Our Home

We live in military housing. I don't know if it's still considered base housing since we don't physically live on base here. It's actually a decent home - much better than the mold infested shelter from World War II we lived in while we were in South Carolina. (I am NOT a fan of SC, but that's a whole other issue.)

We are very lucky to have a house that we can't be foreclosed on and where we can crank the A/C up all the way without worrying about the electricity bill.

However, it's all white. I guess it's not a pure white. It actually is freakishly similar to the color of masking tape. I'm a color junkie. My room at my parents' house is purple and yellow. Hubby doesn't share my need for color. He said my old bedroom felt like he was living in an Easter egg. I like it though. College brought me to a white world, and Hubby hasn't rescued me from it yet. Despite the poor color choice, thinking about our home hurts my heart.

It makes me sad when I think about the workmanship that went into building these houses. They're only a few years old, and they were built with the intention of being for military families. They were built cheaply. They took a ton of short cuts and were just dumb in some cases.

While they were installing the drywall in our garage, they drilled right through our phone line so half the time you pick up the phone there is no dial tone. The floors are that fake wood stuff, but the boards weren't pushed together all the way so there are tons of little cracks which collect all of The Bear's crumbs. They left too big of an opening for the dishwasher so there are awkward spaces on both sides of it. This probably could have been fixed if they had installed a normal sized dishwasher instead of the mini one we have.

We know a couple that has to open the oven in order to open the silverware drawer. Because that's convenient.

It's just a bunch of little stuff that drives me crazy. I think it's saddest because they knew when they were building these houses who would be living in them. You think they would want to do a little better for the people that serve our country. Would you really want them making shortcuts on your safety?

I think my parents made me a little too patriotic. Or maybe they just instilled in me a sense of pride for what I do.