The Curse of the White Picket Fence

{photo via here}

A house with a white picket fence. Every girl's dream, I'm told. Well, I have that house -- a house with a white picket fence. It's vintage, to boot.

Like many historic home owners, I have a love/hate relationship with my 170+year old beast. I love the stories the walls tell. I love the wide pumpkin pine floors. I love horse hair plaster walls. I love the clawfoot tub and pedestal sinks. I love the high ceilings with elaborate plaster ceiling medallions. I love the look of old windows with the ripples in the glass and pulleys that make them work.

I hate the lack of storage. I hate that nothing is level. I hate that plaster cracks (and, therefore, I never hang anything in fear). I hate that beautiful white trim must be painted. I hate that those charming old windows leak air and rattle (oh, and have lead paint). But, do you know what I hate the most?

You guessed it. My picket fence.

It's not that I don't still love the look of a white picket fence. I just hate the upkeep. Have you ever tried to paint a fence with toddler in tow? I did it once 5 years ago - and now I'm doing it again. Yesterday, I set out to tackle it all on my own. Grand ambitions - slap on a coat of paint in an hour. Reality? I painted the gate and one section and it started to rain. Grrrr. I repeat. I hate my white picket fence.