L.M. Montgomery messed with my head

If you are a kindred spirit then this post will make absolute sense to you. If you don’t know what I mean by “kindred spirit”, then I’ve already lost you.

I’m talking about Lucy Maud Montgomery, the author of “Anne of Green Gables”, “Emily of New Moon”, “The Blue Castle” and more. I read all of her books over and over and over again when I was young.

Sometimes when my house gets really messy with life, I find myself thinking about how my house feels about it. Does my house want to look better? Does my house mind that my kids are whirling dervishes of mess? Does my house wish that a double-income couple was living here who could hire a housecleaner each week?

Is my house disappointed in me?

That sounds crazy, right? But if you grew up as a L.M. Montgomery fan like me, then that type of thinking would make perfect sense to you. I bet you’ve also spent some time wondering what a good “name” for your house would be, and have secretly wondered how you might try to slip that into ordinary conversation.

The weird thing is that as an adult, I can see how this is all completely irrational and ridiculous. But it’s too late for me because it’s already ingrained into my being.

The ironic part is that in all of L.M. Montgomery’s books there are usually older characters warning her heroines not to read novels because they are “a pack of lies”. As an adolescent reader, I always sympathized whole-heartedly with her heroines thinking that novels were the truest expression of truth there was, and that those old codgers didn’t know what they were talking about.

Now, I’m stuck with this crazy thinking.

Really though, I shouldn’t be joking with the word “crazy” because it turns out that L.M. Montgomery suffered from major mental issues that took her life, which is very sad.

Going back to my house and what it “feels,” it occurred to me the other day that maybe my house doesn’t mind being torn up by my children. My husband and I are the fourth set of owners, but the first owners with kids. Maybe my house has just been aching for a family. Maybe it wants to look pretty, but loves having children even more.

As soon as I came upon that thought, I felt a lot better. Thank you, Anne.

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