“What’s with the door?” She asked.

Dear sliding white pocket door,

I’m sorry I prematurely judged you so harshly.

I’m also sorry that I squished up my face a little, bulged out my eyes a lot, and then said multiple phrases like, “What’s the deal with that?” or, “I wonder who thought this was a good design idea back in the 90’s?”

I truly hope you weren’t too offended by my little rant about how I need to see where my kids are at all times… How I need to know they’re NOT up to ‘no good…’ and how am I gonna do that if they’re way off in the other room while I’m flipping pancakes in the kitchen?

It wasn’t you.

It was all me.

I was clearly heavily influenced by way too many HGTV house hunting shows. You know, all the episodes about the search for the open concept home with the natural flow from kitchen, to living, to dining space. I realize that’s perfect for hosting dinner parties and allowing the whole family to GATHER…

The funny part is that the house I grew up in wasn’t open concept either, it was more of a closed concept and yet we did just fine. The kitchen was where we ate, the living room was where we lived, and the dining room was where we dined. It made sense, and it was home.

My dear door, it took me a minute, but I have absolutely changed my pre-conceived notions about you.

Let’s go back to the GATHER bit. I love gathering, but as it turns out, I don’t love gathering all the live long day…

What’s the opposite of gathering? The introverted part of me wants that just a little bit too, and I don’t think I could have done it without you…

You knew I was a homeschooling mama of four boys.

Four boys who are with me each and every day, all day long.

Four boys who love to race by the kitchen with Nerf guns when I least expect it, and usually when I’m mid chop into that carrot that is supposed to go into that simmering pot of soup on the stove.

Thank you for sliding into place in that moment and taking the hits for me. Thank you for being willing to go into battle on my behalf. You’re a tough door, and I see your scars from those who have come before us, please know I intend to give you a fresh coat of paint by spring…

Thank you for being my solitude seeking companion, my “Not right now, Daddy and I are talking” door, and the best secret keeper when the chocolate chip jar from the lazy Susan* gets raided by all the snack smugglers in our home.

Lastly, about that little 3 year old who ran right into you this morning face first and with his whole body following… we’re working on the whole ‘don’t run into doors thing.’ If you’d like some support on the issue we’d be happy to connect you with our sliding glass door that leads to our solarium… I’m afraid both seagulls and toddlers can’t see glass (or sliding doors) and they tend to crash right into them… often. Lord bless them…

Sliding white pocket door, you’re actually one of the best parts of my new home. I think my favourite bit is that I didn’t even know how much I would love you, need you, or appreciate you… but I feel like you knew.

Thanks for being patient, and thanks for being exactly what I needed.

Sincerely,

Your current tenant

 

(*sidenote: at our house we all find the adopted term of lazy Susan completely offensive since we know many Susans in real life who are extraordinarily hard working, and anything BUT lazy… perhaps we’ll start referring to it as the spinning Susan in protest. You may feel free to join us.)

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