Suburban Bliss:: Birth Control Via The Written Word

I love the 80's.

This is what I did this weekend. My friends went to prom and I tagged along.

It was my friend's 35th birthday celebration and in spite of myself, and my week long round of whining about having to find something to wear which would remind me of probably the most painful and miserable decade of my life, I had a really good time.

I didn't look like this in the 80's though. In fact, I never actually went to prom. I looked more like this.

I hated it even then, note how I'm flipping off the camera. Still, if I thought I hated the 80's, check out my sister's look. Holy Shit.

In other news Pam from Union Station contacted me and I put her in touch with the people I needed to. Thank you for your emails!

Best Gift Packaging Ever.

My brother and sister in law sent Max a gift in the mail and I thought I'd share it with you because it was such a cool idea and made such an impression on my kids. It was perfect.

It arrived in a mailing tube and when he opened it he saw it was absolutely full of candy. It was full of so much candy we had to keep grabbing bowls to fill with it. In the end we had four bowls full of candy and as we filled each one Max kept laughing hysterically.

It was probably the most candy he's ever seen in one place before.

Also inside the mailing tube were a few Hot Wheels cars and a gift card to Target. My kids love getting gift cards for their birthdays because they enjoy helping to fortify the economy. Also, they like collecting stuff. Lots of things with lots of pieces and they're always looking for a very specific piece of this stuff usually right around bedtime.

Honestly though I could have pocketed the gift card for myself and he'd still be just as thrilled with ALL THE CANDY IN THE WORLD.

Random, on a Wednesday no less.

And I'd still close my f-ing eyes.

Hire your own papparazzo to take your picture. "....the subject is photographed completely naturally, living life as normal." A very intriguing idea. I often let my face slip into an inexplicable scowl when I'm walking around. I'm not unhappy, it's like my default face which is a huge bummer. I started to notice this because store clerks and waiters would ask me if something was wrong. Friendly!

(Via BB-Blog)

Today My Money Didn't Want To Stay In My Pockets

It costs a lot of money (and humiliation) to get your car fixed after you ram it into the side of your garage. I've had to tell 10 people in the last two days that, No, I'm fine from "the accident" I was going 2 miles an hour. In my driveway. Insurance adjuster: "Wow, and you just kept going."

No sir, I'm no quitter!

We also went to the orthodontist for a second opinion. We did this because the first orthodontist was about 97 years old and wanted to make a wooden model of Maddie's teeth. We thought perhaps orthodontia had progressed in the last 50 years this (very nice) older gentleman has been practicing. We were correct and were very happy with the second opinion. Six weeks ago this would have seemed like an astronomical amount to spend on my kid's mouth, but suddenly it seems so cheap. Maddie's just happy this doctor doesn't use head gear.

The Can't Fail New Year's Resolution:

I left the cleaning ladies a note today which said they didn't have to try too hard to get the baked on remnants of a little home brewing accident off the stovetop. Also? YOU COMPLETE ME. Please don't ever leave.

It's such a luxurious thing having someone come to your house every other week to clean your house. I told Logan I would rather eat pasta and black beans three nights a week than give them up. I love them. Making this situation one of my New Year's Resolutions was pretty smart, ingenious really. Next year I'm going to promise to eat Fritos every night of the week and to buy fresh flowers once a week.

Already Twittered, But Here You Go

I don't remember where I first saw this print by Mati Rose McDonough but it struck me as something I wanted to buy. I realized right after I ordered it that this is exactly what my last round of therapy was all about.

Me: "Blah Blah Blah"
Him: "There is nothing wrong with you."
Me: "But, I didn't tell you this. Blah Blah Blah."
Him: "There is nothing wrong with you."
Continue for six months, drop $1500. And still, in spite of yourself, often feel there actually is something wrong with you.

For $25 I'm just going to hang this in our downstairs bath so I can get a friendly reminder that there really is nothing wrong with me. And when we have guests, they'll be washing their hands and see it too.

Hopefully they'll think about themselves for minute with a little more gentleness, "It's true."
Hopefully they will not think, "But Holy Crap there is something wrong with Melissa."

The Most Sober St Patrick's Day Of My Life

Last night we attended Max's cub scout Pinewood Derby.

The saddest part of the event was that Max had picked out wheels which were not legal. This meant his car was disqualified. I don't know who was sadder, Max because he couldn't race his buddies. Logan because he did all that work for nothing. Or Maddie and I who had to watch about 58 races through every single cub scout group (Tigers, Wolves, Bears, Webelos 1 AND 2...I think there was a platypus group in there too.)

Finally Max (and his buddy TJ....who also used illegal wheels) got a turn in the open race segment.

Fortunately TJ and Max happened to have the coolest cars in the pack.

We Are Every Midwestern Cliche, And It's Winter So I've Stopped Caring.

Logan joined a bowling league with people from work. And, like everything my robotic spouse does, he programmed himself for all out participation. He bought a ball, he got his name engraved on the ball. Got team shirts (with name embroidery) and even bought a retro bowling ball bag. He is into it, just like he's into everything. He's like the marathon runner of bowling.

I like bowling as a hobby far more than I like marathon running as a hobby since it requires about 1/1000th of the money and half the time. I would say 1/100th of the time, but bowling goes for, literally, 43 weeks a year and Logan isn't happy being just an 'average' bowler, he likes to practice.

A weekend ago, we all went bowling as a "Family Activity"! Which would have worked when Maddie was 7 but now that she's 9? Bowling is LAME-O. Thankfully Logan's friend Adam from the team came with us for our "Family Activity"....you know because this wasn't about Logan practicing his bowling...it was about "Family Activity". Cough. Cough.

Adam came along and brought his iPhone so Maddie browsed the internet instead of bowling like the rest of us LAME-Os. I don't think I'm going to make it through her teenage years if bowling is already this unbearably lame at nine. We'll have to try something more exciting, like traveling the country to see 30 consecutive Hannah Montana shows. Or something even more fun, like freebasing. As a family.

Anyway I bring up the training session because Logan's still working at getting used to his new ball and sometimes it sticks to his thumb as he attempts to throw it down the lane. A few weeks ago he threw the ball and instead of throwing it down his own lane, it flew into the next lane. Which was pretty funny but I didn't get to see it with my own eyes.

Last weekend though he tried to take his turn but the ball didn't come off his thumb as per the usual procedure when bowling. His entire body was thrown down the lane with the ball. I watched my husband flying through the air being led by a bowling ball and he looked exactly what I think he'd look like if he was a giant rag doll. Or maybe a dog's chew toy.

Even if he broke his arm in that stunt, I still think I'd be typing this while furtively laughing every other minute thinking of my husband flying down a lane at the bowling alley with a bowling ball attached to his thumb. Thankfully he was not hurt so I can laugh openly.

In other bowling related news, a week ago I went along to watch the bowling team, The Split Hogs, if you must know. I took some pictures, most of them didn't come out very well but a couple did.

Like, say, this shot which is an illustration of a bowler being violated by a bowling pin. This is a regular  occurrence, much like the Superbad drawings (link NSFW, unless you work some where they don't care if you view drawings of Mr T as a penis on company time). Again, reminding me my husband fits right in with 13 year olds.

You get this drawing when you aren't doing well and I think it's reason I only bowl with bumpers. I don't want the pins doing that to me.

Fifteen & Twelve.

A couple of weeks ago we hosted a neighborhood happy hour. Let me just type that again because it feels so good.

A couple of weeks ago we hosted a neighborhood happy hour. Also I made this appetizer. They're tiny BLT's made in hollowed out cherry tomatoes with a little chipotle mayo on top (I used just ONE chili this time). Then a few days later we invited another couple over to hang out and I made these brussels sprout and bacon appetizers I'd made before.

You know how some people like to light candles to scent their house like a gingerbread cookie? Or they use a room deodorizing spray so their house can smell like an enormous vat of potpourri? When guests come to my house I prefer them to be punched in the face with the smell of bacon. So I made a decision, I will incorporate bacon into every event held in our house.

On Saturday we hosted a euchre tournament for 16 people Logan works with. We had four tables and every one had to play one round with each person. This meant we played, I think, 823 rounds of euchre. It was 2 o'clock in the morning (technically...because of daylight savings time) when I was finally able to get away.

When you host a euchre tournament you have every one bring an entry fee, ours was $7, this money goes into the pot and who ever gets the highest score goes home with some money, $112 in our case. Also every time you get "euchred" (for those of you from....not here, this basically means you did it wrong and you fucked up) you put another amount into a separate pot, our fee for getting euchred was $1.

By round 12 I had put about $600 into the euchre pot and I would have put more in if it meant I could make it stop. But it didn't stop, it went on and on and on. I didn't win any money, not even the euchred pot which was the product of my severe ineptitude at this never ending game.

But then, this story is all about how some things are good in small doses and very bad in larger ones.

In following with my new plan to make everyone smell like bacon after a night at my house, I decided to try these bacon wrapped cracker appetizers from Pioneer Woman Cooks. The house smelled as though I'd washed the floors in bacon grease, and the appetizers were exceedingly simple to make. Perfect.

I left them out on the counter and while I was emptying Maddie's savings account into the euchred pot, most of these really-terrible-for-you treats were devoured. I got my hands on one (before being called back over to empty our Roth IRA into the pot) and, I can't blame everyone for eating them all in about 4.2 seconds. They were amazing. I like to think that food doesn't have to be totally fat laden to be good. I'll tell myself, 'I don't even know it's not there.' But when I ate those crackers I realized what it is fat does. Fat makes things taste like heaven. So, no I don't blame everyone for eating all of the crackers that night, I can really only blame myself for not making a double batch.

Last night I made another batch and I didn't eat dinner because I knew these were really bad for me so I'd save my appetite for them. I sat down to eat my little snack and suddenly there were no more left and my stomach kind of hurt.  All day today I can't think about those bacon crackers without fighting back the urge to gag.

If you were wondering exactly how many rounds of euchre are too many, the answer is 15.
If you wondered what the precise amount of bacon which comprises "Too Many" is, the answer is 12.

You're welcome.

"Don't you people use the Internet?"

Logan took one for the team with me away for twelve days. He kept very busy, busy doing things like discovering pooled water in the basement by stepping in it in bare feet. (I'm glad we rent.) He didn't tell me about it until I was coming home because he knows how I get The Insane when things go wrong and I'm away. He also knows how I get The Insane when things go wrong and I'm here.

He also only let Max call me sobbing once at bedtime the night before I returned because he knew the sound of him crying would break my head into two very wet pieces.

He didn't tell me how he had one of those Sunday night episodes where you sit down and realize your career is all about selling shit to people they don't need. And you're not sure you want to be doing that.

I'm glad he waited to tell me all that because if he hadn't I might have been forced to take Heather up on her repeated strong requests to cuddle me.

Here are pictures of my friends Maggie, Alice, Heather, SarahBrown and Mrs Kennedy. Some are from Maggie and I's big adventure in Portland. Some are from our big night out back in San Francisco where everyone (except me) sang karaoke with a live band.

At the end of Heather's song the guitarist said to the crowd, who didn't seem to realize they were watching Dooce perform, "Don't you people use the Internet?"

I like to think karaoke is a leveler among people. Everyone is a superstar at karaoke.

Except me because I didn't do it.

News from home.

This morning I'm talking to Logan, he gives me updates on the babies.

When we put Max to bed each night he likes me to tuck him in and then, as I leave the room, he calls after me, "Send Dad in!" When Logan comes up to say good night Max calls after him as he leaves, "Send Mom in!" This could go on for quite some time, except usually he falls asleep before anyone has to make a second visit.

Last night Logan tucked Max into bed and turned to leave. Max called after him, "Send yourself in!"

I miss my babies.

Portland, Stay Sweet.

Maggie and I are in Portland.

She is much better at relaying our conversations so I suggest you read there. She is also better at taking pictures so you should look at those here.

There are a few things I can't believe about Portland.

1) Everyone here is incredibly attractive, especially at our hotel. Everyone's so attractive I keep waiting for someone to ask me to leave.

2) Everyone is so nice. So nice. On our first night here we were struggling a little with our map. We wanted to ask a girl passing by to point us in the right direction. She was on the phone so we didn't bother her. She turned around and came back to ask us if we needed help. People here like to talk. We've talked to hotel clerks and waiters and store owners (hello, Canoe) and usually? I don't really talk to anyone.

I pretty much love it here. So I'm not coming home, home is going to have to come here.

The only thing not to like is that it's not paid off.

A couple months ago some nice people from Chrysler's web agency asked me if I'd like to drive a new Town & Country mini van for three months. They also asked if they could pretty please give me gas money and if I would pretty please take my family on a couple road trips.

I said yes and celebrated by ramming my van into the side of the garage.

When they first (as an aside Logan used to work for Chrysler's print agency) contacted me I said no because I knew I'd like it. I knew I'd love it. It's like asking me if I want to fly first class for half the trip and then head back to coach just before the meal is served. It's more painful to know what you're missing.

I drive an older model minivan we paid off last year. I don't really care about cars, which is against the law in Detroit, I also drive only about 20 miles a week generally within a five mile radius. In a circle really, maybe you've seen me.

When they added the free gas, I thought to myself, "Oh what the hell! Sure sign me up and then I'll ram my car into the garage and cost my family thousands of dollars in car repairs!"

Woooo! I wonder if the body shop will accept gas cards as payment.

When they dropped the car off in December I climbed in and felt a giant pit in my stomach. The pit said, "March is going to suck for you."

I proceeded to sit in the car saying as a mantra, "I love everything about this car, except it's not paid for."

Because that's pretty much the only thing there isn't to love about the car in contrast to the minivan sitting scraped up and bent in my garage. Well that and the fact that the Town and Country hasn't been rammed into the side of my garage.

Yet.

Just kidding Chrysler!

Things I specifically love about the car (which aren't exactly specific to this car):

The Remote Starter is probably my favorite invention ever and when they pry the van from my cold dead hands, I will go out and get one installed on my van (you know once I pay to have the thousands of dollars in damage repaired.) Since I drive for about two minutes, two or three times a day, the car never gets warm. Not seeing the sun for 5 months a year is enough suffering for me, I don't need to be freezing my ass off every time I leave the house.

The automatic rear hatch is incredibly convenient, though nothing new to the minivan crowd.

The Stow and Go thing (the rear seats fold into the floor of the van) is also so nice. I rarely use it since I'm not typically hauling large pieces of furniture around for my two minute drives, but if I wanted to I could and I wouldn't have to spend 20 minutes sweating, swearing and hauling the chairs out of my van to make similar space.

We've never had a sunroof in our cars, except the 1973 BMW 2002 we owned right before we got married. It was a super cute car, it made you happy to look at it. The sun roof was so large and the glass around the sides of the car stretched so far, it felt almost like a convertible. The cutest part about that car was how Logan brought it home and then mentioned the fact that it had no brakes. While I drove it down the street. SUPER CUTE! The sun roof is really nice to have, sometimes it feels almost like there's sun because there's so much more light in the car than we're used to.

Things which are nice about the new design:

I like boxier cars, see the 2002 and 1985 Jetta as examples of cars I have loved before. So the boxier shape of the new Caravan is pleasant to me.

The swiveling seats are a novelty for the kids. Driving home from school the carpool kids are filled with anticipation waiting to see which way the seats will be facing. You can tell we're in Detroit because one of the little girls said when we first got the van, "I hope Santa Claus brings my family this van!" One of these days I'll put the table in place and really blow their little minds.

The table is an interesting feature, the kids liked it well enough on our trip to Chicago but for our general travel, it's more trouble than it's worth. I know a lot of families who are super busy with kid's activities so their kids eat in the car and do homework there as well. The table would be really convenient for that. In my family we are not that busy, which means my kids will never get into a good school and will be homeless because they aren't in five extra curricular activities in elementary school.

I'm okay with that as long as it means we don't have to eat dinner in our car 2-4 times a week.

My kids love the television in the car, but we only use it on trips which are longer than 45 minutes. I love television for kids and its incredible brain sucking power. But we get enough of that at home, we don't need it in the car for our quick circle trips around town. If we drove further or had kids in a bunch of different activities after school we'd probably use the televisions more.

This model comes with Sirius satellite radio, I'm not much of a fan of radio in the car, I mostly just try not to fall asleep when I drive. (Just Kidding Chrysler!) But through Sirius we've been introduced to Radio Disney and Madison has developed a deep and binding love of Hannah Montana. I blame her peers and her preadolescent need to fit in. This is the same reason I listen to Radiohead, truth be told, so I can't blame her. At least until the 60th time I've heard that one song while driving 1.4 miles and then I have it stuck in my head. Kids like repetition, I learned that from the Teletubbies years ago but this is a new level of hell.

My few complaints:

The navigation system makes me feel like my mother trying to maneuver Call Waiting. Why can't it be a little more like Google maps? I'm reasonably intuitive about these types of things but this system has left me screaming more than once and made me late for an appointment when it refused to find the address I needed. It turned out my destination was in a different neighboring city than the one I specified. It might have been nice if Marge, our navigator, had just said "I can't find that address in this city. Did you mean [neighboring city]....?"  Instead she tried to fake it endlessly looking for the address while I called Logan and had him look up the address for me. Frustrating, but probably not specific to the van.

I do like to make it tell me how to get home. Especially when I'm just three blocks away picking the kids up from school. It kind of feels like the car is celebrating where we live with us. Like, "Wooo! I'll guide you home! And it won't be to that hell hole you used to live in. Look at where you live! Awesome! Put me in the garage and YOU ARE HOME!"

The part of the rear consoles which holds the televisions and the heat controls rattles and it makes me crawl out of my skin. For $45,000 a car shouldn't rattle. Logan assures me this is probably a car-specific issue which could easily be fixed but I don't want to give up the van long enough to do that since I only have three months with it.

It's a really nice car, but it's still a minivan. Once you're driving a minivan a little part of you has to die with it. For the first few days I had this van I drove around with that excited new car feeling, maybe even feeling a little sexy in this expensive car. And then I realized, "Wait, I'm still driving around in a minivan."

I'm still not cool, I'm a mom, in a minivan, in suburban Michigan.

But now I'm a mom, in a minivan, in the suburbs with a warm butt (four heated seats) and a really nice car. Maybe that's as good as it gets.

Different stress, better stress.

It's kind of funny how you'll have a big party and feel like that's Christmas and so you throw all your organizational skills at it and then, blam-o, it's the week before Christmas and you're scrambling to put together something reasonably magical for your kids.

It's especially great to do that during a week when the school needs lots of help and you bash your car into the garage.

TIP: If you hit the side of your car on the garage door opening, don't think to yourself, "Well, I already hit it, I'll just finish it up real fast."

Because then you won't just scratch your paint to hell, you'll also pull the bumper up making the passenger door inoperable. You will also waste the rest of your week saying things like, "What are you? A Moron?"

And you're talking to yourself.

The funniest part though is the part where you save 75% of your Christmas preparations for the last day of school before break and then your daughter wakes up throwing up all over the house.

Oh life, you're tickling my funny bone today.

I did get somethings done this week, like making candy balls with the kids on their (lame!) snow day Monday and I put together 12 boxes of homemade peppermint bark. The peppermint bark was very simple, so simple I could do it while berating myself for driving the car into the garage.

I was wondering if I was this stressed out last year and I suppose I was, but it was covered up by other stressors. Like the Long Haired Swinger* on the playground at Max's school.

Suddenly I'm glad I'm stressed about Christmas.

*I saw Freaky Long Haired Swinger making a woman uncomfortable at the bottle return of my local market.  Predator.

A Trip With No Running!

We've been toying with the idea of taking a family trip the day after Christmas coming back in time to take down the Christmas tree and get ready for our New Year's Eve party. Because there just haven't been enough parties this year we need another! This one will not require seating for 20 and 14 pounds of beef so that's a relief.

Last night we finally decided we'd take a trip to Chicago, something we've been meaning to do with the kids for the last two years but since Logan didn't want to run the Chicago marathon we never did it. (Oops! I almost forgot I'm done being bitter.)

I shouldn't really write about it because it's part of the kid's Christmas surprise. But I'm pretty sure Madison finds this website really boring and dumb and never reads it so I'm mostly sure we're safe. I could also block this site from her account but if I did that I'd have to block all the porn too and how else is she going to learn about S-E-X?

I'm starting to poke around looking for lodging and other information and because I know you're all full of good advice I want ideas, opinions and places to look into.

Even though this is our family gift, we're still going cheap. Mostly because that's who we are, cheap people. Ideally we wouldn't spend more than $400 on lodging (for three nights). I'm not sure how big a deal our location is, we'd love taking the El and the subway with the kids because they'd love it and Maddie could use the experience to have under her belt. We usually prefer staying out of downtown because everything we like to do (shop, eat and drink) is in the neighborhoods. But, with kids we'll be doing less shopping, eating and drinking so I'm not sure that's a concern.

In my fantasy we would stay at a place with a separate room for the kids so we don't have to go to bed at the same time as them every night. Something like this would be great except it's way too big and too expensive for this cheap family. Also I might never come home if I stayed there.

We'll be doing a lot of touristy things like the aquarium, the Field and Science & Industry museums. We'll probably have to visit Michigan Avenue. Other than that we're open.

All suggestions are more than welcome.

Time to have the good touch/bad touch conversation.

I went away this weekend with two of my dearest friends and a newish really dear friend from the new school. The idea was to get some Christmas shopping and sleeping done. We exceeded our goals by not just Christmas shopping and sleeping (9+ hours), we went the distance buying ourselves some lovely garments and having various spa treatments performed.

It feels surprisingly good to say at this time of year, when a sales clerk asks if you need a gift receipt, "No, it's for me."

At dinner after our spa treaments, I compared notes with the ladies.

Me: "Did your [also female] masseuse touch your butt?"

Her: "No."

Me: ....

Me: ....

Me: "Wait, was I just molested?"

Or maybe he's singing, "They think it's candy but it's SNOT!!!"

I just used this image in the school's newsletter.
I laughed about it for 20 minutes.

I'm honestly still chuckling, which is why I'm posting it to this website.

I picture it singing show tunes or something.

I'm also picturing me maybe giving this newsletter a little more, uh, style.

Internet Meets Real Life.

Last week in an act so spontaneous I still can't believe I did it, Maggie changed her ticket home at the last minute and we went shopping. I found lots of good things in thrift stores and antique malls in the middle of Michigan, you can see them here.

Last night Logan said, "I figured out what I love about Maggie. I love that she's not afraid to be enthusiastic."

Which is not surprising since he is one of those same kinds of people, someone who is not afraid to be enthusiastic. When Holly from Nothing But Bonfires came to visit on Saturday afternoon and mentioned she'd missed out on eating Jello Salad on her visit to the middle-ish part of the country, Mr Enthusiasm went out and got her a premade, somewhat authentic jello salad at the store.

And she actually ate it.

This weekend I'm planning on making an advent calendar with the kids, so I used The Buzz Off to research the project. We are also having a quiet dinner at home just the four of us on Thanksgiving but I still have five quick tips to share at Ordering Disorder. I really believe entertaining should be easier so people do it more often.

There is nothing better than this house full of people...full of enthusiastic people eating jello salad.

Your Peanut Butter's In My Chocolate, Your Chocolate's In My Peanut Butter.

Neighbor's leaves, our leaves. Mingling.

The other night at book club.

Her: "Raúl is the man I made up when I became a stay at home mom. Like my husband would come home and say, 'What did you do today?' and I'd say 'Raúl'. Then one Christmas my husband started giving me a gift from Raúl."

Me: "Oooh, I like this idea. We should all start buying ourselves what we want for whatever holiday and tag it from Raúl."

Other Her: "Like Ghosting, we'll all start dropping packages off at each other's house labeled 'Love Always, Raúl'."

Another Her: "Yes, then you'll have to put a picture of some hot Latin American in your window to let everyone know you've been Raúl-ed."

Me: "I love it here."

Understanding Empty Nest Syndrome For The First Time.

I never quite knew what people felt when their kids went off to school and onto work and the house was empty. I didn't quite get why they felt sad about this. Hey! You get your life back now that the kids are gone! Stop whining!

Only now that the Masons have left I totally get it.

No baby crawling around and talking to entertain us and to also make us all wonder if a third kid would have been more fun than we thought. No extra awesome guy around to make you remember you've married a great guy too. No great woman who inspires you to be more than you ever thought possible.

Most of all no reason to light a fire in the fireplace.

Also no more porn jokes.

I miss the Masons.

Note to myself.

Remember last year's Halloween? Here you go.

Best line:

I was relieved it went so well but also a little forlorn because well, I may have mentioned this before? But I, uh, really hate my neighborhood and am dying to move? And we have to unload the house before we can move? And we can't really afford the neighborhood I want?

Oh last year Melissa, I wish I could talk to you now. No, actually I wish the experience of being incredibly unhappy and working my ass off to get out of the situation making me unhappy would make me realize life always works out for the best.

I can not believe this year I hosted Halloween at my own house. In the neighborhood I thought I could never be in a year before.

If I could send a thank you note to myself, this is what it would look like.

Dear Last Year Melissa,
Hello?
You made what you wanted be reality.
You rule.

I love this life you made happen.
Thank you.

PS: Do you think you could do it all with less crying next time?

Happy Halloween.

The Verdict.

While out shopping we saw this chicken hat for the cats and knew they would love it so we brought it home. They look like they're loving it don't they? Which is surprising since usually cats don't like to wear shit on their heads.

Here is Logan all wrapped up as a mummy.

It was a nice costume except it started falling off of him before we even got to the party. There's not a lot more pathetic than a mummy with a droopy ass. Poor guy.

As for me. I didn't wear a costume, I just gave up my personal grooming for a few days.

Inspired by Jim's idea to wear an eye patch and when someone asks if you're a pirate you say, "No, what the fuck?" I laughed about that all day and was going to do it but then I saw the mustache and I forgot how much I love fake mustaches.

As we left Logan said I should have worn a sign which read, 'Mustache Rides 10 Cents'. Too much work. I walked in and my friends were annoyed with my non-costume costume. I still found it incredibly hilarious, holding regular conversations with people through a very thick mustache. When people asked what I was I said, "Oh God! We were supposed to dress up?" If they pushed it I then said, 'Wow, thanks. I missed one wax session all right? God!"

Later I put the mustache over my eyes and later on my chest where I pretended to have no idea what people were looking at. However, after reviewing the pictures people were not looking at the mustache on my chest, they were wondering how I walked out of the house wearing a shirt which showed my bra. I'm sure I've made an excellent impression on all the parents at the new school who were at the party.

Nice.

Next year I'll just be a mummy so at least I'm not showing my breasts to the PTA.

Freedom

Logan's computer is stunningly fast. This could have something to do with the fact that my computer is a few years old and currently has about 300 megabytes of space left on it, down from some reasonable amount of gigabytes when I first got it. My computer probably has a little indigestion and can't really get Photoshop started in a reasonable amount of time because he's bloated, all right? Leave him alone and maybe pull some of these pictures off your hard drive once in a while.

My computer has begun doing this really fun thing where, while I'm typing it just *BOOM* shuts off! On the bright side I've become quite adept at saving often, on the dark side I continue to lose data at least once a day.

Most of the time, if I ask nicely, the machine will turn back on immediately after this fun game of "Shut Down!" But with increasing frequency the stupid thing will turn off for hours on end and then, for no apparent reason, it will power back on.

This has been happening for a while now and you may be asking yourself, "Gee, why wouldn't you just take it in to get it fixed? And for God's sake lady, back up your photos!"

The only possible answer is I like this churning feeling in my gut as I ponder all the data I've lost.

My computer was kind enough to allow me to complete both my pieces at The Buzz Off and Ordering Disorder. At The Buzz Off I'm sharing a new (to me) Halloween tradition one can do in a neighborhood where you don't mostly wish a pox upon your neighbors with the boat as big as their house.

At Ordering Disorder I'm cooking from the new Jessica Seinfeld cookbook, Deceptively Delicious with mixed results.

Logan and I have not gone away, without kids, in three years. The last time we left them for the weekend was when Logan ran the Chicago marathon. This was big fun since he had to eat a lot of pasta, couldn't drink at all, had to attend a running expo, went to bed at 9pm both nights and then ran for an ungodly amount of time. Don't worry the night after the run we went out to dinner, or rather we hobbled out for dinner. When Logan saw our table was on the second floor of the restaurant, he threw his body down in the lobby and cried for his mommy. Big big fun!

Tonight after work Logan is running 20 miles as part of his current marathon training. He's doing this because he doesn't want to squeeze it in over the weekend. Because this weekend we will have exactly zero children with us because we're going to celebrate my brother's 40th birthday in Indianapolis.

There are a few things you don't do when you have a rare weekend away without the kids. You don't bite your tongue as you deal with your daughter's rampant anxiety. You don't cut up anyone else's food. You don't wake up at 7 am and you sure as hell don't run 20 miles.

I don't think I've ever been this excited to go to Indy.

Somehow this all relates.

From Maggie's Book. No one cares what you had for lunch.

#42 Make Your Timeline

Age under 1: I have febrile seizures and am raced to the hospital wrapped in frozen vegetables. It's Roseola.

Age 2: I go with my brother's Cub Scout den to Pembroke Park for a picnic. All the big boys are having fun going down the Big Slide. I decide to go down the Big Slide. When I get to the top I can't go down and all the Cub Scouts scream at me to GO DOWN in a way quite unbecoming for a future Boy Scout. My brother saves me by climbing up the slide and going down with me.

Age 3: The babysitter calls my mother telling her I'm "Melancholy". My mother doesn't know what that word is, thinks it means feverish and races home.

Age 4: I am attending Bo Jangles Preschool and am in love with a boy named Bo. His mother has crocheted his little rug we sit on in circle time with his name "BO" in the middle.

Age 5: On the first day of Kindergarten the class goes back inside after recess only I don't notice. I'm on the playground with another boy from my block. We walk four blocks home because I don't know what else to do.

Age 8: My mother crafts a pilgrim costume out of an old pair of sheets for a class play. No one else wears their costume for the dress rehearsal, I am mortified and then stuck in the outfit at the end of the day when I can't undo the knot in my apron. I appear to believe if I miss the bus, I will die on the spot. Fortunately, I did not die or miss the bus. Unfortunately, the teacher now realizes I am a giant ball of nerves.

Age 10: I design a patch for a state-wide Girl Scout camp event. The entire state's division votes on the best one from the 50 or so shown. Mine, with it's girl-centric rainbow and clouds theme, wins. I decide I'm an artist.

Age 15: A popular boy with a used car salesman name tells me during science class, "You would be really pretty if you wore make up." I am sort of flattered by this comment. My girlfriend tells me what an asshole-ish thing that was to say.

Age 23: I attend Richard Washington's 2D design class at Eastern Michigan University and pretty quickly realize I am not an artist but rather an astute observer of the things other people are doing. Mr. Washington confirms this nearly every day during class.

Age 30: I start a blog.

hmmmmm......

He craves the human touch.

Tonight we're sitting by the trampoline and the wood fence trying to lure the neighbor's kitten, Maggie, into our yard with a dandelion. She's surprisingly easy to lure. Just shake a common weed through the fence and she can't help herself. She's coming over.

Maddie is in charge of the luring, because she knows how best to do it. Never mind we're just shaking a weed at Maggie to make her come under the fence into our yard.

Max and I are sitting in the grass watching Maddie do it best and his hand goes to my back.

Not to get my attention, just because he's talking to me. I swat at a mosquito on my arm and he pulls away. A minute later he puts his hand back where it was. "Remember the other night when Dad showed me that flip he can do?" [On the trampoline.]

I look at him, waiting for the joke or the goofy voice. No, he just wants to share that flip, earnestly.

"Yeah, I remember. That was fun," I tell him.

"I love those flips."

Sometimes at dinner, when he's sitting next to Logan he puts his hand on his back while he eats his dinner. He keeps shoveling food into his mouth, but his hand rests on Logan's back. It's as if he doesn't notice he's touching the person sitting next to him.

It's like he feels grounded by physically touching the person next to him.

It heals me.

We'll be there.

The swearing thing is probably already blown.

The other day I attended a meeting at the New School which was a sort of orientation for volunteers. Volunteering is something I did not do a lot of at the Old School apart from standing in the hall motioning people toward the voting booths and the occasional open mouthed gaping in my son's out of control kindergarten room. My position was Parent Gaper.

I've made it a personal rule not to write very much about the new school because writing about school in general has gone REALLY AWESOMELY for me in the past. But I will say the new school has been a great experience entirely free of the freaky long haired swinger of the past. There may be swingers there but they don't corner you and make you fear for your life. If they're here they're quiet and maintain some grooming habits and that's all you can ask for.

I've been doing a little work for Maddie's teacher each Wednesday and the other day she asked me to make a double sided copy, "So we can save paper." She said, as if making a double sided copy is something so easy anyone can do it! Like you just hit a button and Bam! You've got yourself a double sided copy.

If we ever wondered where Maddie gets her divine sense of worry and doom it is once again confirmed it is my fault. I take total responsibility. It's Logan's fault though she has so many clothes they won't fit in her dresser. The mass of stuffed animals are also his fault.

As I walked down the copy room I fretted over the double sided copies and how stupid am I that I can't figure out a copy machine? That I have no idea how to do this off handed thing the teacher wanted and I'm no help at all to this woman if I can't even make a double sided copy. The week before she asked me to unwrap a set of books and stamp them with the name of the school. But I couldn't find the stamp so I just spent an hour writing the name of the school inside about 165 books. I'm getting an F in volunteering.

So that's why I decided to attend this meeting and now I know how to make double sided copies and die cuts and I can even bind a book for you if you need it. But only if it's for the school because that would be abusing my volunteering skills.

During the meeting the principal came in and said thank you for volunteering and mentioned how the policy in the district for volunteers will be changing and soon we will all need fingerprints on file.

I really wanted to sigh loudly and mutter, "That God Damn mess in Idaho keeps chasing me down."

But I didn't because this is the new school and at the new school they will think I'm nice. And I never swear. And am not a fugitive.

Struck Mute.

I had no idea the kind of vitriol the Duggars would elicit. Or perhaps I had no idea how much disdain my post referencing the Duggars would elicit. Everyone turn on your period and let's move along.

I sort of wish babies came out of the womb going to school all day.

This new experience of having everyday to get things done AND have time for myself has been everything I thought it would be. I worried maybe I'd become jaded about how nice it is to be free to fill my time with what I need/want to do for seven hours everyday. But no, it's still thrilling everyday. Especially once I've completed my work. Please see here, here, here and here. (Back log. Sorry!)

All summer I had grand plans for these hours. I'll go to yoga everyday! I'll go out to lunch! I'll see a movie in the middle of the day! So far I've done none of these things, although today I plan to paint the back room and that is excruciatingly exciting.

But still the fact that I can do these things is pleasing.

I keep waiting for the comment to come along: "My God, aren't you ever unhappy?"

Trifecta.

While we were in Texas this spring my friend's dog sniffed at a dead bug and then, because she loved the smell of that dead bug so much, started rolling around in it. Jamming her face in it, spreading her back all over that dead bug.

Since we moved here I've felt like a dog trying absorb all the good on my fur. I keep rolling around in it over and over.

The house, the neighborhood and, now that the kids are settled into school 7 hours a day, I'm living in a trifecta of good.

I sort of want all this good to get into my skin.

I think I love my landlord.

Right after we moved in to the new house, we realized the washer was leaking water all over the basement. At first this was upsetting because I don't really want to pay for it to be fixed, or worse buy a new washer. But then I remembered the thing about how we don't own this house so we called our landlord and he called back and said, "A new washer is coming today."

And I decided right then I never want to own a house again, except for the tax issues involved. But otherwise, never again.

Then last night, I suddenly realized I was drowning in a pool of sweat. My mother is afraid of using the air conditioning in her house (and her car). In fact she often tells me all about her thermostat settings with great pride. "I set it at around, you know 88 degrees, just to cut the humidity."

When I didn't have central air in my living space I honestly had to chew on my arm to keep myself from slapping my mother. I had to change the subject before suggesting she just get it over with and go live on the surface of the sun or better yet, maybe she should trust the air conditioning and the fact that God invented it so she could be comfortable in her own home and car.

So last night when I discovered myself sitting in a pool of sweat I wondered why because I actually enjoy being comfortable in my own home and often set the thermostat at 70 degrees, or if I'm feeling especially hedonistic 68 degrees.

After setting the thermostat at 32 degrees and noting the temperature in the house was still 88 degrees, I figured out something was wrong with the air conditioning.

Instead of sobbing about money and trying to fit in all our expenses into our income and OH GOD WHY DID WE BUY A HOUSE!!!??? I called our landlord and he's sending someone over to take a look. Of course, this all hinges on a contractor making time for this job in his busy schedule and it's 88 degrees with a lot of humidity and unlike my mother I don't consider this very comfortable.

Madison is doing a little better at school, her teacher is giving her plenty of opportunities to meet people and there were far less tears at the end of the day. I don't think the girls in her class are particularly unkind, Maddie complained no one liked her last year even when each morning I'd watch a group of three girls run up to greet her excitedly at the door.

We'll get through this and I'm just going to have to hope I'm helping her as much as I can (without becoming a helicopter parent) so she can hate me for other reasons as an adult.

As God as my witness she won't hate me because I can't properly utilize air conditioning! I promise you that.

New post about Growth Charts at The Buzz Off and I'm organizing things over at Ordering Disorder as well.

Later Logan popped the balloon by grabbing it too hard.

I mentioned while in Indianapolis we were going to head over to the Sausage Fest going on at a church in my brother's neighborhood.

My brother's friend is a member of the church and also on the Sausage Fest committee. He's committed to sausage you understand. The committee set out a slew of signs advertising the upcoming festival in the neighborhood surrounding the church. A few weeks later a meeting was called where committee members were absolutely shocked that all their Sausage Fest signs were just disappearing from the neighborhood.

The neighborhood which is adjacent to Butler University.

Another committee member said to George, my brother's friend, "Do you want to tell them what a Sausage Fest is?"

He declined.

That year the committee was equally as stunned when the t shirts from the event, featuring a dancing sausage holding an icy beer, sold out within hours of the event opening. Gee, they thought, these t shirts certainly are possible with the incoming class at the university. I guess they really want to be a part of the community!

Logan went to buy his t shirt on the opening night of the event, just in case they sold out early. Then we went to the event and it was just a nice little church fair with games and a moon walk and balloon art.

Max waited patiently in line and decided he'd like a sword.

The balloon table was inside the actual church building and next to a small flowing fountain of what seemed like holy water and as I stood there my eyes got big and I prayed God would forgive me for the impure thoughts I had as I watched an 11 year old twist a balloon into a giant sword.

With testicles.

Something tells me the Sausage Fest Committee is playing dumb on purpose.

New posts at The Buzz Off and Work It Mom. One of these posts was completed while I babysat my friend's three year old daughter. Three year olds ask a lot of questions and I had flashbacks to summers past when my ears used to bleed all day long.

But it's my special day.

My internet is finally working. It's working because of about 50 different pieces of advice, so not unlike the house sale I can't really say which thing finally did it. Yesterday we had an advanced modem installed so that we could have a home phone line I still won't use. Somehow the change in modem and perhaps a replacement ethernet cord, allowed me to connect to our internet directly.

Logan attempted to get advice from a tech guy at work but this middle man approach was a terrible idea since when Logan asks for directions he typically hears this.

"Blah Blah Blah left somewhere and then blah blah blah. Oh look something shiny!"

He likes the overall message of things and not the specifics. Mr Armstrong was of great help and once I reset the Airport for the second time, suddenly it worked and this is why I hate computers. I did all this before, thanks to several helpful emails, and it didn't work. A week later I do the same thing and it works.

It's like algebra. Sometimes I do everything I'm supposed to and it works and other times I work the problem and it just doesn't. It's a crap shoot because I mostly have no clue what I'm doing.

Our weekend in Indianapolis was lovely as always. We went to the state fair where Logan and I were nearly killed on a fair ride. We saw the World's Largest Pig and they are not kidding and Logan and his partner took their kids to see the World's Biggest Boot.

On Saturday our next door neighbor noticed our garage door was open (we have openers! I programmed them!) and called another neighbor, who called another neighbor, who then called me. It all turned out to be some sort of signal glitch, but thankfully the neighborhood Garage Door Phone Tree is locked and loaded.

I couldn't help but laugh though. One day, in the old neighborhood, we were gone for around 10 hours and came home to find our back door (which inexplicably swung out, not in) wide open. Our cats were running in and out of the house likely thinking, "What the hell? Who left the door open?" No one knows for sure how long the door was open of course but when we pulled up our neighbors were sitting on their front porch in sight of our open back door and dark house.

No phone tree. I mean maybe we wanted our door wide open as if to let everyone know we wanted to be robbed blind.

I also got another phone call on Saturday from my sister who has a very painful ovarian cyst. This cyst is not part of the bridal party so if you'd like to wish it gone, feel free. The thing about my sister is that when this wedding planning started she said things like, "I'm not registering. I mean, what do I need plates for?"

And, "Whatever, I don't even think I want a wedding."

Somehow the Bridal Mafia has gotten to my poor sister because on the phone Saturday she started to cry when I asked her about the planning. "Well the flowers are screwed up. They were too expensive and now I'm going to have a stem of something and.....rocks.....and a stick.....or something." (She said, with disdain and disappointment barreling down the phone line.)

I reminded her she wanted a minimalist look and that stick is a twig and those rocks are very zen and guess what? I had three terra cotta pots planted with impatiens on my tables and it was still the happiest day of my life because I married the best guy for me.

I teased her a little more about the whole thing and she laughed and then squealed, "BUT IT'S MY SPECIAL DAAAAAAAAA-UUUUUUUHHHHH"

Back off Bridal Mafia. Well Bridal Mafia or searing pain from a large ovarian cyst. Intense pain can often take things out of perspective.

In other news Maddie is wondering why I have to ruin all her food with 'stuff' over at Ordering Disorder and we're getting ready to tackle the barrage of art coming into your homes with school starting at The Buzz Off.

Rainbows, Unicorns and a Vague Feeling I Don't Deserve This Much.

It seems I may have been a bit misunderstood on my last post. I'm happy. I've got those crazy unicorns and koala bears wearing 'I [heart] You' t shirts shooting out of my ass I'm so happy. Every time I walk into this house, angels sing and rainbows punch me in the face. This morning I served the kids breakfast at the bar in the kitchen and it was just about the best thing about my year so far.

Maybe I needed to spell it out more specifically.

Still there's a part of me who laid awake the first night we slept here and had an anxiety attack because this is far more space than we need. This is far more good than we needed. We pretty much just needed out of our old neighborhood and still we got all this space and all these neighbors and all these kids for our kids to play with and Color Me Communist but my God I feel mildly anxious about having all this. About half this much would be more than enough actually.

Don't worry though, it's nothing a little pizza night with friends won't cure.

I am in the throes of unpacking and trying to get some semblance of order in this house. So far the kids rooms are the best, which is typical. Everything else is a mess. We lost our built in bookshelves in the move and our other bookcase doesn't fit in the family room, so at The Buzz Off I'm looking at storage solutions for books.

At Ordering Disorder I'm switching gears from food and menu planning tips to organizing your kitchen cabinets because I need help and when you gaze upon the mess I've made of our cabinets in just 3 days you'll understand why and hopefully have some advice or resources or something.

Whirlwind

No internet. I'm stealing a very weak signal from the neighbors.

There have been 2-7 kids here since we moved in and everyone keeps telling me how sorry they are but this is exactly how I pictured summers for my kids. Also it makes me feel less guilty for all this space when the house is full of people.

We worked hard to get out of the last house. But I'm not sure we worked this hard.

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!

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.

 

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.

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.