In my in-laws neighborhood there is a little blue house on the corner of a street. It’s terribly, terribly blue. A Robin’s Egg Blue with a canopy of green hanging over the walkway and a forest of greenery consuming the entire house. The whole exterior is begging to be painted a dreamy white and the greenery needs to be trimmed back quite badly.
Every time we drive past this little house I lose it a little. I grab David’s shoulder and shout, “Look! It’s our house!”
I can see us living there. As soon as we moved in I would give everyone a paint brush and some white paint and tell them to paint everything they see. The entire interior would be a white-washed wonderland. White is my favorite color. All houses should be white inside and out.
And let me tell you, this house has a laundry room! I want a laundry room so badly. A door open to the back garden as I fold towels and my husband’s endless supply of white t-shirts. I would be making dinner in our little white kitchen, waiting for my husband to come home from work, with a baby on my hip (can you hear my sighs through the screen?). Through a pair of french doors is a sun-soaked porch with a picnic table and an overgrown vine simply consuming the entire thing. I will have a huge vegetable garden and rose bushes along the fence. And I just know that those rose bushes and I will have a deep kinship, I will talk to them and sing “Moon River” as I water them each morning. And in return we will have bouquets and bouquets of fresh garden roses in every room. Our little white living room is home to morning coffee and prayer and nightly netflix marathons.
I could daydream like this all the time. But then I would get nothing done. Clearly.
And so, Jesus, I’d like that little blue house and a laundry room and a fat baby. Amen.
I just remembered I have m&m’s in the freezer. Happy weekend!