It's a chilly morning, and you know how I feel about that.
We had a simple breakfast -- just coffee and pancakes, or, in the case of the offspring, apple cider and french toast sticks. Sometimes I think that I cater to her a little bit too much -- I recall hearing many times of parents who say 'This is what we're having; eat it or go hungry'. I don't go out of my way to cook something different if that's what she wants, but minor things like this -- putting out cereal, or popping the french toast sticks into the toaster, all this while the pancakes are cooking -- don't feel like catering to me. My wife, who normally cooks dinner, has a similar theory; she won't cook something entirely different, but if she can make something else with what she's using to cook, anyway, she usually will.
And yes, there have been times when one or the other of us has said "okay, go hungry", assuring the other after the offsprings departure that missing one meal isn't going to kill her. And about a third of the time, grumpily, she'll come back and eat, anyway -- though we'll have to act as if she isn't there.
We're going to talk to an architect about redoing this house -- additional storage, elevator, larger (or merged) bath, that kind of thing. I don't know which way we will go. I do know that neither of us wants to move, but how much bending and banging in the structure of this house we're willing to accept, I don't know. Its a tradeoff. We know that if we got a new house, we'd have the cost of the new house, and the psychic irritation of moving. How much that cost and that irritation translates into money we're willing to spend here, I don't know. I also don't know how to quantify the things we'd like to have with a new house that we'd most likely have to forego if we stayed here -- a much smaller yard; an enclosed pool. Not quite problems of the idle rich, but in that ballpark.
Play ball!
