, I’m sure there’s never been a missionary on earth who inspected the walls for scuffs upon their arrival home. But I think they do feel loved and it’s the perfect way to spend our last days and hours awaiting his arrival (though Erik suggested eating an entire cake today to calm his nerves). With just seven hours left, we’ll be dusting the shelves, kicking Hans out of Ben’s bedroom, painting ‘Welcome Home’ signs and hopefully, NOT eating an entire cake.