D Day

On our honeymoon, James and I went to Rome and stayed at Hostel Panda for a night or two.  They seem to have changed the name to Hotel Panda, but let’s just be clear, it’s a hostel.  One of the nicer ones I’ve stayed at, especially in Rome, but that doesn’t negate the communal bathrooms.  Then when we were tired and grimy and desperate for pampering, we were welcomed into the warm, elegant embrace of Albergo del Senato, sipping prosecco from the beautiful rooftop, within spitting distance of the Pantheon.  Spitting at the Panda?  Sure.  Spitting at Senato?  No way Giuseppe.

One of the most important lessons we brought home from that trip (besides, if you aren’t eating gelato multiple times a day, you’re not trying hard enough) was that the lap of luxury is so much better, after the lap of austerity.  Clean sheets, towels, your own private toilet… all infinitely better.

So this entire Italian preamble is simply to announce: Today is D Day.  As in de-mo-li-cion.

Our kitchen has been reduced to a pile of plaster dust and numerous super-sketch wires protruding from the walls.  The number of fire hazards uncovered has me thinking about swallowing medicinal sleeping aids so that I’ll actually be able to close my eyes without visions of ripping out the drywall in our entire old house.

In my blissed-out state of envisioning the possibilities of the new kitchen: big, clean cupboards to the ceiling, a real-sized fridge, more than 4 inches of counter space, a microwave above the grasp of little hands, a white sink that is actually white, and drawers that don’t leave sawdust on our kitchen utensils when opened…

I was rudely awakened by reality.  (Does reality awaken you any other way?)  Remodeling involves packing-up all the things you’ve expertly wedged into every nook and cranny, a.k.a. MOVING.  Almost exactly three years ago I had a life-changing epiphany: I hate moving.

Plus, our food preparation facilities now consist of a microwave and a fridge and some boxes of plastic odds and ends in our dining room, a.k.a. FANCY CAMPING.  After our last kiddo camping trip, I swore-off toddler camping for an undetermined number of years.

So we’re in a place of moving/fancy camping.  If our old kitchen was Hotel Panda… this might be the hostel I stayed at over by the Stazione Termini.  The one with tons of cats that was so insufferably hot I had fitful dreams of ripping my shirt off until I realized I was sharing a coed room with acquaintances.  Ah, the joys of backpacking in college.

Si, bon giorno, Albergo del Senato?  Do you have any availability?  At least three weeks?  (dial tone…)

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *