Suburban Bliss:: Birth Control Via The Written Word

Do-Over

I think it will be easier to not be so annoyed by this move once I give the keys back to the landlord on Saturday. Before we can do that though we have to spend our evening (with friends, beer and pizza) painting all the rooms back to white.

It will also help when we put some color on the walls in this place.

It will also help when the cleaning ladies can come over.

It will also help when it's not freezing and snowy and so aggravating to clear off my car every morning after living a luxurious 18 months with a garage.

It will also help when we're not frantically trying to get everything done.

I decided earlier in the month I was just going to call a do over on 2009. So on Saturday night, when Logan's gone with Max on a cub scout trip to Kalamazoo, at 11:59 I will be re-ringing in the new year.

On February 1st I will make a more concerted effort to not mentally tally everything that's making me not happy about things right now.

Too bad I threw out those great 2009 novelty glasses from the first New Year's Eve party we had.

and so, its done.

There are good and bad parts about living in denial until you are actually moving your belongings from a house.

I'm pretty honest with you internet. But there were times last week, when I cried. A lot. Like I'd grab a guitar from the Wii and think "I'll just play a quick REM song and I'll be fine!"

Except then I'd think how that house, was the one I loved...and this song was going out to the house I love. And it made me feel like pouring table salt directly into my eyeballs just to make the tears come faster because it was so emotionally painful I wanted to feel it physically.

But for the most part I spent last week packing a box or two and then wondering why I was packing a box because, I was not moving.

Then Friday morning came and Logan flipped our mattress up on its side....inexplicably.

I spent a couple of hours thinking about why my husband would flip our mattress up on its side. And then a moving truck showed up at our house. Next, the moving truck got stuck at the end of our driveway. A moving truck stuck in our driveway made it difficult to practice my brand of denial. Surprisingly, not impossible.

I was still under the impression that this move could not happen. The moving truck trying to climb over a snow bank at the end of the driveway kind of gave me hope that fate was on my side.

The problem with moving when you're practicing Extreme Denial is you don't actually pack anything when you're preparing for a pretend move. You tend to think you'll "pretend pack" when the "pretend move" is closer.

As a result of this denial, we packed our family in the jankiest way possible. We came up with a jingle...."Janky Moving....DOT COM!" it was that janky.

I actually moved a jacket.

No, not a set of jackets. I moved a jacket. A single coat.

In one set of trips I moved a pair of scissors, a globe from Max's room and a sweater. Then I felt bad about moving so few things in a trip so I also brought a spoon.

So we're here. And it's not like a plague of locusts fell from the sky.

So that's good.

For some reason....

There are boxes all over the house and the mattress is against the wall...

And there's a truck outside and three big men are taking things out of our house?

I want to tell them to stop...but they're quite large.

I guess I can live here without furniture.

Mighty Haus: Tea Drinker's Guide

I think we should all become tea drinkers.

On the other hand...

There are a few things that are very good about this move and I should probably focus a little more on them as I spend the next three days frantically shoving all our crap into boxes.

If you're in the Royal Oak area I really recommend stalking the Salvation Army Thrift Store on Fourth Street for the next week or two. Because, little known fact! January doesn't really work for garage sales. So I'm just giving a lot of really nice stuff away.

I guess that's a good place to start the list.

*I find it incredibly freeing to get rid of all the stupid things we collect over time. "Stuff" makes me feel claustrophobic and anxious and this is why I can't help but throw away Logan's three year old Runner's World magazines and the kid's broken Happy Meal toys. Although I throw those away because I don't like to admit they eat McDonald's that much. Anyhow, moving is the perfect time to declutter one's life.

*All the money we're going to save is putting me in a really good place emotionally. I don't like worrying about money. I believe money should just be around when you need it so I can worry about more important things like how much McDonald's the kids eat.

(Funny story: McDonald's manager comes over to our table and says, "Hey! I can't believe how old your kids are! I remember when that little guy was sitting in a high chair." Look, I WAS BORED A LOT WHEN WE WERE HOME ALONE EVERY DAY. Don't judge!)

*There's a Thai place around the block.

*The bra store is two blocks away. (I know I'm reaching there...but still. If I ever have an impulse to have a bra fitting...it's right there.

*The church a couple blocks away has lovely bells.

*I like unpacking and figuring out where everything goes.

*I love, more than is healthy, organizing stuff and making things work the best possible way. A small space is ideal for this particular compulsion of mine.

*There's Ice Cream a block away.

*In the summer we can walk to the art fair.

*The banister is really pretty, I'd like to make a baby with it.

*We'll start our own Neighborhood Happy Hour and hopefully there are people we'd like to have cocktails with.

I still don't want to go, of course. And I secretly hoped that after Obama became president this morning he would make all of this better. I mean, he's the president who's against personal responsibility, right? Or is that just a Fox News thing?

Apparently I still have to do everything. Damn.

"I told myself I wasn't going to do this...."

It's kind of funny how uncomfortable being really bummed out about something makes people.

Especially the eternally optimistic people.

I've tried to keep a brave face on during this move. I've tried to remember that there are starving children in Africa. And daily air strikes in the Gaza Strip.

Moving across town to a smaller house in a neighborhood that is not this neighborhood where we like everyone (except that one house) and fit in better than we ever have....it's just not the end of the world.

The end of the world is....well a meteor crashing into the earth. Or a SOCIALIST becoming president. Or having spaghetti with SAUCE on it if you ask Maddie.

The thing that's making it hard for me to wallow in this right now is the fact that I know this isn't all that terrible. I know that in 5 years I'll look back at this move and everything we're giving up and I'll have perspective on it. I'm at least mature enough to know that.

But I'm starting to accept that I don't do this stuff without totally losing my mind. I have to cry and rend my garments and perhaps get the vapors. I am NOT GOOD AT THIS SHIT.

I do not want to leave this neighborhood.

I know we have to for a variety of reasons I'm not going to share with the internet. But I know it's the right decision to make.

And I hate every stupid minute of this.

Last week when I said I was crying about it when I thought about moving? I had no idea that the tears were going to get worse. Now, 5 days before our target move out date, I am sobbing (But only after 10pm when the kids can't hear) in that really ugly way. The crying that would show up on YouTube tagged, "Ugly Crying".

Here's the thing. I don't know anyone who's ever been talked out of being really bummed out about something by being told, "Hey! It's not that bad!" or "Hey! It could be worse...you could be dead!"

Sometimes it just takes time. Sometimes there's nothing you can say that will make it better.

Sometimes it's just really pretty unpleasant. It's not the end of the world. No one's dying (and even if they were, it could always be worse).

I don't want to leave this neighborhood. When I talked about moving here, people asked me if I was being a little silly about how great I thought it would be here. "Maybe you'll be disappointed." "Maybe you'll just never be happy."

I have never once been disappointed with this neighborhood. It has been every stereotypical wet dream of the suburban dweller. It's been the kind of neighborhood friends from big cities come to and said, "Man, we need to live in the suburbs."

I could live in a shack (with a thoughtfully laid out floor plan) on this block of land and be just as happy.

Unfortunately, I can't level this house and be rid of the landlord who owns this particular property he seems hell-bent on driving in to the ground.

So we need to move. I know this is the right thing to do and we're lucky we can do this.

But if you like "inspiring" tales of "doing what's right!" Or "rising above challenges"...I'm going to suggest you close this window right now and don't come back for at least three months because I'm about to become insufferable.

Seriously.

Back when Max wore pants that fit.

Max refuses to wear pants that fit. He claims ALL the pants I bought him for winter, make his legs look fat.

So instead he's wearing the same pants he wore when I took these videos years and years ago.

And here's another one...you can't see his pants, but trust me he's probably wearing those too.

PS: I want to eat that little guy.

Sight Reading

Last week we had an emergency girls night in because I am not handling my life very well right now. So we got together and talked and planned a trip to Florida in May so that I would have something to look forward to other than leaving The Best Block In All The World.

Aside from the amazing tale I had to tell about an old "girlfriend" of Logan's from 8th grade sending us one of the Cray-Ziest emails we've ever gotten in our lives (I used to write for an AOL blog...I know crazy emails), other people had good stories to share that night.

For example, a friend told us the story of her husband taking their 3 year old kid out to run errands. He decided to grab some lunch for them and pulled into Arby's. The kid, not being able to read, yelled out "Yay! Arby's!"

The dad was surprised because the kid couldn't read yet so he said, "Hey, how did you know this was Arby's?"

The kid said, "Because of the the giant penis on the sign ."

And now I can't watch an Arby's commercial without seeing a bunch of people walking around with floating penises over their heads.

Moving....is a lot different in 2009 than it was in 2007.

Well, okay, this is fun!

There's the knot in my stomach. There's the normal feeling of dread that usually comes with moving. The whole process of moving last time was a walk in a tickle-y field of daisies after the hellish process of trying to fix a house to break even on its sale. This time I know this is the right move but I'm not a fan of intermediate steps on the way to an ultimate goal.

This time I like where I live, I just don't like things like water in the basement and dealing with a man who thinks one should shovel their foundation to keep water out of the basement and dry their tiles after showering to keep them from falling off the walls. Oh, I also don't like paying over market value just because someone put a lot of work into repairing their neglected and damaged home and then the economic bottom fell out of Detroit putting him upside down in his mortgage.

I am also not a fan of sacrifice in the name of a larger goal because I'm not very good at it. I don't really know why that is. Why I'm so terrible at sacrificing what I want right now for what I want down the road. I suspect it's because I'm one of those middle class, spoiled and entitled Americans. I also suspect it's partly because I grew up sacrificing quite a few things.

Not doing what I want and rather what I should be doing, kind of makes me feel like I'm not in control and, if we want to get all Psycho-Analytical, I feel a lot like the five-year-old Melissa.

But we are, in control. We are driving our own ship here and MY GOD Melissa, we're moving across town, and it's going to be fun to settle into a new place. The house is lovely, it's smaller but we don't need more than what it is, it could certainly be worse. In a lot of ways the house itself fits us better than where we live now.

I'm trying to not lose my mind over this whole moving thing because I've learned, over the last 35 years of my life that freaking out doesn't really change anything. It just makes the process a lot less tolerable.

Oh, hey! I'm trying, at 35, to learn the thing my kids are learning over the first 7 to 10 years of their lives. I'm in the remedial class.

So I'm not going to totally lose my shit over this move. I'm not. No. I mean it. I'm not going to freak out about this. For the most part. Maybe just a little.

However, I may be engaging in a tiny bit of denial. It's the denial that keeps me from opening my Typepad window because I know what I'm typing right now is bound to happen....and then probably tears will start happening. And ooph, here they are!

Just like tonight as we packed our first boxes in the basement. My office area took 20 minutes and about a pint, maybe 21 ounces, of tears. Logan's took about 55 minutes and zero ounces of tears. I think he distracted himself with all the tiki mugs he was packing up. Also maybe the grating sound of my constant reminders about how much stuff he collects. I'm a harpy and a crybaby, no wonder he loves me.

Over the last week my neighbors, my wonderful...amazing....sob-inducing-to-leave, neighbors started bringing boxes over to the house to help us out. When they do this I have to fight a few urges. One urge is to wrap myself around their heads and beg them not to let me do this.

The other urge is to pretend I don't have the faintest idea why they're bringing me boxes because I'm not moving.

"Oh these must be for Logan and the kids because I'm just going to stay here. With Gary, the cat. No one will try to remove Gary. I'll have Logan and the kids send a thank you note to you though!"

A little magical potpourri.

So I've gone from suggesting Logan go to hell for disposing of my soda to gritting my teeth and trying not to send angry emails to the landlord. I can't wait until we're gone from this house and then, have spent six months in court fighting to get our security deposit back and then, finally, I'll get to regale the Internet with the Tale of the Landlord.

**********

Have you all heard of Let Me Google That For You? I was telling a friend about it and how it frustrates me when Logan will ask me a question, and I Google it for him (because his computer doesn't get Google, I assume) or when the Internet is looking for a certain post, like, say, the one about Blow Job and Steak Day (everyone forgets when it is!). I find it by typing Blow Job And Steak Day Suburbanbliss and voila!

Last night I was helping Maddie with her homework while chatting with a friend via IM. We were wondering what the word for words that sound the same, but aren't, was. Even though I was sitting there on my computer I did the annoying thing and asked "Hey, what's the name for words that sound the same but aren't?"

She sent this link back in reply.

Nice. It reminded of me of the time in college I was going on and on to a friend how much I hate when people don't use proper grammar....and she paused and said, "I have to tell you something and I don't want you to freak out. You spell grammar wrong, it's not grammer." I'd been spelling it that way, for my entire life. (And no, Internet, let's not chat about all the other grammar and spelling mistakes I make on this website. That would be about 20 times over the dumping of the soda, and I am a little on the edge right now. I have the eye twitch to prove it.)

February is going to be a lot more pleasant for the Summers.

********

I have a few pictures from our New Year's Eve party. You know, the one where we let 20 kids loose in our house and see who loses an eye? No one lost an eyeball, though we had one close call. Also the cats tried to kill one small guest with their fur and her eyes. Oops! Allergies.

I only have a few pictures from the night because well I was having fun....so I didn't take a lot of pictures.

Here are Maddie and Erin. Maddie and Erin became friends in preschool when Maddie was nearly 3 and Erin was 3. Next year they will go to the same middle school and are very excited to be reunited after five years at separate elementary schools. My friend Chrissy and I are convinced that together they're going to keep playing with Littlest Pet Shop stuff and never express and interest in boys or drugs. Fingers Crossed!

A couple years ago I read about letting kids stomp on bubble wrap to ring in the new year. As exciting as confetti only less aggravating. (Kids + Juice + Adults Drinking + Confetti = Massive Mess). After a few years I've finally figured out you don't want the little bubbles, you want the big ones. This would also work for any party, at a little kids bubble themed party perhaps.

To keep the kids from freaking out and popping the bubble wrap before midnight, we blocked the entry ways with chairs. So they all spent the last 15-20 minutes of 2008 staring longingly at bubble wrap.

Later, we decided to play Guitar Hero. This is Tom, my friend Leslie's husband. Tom is Logan's Co-Den Mother of the cub scouts.

I used to be able to beat Tom at Guitar Hero. This made me feel good because he generally decimates me in political debates. But then I taught him the trick about getting the highest scores and now, he kills me. Especially after a few libations. Ahem. Here I am regretting my decision to tell him my secret.

Here's the aftermath of the party. I think it explains a lot about how Fraternity Parties end up so messy. They invite 20 kids under ten and they destroy the house.

The kitchen I'd like to blame on the kids too, but no, that wouldn't be fair.

I blame that on the cats.

But seriously, why did he throw out the soda?

I got an email from a friend yesterday. She mentioned how positive I'm being about this move, how she'd be pouting and unhappy. Last night I mulled around that option, pouting, because if you've read this website for a few years you know I am the kind of person who likes a good pouting session. I've even been known to wallow, for weeks at a time.

I don't know, pouting just isn't working for me.

Another thing that hasn't worked is having inane arguments with Logan.

The other night, after we'd pretty much decided we were going to sign a lease on the new place, we sat down with the kids to watch a movie all cuddled up on the sofa and let everything kind of sink in. At the end of the movie, something scared the cat off our collective laps and sent her leaping over the table.

And I don't know, but Logan and I swear she paused mid-air and threw Logan's glass of bourbon all over the rug. Then she flipped us off and ran away leaving our rug reeking like bourbon.

We started cleaning up the mess, full of resentment and unspoken stress.

While cleaning up I noticed Logan had emptied the soda I bought earlier. And for some reason, the tossing of that soda, the soda I was looking forward to drinking the next morning, the soda I hadn't even opened yet, unleashed an inexplicable reaction.

My reaction triggered Logan's reaction and our irritation and stress totally exploded over that stupid poured out soda bottle.

The conversation went like this.

"Hey, why is this soda bottle in the sink? What happened? Did it explode?"

"No."

"What happened to it?"

"MY GOD! Why are you grilling me!?"

"I'm just wondering what happened to it. I was looking forward to drinking it and now it's gone and I'm just wondering why?"

"STOP YELLING AT ME!!!"

"I'M NOT YELLING, WHY ARE YOU YELLING AT ME!? Where are you going? Don't walk away, I just want to know what happened to the soda!?"

"I poured it out."

"WHAT! Why would you do that?"

"Why are you making such a big deal about this?"

"You threw out a perfectly good soda, I'm just trying to understand why. Forget it, I'm going to bed. No, I don't want to talk about it."

(I may or may not have mumbled, "Stupid Jerk" under my breath. I may have also suggested going to hell as an option.....urrr.)

So yeah, maybe I'm not handling the stress all that well.

But at least I'm not pouting. I mean, having livid arguments about nothing but not pouting. So much better.