Me: "I know I keep saying this, but I feel so lucky to be living here."
Him: "Don't say lucky. Say fortunate."
Me: "What's the difference?"
Him: "Lucky implies we just sort of fell into this great place in our lives. We worked our asses off. We're fortunate not lucky."
This entire house is painted Fuck It White.
The man who owns this house (who may or may not be reading this website) is a bachelor and he spent a lot of time and money fixing a lot of things which were wrong with the house.
Mainly the second floor which was inconveniently on the first floor. The house was empty, it was winter....something with pipes and water. I'm pretty sure the man who owns this house felt a little about this house like I felt about the old house. Defeated and maybe a little hostile.
So when he finished all the work replacing the floors, windows, roof, furnace, cabinets, counters.......I think he just said, "Fuck it. Paint it all white."
It's Pratt & Lambert I'm reasonably sure.
Painting a great number of rooms at the same time has proven beyond my capability. A neighbor, one of the many we often converse with and enjoy the company of (how novel!), brought us an entire color deck from a certain paint manufacturer. Paint manufacturers make a lot of different colors and it was a little overwhelming.
Logan and I often remark how silly it would be to travel to, say, New York City, and go to a Bennigans restaurant. Not just because Bennigan's is a place void of any local flavor at all, except the manufactured kind, but also because Bennigan's makes food which tastes like average. You go to Bennigans in New York City because you recognize the name and it narrows down your choices when you don't know where else to eat.
However, with paint, I admit it, I need a narrowed playing field. Looking at that color deck on the floor of my den made me briefly consider painting my back room neon yellow. That's not good for anyone.
So I called the same women, from Menagerie Redesign who came to my house before it went up for sale.
I did this after I spent just over $30 on quarts of the wrong paints. I thought I wanted a chocolate brown and I chose first something resembling someone's unpleasant poo and then something which was mostly gray and brought out the gray in the mortar on the exposed brick in the room. Which is like using makeup to bring out the dullest feature on your face.
You can see the colors I chose under the window on the left side of this image.
So Julie and Jane came over and narrowed in on a color. They had the big deck of colors which a month earlier perplexed me and flipped through with precision. They ended up debating 3 or 4 colors as I watched with my mouth hanging open.
They landed on one option with such certainty I was ready to paint every room in my house that color. Instead they recommended I go to the store and buy the little paint samples to try it out. Yesterday I finally put the color up on the wall.
It's true hiring someone to help you choose a paint color is an extra expense but I could have saved myself some money and effort by starting out with the help. We don't hire painters so if I change my mind about the color after it's on the wall, I'm repainting it all. I don't hate painting but I lose patience with it about halfway through. If I have to do it twice, I'm unhappy.
And, since it's my goal to not whine about anything house related for the next year, this just can't be.
Thankfully it worked out very well. It's a color (Benjamin Moore Shelburne Buff HC 28) I never would have chose on my own, but it is the perfect color for these walls.
Best of all it isn't white.
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.
We've been frantically clearing out the last remnants of our life in the old house for the last couple of days. Things like the vodka in the freezer and, oh, half my clothes which were in the laundry room and I'd completely forgotten about. I only mildly registered my three pair of underwear and lone pair of shorts as 'a little peculiar'. This is what home loving mania does to you.
We also found another 40 outfits of Logan's. I know I've moaned before about Logan's extensive wardrobe. I am seriously tempted to take pictures of him every day for the next three months so I can prove to him that he wears the same 10 items over and over and over and so he doesn't need to take up three quarters of the closet, five drawers of an enourmous dresser to my one quarter of the closet and 4 tiny drawers assembled of particle board.
I'd take pictures of each of his outfits, except that he leaves the house at 6 or 7 in the morning and the only reason to be awake at 6 o'clock in the morning is the same sole reason there is for running 26.2 miles. You are being chased by a tiger. And not just a zoo tiger or anything, a very hungry, wild and possibly rabid tiger.
Yesterday I woke up early feeling a little stressed about deadlines and house closings at around 5 in the morning. As I laid there convincing myself to go back to sleep Logan's alarm went off. He got up right away and started getting dressed for a bike ride.
I said, "I can not believe you are waking up at 5 in the morning to go for a bike ride."
He replied, straight faced, "It's not 5.....it's 5:30."
Then I looked for the wild and hungry tiger which must be in hot pursuit. No tiger.
Our closing is tomorrow morning at 10am and then Saint Joseph can come to live with us in our new home.
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.
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.
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.
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!
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
Wow, I've amazed even myself this time with my inability to move on from the disappointment of having the answer to my year of hard labor and 9 years of unpleasantness torn from my clutches.
This week has been full of showings, including one last night which gave me foolish hope when it went on for 30 minutes over the scheduled appointment. She decided to bid on another house, our only real competition in this price range so hooray get it off the market. Then there was the other showing over the weekend where the guy had a 'high level of interest' but surprise! He doesn't want to make a decision now! There was also the couple from last week who were very interested but getting married in two weeks so they don't want to make a decision at this time and, on further thinking, the basement and lack of garage was troubling her fiance.
I should be over it by now but I'm not. I should be taking a deep breath and accepting that we're stuck here at least until the fall. I should have a funny little anecdote about how this is actually a really good thing and how I'm learning so much and how I'm going to bloom where I'm planted. I'm also going to take time everyday to think of those less fortunate than me and then I'll have a good chuckle about how I'm so glad I'm not as screwed as all those people.
I wanted to think all those things except I can't think very well with all the throbbing bass from the kids at the park down the street playing basketball all day with a soundtrack from their cars.
We decided to pursue a lease situation to get me out of here because that's actually the number one priority at this point. We have two girls who are apparently interested, but because I'm still not able to get over it already, I am not holding out much hope for them to actually sign a lease.
If they do hooray! If they don't, I'll just keep doing what I've been doing. Glaring at the neighbors (have I told you about the guy with the dominatrix wife across the street? He met her on the internet and her voice can cut tile and your face off), drinking to unhealthily relieve my stress and trying to not kill my kids.
I'm also going to keep having a really great attitude.
I have a new post at The Buzz Off.
Years ago Logan and I went to see Eyes Wide Shut at a theater which charged $3 a ticket for movies everyone else has seen. We, being frugal, decided to go see this movie at that particular theater though we'd never been to this particular theater and I will not tell you which theater so the locals can have fun guessing which one.
I don't like talking during my movies. I paid a lot of money to come here, if I wanted to talk I would have spent that same amount of money on 2-4 pints of beer at a pub chatting until my tongue cramps up. This theater's tickets were just $3 so I expected more talking because for $3 Logan and I could have a night out at the dive bar with a single Michelob Ultra a piece. Michelob is like water, only less filling. So sure, some talking is to be expected.
Everyone in this theater was blind. Or at least it seemed that way because EVERYONE (except us) was narrating the movie for their companions. "Oh....There's that guy from Top Gun! Oh man, that dude has a hot wife! Oh my God they are totally having sex! What's with the masks! That is some freaky shit. That shit is freaky, right? Freaky shit! Oh my God! They are going at it!!!!"
And so on and so on.
Now, I realized pretty quickly this was the norm for the theater. I looked around and everyone was talking. Talking about the FREAKY SHIT or on the phone or about how this popcorn is stale! Except Logan who was staring at Nicole Kidman's breasts the entire time with his mouth hanging open.
I spent the weekend with my brother's wife, my Nicer-Funnier-Sister-In-Law, my brother was at the firehouse working. At my Nicer-Funnier-Sister-In-Law's house I went to bed each night and instead of turning on a fan to block out the noise of the neighborhood, I turned my light off and went to sleep in total silence.
I came home tonight and the noise just kept coming. There was Folk Music Night across the street and Air Compressor Night across the other street and I had a moment of clarity.
If our respective neighborhoods were movie theaters, my Nicer-Funnier-Sister-In-Law's neighborhood would be the movie theater where everyone turns off their phones before the film starts and everyone in the theater would agree, silently, "Look, we're all here to watch a film. Let's talk later." If one person decides to break that agreement everyone else says, "Hey! Cut it out." (In so many words.)(This is also what it's like to see a movie at the Detroit Film Theater. FYI.)
Conversely, my neighborhood would be the $3 movie theater where everyone's agreed this film is a spectator sport and we're all in this together so let's all discuss how weird it is to see Tom Cruise act straight in a film and have sex with his wife while we watch.
At the $3 movie theater I realized pretty quick I was the only one annoyed by the noise and stupidity.
In this neighborhood I realized pretty quick I am the only one who cares about the science of sound. Mainly the principle which tells us sound travels. No one cares. Except me.
I've got email from people with their own horror stories from neighborhoods they didn't fit into. Not just neighborhoods where Sunday night is FOLK MUSIC NIGHT, LIKE IT OR NOT. Also from people who live/d in quiet neighborhoods where their choice of ground cover in the front flower bed was a source of major conflict with the neighbors.
Everyone can have bad neighbors, but at some point you look around the theater and realize your ideals are not matching up to the majority of the people surrounding you and at that point it's time to leave. That's true if you're in a neighborhood with perfectly manicured lawns and people named Thad and Muffy or if you're in The Suburban Ghetto with people named Ed and Tile Cutter.
Logan is leaving town tomorrow and I am sure that's why he didn't have all our boxes packed to move to the new place. He's waiting to surprise me until he's back from his business trip so he can really pitch in on the move.
He's amazing. An absolute doll that one.
Last month when we went to Texas, the weather report called for rain every day of our trip and I whined about it as I am prone to do. But then, on the actual trip it only rained about 1/4th of the time and even if it rained in the morning it passed over and the sun came out allowing the kids to swim every day.
So one might say I wasted my energy being annoyed by the forecasted rain because it all worked out in the end.
It hasn't rained in Indianapolis since Memorial Day weekend. I checked the weather report before I came down and say it was supposed to rain every day I was visiting. Instead of getting upset I packed my bathing suit, prepared for the Joy Of Rivi and told myself it couldn't possibly rain every day I was there.
It started raining Friday morning and is still raining Sunday afternoon as I get ready to head home.
Positive Thinking.
But I'm not going to let that stop me. I'm going to keep thinking positive.
Like when I get home tonight, I'm positive Logan will have a bunch of boxes all packed and ready to go to the dream house. In fact, maybe in the name of positive thinking I'll just drive directly to the dream house because I'm positive we're going to be living there.
I'll let you know how this positive thinking works out for me.
PS: Socks hacked up a hairball in the middle of the kitchen during our showing Thursday night. If that doesn't say "Welcome Home" I don't know what does.
Yesterday we went to play date at Andrea's house. Andrea lives in the dream neighborhood, which is hard for me at this time because I feel my soul detaching from my body when I realize what I've worked for for a year and had at the tip of my fingertips last week, is very likely not going to happen.
The week before we had play date at Andrea's house again and the way I felt was very different. I snuck away from the back deck a few times just to wave hello to the house down the street which would soon be mine. I walked through her rooms realizing, since the houses on this block are all quite similar, soon I'd be walking through rooms very much like these. I'd have guests over and they could urinate in a bathroom which isn't also the place I am naked each morning.
I thought, as my friend Leslie's baby slept upstairs and the kids loudly played downstairs in the family room, how one day we could maybe have friends over after the kids go to bed without the Sound Police's Chief Officer Madison Summers citing us for disturbing the (her) peace whenever someone laughs.
When we were in Texas we described the house we want to live in to Jean and her husband Joe. Logan told them, with wide eyes, about the refrigerator. "Okay, so it's just like a regular refrigerator and freezer but then, get this, you press a button on the door and ice comes out. It, like, makes the ice for you. And it comes in cubes or chips. I don't know how it does it but it does. All by itself."
This is amusing for a couple of reasons. First, it shows you how incredibly simple our Big Dream is. It's also amusing because right now Logan believes ice is made by leaving empty ice cube trays in the sink until I fill them up because after 3 or 4 days I've sort of accepted that he really doesn't know where ice comes from.
I've spent the majority of the week a little bit drunk. At first I was an angry drunk sending Logan long emails about how AS GOD AS MY WITNESS I WON'T STAY HERE! And, "IF YOU THINK I'M LIVING HERE FOR FOUR MORE MONTHS YOU'VE LOST YOUR MIND!!!"
Now I'm just a sort of a giggly drunk, a giggly sarcastic drunk. When the skunk sprays, what smells like, directly onto my pillow I just sort of laugh. Maniacally. When Logan gives me the "Pep Talk" about how this is a six month market and that house isn't our dream house or else it would have worked out! Let's just wait and see what happens next! He says.
Instead of shoving him down the stairs I just kind of laugh and scream "Rah! Rah!" And I say, "Hey! I've got an idea! Let's just sit here and do nothing and SEE WHAT HAPPENS! Let's let the right house for now slip right past us and just wait and see what happens. Because for the last 9 years the 'Wait and See' thing really worked out great for us."
Oops! Sorry I thought I was over it. Guess I'm not drunk enough. Yet.
Tonight I'm leaving for Camp Jenn in Indianapolis for the weekend. Camp Jenn is supposed to be for Maddie but I'm going to Camp Jenn so I can buy myself more time before I set fire to this house in order to get out.
When I emailed my brother and Jenn to see if I could escape and hide at their house for the weekend they said of course. I assured them I didn't need babysitting so if they had plans, just go ahead and I'll watch tv and read magazines all day, every day. Jenn replied that she had some work appointments on Thursday and Friday but on Saturday she had no plans other than lounging at Rivi.
I need a new life.
Lounging at Rivi sounds about as good as it can get right about now. Well, unless we got an offer right now. That beats Rivi.
In vaguely related news: I wrote about labels at The Buzz Off, just in case you're sending your kid to Camp Jenn.
Dear Melissa,
I think you need to get a hold of yourself and get some perspective. I am a potato farmer and I lost my arms in a freak potato peeler accident. Farming potatoes was my entire life, when I lost my arms I thought my world would end. But I didn't feel sorry for myself. I remembered some people are born without arms and I was thankful for the 30 years I got to use my arms. Instead of feeling sorry for myself I learned to farm potatoes with my feet and I give thanks everyday I have feet to farm my potatoes.
Count your blessings an remember you could be trying to sell your house without any arms and that would be worse. So much worse.
Love, The Internet
Dear Internet,
You are mostly awesome. In the last few days I've gotten email saying, "You're right it sucks balls." and others saying, "Positive thinking is for losers." and "I'm not even going to try to tell you it will work out because that's not what you want to hear right now because you feel like you've been kicked in the stomach." Also, there was the email that said, "Dear Melissa, I have it harder than you. Love, The Internet."
And I wanted to pinch your adorable little cheeks Internet.
I turned off comments for the same reason I haven't answered the phone in the last 4 days. I am pretty much a miserable bitch to be around. I am grouchy and not 'thinking positive' and not really very much fun at all. There's pretty much nothing you can say to me which won't make me want to bite your head off.
Why would I do that to you Internet? I want to be friends, so I turned off comments until I can hear "It will all work out eventually." without feeling the strong desire to disembowel you.
We have showings today and tomorrow. I am tempted to leave the dishes in the sink and the forts the kids made in the hall and all the beds unmade. I'm tempted to leave the cat hair all over and the litter boxes unscooped.
Because if I get one more realtor feedback involving the words, "It's so clean!"
I will disembowel myself.
Love, Melissa
I was so happy when we got an offer. So happy that it didn't even matter that we'd have to bring money to the table to close the deal. I didn't even care. I simply felt thrilled that the ordeal of the last year would be over.
From the minute I put my mind to getting this house ready to sell I knew in the back of my mind that the margin for sale was too small considering Detroit's unbelievable market. I knew as I peed in a port a john on my driveway and burned my fingers on a steamer taking years and years of wall paper off the shitty damaged walls. I knew we were stuck here.
I knew there was too much 'not good' about the house to find a buyer in this market.
I suspected that we'd had a crappy inspection when we bought this place. An inspector who didn't note some very key errors in construction going on in our basement. An inspector who told us the drop ceiling in our kitchen, third bedroom and bathroom were "probably just there to keep heating costs down...." Never mind that the plaster was falling off the ceiling and no one covers their 9 foot ceilings unless there's something wrong underneath.
i knew a year and a half ago we should have let this property go. I knew it was a waste to pour all our extra money into a sinking ship.
But still, we did what we thought was right. We worked so hard. So. Hard. To make this house sellable. But it's still not sellable. It's never going to sell. I know that for sure. Just like I knew last night when the buyers got cold feet that no amount of praying to St Joseph would make this sale happen.
All last week when the engines revved or the music blared I laughed and cheered and thought "Good riddance you asshole!"
Last week when my friend told me about happy hours and book clubs and block parties in the neighborhood I smiled knowing all my hard work had paid off. It was all coming together.
Today I know that all our hard work was for nothing.
That we are trapped here and there's no way out.
But don't worry the realtors all assure me the house is "cute" and "very clean" and "well priced". Everyone who walks through this stupid house assure me it's "clean" and "adorable".
Today when we got the news it was followed by, "We'll find someone!" "It will sell!" "Don't Worry!"
Logan hung up the phone with the realtor after saying, "Oh well, onward! It will happen. We'll see what happens next."
And frankly, "waiting" for what happens next is what made us dump thousands and thousands of dollars into this heap. "Waiting" is what we've been doing for the last year. Every sentence is punctuated with "If we're here." Or "When we move we can....." Or "Depending on what school you go to....."
I think positive thinking is for assholes.
Our cat has decided he would like to be an outside cat. I don't want him to be an outside cat here because there are too many feral cats outside, but we decided once we're living in a different neighborhood we'd let him be an outside cat.
Gary now spends his days scratching at the screens and running his claws down along the frames of the storm doors. He does this while letting out the deepest moans of cat sadness. Loud guttural moans which make your jaw clench and all your muscles tense up.
The sound of his claws and the moaning of his voice make me feel like I'm going to break something. We all want out of here so badly. But there's no way out.
The inspection happened yesterday. My realtor left a voice mail for me when we returned home and sounded so upbeat I thought for sure she was about to say, "We're good to go, start packing!"
Instead she said our buyer was 'overwhelmed' by the inspector's report and needed to discuss the findings with his partner. Are they discussing how awesome it will be to own an old home and do the work Logan and I never did because we were busy putting our blood, sweat and tears into the kitchen, bathroom and wood floors we lovingly finished all by ourselves?
Or are they discussing how wonderful new construction is, even though it's generally void of all character and is mainly disposable? Are they discussing how maybe they don't want to own a house after all?
We can't really know until later today and, as I explained to Logan, I can let things go if I work through the worst case scenario and feel okay with the worst case. Conversely, when I work through the worst case scenario and I can't accept it as a tolerable answer, I have what those of you who have read this website for many years will recognize as "An Episode".
I am on the verge of An Episode and it all hinges on a decision which involves nothing I have any control over.
I truly believe my brain will split in two if we get bad news this afternoon.
In other news, we spent the afternoon in Detroit to take my mind off the inspection. The inspection I wasn't really worried about until now.
DO YOU SEE WHAT HAPPENS WHEN I DON'T WORRY? Bad things.
We countered with a slightly higher purchase price plus all the sombreros and tissue paper flowers from the party, they accepted. I'm pretty sure it was the tissue paper flowers and sombreros which sealed the deal for them.
We need to get through the inspection but I don't expect any surprises. After that, things should move quickly because all the agents involved and the buyer's financing is all at the same agency. It should take just 2-3 weeks to close. (!!!)
Which means when Andrea has her wine party in July, we quite possibly won't need a designated driver. We can just stumble home semi-conscious. It also means that very soon my brain will start working like a normal person's brain. Maddie said this morning when we told her our counter offer was accepted, "Great, now maybe we can live like a normal family again."
We are now getting ready to deal with the owner of the new house who, unlike us, isn't prepared to give his house away. I have a feeling this could get a teeny bit annoying but one way or another we're getting into that house.
Even if it means I have to break in and live as a squatter.
All right, I felt sorry for myself yesterday. Well, sorry for myself and also unbelievably annoyed with unimaginative buyers. I looked around yesterday at pictures of houses in our neighborhood with brand new roofs and they're tiny inside, no dining room, no new bathroom, tiny eat-in kitchens with old cupboards and they're 5,000 to 10,000 dollars more than our house. So there you go, have at it!
PS: Guess how much a new roof costs! That's right YOU DON'T KNOW BECAUSE YOU HAVEN'T HAD A HOME INSPECTION.
But I'm moving on, only I'm not really moving on because you know I don't swing that way. I have a new post up at the Buzz Off and I think I did a decent job digging out inspiration for baby showers. It's rather difficult to find good pictures of parties: Flickr-ites! Get on it! But I found a few sites which make me feel like throwing a party, never mind none of my friends are pregnant.
Tomorrow we're getting on a plane and going to visit my friend Jean, my white, thinner, less screamy personal Oprah. This is big news because we have never taken a trip all together as a family which involved plane travel and 7 days of fun. It's only the third time we've taken a seven day break because my robotic husband is programmed for workaholism. Which is nice since he now has a laptop and a wireless connection which means there will be some work interfering with our trip. Oh well. We'll be away, we'll be swimming, we'll be drinking, we'll be sleeping in the guest house away from the kids (no offense kids). I will be trying very hard to let go of the house, to let the universe take control. Hopefully margaritas help that.
Here are some meaningless vacation photos from our last trip, when I took the kids down for 10 days by myself. Which went pretty well until the way back when I forgot to change Max's diaper and the seat was soaked. I haven't sat on an aisle when flying Northwest since.
*I hate not being in charge of my life.
This is nothing but a boring update on our housing situation.
We had two showings today in addition to the second viewing by the interested couple. There has been a lot of interest in this house in a market where there are about 7000 homes for sale and 3 available buyers.
The Second Viewing Couple's realtor let mine know they are considering making an offer on this house or one which is further north. The house to the north could be a waterfront mansion, it could be a trailer....we can't know. We won't know until Monday when they decide which house to make an offer on.
The difficult thing about being optimistic and swimming with the dolphins in your mind all day is you can't help but wonder what will happen if you're wrong and it's not going to work out the way you're thinking it is. It will work out another way of course, one way or another. But I'm a fan of knowing how things are going to work out as you may have picked up in the thousands of words I've written over the last four years.
You can't help but wonder how your brain will recover if it's faced with another shift in plans. I'm trying not to give that part of my brain very much attention, because that's not the energy we want.
So instead Logan and I spent all morning shopping for the style of furniture we'll be filling our new house with, like this sofa. When we showed Dutch the sofas we're looking at and the dramatic shift we'll be making in our style in the new house he called it, "post deco, pre midcentury", which means only Dutch, Logan and I will know exactly what our style is because that doesn't exactly make a lot of sense.
For now though, I'm going to remain so God damn positive a dozen unicorns are going to explode from my arse and they're going to spear a few boxes on their horns and deliver them to the new house. The new house where we'll put a trampoline in the backyard and the kids will jump on it with cuddly giggling koala bears wearing tiny "I [Heart] You!" t shirts.
Yesterday we had three showings on the house (another tonight!). All this visualizing unicorns prancing on rainbow clouds seems to be working. Optimism and patience is rewarding? My world is spinning. It's raining kittens playing with yarn!
There were two showings scheduled for the 6:30 to 7:30 time slot. We took the kids to dinner and out for ice cream and came back to the house at around 7:20 because we were tired of killing time and figured the people were finished walking through since once most people see our basement they decide they like living in the earth and can't do a thing with the basement and poof they're gone.
I feel like telling these people about places like Texas where basements are considered a luxury item. Our short height basement is a luxury item!
We got in the house, Logan started a load of laundry and we rushed the kids to get their pajamas on. I walked into the living room and noticed a white SUV driving by slowly and had a fleeting thought, "Gee, I wonder if those are the people? No, it's 7:25! Oh they're stopping! Oh Max is naked! We have to get the hell out of here."
So I started yelling, "GET YOUR PANTS ON!! EVERYONE OUT! OUT! OUT!"
We carried Max out of the house without shoes or socks. I carried the rest of his clothes and he dressed in the car. Logan forgot his wallet and ran back in to grab it just as the people were walking up the front walk. Thank God we have a lot of doors.
As we drove away I said, "Oh, he's tall. They'll hate it."
We parked down the street waiting for them to come running out fleeing from the horror of the Bend Over Basement. But they didn't. 15 minutes went by, 20 and then 35 and they came outside and started walking around the house. Looking at all the concrete which one day they will hopefully be cursing as they shovel snow for 3 hours.
They liked the house their realtor said and they'll be coming back for a second showing on Saturday. They mentioned the lack of garage as a concern and the fact that it's really just a two bedroom because the third bedroom doesn't really have a closet.
Of all the things anyone's said about my house in the last month, for some reason this one has sent me of the edge of my tolerance for these buyers in a buyers market.
When Logan and I bought this house it was a fierce sellers market. We looked for months and months for a home and sellers had offers within 24 hours of listing. We'd show up for a viewing and find a home inspector and a defensive buyer already under contract. We walked through houses where dinner from the night before was left out on the table and dishes were piled high in the sink. Half the homes weren't even clean because they didn't need to clean, the houses were selling anyway. Over asking.
Our third bedroom has a stairway in the closet which leads to an attic which could be easily finished. Since we don't need that closet space we've left it open for easy access to the attic. When this realtor said her buyers were concerned it wasn't really a 3 bedroom house because there was no hanging space in the closet I burst my eyeball open and yelled out loud, "OH MY GOD I AM LIVING IN A HOUSE HUNTERS EPISODE!"
Then I drove to Lowes and spent $12, came home, spent 20 minutes of my time and voila!
This is a three bedroom house, there's your closet, now buy my house.
(*Second viewing Saturday morning. The closet is totally going to make this deal happen.)
While Logan was with the kids in Indianapolis and I was in San Francisco, the trees finally turned green and the lawn came to life and swallowed our house. When we all got home, there wasn't much time to mow because of the rain and because of our schedules and so we pulled out the machete and cleared a path and left it like that for almost a week.
On Thursday night I was outside taking new pictures of the exterior
of our house now that the trees are green and things look alive. My
neighbor, not the bad ones, came over and asked how it was going. I
told him we'd dropped the price and I was trying to get a better
picture with the trees all green.
We both looked at the house for a minute, lamenting the market and he said, earnestly, "Maybe you could mow the lawn."
Gee, do you think the jungle in our yard was deterring potential buyers?
He went on to tell us about his lawn service and how much they charge and on Saturday morning they came to our house and they mowed and weed whacked around the miles and miles of fencing and they edged.....they edged the miles and miles of concrete surrounding our house and our 4 different concrete walkways and the long, long driveway.
And Logan watched and said, "I've never been sexually aroused watching men work before but I'm pretty sure I'm turned on right now."
Then they pulled out the leaf blower and did what it takes Logan and a broom almost an hour to do in 5 minutes, and I think he may have had an orgasm.
***
You didn't think I would miss a chance to talk house did you? Look I put it down here so you could just leave with the image of Logan being sexually satisfied by someone using a leaf blower. But now you don't want that in your head do you? And you can't get it out. Here, read this.
On Saturday we met with the realtors and the owner of the New Dream House, which is right across from the Old Dream House. Dream House is a little overpriced and, even if it were well priced for the market, a little too much for us to afford. But we love Dream House. We love the big open kitchen/dining room and the family room with a doorwall to a brick patio. We love the idea of not living as slaves to home improvement projects and most of all we love the neighbors.
If I could fit Dream House into a Baby Bjorn I'd practice attachment parenting with Dream House, I love it like that. I would never put down Dream House, I would never want him to believe I was neglecting his needs. I wouldn't let him cry it out, I'd hold him until he fell asleep.
While we talked to our realtor after the meeting the neighbors were out and waving over and I waved back and then real live children on bikes (!) rode by and said 'Hi!' and then the sky opened up and koala bears and unicorns and rainbows fell from the sky and I mashed my body into Dream House and told Logan I couldn't leave, this house needs me. He and my realtor physically removed my body from Dream House and my arms ached. As we drove away one of the neighbors said he'd get some holy water to sprinkle on the house to make sure we get it.
I have never been this spiritual in my entire life.
We can't bid on this house or sign anything until we sell this house. I've tried to convince myself otherwise, as you might imagine I would because that's how I am. One-minded. But there's this thing called "Reality" and Reality is cruel. Reality would not co-sleep with me and I would definitely feed it formula and let it cry it out all night long. (Sarcasm Helper: I love my kids and guess what I did when they were babies? All of the above.)
We can't possibly pay for two houses and this market is so fucking annoying soft, (I'm being gentler and more positive) there are no guarantees there will be a buyer for our incredibly well priced house. I tried to make Max look as sweet as I could for the meeting so the owner would fall in love with us and couldn't imagine squashing the dreams of such an adorable little boy, with freckles.
I've decided to live The Secret, no not the one about that thing you do with your ring finger while giving blow jobs*. No the Oprah one about giving power to what you focus on. I am focusing all my energy on the new house, on how wonderful it would be. I'm picturing myself there, shamelessly, without suspicion. Believe it. Achieve It, Baby! (That's a Loganism and one which has caused me to throw a chair at his head in the past.)
I'm picturing the trampoline in the backyard and the kids riding bikes with friends up and down the street and I'm picturing buying more than one cupboard of food at a time and I'm even picturing Mai Tais made with crushed ice directly from our freezer. This could all back fire of course if our house doesn't sell in a month and we can't make it happen because then I'll be spending hours in my mind moving all my furniture out of the place and weeping while I crush ice in the blender for my Mai Tais.
Also the house will weep real tears if we are kept apart any longer.
*I have only one blow job secret and it doesn't involve a technique. Here's the secret: There's really no such thing as a "bad" blow job, especially once you're married. Unless you lick it like a popsicle. Irritating.
**Wow, I thought we were talking house to get any sexual images out of your head. Sorry.
This morning I actually said to the kids, "Who put gum on this wall? I'm not happy about this at all."
I am the Dr Seuss of parenting!
Also this morning Madison came in at 7am to explain to me her elaborate plans for her allowance the three items she will be buying with all that saved cash. This plan was explained to me yesterday after school, during dinner, and at bedtime. The plan is quite elaborate and involves some fuzzy math which makes me think my daughter does not yet understand the concept of 'allowance' and the fact that money does not ebb and flow to fill your wishes. You have what you have.
This morning she explained it again and tried to pin Logan and I down on the correctness of this math which involves some fuzzy math. Logan said, "We'll think about it." and went to get in the shower. Maddie started up again with the plan now that she had me alone, trying to get me to agree to the plan with all the fuzzy math. I said, "You've already explained the process many times. Daddy and I will think about it. Let it go for now, you're obsessing."
And then I realized I was mainly annoyed because when she came in the room I'd been dozing and dreaming about my latest house obsession and where I'd put my furniture and how I could convince the guy to drop his price and how fun it would be to live down the street from Andrea and to already know all the neighbors and then Maddie came in and interrupted my obsessing.
I just don't know where she gets it.
New post over at the buzz off, great birth announcement ideas to be had.
I painted and cleaned until 12:30 in the morning to get ready for a realtor walk through. I am exhausted and mildly deranged. Please see this picture. How have I lived my life for 33 years without knowing about Pine Sol?
Good bye 80's, hello HOME BUYERS!
If you say "fuck" while trying to bury your St. Joseph in the yard, does this negate it's power?
TIA!
Melissa
PS: Thank you Emily for the cute new necklace. It's perfect and definitely full of good luck.
PPS: Logan and I used to go to a bar in Detroit, right near the state fair grounds where throughout the night the bartender would yell out, "Free Blue Shit!" I can't believe I consumed the free blue shit. Whenever I find freebies I feel compelled to scream out, "Free Blue Shit!" Mother's Day Giveaways at the buzz off.
So we had three showings last week. The first one came while I was writing that last post and that is why it's untitled. Not for some mysterious and insightful reason, 'It is untitled...because my feelings can not have labels'.
No it's untitled because the real estate company called and said, "An agent and her client are in front of your house, can they come in?"
Thankfully I've gotten into the habit of making all the beds and showering first thing in the morning instead of writing all morning in my pajamas showering just to take Max to school. Though about half the time I throw on workout clothes so that I look like I'm always ".....on the go....." I'm on the go if 'on the go' means sitting in my basement painting all the fucking time.
We got out of the house with all our breakfast dishes and also a cocktail shaker from the night before. And a chef's knife I hadn't washed yet. I wish we'd been in an accident because all these items would have been of great concern to rescue workers.
The agent let my agent know that the house is beautiful and her client was excited until he got to the basement. You recall the Bend Over Bar? I've done a lot of work in the basement since that time and it is actually much nicer with organized storage and even a gift wrapping cabinet....yes. But it's still a space with less than average head room, and this client was 6'5". I started to tell the realtor about the Bend Over Bar, maybe her client is gay? But then let it go.
Speaking of school. I've said over and over to always write as if the person you don't want to read it will read it. When I wrote this post, I'm not sure why I wanted the people I was referring to to know they'd hurt my feelings when it was so clearly a tiny blip in the universe and also so clearly a direct result of the fear in my head that the world knew I was from a whole lot of crazy.
It's true, sometimes I use my blog to explain things to people I am not entirely fond of. Sometimes I use it to express my true disdain for them. It's true this behavior makes me far from 'nice' but it's also based on some very real and intense hurts from the past and so I don't feel all that badly about that type of thing. Most of the time when I write about someone in unflattering terms I try to leave out identifying details so that I'm not spreading gossip, just sharing my part of the story. Except for the Creepy Long Haired Swinger and I want him to read this site because then maybe he'll leave me alone (actually, in fairness he has been leaving me alone).
I didn't think through the fact that when writing from the viewpoint I had as a 20 year old girl and revealing the identities of the people I was talking about, I was spreading gossip (something I hate more than painting my kitchen cabinets) and also leaving people with an unfair view of these two girls.
Which would have been fine if no one they know were reading my site but it turns out there are a few mothers from the school who read this site. And someone put together my bitchily rhymed names for these girls I had trouble with 13 years ago with a mom from our kid's class and let her know she should read my blog.
And she did and on Thursday night she emailed me to let me know and I explained and apologized and told her how stupid I was. That I could have easily told that exact story without being a bitch and leaving in identifying details. She said she did not remember that incident and also had no idea what had happened to my father and how I'd flailed about in high school. We talked further and she felt kicked in the gut and also a little silly having the mothers from the class corner her to tell her about this. And I'll bet she also felt a little ridiculous having all these women reading a story so clearly about her when she had no idea.
We've talked and she's been incredibly gracious and more kind than she needs to be. She said, "Let's just move on. Don't apologize anymore. You don't need to apologize."
Which I'm trying to do because that's the most gracious anyone's ever been to me in the face of my bitchiness. Well except my friend Andrea and also Logan. And maybe my sister.
But all weekend I worked in the basement painting cabinet doors. It's funny how your kitchen can have so little storage but SO MANY FUCKING DOORS. As I painted I kept churning the whole situation around in my head. I often do this while I scrub the kitchen floor but the house is already so clean I didn't bother.
The fact that these girls had no idea what I'd been through during high school and yet I felt it was so obvious to everyone. I believed everyone knew and had labeled me 'weird'. I thought about how I make myself feel like the star of my own show and believe everyone is constantly watching and judging me. Like when I almost hurled myself off a sailboat and was then so incredibly embarassed and my friend Jean said, "No one thought a thing about it."
The truth is, when you peel back all the layers of popularity and wealth and all of that stuff that is always a part of high school. The truth is I had no friends not because my father killed himself and I was actually happy about that. I had no friends because I was shy and more awkward than I am now. (I know! Not possible! But it is.) I had no friends because I was afraid people would see I wasn't like them.
I had no friends because I was really deeply sad.
The way I felt about that argument that summer at day camp was so much less about what anyone said or did. It was all about how I was seeing it because I believed everyone knew I wasn't like them.
Something else made my stomach churn all weekend. Why would I be such a bitch? Why did I even want these two girls to see what I wrote. I even said it in my original post, "I'm rhyming their names so they won't find it Googling their names. But if they come across it they'll know it was them."
I read it again after hearing from the mom from school and was stunned. Why did I do that?
As I painted yesterday all day and into the night I practiced saying this to myself.
"Sometimes you are a bitch."
That is a really hard thing for me to say because I don't want to be a bitch. I want to be honest with myself. I want to be up front with the people I dislike or who are offensive to me. I want to learn from my past mistakes and remove myself from relationships or situations which make me bitchy.
And still, sometimes I am still just a bitch.
I have some valuable drawings to share with you.
I have a small notebook in my purse where I am supposed to write notes about things I want to write about. At this time there are a few pages of math notes, a couple of grocery lists and a note which reads "Guy On Phone: 'Dude, 'I'm eating rotisserie chicken tonight!' "
If I ever love the phone enough to call someone from the store to tell them I'm eating rotisserie chicken tonight, please stop answering my calls.
A few months ago when I was in New York, I went to a museum with a boy named Henry and his mother who is both my favorite spooning partner and also my favorite world travel partner. After the museum Henry showed me how to ride the subway, with tokens. Henry knew tokens were for using on the subway, where I'm from tokens are for using at places meant to torment parents, like Chuck E Cheese. He also let me know that the people across from us on the subway were not speaking english. In case I hadn't heard them speaking another language, he wanted to let me know, those people are not speaking english.
Logan is really good with kids and kids love him. Kids seem to look at me as a mother figure, as in I ruin all the fun. I don't mean to, I just know that every fun thing kids like to do will cause them to lose an eye and I must protect the vision of the children of America. It's a service I provide free of charge. "Stop doing that!" is my catchphrase.
Logan is one of three people Juniper is not particularly anxious with, a high compliment indeed. He has a way with children and dogs. Our friend's german short haired pointer used to pee on the floor every time Logan came over. Their greetings happened on the porch, with Logan's feet about 5 feet behind the rest of his body.
I've picked up a few tips from Logan and Henry and I seemed to have a little connection. Henry won't put on his hat? What would Logan do? I'll tell him I'm taking it and wearing it myself. Henry puts on his hat! Mittens? Same joke....and it worked. Henry? You don't want to wear your coat? WWLD? Guess who's putting it on? Me!
I didn't resort to the Handshake Game™ Logan plays with all kids to win them over. I also didn't resort to the Pick You Up And Shake You Around Like A Rag Doll™ technique because I'm not that strong and I'm uncomfortable with such forward attempts at friendship. Also someone could lose an eye.
At dinner with Henry and his mother, we sat next to each other for a while and after he inhaled his grilled cheese sandwich, I pulled out the notebook and Henry used it to draw me some pictures. I consumed a beer at the same time this was happening. Just pointing that out because that's the type of person I am. Irresponsible and unable to let anything go.
When Henry's dad arrived and took him to catch the next train home, Henry let me keep the drawings to show Max and Madison. I'm sure Henry wanted to save Max from his lame life, a life where Max is not familiar with the Star Wars world. When I told Henry that Max didn't play with Star Wars guys, he said, "What does he play with?" I told him Max plays with his own feces because that's the only thing a child as deprived as Max could possibly play with.
I now keep a tiny container of Play Doh in my purse as well. I think Henry will marry me after we share another meal.
Now that Henry's been on television catching a ball while his mother fumbled it, Henry is famous and I have his artwork to put on Ebay and make a million dollars. Please go here to see Henry on the television. Henry is not a mother and therefore not a casuality of Mainstream Media's investment in perpetuating the Mommy Wars. Henry is an artist.
This one is Tornado Man. I think.
This is definitely Tornado Man, he fights crime by creating a tornado. Generally horse mounted policemen and tornados stop crimes. Especially looting.
Here is a man. I should have captioned all these pictures but I was drinking that beer so I couldn't. My best guess is this square shaped man with the fiery boots is Henry's Dad, On His Morning Commute. Trains are for suckers.
Eventually Laid Off Dad joined us at the restaurant and provided henry with a green pen and a highlighter. This is definitely Tornado Man and Tornado Man can shoot tornados out of his fists. You can see that because of the highlighter.
When I put this one on Ebay it will be titled, "@@@@ Tornado Man Very Rare @@@@@ Color! Wow! L@@k!"
Today a lady came to my house and she put papers in front of me and I assume these papers said, "Wow! How about we sell your house for A Kabillion Dollars!"
So I signed them because a kabillion dollars is a lot of money.
Tonight when I showed Logan all the paperwork, he said, "Wait, we have 30 days to find a new home once we sell this one?"
I said, "Yes."
And he said the words I've been longing to hear for the last, oh, 5 years.
"You better get looking for something new."
Oh Baby, baby baby baby....I've been looking the shit out of houses for the last year. I'm ready for whatever this house throws at us.
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PS: Best part of the video: "What do they do to kind of relax?"
Imagined dialogue.
"Well, some of these so called <fingers>Alpha Moms</fingers> have a cocktail at playgroup everyone once in a while."
"Oh! Hey! Those mothers are irresponsible and stupid! Let's do another segment about that! Some moms are too perfect and some moms are stupid and irresponsible."
Executive Producer: "Thank God For The Mommy Wars!"
....and so the cycle of morning television continues. Thankfully Nickelodeon rules our morning television viewing.
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Dr. Janet Taylor would like to add: "HEALTHY WAYS!!!!!"
