Suburban Bliss:: Birth Control Via The Written Word

Every way she changes, she adds a new and more hellish challenge.

I don't think I'm the best mother for my daughter.

I remember once driving to Gymboree when Maddie was 9 months old. Back then Madison had a particular issue with the Germans. Not Germans in general, just the Germans who designed the 1998 VW Jetta GT. The TDI I'm sure would have been fine.

Since babies can't talk Madison let her disdain for German automobiles clear by shrieking at the top of her lungs for the entire 5 mile drive to Gymboree. Every week for the 6 months I tried to make a go of Gymboree, she screamed the entire way. I prayed during those drives I would get pulled over for drunk driving, not because I was driving drunk, just so I could say to the police man, "Please.....please save me from my daughter."

I mostly left my body during those drives, actually all the drives I took with Madison for the first 18 months of her life. Before I realized if I threw a steady stream of pretzel rods back at her she'd stuff her gob full and stop crying. I'd mostly leave my body but sometimes I would end up driving screaming at the top of my lungs, "I DON'T WANT TO DO THIS! I CAN'T BE YOUR MOTHER."

I remember one day we had to go to the orthopedic surgeon for Maddie's weekly recastings. I tried to put her in the car seat and to Madison the car seat looked like this. She screamed and screamed and I fought to strap her into her seat, the newborn carrier, got her in and walked into the bedroom and started screaming into my pillow....."I CAN'T DO THIS! I DON'T KNOW HOW TO BE YOUR MOTHER."

I like to think those days are past us. That I've proven to myself that I can do this and I do know how to be her mother.

This summer has been challenging with Madison in some new ways and in other ways which are remarkably similar to the frustration I had 8.5 years ago when she hated our choice in automobile.

There are still some days where my frustration with her makes me grit my teeth and scream into a pillow, "I DON'T KNOW HOW TO BE YOUR MOTHER."

Because the truth is I don't really know how to be her mother

The Golden Spoon

Before we begin, let's see what comes back with this query: Is it normal for the buyer's mortgage company to require an appraisal? I can't remember my mortgage company doing that until we refinanced years after the purchase. I asked around at the block party (!!) and no one else seemed to recall that step in the process.

So yes, we attended the block party on Saturday. Several times I just stopped moving, took a deep breath while watching my kids run up and down the closed street with about 20 other kids and thought, "I could not be happier than I am right now." I spontaneously hugged Andrea and Logan and they both understood where these non-required hugs were coming from.

Then I had an orgasm.

Which brings me to the next item. Many of the new neighbors read this site, in fact one of them knows I, on occasion may or may not give my husband oral sex within the boundaries of a loving and totally legal union. So you know, I may be feeling a bit reluctant to publish pictures of their children partaking in egg tosses, jump rope contests, water balloon fights and talent shows (!!!).

The only thing I have to say about the neighbors worrying about how I'll portray them if I write about them is this: If you walked up to me next Saturday as we moved in and punched me full force in the face, I would come back here, all iced and bandaged and write, "I LOVE THESE NEIGHBORS AND THEIR FUNNY CUSTOMS!!!!!"

It is nearly impossible for you to offend me after the last nine years.

Part of the yearly block party is a Men's Bake Off. Each year a specific ingredient is required for each submission, this year oatmeal. All the guys then submit their concoctions for judging. Logan is a robot and for the most part is programmed very well, but someone forgot the "Time Management' coding and he often bites off more than he can mechanically chew. But this time he made time for baking. He searched the Quaker site and came up with Spirited Southern Sweet Potato Bars. He made the 'test batch' Friday night after we reassembled the trampoline and he attempted to purge his closet. I tested the first batch in bed at 12:43 am.

Guess what? He won!

The one neighbor in our current neighborhood we sort of socialize with said, when faced with the power of the Golden Spoon, "They told everyone else to burn their entries or bring rice crispy treats just so you'd win."

And I'd believe that, I mean really, the robot wins the Golden Spoon? The spoon which dates back to the early 90's? The spoon many men have laid awake dreaming about (or have at least spent 20 minutes in the kitchen concocting an entry for) and he wins before we even officially move in?

Except when he won several men in the neighborhood fell to the ground and cursed The Lord for their incredible misfortune and at least one threatened to steal the spoon. But we won't let that happen. No, we won't.

Our landlord doesn't realize this yet but the Golden Spoon means he can't kick us out even after our lease is up. If he tries, we will beat him with this spoon until he sells to us for the price we can afford.

To quote my realtor, with a very serious tone, "Promise me, promise, you'll never attempt to negotiate a sale on your own. Promise."

I can't imagine what she's talking about.

I think the landscaping is done by the same tiny elves who blow cold air in my registers.

The other day we drove to check on the new house, we've done this about 31 times since we finalized our deal and each time we have some incredibly pressing issue we must address at the new house. Like, I just really think there should be toilet paper there. Or, I want to check and see if my broom will fit in that closet. Or, is the ice function on the refrigerator functioning properly.

It's gotten to the point where I feel a little silly making these incredibly important stop ins, especially since we always see at least one or five neighbors who are most likely at this point thinking, "Just move your stuff in already."

However on Monday we drove by and one of the neighbor's had lost all their landscaping in the front yard. The next day, the day we needed to see if all the doors were still in the same place (they were, Thank God) there was all new landscaping. Like magic.

Or like they'd paid someone to come and put it all in, but you can't tell me that's what happened because I'm still trying to wrap my brain around the fact that people have actual laundry chutes and places for their cars to sleep. I just can't believe it, next you'll be trying to tell me people actually hire people to painstakingly remove years of wallpaper from their walls.

******

This week at The Buzz Off we made a lot of ice cream using an ice cream ball. I wrote about it here, but these are the parts I left out due to language and general streaming off topic-ness. While we were out in our side yard, shaking up our ice cream ball, it got awfully loud once the ice began to melt. Imagine a large cocktail shaker being handled by a 6 and 8-year-old. Gee, I'd like to imagine that.

Ed and Tile Cutter were quietly sitting across the street on their own front porch (they've been awfully quiet lately. I like it.) and once we'd been shaking for about 10 minutes straight they got up, went in the house and slammed the door.

For a minute I felt a little sheepish, because there have been a few play dates, extended playdates in the last month or so which have disturbed the neighborhood. And you know the whole golden rule, I try to give out what I expect from my fellow neighbors. But we've got 8 more nights of sleeping in this house so, you know, we're making ice cream and you can go in your house for once and try to drown out our noise.

******
In other news Brandon sent me this article. Noted without comment.

A growing directory of things to worry about.

Maddie, watching a commercial for an anxiety medication.

TV: "Are you sitting on your couch afraid to leave because you might die on the way to your mailbox." (Paraphrased.)

Maddie: "That's so dumb. It's not like you just all the sudden drop dead or something. Especially not on the way to get your mail. That is so so dumb. What a dumb lady. Why would you worry about something so dumb. I mean that can't happen."

Me, in the next room working, taking this as rhetorical commentary.

Pause.

Maddie: "Mom, you can't just die while walking to the mailbox right?"

*****
We've burned daylight by using our thumbs at The Buzz Off and I've been getting the kids to help in the kitchen a little more over at Ordering Disorder.

****
There are now just 7 days until Move In. I just realized unless Logan takes a day off work we can't actually be moved in until the following Saturday. I also realized that in order to actually move we have to rent a truck and rustle up some strong burly men to help us. This wouldn't be a problem but I just made fun of everyone Logan works with by calling them 13 year old adolescents.

Oops!

Some people call it The Prom and you know, I never went to prom.

I've mentioned before how my husband works with pre-pubescent boys. A few weeks ago Logan went to a "design team" bar-b-que. Around midnight I tried to return a call from him earlier in the evening but his voice mail picked up right away. Logan turning off his phone while he's out is one of my personal pet peeves, even more annoying than the fact that summer "vacation" lasts 3 entire months.

In the morning I mentioned how much I hate it when he turns off his phone while he's out. He said, "I didn't turn it off...."

I interrupted, "Let me guess, the 13 year olds threw you in the lake!"

"Yes! They did!"

At first I thought, 'Right...." but then I remembered my husband is the Peter Pan of his place of employment and also that the iPhone was unveiled the night before this supposed water incident. Either way, yes, it made sense.

(There was also a marshmallow fight involved in this party.) (They were all jacked up on Mountain Dew.)

The day after we move into our new place, WHERE ICE COMES OUT OF THE FREEZER DOOR WHENEVER YOU WANT, his company is hosting a little party. Last year the party was quite elaborate according to reports, which makes sense since if you're not buying drinks for your employees (not of age!) you can splurge on Hawaiian Punch fountains and pizza chefs.

I asked Logan what I should wear, thinking a nice summer dress would be perfect. He replied they'd gotten a visual guide regarding the party clothes.

It turns out I have to lose 30 pounds, 40 if we're looking at Lohan, 15 years and all sense of myself by next week in order to attend this party.

Can't I just start a marshmallow fight or something?

Max would like to file a report with CPS based on this article.

Majority of Parents Abuse Children, Children Report.

"According to the report, a shocking 100 percent of children who claimed to have been abused said their parents repeatedly answered "maybe" to a request, and then withheld from them a definitive answer for hours or, in some cases, days."

It's at least a misdemeanor to be this happy.

I got an email earlier this week from Kathi saying how confused she was about what was happening with our house. At first I felt like, "Internet, take it easy!" and then I realized, "Uh, Melissa you've dragged these poor people through the mud with you for many many months. A year even, of course they're curious about where you're moving."

Two things:

1) I am being far more careful about how much I reveal about where exactly I am living. Not because of any threat but just, you know, common sense tells you not to tell everyone on the internet, especially the person who writes to tell you what a "selfish whore" you are, where you live specifically. I've had a few visitors at my door here because it wasn't so hard to find me and while I love having kind strangers pick up the toilet off my neighbor's yard and also bring me chocolate and champagne and even yarn (!!) if the people doing good deeds can find you so can the people who think you are the worst kind of selfish whore.

2) The dream house is only our 'for now' dream house because we did not make money on the house we've just sold, which is fine all things considered because the sale of this house could have been like being anally raped and instead it was more like being flashed by some guy in his car who likes to show it off to unsuspecting and unwilling people. I mean, no offense to our buyers who have actually left us in a much better position than our worst (anally raped) case scenario, but nonetheless our real estate adventure has turned out to be less than a wonderful dream come true.

We are leasing the 'dream house' and I hate to say it because all day I said to myself, "There's no shame in leasing a house! Lots of people lease!" But there was my grandfather's voice echoing in my ears, "You lease and you throw money in the garbage. Give me that money, I'm throwing your money in the toilet. Here, I'm flushing it. Every month just send me your money."

(He never said this but I remember him being quite adamant about not renting and paying someone else's mortgage.)

I feel a little sheepish about renting in spite of myself. Especially since one of my biggest problems with my current neighborhood has been the rentals and the people who could care less about their property because it's a rental.

But there it is, we can't fathom jumping into the real estate game again after what we've been through. I don't want to commit to another house, pretty much, ever. I would commit to the dream house, but considering how much we didn't make on the house we're leaving behind, it's just not possible right now. In a year? Who knows.

And here's where your head splits in two. I'm letting it go, we only have a contract on the dream house for a year. The house I just spent an hour weeping in and pointing out the laundry chutes (2!) and the bathrooms (2.5!) and greeting neighbors who are genuinely happy to see this part of our dreams coming true. Pure bliss.

And if at the end of the year we still can't buy it, I'm feeling okay with that. I know there will be the right house at the right time for us. Now that we're free of the commitment of a house which is difficult to sell, I believe it will come together with so much less stress when the time is right.

Now, remind me of this post in 12 months.

 

Questions answered....

I'm still gleefully packing boxes and when I'm not I'm buying dish soap and baby suppositories at the store.

You know you want to know why.

Things which have split Madison's world in two since 8am this morning.

Max snores at night.

I won't buy her (another) webkinz.

She only has 244 Pokemon Cards, what is this? A third world country?

Answer to question: "What are we doing that's fun today?" is "I don't know, what are you going to do to make today fun for you?"

Max has the nerve to love Transformers and discusses the water gun he'd like RIGHT IN FRONT OF HER! (Tears.)

Has fit because I again refuse to buy her another Webkinz.

I point out to her that how she's acting is sort of how a brat acts.

"You called me a brat. That's why I'm have such a bad day."

****

The last time we moved was 1998, I was newly pregnant and finishing up my semester at college which ended 5 days before we moved. I packed our 500 square foot apartment in 4 days. My brother in law called almost daily to remind me he wasn't going to help if I wasn't all packed. That he didn't want to be sitting around while I frantically tried to get boxes ready for the truck.

In 4 days I packed everything in our apartment and had everything specifically labeled: where it belonged and what was in it. It took us a total of 3 hours to load the truck, drive to the new house and unload the truck.

I'm not ashamed to say I gloated wildly.

Of course the last time we moved I'd only been on my own for a year and it was just the two of us. We've been here nine years and have brought two new people into our world in that time. There's a lot more stuff. But still, I never thought packing could be this much fun.

****

In between packing I'm writing here and also here and then we're making bubbles, play dough and sidewalk chalk. Hopefully this activity will not cause Madison's fragile sense of the world split in two.

Oh my God I love my inner Pollyanna.

Holy Shit....they're going forward.

August 16th closing. We're aiming for August 1st at the new place.

I don't even know how to celebrate something this huge. To the zoo with the kids? Packing the remaining contents of the basement? Robbing a furniture store at gunpoint? Cocaine bender?

Nothing seems quite exciting enough for something as momentous as this.

The post I truly didn't believe I'd end up writing today.

We had the inspection yesterday.

The buyer is also a realtor, she got a price from us which is almost 25K less than our original asking price. Her final price is $6000 less than any other area comparables. We agreed to this price because we know this house, even though the interior is lovely, still needs a new roof, new furnace and some major help with curb appeal.

All things we didn't do because we were drowning in financial ruin and then spending all our extra pennies on fixing the problems with our interior. You might be familiar with that work because I've spent the last year crying about it.

We assumed/hoped (stupid stupid hope) that this person was familiar with this market and capable of viewing a house with a critical eye enough to realize "If I get a house at a price which is $6000 less than area comps, perhaps I'm going to have reinvest some money into the property to ensure my investment."

Apparently this wasn't entirely the case because when the inspector mentioned the issue with the roof this threw our deal into a tailspin. So that last night, at a party in the dream neighborhood, I got the call which was incredibly like the call I got four weeks ago telling me that the buyers were "overwhelmed" and needed to "think it over". And like the last call I'd expected to hear my realtor's voice bright and chipper telling me the inspection went as expected and we were ready to move forward.

I had fantasies of Logan making toasts to our new life and me laughing at nothing all night long like a psychotic person because after this long year and all this waiting I'd endured, laughing like a psychotic is really the only response I could possibly have. I'd learned that hard work and patience while working toward a goal could work. We'd made it. We'd accept the extra invitation to the annual block party and go home content and happy.

Because in spite of myself I am one of these stupid "Positive Thinkers". Instead we went home at 8:30 fighting about what our next move is, both of us feeling exhausted, tired, frustrated and trapped. Then I took a sleeping pill and slept for 16 hours.

This time I let the ball of anxiety hang out with me, just so I felt like I was doing my part to make things happen. Last time I didn't worry a bit, because I figured anyone with EYEBALLS IN THEIR HEAD can see that this house would be worth another 10K-20K if it had a new roof and furnace. I figured anyone who would buy this house would realize all the work inside had been done but the outside had not and that is why it's such an incredible bargain.

Even after we got the call last time that our buyers were thinking about it, I believed my realtor when she said it wasn't unusual and lots of first time buyers get anxious. I held onto that string for a few hours until we got the call saying they wanted out of the deal.

This time my realtor assures me this is normal, that the buyers are probably pricing out the mechanicals which need replacing. Even though when we got this deal the buyer said she understood the house needed updating and was having an inspection to rule out any structural issues.

Suddenly now the roof is some unforeseen issue? I just don't understand.

But still I say I'm a pessimist, I'm sitting here depressed as all hell but I'm still full of hope. I'm sitting here on the sofa in my pajamas at 3:30 hoping my realtor is right and the buyer will come back and say yes. Yes, I want this amazing deal on this house in a neighborhood where new construction on similar sized lots are selling for over twice the amount this house is going for. Where homes this size with newer roofs, central air and curb appeal are selling in 24 days for 30K more than I'm spending on this one. 

I hoped this buyer was savvy enough to know what new roofs and furnaces cost. I hoped this buyer understood why we were giving this house away. I said I knew real estate deals could crumble twice, but the truth is I have an inner Pollyanna and she was screaming out, "No! It won't happen twice! There's no way it will happen twice. It can't possibly go bad twice. This is the right buyer! The last guys weren't the right buyers!"

That Pollyanna sent us to the U-Haul store to get packing paper and drove us past the house we were once again so close to moving to, it allowed us to start pricing new bikes for the kids to be stored in a real garage and a trampoline to be played with in the backyard, out of the view of the entire neighborhood and any homeless men walking by and allowed us to accept moving boxes from someone we thought would soon be our new neighbor.

Pollyanna is sitting inside my head right now counter balancing the hysterical side of me who fears we're never getting out of here resulting in me feeling numb and half dead.

And like an idiot I'm still hoping tomorrow I'm celebrating moving forward with our lives instead of plummeting into another layer of despair.

Because I'm a moron.

10 years and all you get is tin.

Yesterday was our 10th wedding anniversary. It was a beautiful day, sunny with a nice breeze. Not too hot, not too cold and not at all humid. Perfect.

There's not much to say about my marriage that I haven't said already. We work at it, fight, have great fun together, love our kids and struggle through the hard times. When we were dating sometimes I would stay the night at Logan's place over the weekends. Don't worry, I slept in my clothes on top of the sheets.

Every Monday I'd leave and head back to school and sleep alone with room mates who, left a little to be desired, and wait for the next weekend so I could be comfortable again spending the weekend with Logan.

When we got engaged, the thing I looked forward to most, even more than my actual wedding day, was being able to go to bed, every night with my husband. To wake up each morning with him and to make a home where we both belonged together all the time.

There are a lot of things I love about Logan, things I love about being married to Logan.But I'm still thrilled everyday that I get to be with him. That I don't have to pack up my toothbrush every week and go back to another life he isn't a part of.

I'm happy every day, even 10 years later, that we get to just be together.

I often get panic-y when he's late coming home because I know, considering the way I've handled the sale of this house, I would not be able to pick myself up if I ever lost him.

I've been busy this week worrying about the inspection (still no date!) and a big ball of anxiety has made it's way into bed with me every night. Things are awfully crowded with this anxiety in my bed and I'm ready to be done with this.

Saturday is Andrea's wine party in the dream neighborhood. The wine party I'd planned to stumble home from....to my dream house 5 doors down. Hopefully by Saturday we'll know if that dream still has a chance to come true.

In the meantime, I painted with the kids for the Buzz Off. Not my favorite project so far. I'm also sharing food for busy parents over at Work it, Mom on a blog called Ordering Disorder.

Keep your gentle wishes coming....

I want to say, as I did the last time, "WE HAVE AN OFFER WOOOOOOOO!" but I am afraid to say this until the inspection.

All I'm saying this time is, we have accepted an offer, this buyer is more savvy about older homes and unlike last time I'm going to spend the next 1-5 days obsessing over the house inspection. Last time I thought we'd pass the inspection with no problem and my lack of worry clearly caused the deal to fall through.

I've spent the last 4 weeks willing something to happen through the power of my bad attitude. My bad attitude will continue until our inspection comes back acceptable. After that, my attitude will remain poor until we end up in a conference room signing papers at the closing. At that point I will explode with all the negative energy I've been powering myself with.

Is it really possible that we'll have two offers go bad? It is possible and I've got the email to prove it. I've got an equal amount of email to prove it could work out just fine. In my mind the only thing keeping us all from another month of shitty writing is my bad attitude.

Well, my bad attitude and the three St Josephs buried in my yard.

Please, don't send too many vibes....

because you have all been amazing in hoping things work out. Maybe the universe is overwhelmed with all the attention to my silly little plight of selling my stupid house.

However, this week is going to be the end of the housing strife. One way or another.

I'd like it if the housing strife ended with us moving forward and letting this house go but if not, I'm okay with owning it for another 9 months and not living in it.

Tonight my realtor said, as she took our written counter offer to a potential buyer, "Expect the best and prepare for the worst."

I am hoping our counter offer is accepted but even if it's not, we have another offer on the table to attempt to work with and then, my worst case is still not ideal but entirely feasible. The last time we were in this position I felt like our 'worst case' was hopeless.

This time our worst case is something I can accept as not ideal, but how it's meant to work out.

However, I would really love it if this part of my life ended here. I'm weary.

When I say I'm not great with small talk, this is what I'm talking about.

At Max's T-Ball game this morning.

Other Mom: "And which one is yours?"
Me: "That little boy over there, number 13."
Other Mom: "And how old is he?"

Me: "He's 6 and he'll be 7....well, in a year...."

Other Mom: "Well that's how it usually works!"

It's like half the daylight to burn.

Maddie's been gone since Tuesday and this break from two kids is confirming one of the things which eats at me sometimes, I'm not very good at parenting two kids. Maybe I should have stuck with one, but then, knowing me I'd spend all my spare time wondering how I was damaging my one kid by not having two.

Reports from Camp Jenn are reasonably good, but Madison is rapidly showing Aunt Jenn exactly why I go insane all summer long. For example, Aunt Jenn took Maddie to Rivi, the happiest place on earth. Madison loves to swim and has been known to spend entire days in the pool. At Rivi yesterday she'd had enough after 40 minutes. This happens during many of the outings I attempt with my darling Maddie.

We arrive at the park and 5 minutes in, she's sitting next to me on a bench wondering when we're going home or, even worse, what we can do next. Or we go to playgroup and within 20 minutes she's questioning what we'll do after this!

On the one hand it's sort of affirming to see someone else feel the pressure of the unending demands of my little monster. On the other hand, Camp Jenn could be a really nice tradition if Madison makes it easy enough for the love of God and waking at 6 o'clock in the morning to tell Aunt Jenn she lost her tooth (the 10th! NOT THE FIRST!) isn't really working to that end.

One of my features isn't going to work out terribly well since we've had 4 showings in three days and my realtor is on vacation so I can't even get the feedback from the first one until the weekend. Though, judging by the lack of offers, I think we can cross C off the list, thanks for voting you wacky optimists!

I know I should be happy about all these viewings, since the house won't sell if no one looks at it. But all the viewings with no offers just confirm my suspicion that we can't sell this price and pay our realtor which is terribly depressing. Also I'm tired of leaving my house every day, sometimes 3 times a day (!!!) so someone can come judge my basement un-livable.

It's disheartening and annoying and since when we had an offer we'd planned to be all moved into the new house by now, it's especially crushing.

The showings today interfered with me sharing the results of my first Burning Daylight Report at The Buzz Off. This was a fun project, even though Max REFUSED to channel Martha Stewart, I guess he had fun anyway.

New Features!

I'm starting a new feature called "What Will The Feedback Be?"

 

First up:

Feedback For Our July 3, 11am showing (which was supposed to be 10am but they didn't show up until 11:30.....), What Will It Be!?

Your choices are:

a) "It's so cute and/or clean!"
b) "We are trolls and want to live in the basement. Yours won't work!"
c) "Gee we love it and need to buy it now! Like this minute! Here's cash!"
d) "I know the listing says, No Garage, but I really want one so I came here for no reason."
e) "We love it but don't want to make any decisions now."

This is SUPER FUN! I can't wait to find out what the feedback will be. I'm going with, because I saw them walking around the outside, E.

I'm also starting a new feature at The Buzz Off called "Burning Daylight." In this feature I will come up with activities to burn daylight on Tuesday and document the process and outcome for you on Thursday. Including total hours of daylight burned.

We're going to get through this summer, mostly without hurting anyone.

And technically he only has 20 days to burn, I have 77.

Yesterday as Logan and I slowly woke up in bed while the kids watched tv in the other room (another point for not having babies and toddlers!) Logan said, "What are Chrissy and John doing today? Maybe we can get Chase and Erin over to play."

I told him they're out of town camping for the next week.

A look of terror passed over his face and filled me with the joy of a billion fluttering butterflies.

"But.....what will we do with them all day?"

He finally woke up the way I wake up every single day for 11 weeks of the summer, with the terror of the looming hours of daylight to be burned looming directly over my head.

My God I want to slap myself across the face. I want to gnaw my own arm off just so I can't type efficiently. I want to shove a knitting needle in my eye socket to give myself a home grown lobotomy. This has reached entirely ridiculous proportions, I have become my very own internet troll. I can not seem to get over this disappointment.

I can't seem to think about anything but this stupid situation. My life continues to happen all around me, but I can't remember any of it because all I'm thinking about is how I can unload this house and get to the place I want to be.

Today Logan asked, "How long do you think it would take to have us packed and out of here, keeping in mind that I'll be at work and you'll have your normal time commitments."

I replied, with no hesitation: "I can have us out of here in 7 days, maybe less."

And I vow to you Internet, if we have the opportunity to be out of here in 7 days, I will not complain even once about the boxes and the packing and the chaos of moving. I will want to, because that's what I do, over-react to things thousands....millions of people do everyday. But because I've totally over reacted to being trapped here, to working the fingerprints off my fingers, to losing a sale...I will move to the next place with grace. Just for you. I will pack and not say a word about it and you will all say, "Wow, Melissa can move with grace. That's not what I expected."

Madison leaves for Camp Jenn tomorrow. My brother and my sister in law will be driving home from her mother's place up in Clarkston and when they reach the Royal Oak exit off 75, I'll throw Maddie into their car from the overpass. She'll be fine, they have a sun roof!