Suburban Bliss:: Birth Control Via The Written Word

Always something better.

Wow, I've amazed even myself this time with my inability to move on from the disappointment of having the answer to my year of hard labor and 9 years of unpleasantness torn from my clutches.

This week has been full of showings, including one last night which gave me foolish hope when it went on for 30 minutes over the scheduled appointment. She decided to bid on another house, our only real competition in this price range so hooray get it off the market. Then there was the other showing over the weekend where the guy had a 'high level of interest' but surprise! He doesn't want to make a decision now! There was also the couple from last week who were very interested but getting married in two weeks so they don't want to make a decision at this time and, on further thinking, the basement and lack of garage was troubling her fiance.

I should be over it by now but I'm not. I should be taking a deep breath and accepting that we're stuck here at least until the fall. I should have a funny little anecdote about how this is actually a really good thing and how I'm learning so much and how I'm going to bloom where I'm planted. I'm also going to take time everyday to think of those less fortunate than me and then I'll have a good chuckle about how I'm so glad I'm not as screwed as all those people.

I wanted to think all those things except I can't think very well with all the throbbing bass from the kids at the park down the street playing basketball all day with a soundtrack from their cars.

We decided to pursue a lease situation to get me out of here because that's actually the number one priority at this point. We have two girls who are apparently interested, but because I'm still not able to get over it already, I am not holding out much hope for them to actually sign a lease.

If they do hooray! If they don't, I'll just keep doing what I've been doing. Glaring at the neighbors (have I told you about the guy with the dominatrix wife across the street? He met her on the internet and her voice can cut tile and your face off), drinking to unhealthily relieve my stress and trying to not kill my kids.

I'm also going to keep having a really great attitude.

I have a new post at The Buzz Off.

Have you ever worn underwear which doesn't fit?

Years ago Logan and I went to see Eyes Wide Shut at a theater which charged $3 a ticket for movies everyone else has seen. We, being frugal, decided to go see this movie at that particular theater though we'd never been to this particular theater and I will not tell you which theater so the locals can have fun guessing which one.

I don't like talking during my movies. I paid a lot of money to come here, if I wanted to talk I would have spent that same amount of money on 2-4 pints of beer at a pub chatting until my tongue cramps up. This theater's tickets were just $3 so I expected more talking because for $3 Logan and I could have a night out at the dive bar with a single Michelob Ultra a piece. Michelob is like water, only less filling. So sure, some talking is to be expected.

Everyone in this theater was blind. Or at least it seemed that way because EVERYONE (except us) was narrating the movie for their companions. "Oh....There's that guy from Top Gun! Oh man, that dude has a hot wife! Oh my God they are totally having sex! What's with the masks! That is some freaky shit. That shit is freaky, right? Freaky shit! Oh my God! They are going at it!!!!"

And so on and so on.

Now, I realized pretty quickly this was the norm for the theater. I looked around and everyone was talking. Talking about the FREAKY SHIT or on the phone or about how this popcorn is stale! Except Logan who was staring at Nicole Kidman's breasts the entire time with his mouth hanging open.

I spent the weekend with my brother's wife, my Nicer-Funnier-Sister-In-Law, my brother was at the firehouse working. At my Nicer-Funnier-Sister-In-Law's house I went to bed each night and instead of turning on a fan to block out the noise of the neighborhood, I turned my light off and went to sleep in total silence.

I came home tonight and the noise just kept coming. There was Folk Music Night across the street and Air Compressor Night across the other street and I had a moment of clarity.

If our respective neighborhoods were movie theaters, my Nicer-Funnier-Sister-In-Law's neighborhood would be the movie theater where everyone turns off their phones before the film starts and everyone in the theater would agree, silently, "Look, we're all here to watch a film. Let's talk later." If one person decides to break that agreement everyone else says, "Hey! Cut it out." (In so many words.)(This is also what it's like to see a movie at the Detroit Film Theater. FYI.)

Conversely, my neighborhood would be the $3 movie theater where everyone's agreed this film is a spectator sport and we're all in this together so let's all discuss how weird it is to see Tom Cruise act straight in a film and have sex with his wife while we watch.

At the $3 movie theater I realized pretty quick I was the only one annoyed by the noise and stupidity.

In this neighborhood I realized pretty quick I am the only one who cares about the science of sound. Mainly the principle which tells us sound travels. No one cares. Except me.

I've got email from people with their own horror stories from neighborhoods they didn't fit into. Not just neighborhoods where Sunday night is FOLK MUSIC NIGHT, LIKE IT OR NOT. Also from people who live/d in quiet neighborhoods where their choice of ground cover in the front flower bed was a source of major conflict with the neighbors.

Everyone can have bad neighbors, but at some point you look around the theater and realize your ideals are not matching up to the majority of the people surrounding you and at that point it's time to leave. That's true if you're in a neighborhood with perfectly manicured lawns and people named Thad and Muffy or if you're in The Suburban Ghetto with people named Ed and Tile Cutter.

Logan is leaving town tomorrow and I am sure that's why he didn't have all our boxes packed to move to the new place. He's waiting to surprise me until he's back from his business trip so he can really pitch in on the move.

He's amazing. An absolute doll that one.

Negative Reinforcement

Last month when we went to Texas, the weather report called for rain every day of our trip and I whined about it as I am prone to do. But then, on the actual trip it only rained about 1/4th of the time and even if it rained in the morning it passed over and the sun came out allowing the kids to swim every day.

So one might say I wasted my energy being annoyed by the forecasted rain because it all worked out in the end.

It hasn't rained in Indianapolis since Memorial Day weekend. I checked the weather report before I came down and say it was supposed to rain every day I was visiting. Instead of getting upset I packed my bathing suit, prepared for the Joy Of Rivi and told myself it couldn't possibly rain every day I was there.

It started raining Friday morning and is still raining Sunday afternoon as I get ready to head home.

Positive Thinking.

But I'm not going to let that stop me. I'm going to keep thinking positive.

Like when I get home tonight, I'm positive Logan will have a bunch of boxes all packed and ready to go to the dream house. In fact, maybe in the name of positive thinking I'll just drive directly to the dream house because I'm positive we're going to be living there.

I'll let you know how this positive thinking works out for me.

PS: Socks hacked up a hairball in the middle of the kitchen during our showing Thursday night. If that doesn't say "Welcome Home" I don't know what does.

Caution: Website Beats Dead Horses

Yesterday we went to play date at Andrea's house. Andrea lives in the dream neighborhood, which is hard for me at this time because I feel my soul detaching from my body when I realize what I've worked for for a year and had at the tip of my fingertips last week, is very likely not going to happen.

The week before we had play date at Andrea's house again and the way I felt was very different. I snuck away from the back deck a few times just to wave hello to the house down the street which would soon be mine. I walked through her rooms realizing, since the houses on this block are all quite similar, soon I'd be walking through rooms very much like these. I'd have guests over and they could urinate in a bathroom which isn't also the place I am naked each morning.

I thought, as my friend Leslie's baby slept upstairs and the kids loudly played downstairs in the family room, how one day we could maybe have friends over after the kids go to bed without the Sound Police's Chief Officer Madison Summers citing us for disturbing the (her) peace whenever someone laughs.

When we were in Texas we described the house we want to live in to Jean and her husband Joe. Logan told them, with wide eyes, about the refrigerator. "Okay, so it's just like a regular refrigerator and freezer but then, get this, you press a button on the door and ice comes out. It, like, makes the ice for you. And it comes in cubes or chips. I don't know how it does it but it does. All by itself."

This is amusing for a couple of reasons. First, it shows you how incredibly simple our Big Dream is. It's also amusing because right now Logan believes ice is made by leaving empty ice cube trays in the sink until I fill them up because after 3 or 4 days I've sort of accepted that he really doesn't know where ice comes from.

I've spent the majority of the week a little bit drunk. At first I was an angry drunk sending Logan long emails about how AS GOD AS MY WITNESS I WON'T STAY HERE! And, "IF YOU THINK I'M LIVING HERE FOR FOUR MORE MONTHS YOU'VE LOST YOUR MIND!!!"

Now I'm just a sort of a giggly drunk, a giggly sarcastic drunk.  When the skunk sprays, what smells like, directly onto my pillow I just sort of laugh. Maniacally. When Logan gives me the "Pep Talk" about how this is a six month market and that house isn't our dream house or else it would have worked out! Let's just wait and see what happens next! He says.

Instead of shoving him down the stairs I just kind of laugh and scream "Rah! Rah!" And I say, "Hey! I've got an idea! Let's just sit here and do nothing and SEE WHAT HAPPENS! Let's let the right house for now slip right past us and just wait and see what happens. Because for the last 9 years the 'Wait and See' thing really worked out great for us."

Oops! Sorry I thought I was over it. Guess I'm not drunk enough. Yet.

Tonight I'm leaving for Camp Jenn in Indianapolis for the weekend. Camp Jenn is supposed to be for Maddie but I'm going to Camp Jenn so I can buy myself more time before I set fire to this house in order to get out.

When I emailed my brother and Jenn to see if I could escape and hide at their house for the weekend they said of course. I assured them I didn't need babysitting so if they had plans, just go ahead and I'll watch tv and read magazines all day, every day. Jenn replied that she had some work appointments on Thursday and Friday but on Saturday she had no plans other than lounging at Rivi.

I need a new life.

Lounging at Rivi sounds about as good as it can get right about now. Well, unless we got an offer right now. That beats Rivi.

In vaguely related news: I wrote about labels at The Buzz Off, just in case you're sending your kid to Camp Jenn.

One small but important sphere of my life is out of whack.

Dear Melissa,
I think you need to get a hold of yourself and get some perspective. I am a potato farmer and I lost my arms in a freak potato peeler accident. Farming potatoes was my entire life, when I lost my arms I thought my world would end. But I didn't feel sorry for myself. I remembered some people are born without arms and I was thankful for the 30 years I got to use my arms. Instead of feeling sorry for myself I learned to farm potatoes with my feet and I give thanks everyday I have feet to farm my potatoes.

Count your blessings an remember you could be trying to sell your house without any arms and that would be worse. So much worse.

Love, The Internet

Dear Internet,
You are mostly awesome. In the last few days I've gotten email saying, "You're right it sucks balls." and others saying, "Positive thinking is for losers." and "I'm not even going to try to tell you it will work out because that's not what you want to hear right now because you feel like you've been kicked in the stomach." Also, there was the email that said, "Dear Melissa, I have it harder than you. Love, The Internet."

And I wanted to pinch your adorable little cheeks Internet.

I turned off comments for the same reason I haven't answered the phone in the last 4 days. I am pretty much a miserable bitch to be around. I am grouchy and not 'thinking positive' and not really very much fun at all. There's pretty much nothing you can say to me which won't make me want to bite your head off.

Why would I do that to you Internet? I want to be friends, so I turned off comments until I can hear "It will all work out eventually." without feeling the strong desire to disembowel you.

We have showings today and tomorrow. I am tempted to leave the dishes in the sink and the forts the kids made in the hall and all the beds unmade. I'm tempted to leave the cat hair all over and the litter boxes unscooped.

Because if I get one more realtor feedback involving the words, "It's so clean!"

I will disembowel myself.

Love, Melissa

You know what else cardboard boxes are good for?

Moving.

Clever play forts at the Buzz Off and I managed to avoid mentioning the house. Well, until now.

The metaphors just keep coming.

There's a skunk living in our backyard. It sprayed during our party last week and chased us into the house last night (literally, it charged at us).

Logan is the only human being who can not smell skunk. He is totally and completely immune to the scent. I realized this when we first started dating and traveled out to his parents home in the country. I'd smell a skunk and make him take several deep breaths. Nope, can't smell it. I told Dutch and Wood this at the party and as they left Wood asked Logan to come around to the back of the house. "Do you smell anything?" She asked.

Nope. He doesn't smell it.

Last night the skunk sprayed again. The whole house smelled of skunk and I started laughing, hysterically. It couldn't be more perfect, first the cat is yearning to get out of here by moaning at the door. (4 of 10 emailers agree: Let him out sometimes! Hey! We did that and that's why he's moaning....he wants back out. With the skunk.)

Now my house smells like skunk and my husband doesn't smell it.

I was easing up on the neighbor stories in light of the sale. In fact I froze a bunch of posts just in case our Wimpy First Time Homebuyer Backer Outers were Google Savvy and didn't want to hear all about Tile Cutter and Ed. But now that my house is being sprayed by skunk and is unsellable, let's have another edition of Stories From The Suburban Ghetto.

The other night I sat on the sofa watching television and heard this loud squealing and screaming. I could hear a child's voice and hey, I'm fine with kids and happiness. In fact if there were more kids in this neighborhood who didn't try to burn my house down (True Story!) we might even just stay put. But it was almost 10pm and I wondered why these kids were out and why the adult voice with them was louder than theirs.

I looked out and saw the unemployed lady from down the street, she appeared to be babysitting a neighbors two little girls who are 4 and under. She also appeared to be stumbling and yelling "WOOOPSIE!!!! WHOA!!!!" at the top of her lungs.

I sat back down figuring they'd move on soon enough. But they didn't and the yelling continued so I watched them from the kitchen window as they walked past. The woman was swaying and stumbling down the sidewalk while holding onto the little girls hands. She tripped on the sidewalk a few times and stumbled onto a couple of lawns and in general couldn't walk.

She was not just 'buzzed' she was what is called, "Falling Down Drunk". And I cried.

7 out of 10 emailers agree: Count Your Blessings and Get Some Perspective.

Please stop emailing me, I'm not in the mood for blessings or perspective. How the hell do you think I've lived here for the last 10 years? How the hell do you think I made it through all the remodeling and work we've done to this house for the last year and a half?

I am blessed. Just not when it comes to real estate. And I'm really fucking upset about that.

Sorry.

We listed the house for lease yesterday. So did our neighbor, who has the same square footage, central air and lawn service included for $300 less than we are able to lease for.

We've gotten one call.

Yesterday Murray came over to see how it's going and oh! He had to run there's his 7:30 showing! He's had 6 today....the first day his sign is up.

It's summer vacation. In order to work I've been bribing the children with pokemon cards and new webkinz. So I'm spending around $20 a day at this point. If I don't bribe them they like to play a game called "HighWay" which involves running around the table I'm working at. Over and over and over.

So I move to the sofa. Oh! Now the living room is the Gas Station!

And I want to send them somewhere else.....but uh, there is no where else to play.

Since we're not moving to a home with a yard and an office and multiple rooms and since Logan has a laptop and is supposedly able to work anywhere. I thought it might be nice for him to work 2 days from home for the summer. Just to see how well it goes. How well his suggestions ("Did you tell them to stop it?") work. Just so he can get a feel for how much work gets done  when we're all stuck in here together.

He's probably immune to the chaos anyway, much like he's immune to the skunk smell.

Episode Number 329: The one where she realizes she just spent the last year of her life wasting her time and money.

I was so happy when we got an offer. So happy that it didn't even matter that we'd have to bring money to the table to close the deal. I didn't even care. I simply felt thrilled that the ordeal of the last year would be over.

From the minute I put my mind to getting this house ready to sell I knew in the back of my mind that the margin for sale was too small considering Detroit's unbelievable market. I knew as I peed in a port a john on my driveway and burned my fingers on a steamer taking years and years of wall paper off the shitty damaged walls. I knew we were stuck here.

I knew there was too much 'not good' about the house to find a buyer in this market.

I suspected that we'd had a crappy inspection when we bought this place. An inspector who didn't note some very key errors in construction going on in our basement. An inspector who told us the drop ceiling in our kitchen, third bedroom and bathroom were "probably just there to keep heating costs down...." Never mind that the plaster was falling off the ceiling and no one covers their 9 foot ceilings unless there's something wrong underneath.

i knew a year and a half ago we should have let this property go. I knew it was a waste to pour all our extra money into a sinking ship.

But still, we did what we thought was right. We worked so hard. So. Hard. To make this house sellable. But it's still not sellable. It's never going to sell. I know that for sure. Just like I knew last night when the buyers got cold feet that no amount of praying to St Joseph would make this sale happen.

All last week when the engines revved or the music blared I laughed and cheered and thought "Good riddance you asshole!"

Last week when my friend told me about happy hours and book clubs and block parties in the neighborhood I smiled knowing all my hard work had paid off. It was all coming together.

Today I know that all our hard work was for nothing.

That we are trapped here and there's no way out.

But don't worry the realtors all assure me the house is "cute" and "very clean" and "well priced". Everyone who walks through this stupid house assure me it's "clean" and "adorable".

Today when we got the news it was followed by, "We'll find someone!" "It will sell!" "Don't Worry!"

Logan hung up the phone with the realtor after saying, "Oh well, onward! It will happen. We'll see what happens next."

And frankly, "waiting" for what happens next is what made us dump thousands and thousands of dollars into this heap. "Waiting" is what we've been doing for the last year. Every sentence is punctuated with "If we're here." Or "When we move we can....." Or "Depending on what school you go to....."

I think positive thinking is for assholes.

Our cat has decided he would like to be an outside cat. I don't want him to be an outside cat here because there are too many feral cats outside, but we decided once we're living in a different neighborhood we'd let him be an outside cat.

Gary now spends his days scratching at the screens and running his claws down along the frames of the storm doors. He does this while letting out the deepest moans of cat sadness. Loud guttural moans which make your jaw clench and all your muscles tense up.

The sound of his claws and the moaning of his voice make me feel like I'm going to break something. We all want out of here so badly. But there's no way out.

Wishing I was in a deep drug induced slumber right now.

The inspection happened yesterday. My realtor left a voice mail for me when we returned home and sounded so upbeat I thought for sure she was about to say, "We're good to go, start packing!"

Instead she said our buyer was 'overwhelmed' by the inspector's report and needed to discuss the findings with his partner. Are they discussing how awesome it will be to own an old home and do the work Logan and I never did because we were busy putting our blood, sweat and tears into the kitchen, bathroom and wood floors we lovingly finished all by ourselves?

Or are they discussing how wonderful new construction is, even though it's generally void of all character and is mainly disposable? Are they discussing how maybe they don't want to own a house after all?

We can't really know until later today and, as I explained to Logan, I can let things go if I work through the worst case scenario and feel okay with the worst case. Conversely, when I work through the worst case scenario and I can't accept it as a tolerable answer, I have what those of you who have read this website for many years will recognize as "An Episode".

I am on the verge of An Episode and it all hinges on a decision which involves nothing I have any control over.

I truly believe my brain will split in two if we get bad news this afternoon.

In other news, we spent the afternoon in Detroit to take my mind off the inspection. The inspection I wasn't really worried about until now.

DO YOU SEE WHAT HAPPENS WHEN I DON'T WORRY? Bad things.

This is me, running behind the 8 ball.

No news, good or bad. Every time I get worked up about where we'll be living I remind myself how the hard part is already over. Remember the grout? And the wall paper? And remember the port-a-john in my driveway?

This is nothing.

Inspection is tomorrow at 10:30.

As a distraction you may want to read about popsicle molds, a Buzz Off which is only 1.5 days late. I would have had it in earlier but I was busy thinking of how I could possibly fill 20 cabinets with my current minimalist kitchen gear. Maybe I can have more than 6 glasses! And a spare spatula!

Dream big people. Dream big.

My mind is still all buzzy with joy.

We countered with a slightly higher purchase price plus all the sombreros and tissue paper flowers from the party, they accepted. I'm pretty sure it was the tissue paper flowers and sombreros which sealed the deal for them.

We need to get through the inspection but I don't expect any surprises. After that, things should move quickly because all the agents involved and the buyer's financing is all at the same agency. It should take just 2-3 weeks to close. (!!!)

Which means when Andrea has her wine party in July, we quite possibly won't need a designated driver. We can just stumble home semi-conscious. It also means that very soon my brain will start working like a normal person's brain. Maddie said this morning when we told her our counter offer was accepted, "Great, now maybe we can live like a normal family again."

We are now getting ready to deal with the owner of the new house who, unlike us, isn't prepared to give his house away. I have a feeling this could get a teeny bit annoying but one way or another we're getting into that house.

Even if it means I have to break in and live as a squatter.

Weekend Wrap Up.

     

It was a very busy weekend.

Friday night we attended the "Anything But Fun Fair" at school. Not surprisingly I don't like the Fun Fair because what kids think is fun is running around while eating a 12 inch long stick of sugar and drinking 3 sodas. It's like letting loose 400 puppies on cocaine and calling it a fair. I like my fun a little less manic. But the kids love it, at least until the end when Max had an Old-Skool Overstimulated Tantrum involving incredible tears and breathless sobbing chants of "I.....CAN'T.....GET.....IT.....TO.....GETH.....ERRRRRR." That was fun.

Saturday was the big bash so we spent the day cleaning the house, dropping Maddie at a birthday party, driving to Detroit to pick up the food and hanging about 2,582 tissue paper flowers. I got a little carried away with that project. Of course, we also had to leave the house for an hour around 1 o'clock for another showing. I hope they liked the 50 bottles of assorted liquor, 20 different kinds of stir sticks and the sombreros in the bathroom.

I hoped to have pictures from the party so I might talk about that and not my desperate attempts to get out of this house but it was very busy at the party, as it is when you put 30-50 people in a 1200 square foot house, so I didn't have time to take pictures. I mostly didn't talk real estate, though the girls who rent next door wanted the tour and seemed maybe interested....so Logan made strong cocktails and I followed them around with a pen and purchase agreement waiting to innocently ask, "You know what I've always wondered? What does your signature look like?"

Sunday morning bright and early, we had Max's first T-Ball game. I know I've mentioned I don't care all that much for sports. I don't feel like a sports parent who yells and screams at the umpire or the other team. But the other team had, what appeared to be, a 13 year old playing first base. They kept him on first base for the entire second half of the game (against the rules) which resulted in our team being out in three easy swings of the bat. Again, I'm not that into the game I like seeing my kid have fun and frankly, they're all so new they didn't even seem to realize that getting "out" was a bad thing as they ran off the field waving proudly to parents in the stands. But I sort of had to stifle the urge to start screaming "THE CRICKETS ARE BIG FAT CHEATER PANTS."

*Edit to add: Immediately after I hit publish our realtor called with an offer. It's not a done deal of course but it looks very very good. WOOOOO!

My resume keeps getting shorter.

I've mentioned a few times how I can brag all I want about my son's gigantic brain because, for such a big brain he sure did have a problem with the concept of wiping his own ass. Truthfully, it wasn't that bad a thing to do. I hated the screaming from the bathroom and having to stop whatever I was doing to wipe an arse which does not belong to me.

But still, I told myself, it's better than changing diapers and since Max is my youngest I don't push him into things very often. My friends Andrea and Leslie have 3 and 4 kids respectively and in their family independence is a do or die proposition. Leslie's youngest, who is two, drives carpool every Thursday and Andrea's three-year-old mows the lawn.

I only have two kids so I end up coddling Max probably more than I really should. Also, our house is enormous if you live in New York City but reasonably small if you live in the midwest, so listening to "I'M DUUH-UUHHNNN!" is pretty intolerable after about 3 minutes maybe 5 if you're in the basement folding laundry while the dryer is going.

In Texas we stayed at Jean's house. Jean's house is significantly larger than ours, I am fairly certain, if packed well, you could fit three of my house within that house. Not counting the basement or the walk up attic (SELLING POINT!). The walls in their house are also really thick, so thick there was a loud teenaged party going on at the neighbors and as I walked outside I thought, "Oh My God. I'm going to have to call the police in someone else's neighborhood." But when I shut the door I could hear nothing. Not a sound. Additionally, each person in the house has their own bathroom because there are four full bathrooms upstairs. When they have extra guests, they build on another bathroom.

When Emmy got home from school and Maddie realized she was using Emmy's bathroom she asked earnestly, "Where will my bathroom be then?" How quickly she gets used to living in the lap of luxury.

If we each had our own bathroom in this house, Logan could pee for 3 hours entirely uninterrupted, and if he had the chance I think he would. No one believes me but Logan takes a long time in the bathroom. In Texas three of us went to the ladies room and Logan and Max went to the mens room. We waited, no kidding, almost 10 extra minutes after we were done for Logan and Max to finish up. It's common for me to yell to him in the bathroom, "Let's pick up the pace here! More than two shakes and you're playing with it."

And he loves it, especially when I write about it on the internet.

Max started wiping his own butt in Texas when he was unable to locate a Personal Butt Wiper through his previous means, screaming his head off until someone arrived. It turns out all we needed to conquer this ridiculous situation was a bathroom so far from the rest of the living areas that we couldn't hear his screams of "I'M DUH-UHN!"

So he did it, putting so much toilet paper in the pipes if he'd done that at home our pipes would have exploded, and I can now cross "Professional Personal Butt Wiper" off my resume. Which is fine since, surprisingly it's not a very marketable skill. At least in the fields I'd like to work.

Oh My God, He Really Does Work With Prepubescents.

I misunderstood Logan during our phone call last night. He did not go to the Tiki bar he's been dying to go to for forever.

They went.
To.
Disneyworld.

They went to the Polynesian for drinks, (the 13 year olds had shirley temples) and then they went on rides.

I hope they stuck to ones which weren't too scary for the little kids. Like the Tea Cups.

Madison and Max are pretty much pissed.

This is really long and ends with Rebecca Eckler's lawsuit.

I am currently drowning in tissue paper flowers. At this point I have plenty to decorate the house for our party Saturday and still, I can't stop making them. I want to keep making them. Right now as I type I'm thinking about how I could get more tissue paper to make more flowers. Big ones to hang from the trees outside and in the windows and from the chandelier and I'm going to stick one on the toilet seat too.

Some of them have pointed ends and others are rounded and WOW. I need Logan to be here so I can blabber into his ear all this stupidity.

***

Tonight Logan called from his trip and sounded so happy I thought, "Wow, he must have just sold our house!" But he hadn't. He was about to go into a tiki bar in Florida. A tiki bar he's been talking about going to for the last 7 years since we made a road trip to Kahiki in Columbus, Ohio. Yes, we took a road trip with devoted friends to see a tiki bar.

Before we left, I took a pregnancy test because we'd been trying to get pregnant with Max. Which means we were having TONS OF SEX. It was negative and I was for the second month convinced I'd never get pregnant, because in case you haven't noticed I am fatalistic and also insane.

At Kahiki a lot of things happened. Two friends who are now married with a child spent time together for the first time, a friend said as we sat at our table with a faux "island storm" booming around us, "I think I am, just now, actualized." and I could not drink because every sip tasted similar to esophagus burning acid. The night we got home I took another pregnancy test and then Max came around a little later.

Today Logan called as he walked into this fabled Tiki bar he's waited 7 years to go to. I bitch all the time about my husband getting to do something I don't. Or about how I spent the day at our local recycling center surrounded by garbage and he was going to realize a long held dream without me. But when I heard Logan on the phone telling me he was about to go into this place I felt like I was talking to a 10 year old version of my husband and I wanted to pinch his cheeks and give him a hug. Because I was just happy for him.

Maybe I'm growing up. Nope, still bitching about the house not selling even though it's been on the market for just 9 weeks in a 24 week (average) market.

***

Max has transformed himself into someone's retired 60-something grandfather.

A few months ago we were trapped at the market during a pretty heavy rain/hail storm. We waited a while to leave, but it started to seem like the rain would never stop and I thought, "It's just rain.....we'll make it to the car."

But the rain was a little heavier on the hail side than the rain side. We ran to the car and Max's small brain split in two and he spent the 3 minute drive home screaming hysterically. He was so terrified of the fact that we'd just run through a (pea-size) hail storm for 20 feet.

He's not been the same since.

When I wake up in the morning I find Max sitting in front of The Weather Channel with a furrow in his brow. If the weather report says it will not be raining today he is happy and brightly tells me all about it. If it might rain, Max is upset for the entire day waiting for the rain.

I realize this is a phase but how do you teach a child not to be afraid of the weather? I'd lie to him about the weather, except he knows The Weather Channel is 62.

He also told me not to tell anyone he's freaked out by the rain and I just did it and someday he will sue me for it.

***

Rebecca Eckler is suing Universal Studios because of similarities between her book Knocked Up: Confessions of a Hip Mom To Be and the Judd Apatow movie Knocked Up.

I've gotten several emails about the small part of Eckler's evidence of copyright infringement involving a binky with a martini glass. You can read more about that here (though, I warn you this person is a trainwreck style blogger....read at your own karmic risk).

On Tuesday night my friend Andrea asked if I wanted to go out because she'd been in Ireland and I'd been in San Antonio and we hadn't seen each other in many weeks. Plus she's an awesome friend who knew when I responded to her email inquiry: "How are you?" with "I WANT TO BURN MY HOUSE DOWN AND LEAVE." I needed a break from the house.

As we went out I saw the first email referring to this Eckler Martini issue and I told Logan about it as I walked out, and before seeing what we were talking about I said, "Perfect, we'll sell the rights for [The Exact Price Of Our Home Which Is Not Very Much At All.]" Judd? Call me, I promise I'll answer.

Since reading more, the thing I find ironic about Eckler's claim that this story about an unexpected pregnancy is so very uniquely hers is that she claims the part which convinced her this movie was stolen from her book is the binky around the stem of a martini glass on the cover of the original screenplay (an image which is not being used for the film.....damn because I'd sell the trademark for MY HOUSE.).

I don't have a trademark on all binkies involving a martini glass. I am not the only person who put the 'Chick Lit' martini glass book cover together with a binky which fits my drunken lifestyle. I happen to have a trademark on my specific version and the Momtini name, but otherwise you're all welcome to be influenced by my common idea.

Eckler does not have a trademark or even a copyright on all stories of unexpected pregnancies. Guess what? I took several pregnancy tests before I accepted I was unexpectedly pregnant with Maddie. I think we conceived her after a very inebriated night at the Old Shillelagh. I stole her story too! Well we were married when we conceived her so I'm off.

I guess there is a gray area where influence and copying overlap. I wonder if, since I have been able to procure a US trademark for the momtini logo without issue, perhaps someone at Eckler's publishing house was inspired to put a martini glass with a binky around the stem because of my logo.

It remains I don't own the rights to all pacifier and martini glass imagery.

And it seems to follow Eckler doesn't own all the rights to all unexpected pregnancy stories involving Jewish fathers and women in media.

But maybe I'm wrong and I can sue everyone who ever photographs or illustrates a martini glass with a binky in any form and make enough to get into the house of my dreams. Suddenly I'm all for Rebecca Eckler's plight.

If you get this quiz wrong you need a tutor.

Reasons Logan sent me this email today: "FYI: I have to go out of town tomorrow until friday night. Talk to you soon."

A) His eyeballs were being clawed out by a wild turkey and he could only feel around the keys to communicate with me.

B) There was a freak accident in the office kitchen where he lost his tongue and was unable to speak.

C) A wild boar had eaten his cellphone along with his desk phone.

D) He knew I would lose my shit because we're having 30-60 people to our house on Saturday for a party to show off all the work we did to this house for nothing since no one wants to buy it.

Surprise! The answer is D.

But don't worry! We'll get everything done when he gets home, after we take the kids to the Fun Fair Friday night and we'll do the rest Saturday during the day. I definitely shouldn't do anything between now and then because everyone throws together large parties in around 12 hours.

It's not Logan's fault of course and thankfully a lot of the guests are Logan's new co workers who would be happy with a bag of cheetos and some wine coolers taken from someone's parents refrigerator. You know, since they're all 13.

Also, in case you were wondering if I forgot to tell you, no the house hasn't sold. Because probably one day you'll come to this site and I'll be like, "Hey! We were just sitting around having pre dinner cocktails and a couple neighbors popped in while the kids played TV Tag in the front yard with a few kids from the neighborhood."

Right.

I'm not kidding, I'm afraid of summer.

New post at the Buzz Off about warding off the Summer Slide, the phenomenon where children lose a month of instruction over the summer when they don't use the skills they learned in the previous year.

My next post should be about how to keep oneself from going totally fucking insane over the summer.

(Step One: Sell your stupid house.)

Logan's starting his own scholarship foundation.

The kids did their first organized run this weekend. We walked downtown (We are, after all, "CLOSE TO DOWNTOWN!" Selling point!) the kids wearing their Oak Apple t-shirts and Logan wearing his as well because he'd run the 10K at 3 o'clock in the morning and me wearing my Fussy t shirt because there are a lot of things I'd like to do, for example, sell my house or live in a climate controlled environment or have marinated artichoke hearts for dinner every night and shockingly, running in 90 degree heat isn't one of them.

Running will never be the best revenge, writing will.

Logan had warned the kids he wouldn't be able to run with them so if they signed up they'd have to do the run themselves. So if we pay the registration, I don't want you to freak out at the last minute and decide you don't want to do it. Not that our kids ever do things like that. They also never sob in fear during a tour of amazing Texan caverns because I could never raise such high strung children. Never.

I have to admit I was a little concerned they'd freak out when the starting gun fired because, and I know this is hard to believe, but my kids can be a little high strung. I don't know how on earth that happened.

In related news; Max has started saying with a little twist of his head and a knowing tone, "You're being sarcastic aren't you?"

I suggest you try this out in your everyday life.

But Logan gave them a pep talk at the start line, according to Dutch the pep talk consisted of defecation approval because I've made it abundantly clear on this website Logan believes Runners Trots are a normal part of life. In spite of the fact that the rest of the world does not think SHITTING YOUR PANTS is ever "normal". Still Logan thinks shitting your pants is something great for kids, maybe something they'll get a scholarship for someday. Here he is explaining all of this.

It turns out I had no reason to be concerned the kids took off running with the pack like regular kids. They also did not stop off at the 1/10th of a mile mark to evacuate their bowels. My parenting finally overwhelms Logan's.

Maddie ran as fast as she could because, in her words, "I didn't want anyone to say; 'ha ha! Your baby brother beat you!'" She beat Max but only by seconds and mostly because her feet never touched the ground.

Hey! There's Max three runners behind Maddie and looking oh so very Wes Anderson-esque.

I sometimes think, in society in general, we celebrate the average with kids. We congratulate them for "graduating" preschool or turning 16, things which, for the most part simply happen with time. I wonder what that teaches kids: You Are Awesome! For waking up this morning! And eating breakfast! And listening to your mother! It starts to seem like we're giving our kids rewards for the most benign things.

And I thought about that as the kids ran a quarter of a mile with a police escort, are we pumping them full of false pride? A trophy for running the same distance as the block I used to ride my bike around several times a day just because I could? I did not get a reward for that.

Except I can't help it, they looked so happy after they finished that run. So did all the other kids who finished. So did all the parents watching their kids cross over that giant finish line.

After the run, as we walked back home (SELLING POINT!) we stopped for a bagel lunch. The kids wanted their trophies on the table to look at and Maddie said, 'Next year I want to do the 2 mile run. Maybe we can train for it.'

Logan loves to run, I think running is as appealing as swallowing a live frog. I do think we can give our kids too much praise for the simplest things but I also think giving them mini opportunities to succeed can create lifetime passions. Logan certainly hopes running (especially while wearing a sweatband) becomes a passion for our kids and he sets a great example for them by making time for what he loves.

If the kids love running and wearing sweatbands that would be great.

A few months ago Maddie came home so happy because she was "being published!!!!" in the school newsletter. Everyone in her class submitted stories and hers was chosen to be "published".

Maddie and I often have trouble connecting. I know I hate running but I understood how happy Logan was when the kids not just finished their run but felt giddy with their success. I felt the same when I saw Maddie's desire to tell stories with her writing and when I saw her joy at seeing her words out there for everyone to read.

As parents I think we want to encourage our kids to try as many things as possible until they find what fits them. We can reward their smallest efforts and we can show them our passions and hope they sort through all that and find something that fits them. Maybe that deserves a trophy after all.