I'm a Homeless Homemaker.

Yep.  I sure am.  I love homemaking, but I don’t have one.  Don’t worry, I have a place to sleep.  I just don’t have a home.  Most of my possessions are in storage, my parents basement, or scattered somewhere within my in-laws' home.  I didn't mean to move in with them, but it's pretty much what happened.  Hence, I don't have a home.

My husband and I are trying to rectify the matter.  In fact, we're waiting on a response to an offer on a house we made last week last month.  I'm growing impatient.  Could be the reason I'm focusing on my homelessness.

I miss being an independent adult person.  I miss getting to ignore the existence of everyone except me and my husband.  I miss getting up in the middle of the night to pee and going to the bathroom without getting dressed. 

I miss my stuff.


I try not to be a stuff oriented person, but quite frankly I miss my stuff (our stuff would be the correct term technically since it belongs to me and my husband, but really the stuff I miss most is the stuff I use in the kitchen which pretty much means it's mine). I want my pots and pans (inherited Copper Bottom Revere Ware).  I want my freaking espresso maker. I want my box of spices, and seven or eight kinds of vinegar, and my stand mixer. I want our coffee mugs (those are ours, he told me I had to buy them after he saw the way I looked at them; he wanted them because they're big).

Having things around that belong to you is somehow very important.  Canning in my mother-in-law's kitchen is satisfying, but canning in my own kitchen would be so much more so. 

I decided the time line is far too long and ridiculous for just one post so I'm giving it a whole page.  I've got big plans for that little guy.  Should be entertaining.