Funky house

I have a funky house. And by that I don’t mean a hip, little bungalow. My house stinks. And I’m tired of the funk.

Almost a year ago I was still really struggling with postpartum depression/anxiety/OCD and I felt like I needed a change. I wasn’t trying to run from my life, but felt like I needed to put some things in order and create a life that would allow me to appropriately work through the PPD and then maintain the peace and happiness I hoped I would soon achieve. So we decided to leave the big city behind and move to a smaller place to be closer to my mom for support.

We rented out our house because there was no way we could sell at the time (still!) and looked for a new place to rent. Our finances were changing dramatically because I was leaving my primary wage earner job to be a stay-at-home mom. So our choices were more limited. We finally found a house that had just what we were looking for: a quiet street, not too far from my mom, a fenced backyard for the dog, the size we needed (though smaller than what we had), and in our price range. As an added bonus, the neighborhood had a playground and swimming pool that were within walking distance from the house and were included in the monthly rent. Score!

When we first went in the house, though, I was hit at the door with a funky smell. Not a knock you on your ass kind of smell, but it was clearly there. Kind of like a mix between mothballs and I wasn’t sure what else. But the house had been vacant a few months because they were re-roofing it, so I thought a good airing out would do the trick. We moved in and I started battling the smell. Painting, airing out, cleaning, changing air filters, cleaning, and scented candles, oils, and what not — whatever I could find that wasn’t made of a bunch of toxic chemicals. And it got a little better. But it’s still there. It wasn’t very noticeable in the winter. But now that it’s getting warmer and more humid, I’m noticing it again. I can’t tell when I’m in the house. But every time I come home, I get so frustrated with it again. And to make matters worse, sig-o was heating up his dinner last night because I wasn’t home and burnt the crap out of some tortillas. So now it’s a smoky funk. And the dog is shedding her winter coat, so it’s a hairy, smoky funk. UGH!

And it’s not just frustrating. It’s embarrassing, really… I hate having friends or family visit. My grandparents are in town and I’m actually embarrassed to have them over to my house. Which has me down. Our other house was new. Pristine. Ok, pristine when we moved in. But when we cleaned it up it came pretty damn close. This place? It serves us well, I suppose, and I’m thankful we have it. But it’s older and has it’s issues.

I’m just down today, so it’s easy for me to focus on the damn smelly house because it’s always there and always frustrating. And it’s better for me to focus on one thing because otherwise the negativity snowballs until it gets out of control. More than anything, it scares me when I feel like this because I’m afraid it will be a slippery slope back into a depression.

So If anyone has a miracle cure for a funky house, PLEASE let me know!!! I will be forever indebted 🙂