We finally broke down and made Jerimiah a home office. I know, I know, why did he not have a home office, Missy? Well, because he never asked for one. He’s one of those people who can do things in any space. He can fall asleep, for example, sitting upright, with two dogs fighting over a stuffed porcupine, while Jackson plays trumpet behind him, and I yell from the kitchen about what that damn smell is. So it’s safe to say he can work, well, anywhere. He has a laptop, an iPad, and a mobile dock he can connect his laptop to anywhere he needs to. He isn’t a complainer. He’s happy in lots of places and spaces, and there have been a lot of spaces.

In the fall he set up a hasty office in the basement, when his actual office was going through a remodel and they had to work from home for two months. He went to IKEA and bought a cheap desk, brought his chair from home from work, a couple of monitors, and set up shop in the basement across from Jackson’s Lego Table. Eventually, when his office was reopened, his “desk” BECAME the Lego table. So when he was told he’d be working from home back in March, we improvised. We took the pub table that was in our basement, and stuck it in our extra room upstairs. Boom. He worked at it for a few weeks, amid old Halloween decorations and boxes of scrapbooks, before I noticed him setting up shop at the dining room table.

Finally he looked at me and said, “Umm, can I sit at your desk for a bit?” When I inquired he said the pub table wasn’t really conducive to what he needed. Then I appropriately freaked the fuck out, and told him he needed to tell me shit like that. I felt horrible, banishing him away from the living space, so I did what anyone would do: I dropped hard cash on a whole office suite for him (that I picked out), forced him to rent a U-haul, and made him move incredibly heavy furniture all day on a Sunday to make him an office. Duh.

I actually gave him my office, which is really supposed to be the dining room, but it is the smallest dining room I’ve ever seen. So I took the extra room upstairs which was really just full of old Christmas tubs and two to three piles of clothes that don’t fit me anymore. And now here we are. I feel better, he can actually do work with spreadsheets, and multiple screens, and, I dunno, an abacus or whatever he uses, and I am upstairs remodeling a spare room into my office. And I’m secretly really happy about it, and my office is way better than his now, but shhhh, don’t tell him that.

So there you go. I’m wallpapering llamas to my book shelves, and there is legit a chandelier hanging above my desk now. I know you think I’m kidding, because who the hell needs a chandelier over their desk, but, umm, I do. I’ll share pics when I’m done sorting my books into alphabetical, color-coordinated stacks.

Meanwhile here is what I managed to hastily cobble together for my husband, and you guessed it, he’s as happy as a number-crunching clam.

M.