The Sandbox

I want to start this post with a big "thank you" to all of the amazing men and women who have chosen to serve our country. My father, my brother, my grandfather, my great-grandfather, Heath's grandfather, and all the rest. I could never do what you have done and I admire your bravery and strength in defending a nation that doesn't always show support for what you do. Thank you.

Heath and I decided to build the kids a sandbox in the backyard this weekend. My mom had them overnight on Sunday so the time seemed right. It's much easier to assemble things without their "help". We went to the local lumberyard and bought the wood (I learned that "treated" wood is important for outdoor projects and it costs more. Being as this was my first time building anything outdoors I think it's forgivable to not have known.) and sand. We actually got a great deal on the sand. They had a pallet of damaged bags and we got enough to fill the sandbox (plus five bags of topsoil and two bags of paver base) for only ten dollars. Considering one fifty pound bag of sand costs over three dollars, I think we did alright.

Once we had the materials, we went home and built a sandbox. I honestly think yesterday was the hottest day of the year so far. Humid and nasty. Hauling around bags that were very nearly half my weight made me question the wisdom of my decision to build a sandbox altogether. Thank goodness Heath is stronger than I am or we'd have been at it all night! It really didn't take us very long to build it, but it felt like a lot longer. Not very often do I take a cold shower on purpose. I even managed to enjoy it.

We brought the kids home from my mom's and expected they'd be thrilled with the sandbox and occupied for hours, but no. They were in it for maybe five minutes and they were over in the neighbors yard asking to play on their slide. We all four spent some time in it this evening building castles and knocking them down. My castle had a princess, trees, and a unicorn. Heath's had guns. I then decided the stick behind my castle looked more like a nuclear missile as he took aim at my front gate.

In spite of their initial lack of enthusiasm, I think the kids will really enjoy having a sandbox. I realize it won't keep them in the backyard, but it was cheaper than a swing set. Not that I wouldn't love to buy them a swing set, but that's just not in the budget right now. Besides, a sandbox takes more imagination anyway. It's just a good thing the cats are indoor cats or we'd have spent the afternoon building a giant litter box. I just hope Perrin doesn't get that idea when I start potty training him...

Later That Night...

A change in music and a change in appearance later, I'm feeling more like myself. Thank you Aerosmith. Thank you Clairol. And thank you Perrin for bringing me the whoopee cushion. I swear, I'm the only person in this house who has any hint of decency when it comes to bodily functions. I must get that from my mom. She has never allowed bodily functions to be seen or heard in her house without showing her major disapproval. (Heath gets some weird kind of joy seeing how many times he can fart in her house when we're over there. It's especially thrilling to him if they're the silent-but-deadly kind and he can sit close to her.) She's even been quoted as saying "Women don't fart". Umm... Not to make myself seem like less of a lady here, but EVERYONE does it. Some of us just don't feel the need to broadcast it. It makes me wonder how she was married to my dad for as long as she was. He's so open about that kind of thing. One of his favorite tricks is the "pull-my-finger" trick. Gotta love my dad. I love my mom, too, don't get me wrong. I'm just glad I have one parent who's a little more laid back. Maybe even TOO laid back. He and Heath are constantly trying to gross each other out with their "skills". I usually have to air out the house after these battles.

If my mom ever finds out about this blog I'm toast. I try to keep the mention of my extended family to a minimum just in case, but this one could come back to bite me in the you-know-where. It may sound silly to be a grown woman and afraid of my mom, but the woman put the fear of God in me at a young age and made sure I'd NEVER forget it! Thank goodness she did, too, or who knows how I might have turned out. I try to remember this while raising my own children, but I fear I'm not doing a good job. Even my "mean" voice doesn't frighten them anymore. Not that I want them to be afraid of me (back off Social Services). I just want them to treat me like the authority figure I am in this house. At their age, fear and respect kind of go hand-in-hand, don't they? What do I know. I'm just making it up as I go anyway. I won't know how badly I've botched it until it's too late. (Cross my fingers I do all right at this parenting thing.)

Ooo... Led Zeppelin. That's nice, too...

I forgot what I was going to write. Oh, well. I suppose that means I'm done for tonight. Although, two posts in one day is more than enough. I should probably just delete the first one so it doesn't seem like I have a personality disorder. But, hey, this is my space to write whatever I feel like writing. No one makes YOU read it. Yes. I'm feeling much more like me again...

It's Raining


Ever have one of those days where you feel like you've been awake for a week and you weigh at least twice your normal weight? I'd like to think I'm not the only one. Maybe it was the weather. Maybe it was Heath's magical backward-moving job. Maybe it was the pharmacy insisting on a consult before allowing me to pick up a medication I've been for three months simply because the prescription was a newly written one instead of a refill. Maybe it's because there is no light switch for the dining room light. Maybe it's just the monotony of my life. Maybe I just miss Sarah. (I'm not trying to guilt you into writing, Sarah, so don't feel bad, okay? ) Maybe it's lack of money. Maybe it's lack of alcohol.

Whatever the case, I've been melancholy. I have this strange feeling that if I go back and read some of my previous posts I'll find it's not just today. It probably sounds like I need someone to rescue me from myself, but I know that's not the case. My subconscious may be trying to promote that image of a damsel in distress, but I've learned the only way to get out of this puddle I've been soaking in is to just stand up. It's never easy and it never happens overnight, but I know the way. It starts with my refusal to let it all get to me. Listening to the right kind of music and reading the right kind of books makes a difference, as well. I need to stimulate my brain with something beyond the usual garbage. Maybe check out "Philosophy For Dummies" at the library or something. Except, I'm not a dummy. Maybe just "Philosophy" for me. Wow. That was dangerously close to complimenting myself. Wait... Was that complimenting myself? Someone, please tell me, because I have a hard time telling the difference between self-assurance and vanity.

So, I dump my thoughts into cyberspace hoping that getting them out somehow will provide a kind of relief. And it does. At least for awhile. Not quite as much as talking to an actual human being, but it works. Besides, talking to an actual human being is harder. (I really need to stop listening to Cold Play for today.) Back in the day (like I've had so many behind me), I used to go to a coffee house and write poetry when I got like this. I can only imagine doing that now. Abby and Perrin would be running from table to table begging sips of espresso from total strangers and screaming at the top of their lungs while they darted in and out behind the counter. I'd be banned from wherever I went, no doubt.

I've got to stop being so open here. I'm really not a total basket case. I'm still just trying to find that perfect balance between keeping things in and letting them out. Could use some guidance there, too, I guess. You're not my therapist so I'll try not to write anymore of this crap. I might have to avoid writing at all until I get my head on straight, at least on the computer. Forgive my rantings and know that I'll be better about writing like myself again soon.

Irrational Fears

We all have them whether we admit to them in public (or even in private) or not. I, for one, can't sleep with the closet door open if I can see it. It's not that I think there's something in there that needs to be restrained. I really have no idea why. I'm also acrophobic, claustrophobic, and hydrophobic when it comes to large bodies of water (or even the deep end of a swimming pool). Depending on what I read before I go to sleep, I also tend to need a nightlight. Yes, I'm twenty-eight and I KNOW there's nothing there to be afraid of.

With all of my irrational fears, it's not surprising that my kids have a few, as well. Actually, I think Abby is pretty near normal, but Perrin... He was a sensitive soul from the beginning. He was clingy and cried a LOT. He doesn't like loud noises or the dark. Never has. Lately though, he's developed some bizarre (almost annoying) fears. The first is his fear of spiders, which, in and of itself, is not all that abnormal. What IS abnormal (at least in MY book), is the fact that he sees spiders EVERYWHERE. A piece of string. "Mommy! A 'pider!" A dust bunny. "Mommy! A 'pider!" A dead ladybug. "Mommy! A 'pider!" Cookie crumbs. "Mommy! A 'pider!" (Okay, I may have exaggerated the bit about cookie crumbs. Those he's more likely to lick off the floor.) He freaks out about there being "spiders" all over the house and I've only actually seen one in the house. He's like The Boy Who Cried Wolf. He says he sees spiders so often that I've started tuning him out.

His REALLY irrational fear is the garbage truck. Not the noise it makes. (Although, he's not fond of that either.) Oh, no. He's afraid that the garbage truck is going to take him to the dump. His eyes get all wide and his bottom lip sticks out when he hears the garbage truck (or anything that sounds like it) and he climbs into my lap and begins chattering worriedly about it taking him to the dump. I keep trying to reassure him that the garbage truck only takes garbage, not people. (I still don't know where he got the idea that the garbage truck DOES take people. Heath denies it was him.) It's not working. I'm really at a loss here. I suppose I'll just have to hope he grows out of it.

Aside from all of the spider hunting and garbage truck threatening I've been doing, I've been trying to make more time to read. This can be tricky unless I do something like hide in the basement closet or the clothes dryer (as I'm claustrophobic the dryer isn't really an option though) to get away from the kids for long enough to read more than five words. I've even been reading some non-fiction for a change. I picked a book on our trip to the library today called "Ambitious Brew". I'd tell you what it's about but I've only read the first twenty pages or so and it's about time to make dinner. It seems like it's going to be a good read, though. Not my usual subject matter, but good nonetheless. If you really want to know what it's about (Admit it. You're curious.) you'll have to Google it or Ask. I'm tired of doing all the work here.

Things I've Learned


You can learn a lot being a parent. I used to think you could learn just as much working full-time in a preschool (haha). I did learn quite a bit there, but I've learned considerably more as a parent. Allow me to share a bit of what I've learned.
The only way to effectively remove Vaseline from hair is by using corn starch. Shampoo just spreads it around.

Stuffed animals quadruple their weight when given a bath.

Apples still smell like apples long after they've become all shriveled and brown hiding in a drawer or under a dresser.

Saying something in a louder voice doesn't always make you heard.

A roll of toilet paper takes up a lot more room once it's been unrolled.

Disposable diapers are not machine washable (but they can hide well in tiny clothes).

Nothing is EVER out of reach.

My children can't hear me when I tell them to pick up their toys, but they can hear a candy wrapper or bag of chips opening through three closed doors and down two flights of stairs.

I've learned more than that (oh, much, MUCH more), but I don't want to scare off anyone who may be considering becoming a parent in the future. Although, most of them probably smirk and think to themselves, "I won't have those problems. I'll be a naturally good parent", as they read this. Well, (now it's my turn to smirk) go right ahead then. Don't let me stop you. I had every intention of being a rubbish parent when I decided to have children. (Hope you got the sarcasm there.)

Becoming a parent has also altered my vocabulary in such a way that I find myself putting words together to form strange phrases that I never would have imagined I would use. Examples are as follows.

"Get that screwdriver out of your mouth!"

"Stop licking the cat!"

"We don't fill our cups from the toilet bowl!"

"Get out of the dishwasher!"

"Your hair is NOT a tissue!"

"Poop is NOT for finger painting! Especially not on the walls!"

Okay. I'm getting flashbacks here and mentioning that last one was probably really bad luck. If only kids could be litter trained like cats. Maybe not exactly like cats (that litter box would be terrifying), but if they could learn that quickly it would be nice. Although, cats like to toss stuff around in there for awhile... Charlie was in the litter box a few days ago and Heath asked me what he was doing. I looked at him with this "are you serious?" look on my face and said, "He's going to the bathroom". He replied with, "Is he building a sandcastle?". Now, THAT would be entertaining! It's been hard enough to convince the kids it's not a sandbox.

So, there are my bits of wisdom gleaned from my four+ years of parenting. Go ahead and laugh. I mean, it's not your life, right? Seriously. Today has been a good day and I CAN laugh at myself. Although, it's usually more fun to laugh at someone else...

Lost and Found

Mood swings are a weed's worst enemy. At least in MY yard. I don't know if it's from stress (I really think I over-use that excuse) or from my hormones being all out of whack from switching pills, or something else entirely, but I've been on the moody side lately. Take yesterday evening. I officially met our neighbors to the west and they were really nice. They let the kids play on the playhouse/fort they built under their deck (how cool is that?) and jump on their trampoline. The guy is a district fire chief and knows two of my uncles and his wife works with my step-dad at the hospital. Small world, I know.

I felt pretty good after having some adult conversation even if the kids kicked and screamed all the way back home. Once inside, I put some water on to boil and started to get out the stuff for dinner. Then, I realized something wasn't right. Charlie and Lola weren't sleeping on the couch or the chair in the living room. They're there ninety percent of the time, but occasionally fall asleep somewhere else so I wasn't too worried just yet. I started to look for them and quickly lost my mind. I looked everywhere I could think of, even places they couldn't possibly have gotten into. I finally came to the conclusion (in my drug-necessitating frenzy) that Abby (on one of her many trips into and out of the house) hadn't made sure the door was closed and the kittens had gotten outside. I became this dreadful accusing mommy and told her that if they had gotten out and lost that it was her fault. Heath got up for work and looked a bit before going to work and he couldn't find them either. (He DID offer to call in to work and stay home to look for them.) Once he left, I broke down and cried for I don't know how long, all the while hearing that nagging voice in the back of my head telling me how imbalanced I was behaving. I told the kids to go downstairs because I didn't want to look at them right now. Once I managed to cry out enough emotions to regain some semblance of control, I let them come back up. Then I heard a gentle tinkling of a bell. As I reached the top of the stairs, Charlie came sauntering lazily out of Perrin's room. AAAAAAAAAH! I ripped up the bedclothes for the fourth time and found nothing. That's when I noticed the tiny space between the head of the race car bed and the wall. I pulled the bed away from the wall as fast as I could (which wasn't very fast or impressive considering it's heavy and I'm not very strong) and looked underneath it. Sure enough, there was Lola curled up down at the far end looking annoyed that I'd roused her from her nap.

Needless to say, I had some serious apologizing to do to my daughter. It's amazing how forgiving kids are. It'll be a wonder if they turn out normal with me for a mother with all my issues. These are the times when I wonder if my medication is really doing it's job or if I just need to be in therapy along with it. Most of the time, I'm fine, but once in awhile, there's an episode like this where I feel like I'm not in control and I HATE that. Especially now that I have children. I'd better get myself back under control before we ALL end up in the nut house!

So there's a deeper look at my dark and twisty soul. Thank goodness I'm not like this all the time! The weeds in my yard now fear my shadow when it falls on them. At least the fresh air and "exercise" improved my mood and my yard.

Guilt and Relief

Pippin went to his new home today. The people he's going to live with are a nice older couple (even if they can't pronounce "papillon" correctly) so I'm sure he'll be spoiled. I explained his general schedule and habits to them and they still wanted him. He'll be better off now. He deserved better than we could give him. Then why do I feel so guilty?

I knew he had to go, but I didn't think it would actually bother me like this. His perky little ears and bright excited eyes looked back at me from the lady's lap as they backed out of the driveway and I suddenly felt like crap about the whole deal. I feel like I should have tried harder, but deep down, I really feel I did my best. I just don't have the time or patience to house train a dog. My meds only help so much and with all the stress moving has brought on, I'm barely making it as it is. I also couldn't keep from seeing Paddington every time I looked at Pippin. I don't think I'll ever really get over him. I will always love papillons, but I don't think I will ever own another one.

I feel relieved that Pippin is going to get the love and attention he deserves now. I also feel relieved that he will no longer be relieving his need to chew on my Dyson or relieving himself on my floor. Feeling relief makes me feel even more guilty. The poor guy has had a wretched life so far and it's not his fault he has all those bad habits. The kids keep asking about him and when he's coming back. I really am a horrible person, aren't I?

Charlie and Lola are the only ones who don't seem the least bit sad that he's gone. (Charlie is, at this moment, trying to nip a taste of the mixed drink I made myself to unwind a bit) They seem to be settling in quite well. Charlie is a finicky eater and refuses to eat plain old Kitten Chow. It took me two days to realize this. He climbed straight up my bare arm to reach my dinner the second night and I decided he must be hungry. Now, I mix a little soft food (that stuff is VILE) into the dry and he seems to be fine with it. He has gas that even drives Heath from the room (something I didn't think was possible), but at least he's eating.

Lola is still noticeably more independent. She's just as content to sleep on the couch as curled up next to you in the bed. She isn't as fond of being petted as Charlie is, either. She's a feisty little thing. She's smaller than her brother, but I've seen her pin him more than once.

I finally got them collars with little bells on them so I know where they are. It drove them nuts at first, but I think they've finally given up trying to get them off. Either that, or they're working on a more detailed plan. Cats are sneaky like that.

I suppose I should go unpack some more stuff, but I think I'll turn on the television and finish my drink instead. That sounds like more fun.

The Naked Trucker


My kids have this weird love of being naked that they can only have inherited from their father. I don't understand it and can't really relate to it. I won't wear shoes if I don't have to, but they would probably fore go clothes altogether if they could. This probably explains why they love bath time so much. I don't feel like I've encouraged this behavior. Abby is getting better about it (although she still has to be told several times to put pants on), but Perrin is ridiculous! If I'm not quick enough with the clothes, he takes off stark naked and I have to chase him around the house. Even when I AM quick enough with the clothes, it more often than not involves a lot of kicking and screaming to get them on. Lots of fun for everyone.
So, the naked trucker pics aren't nearly as frightening as they sound. Just more blackmail pictures for me to add to my arsenal. I'm going to be well prepared for the teenage years.

New Additions

We added two new members to our family yesterday. Well, I should really say "I" because I didn't exactly mention it to Heath until after the fact. When he got up to get ready for work he found two little kittens (without any mittens) curled up on the couch. They're six weeks old and brother and sister. We named them Charlie and Lola. Charlie is black with a few white hairs on his chest and the tip of his tail. Lola is a dark gray tiger with white around her eyes and on her tummy. She looks just like her mama. She's going to be gorgeous, too, I'll bet. Charlie is the cuddly one, but Lola isn't far behind. They were both a little timid at first (and who wouldn't be around Abby and Perrin), but they seem to have warmed up now. They slept with me last night (guess I can't bear sleeping alone after all) and did really well. Charlie was curled up around my belly all night and Lola by my head. For being so tiny they sure know how to take up a bed! Charlie followed me all the way downstairs this morning like a shadow. He meows whenever he wants attention, which is a LOT.

The lady we got them from runs an in-home daycare so, thankfully, the kittens are already tolerant of kids. I still have to remind Perrin now and again that it's not polite to carry the kitties by their heads. I try to make the kids give them breaks now and then. I mean, really, who wants to be stuffed into boxes and carried around by the belly all day? I can only imagine what it'll be like if Abby discovers her doll clothes with fit Charlie and Lola!

I've never posted a video before, but I'm going to try today. Perrin just cracks me up and I have to share this one.

Tomorrow: Pictures of a naked trucker. Don't miss out!

Green or Ghetto?

I've always been a fan of the Earth. I love that it provides us with everything we need to survive. I don't know that I'd call myself a tree-hugger, but I've cuddled a few maples and dogwoods here and there. Okay, maybe "cuddled" isn't really the word. That just sounds creepy. I do believe that plants are important and I DO talk to mine. Of course, I talk to myself, too, so I'm not sure if that's normal. When have I ever been a good judge of normal anyway?

I had Heath put up a clothesline in the backyard so we could be "green" and save energy (and money) by not using the dryer during the two weeks in Iowa that it's warm enough to go outside. We had one growing up and I never thought twice about it, but I like the idea of conserving resources (and money) where possible. Heath seems to think our neighbors will think we're ghetto or redneck, but that's not how I see it. I think it's smart. We're saving energy (and money) by NOT running the dryer. Plus, running the dryer would make the house hotter which would make the air conditioner run more. We're saving money TWO ways. Heath likes this aspect. I, personally, love the way the clothes smell after line drying and I've discovered that I like taking them down, as well. Everything is displayed in front of me so I can easily decide which items to take down first so I can fold them as I put them in the basket. This is real progress since I hate the folding part of laundry.

Now, as much as I love the clothesline, I do have limits. There are certain items of mine that will not be displayed for all the world to see. Especially those that don't have enough fabric to be held with a clothespin. I can only imagine my neighbors finding a pair of naughty panties on their deck after a particularly blustery day.

*Knock* *Knock*

Neighbor: Um, hello. I, uh, found something on my back porch that I think may belong to you. (Gets red-faced and avoids eye contact while clumsily thrusting out a pair of tiny black panties.)

Me: Oh. (Wanting to crawl in a hole and die) Uh, yeah. Thanks. I'm so sorry. I'll try to be more careful. Thanks again.

Or, I could pretend I would be clever and witty about the whole thing and make some comment about runaway panties. That would never happen though because it would, no doubt, be one of our MALE neighbors that found them and we would both know that he was picturing me wearing them and it would be more than awkward. Or, the wife would find them and that would be a whole different can of worms I don't want to get into any better.

In short (or not), I love my clothesline and I plan to keep using it. With discretion, of course. So, if you drive by my backyard and see panties on the line, just know they're my tame ones. The naughty ones will be drying over the shower bar.

Ducklings

I finally got some decent shots of Mama Duck and the Nine today. I was out digging up dandelions (Although, I'm surprised there are any left with all of the ones the kids have brought me.) and they were taking a nap right across the stream. I'm still amazed I managed to get my camera and get back there before the kids noticed. Anyway, here they are. You can't see all of them at once, but all of the Nine are still there.

Am I Still Alive?

We are now officially moved out of our townhome. We spent all day cleaning over there and packing up the last few things. I swear that place has never been so clean, and I'm including when we moved in. Although, I suppose I have to deduct points for the marker and crayon marks on the wall of the kids' room. They're just going to have to paint over it because I tried everything I could think of (including a Magic Eraser) and only succeeded in removing the paint itself. Oops. The really amazing part? I only had to empty the Dyson TWICE for the entire townhome yet I had to empty it THREE times from only the basement here at the new house. I'm still having nightmares about that bag full of hair. Now, if only our newly cleaned (professionally, mind you) carpet in the master bedroom didn't smell like wet dog... Which reminds me, I need to call the carpet cleaners tomorrow. We did NOT pay to have our upstairs smell worse than it did BEFORE it was "cleaned".

On the bright side, I'm still seeing a lot of the animals in our backyard. I guess we haven't scared them off yet. The rabbits seem to be out there all the time and I usually see Mama Duck and the Nine at least once a day. I'm still trying to get a decent picture of them, but it's tricky. This is one of the best so far.

I've also been seeing a lot more of the snakes in our yard. I'm trying my best not to step on them, but they don't make it easy. I scared one out of the grass in the front yard the other night when I was unloading the Rendezvous. I'm more than happy to let them stay in my yard and eat all the bugs they want, but if they're so sneaky about where they are it's going to be difficult to NOT step on them. I don't want to get bitten anymore than they want to be stepped on.

Tomorrow will be another busy day, but at least there won't be so much pressure to hurry. We're here and all of our stuff is here. We just have to unpack it all and put it away. At least the kitchen is done. It's nice to have at least one room under control. If it weren't for all the help from my mom and Ed and Chris I'd probably have packed MYSELF into a box by now. I hate moving. I can't hardly catch a coherent thought in my head anymore. Guess I'd better get some sleep.

Moving Eve

Moving Day is at hand. Well, near enough anyway. I've been hauling stuff over in the Rendezvous all week to try and cut down on the volume to be shuttled on moving day, but holy cow, do we have a lot of crap! Figuratively and literally thanks to the dog (whose name is now Pippin, by the way) and his acting out. Heath and I spent all day packing boxes and I think we have most of the challenging stuff done. I've given up on trying to sort as I pack. My new plan is to sort while I unpack. Ha ha. At least I have goals.

I am such a mess from everything we've done so far. I'm covered in paint and there's a nice bruise on my forehead from where it met with the dashboard while I was trying to reach my ringing cell phone. Not my most graceful moment, but as I was not the one driving I was unaware of the oncoming dip in the road. It's actually kind of funny to me now, except when I touch the spot with my fingers when I'm trying to brush the hair from my eyes. This is my life.

I tried to get some pictures of Mama Duck and the Nine Ducklings today, but as I wasn't sneaky enough going out the back, the kids followed me and scared them upstream. It's too bad she's afraid of me (the kids I can understand) because I can totally relate to having my young follow my every move. We can relate. I'll just keep leaving bits of seed and bread out for them and hope they keep coming back. They've been here everyday so far. Now, if I can just keep the kids from trying to catch them...

A Proud Moment

Tonight, Abby received her first award. (I'm so proud!) She has been going to a local church's AWANA program as a "Cubbie" (that's what they call the AWANA preschoolers) for the last nine months or so. They are given a book at the beginning of the year and the book has a section to read and a verse to memorize for each week. Abby has been learning her verses and reciting them for her Cubbies leader all year and tonight, she got an award for completing her first book! All Cubbies also receive a vest to wear to club and throughout the year they receive patches to put on the vest for completing book sections. Having been a Cubbies director and teacher, I can truly be proud of her (and her teachers) for all the work she put into finishing her book. That's not to say that I couldn't TRULY be proud of her if I hadn't been. Obviously, I still would be. Although, having been on both the parent and teacher sides, I may have a better idea of just how much effort it takes. Regardless, I'm proud of my little Cubbie! Of course, her fifteen seconds up on stage in the spotlight wasn't nearly enough for our Abby. She kept asking us when she got to go back up. She's destined to be a scene stealer.

Other than that, there's just more of the same going on. Painting, cleaning, packing, etc. Yay.

The Joy of Painting

I always agreed with Bob Ross when he talked about the joy of painting. His "happy little clouds" and trees that always had "friends" next to them so they weren't lonely. Which is actually kind of odd when you think about it. They weren't even real trees so how could they be lonely? Does painting something make it "real"? I'm way too exhausted to get into a debate with myself about something like that right now.

I used to really enjoy painting. Walls, pictures, cars, whatever. Now that I have children, I find the joys of painting somewhat altered. Finger-painting has never been so much fun, but trying to paint a house? Not so much. It only took me a couple of hours before I realized I should have put them in "play" clothes, but they had spent three days at my mom's when she brought them to the new house so I didn't have a real selection to choose from as I haven't even packed the kids' clothes yet, much less brought them over here. The last two days they've been in the same clothes and are getting covered in paint. As long as they're not getting it all over the house, I'm alright with that. I'm covered in paint, too. I'm not sure it'll ever come out of my hair. I'll have to spend hours in the shower, I expect. Although, that's not such a bad thing, come to think of it...

We seem to have acquired a sort of zoo along with the house. So far we've seen several robins, some common grackles, sparrows, a male mallard duck, a snake ( the harmless kind, that goodness ), and a pair of cottontails. The kids love the rabbits. They can watch them out of the basement windows and see them pretty close up. They've been here the past two nights, so I'm guessing they're going to be regulars. So much for having a vegetable garden. The weird thing is that all of the animals seem to be more interested in watching US than we are of watching them. The duck especially. He sat there and eye-balled me from across the stream as though he were sizing me up ( or checking me out ). Kind of creepy. I haven't seen any blackbirds though. I'm going to miss them.

Aside from the menagerie of animals, we also discovered something hideous in the upstairs bath. It was almost grounds for selling the house immediately. I sent Heath up to remove the trim and border from around the top of the walls. He came back down with the awful thing in his hands. That dreadful, demonic purple dinosaur whose name I refuse to utter was on the hidden part of the border! Had I known that before I might never have thought about buying this house. To think that that evil has been here is absolutely revolting. I must cleanse myself of this, as well.

That's about all I can mention for now. Between the paint fumes and the kids, my brain is toast. I need to get home and get some rest because, in the words of Scarlett O'Hara, "Tomorrow, is another day".

House-Buying Eve

In less than twenty-four hours we will be homeowners. I still can't believe it's really happening. It's strange how everything has worked out for us so quickly. I really thought it would take a lot longer to actually FIND a house. Must be due to all the HGTV we've been watching. Well, WERE watching. I can't take much of it lately. Too many ideas and projects. My mind is overloaded right now. I don't know that I really believed in "good stress" until this whole experience. We've had our share of "bad stress" too, though. House a mess? Bad stress. Down payment half what we expected? Good stress. It's all still stress. I wish God had blessed me with the ability to let it roll off of me. On the positive side, if that which does not kill us makes us stronger, I'm going to be pretty impressive after this.

I'm still packing. With the kids at my mom's it seems like it should be going faster, but instead, here I am writing when I should be packing. Shame on me. It gives me a way to vent though, even if I don't always write everything I'm thinking. Who really wants to know everything someone else is thinking anyway? I went through the house one last time with Nigel this afternoon. I feel quite a bit better now. Things are more in order now and I can breathe again. Even the closets are cleaner. There's still a lot to do, but I feel more capable.

I really don't know how I'm going to sleep tonight. I'm probably going to feel sick to my stomach all day. I swear, the last time I was nauseous this much it was morning sickness. No chance of that this time! Wow. The thought of being pregnant right now is more than a little scary. Although, I've been pregnant both times we moved before so it's almost like breaking tradition. I'm not opposed to the idea of more children, but now is not a good time! I'd like to think I'll get to experience pregnancy at least one more time. I've been through it twice and it still amazes me. I am a bit concerned that having another child will drain out what's left of my brain. Maybe I'll wait until I'm done using it.

At least if I'm not sleeping I can get more packing done, right? Right. Me, the Queen of Procrastination. Might as well be the Queen of something.

A Dozen Down

I finally started packing. So far only a dozen boxes and a couple of plastic bins, but at least it's something. The worst part is that it doesn't LOOK like I've done anything but make a bigger mess. The kids are doing their best to keep me from getting anything done, of course. Last night, Perrin got into the giant bag of birdseed and tried to feed it to the dog while I was upstairs packing. Today, they both kept trying to climb into and onto the boxes (it actually reminded me of that children's book "Inside, Outside, Upside-down") and asking me what I was doing (even though I've been saying "packing" like a broken record) and why. Perrin dumped an entire box of cereal on the floor in Abby's room and Abby dumped at least a gallon of water onto the bathroom floor. It was probably more than that because it soaked through an over-sized bath towel and the rug beneath it and several random pieces of clothing. They also chased each other around the kitchen with a toddler-sized broom and tried to beat each other. I'm sure this is due in part to some flaws in my parenting techniques, but I HAVE to pack at some point. I'm taking them to my mom's tomorrow and I'm thinking of just letting them stay until we close on Friday.

I now hear hysterical laughter coming from the next room. I should probably go in and see what evil they have wrought this time, but I think I'll cling to these last few moments of denial first. If they're laughing, they're not hurt so that buys me a few minutes.

Don't think I don't love my kids. I absolutely love them more than life itself. They're beautiful and brilliant and terrific problem-solvers. They make me laugh when I don't feel like laughing. They climb into my lap and cuddle me when I'm crying. They're full of mischief, but they have the biggest hearts I've ever known. They make life a real learning experience.

Oh, no...

It's gotten quiet...

That's almost NEVER a good sign...

So, a dozen boxes down and too many more to go!

Wow...

We did another walk through the new house today. Um... Where do I begin? Every other time I've been inside of it, it's had furniture in it. I had no idea how distracting furniture is. It's not like the couch and beds were dancing the mambo or anything, but they might as well have been for the job they did hiding things. Dirty walls, scratched paint, rotting cabinet bottoms (okay so it's really only one and it was hidden by household items rather than furniture, but still), cobwebs EVERYWHERE, carpet stains (and holes), hideous faux denim blinds (how did I not see those?), broken blinds, etc. Oh, my goodness, was it dirty in there! The appliances were terrifying and I was afraid something hiding in the giant dust bunnies in the laundry closet might eat me alive. Or maybe it would actually BE the dust bunnies. *shudder*

Now, I know the guy is still working on cleaning out the house. At least, I HOPE so. I'm trying to be understanding. Well, part of me is. The rest of me feels like it is more than just a little unfair that I have to clean TWO houses when we move. I told Heath I'm tempted to call a cleaning service to clean the house before we move into it just to get a fresh start. I'm sure THAT won't come cheap. Is my sanity worth that? If the doc has to up my meds it might be worth what we'd save on prescription costs...

Nigel says the seller is supposed to clean the house before moving out. He told the seller's realtor that we are not happy with the shape the house is in right now. He and I are going to walk through it again on Thursday to make sure things are in order before we close on Friday. I really hope they are because I feel so overwhelmed with the state of things right now. I'm starting to really see it as MY house (well, OUR house) and it made me want to cry to see it look the way it did today. I want to believe him when he says it will be better. I'm sure he's right (being the WGR and all), but it's so hard to see it now.

What Was I Writing About?

I've never really been one to listen to much music on the computer. I usually only listen to it while I'm driving, but lately, there's more than likely a CD by "The Wiggles" (I'm going to miss Greg. He was hot. Or maybe it's just the fact that he kept my kids entertained for half an hour that I found attractive?) playing instead of Sarah McLachlan or Matchbox Twenty. Don't get me wrong, I expose my children to the classics (How can you NOT like The Beatles?), but I try to stay away from anything that has curse words in the lyrics. We sing along with Elvis, James Brown, Aerosmith, The Dixie Chicks, Collective Soul, etc. We even listen to a little Mozart and Beethoven here and there.

Anyway, I stumbled across an interesting website a few months back and had almost forgotten about it until today. It's called Pandora (http://www.pandora.com/) and it's one of the best ways I've found to listen to music, especially if, like me, you don't want to invest in a ton of CDs. They call it a music genome project. You can select an artist or song that you like and they will "build" you a radio station based on that style. It's a great way to discover artists you might not have otherwise heard of. For example, I'm listening to "James Blunt Radio" right now (I've got to get one of his CDs when we have a bit of extra change) and the mix so far has included Matchbox Twenty, Jack Johnson, and Coldplay. I hadn't heard of Jack Johnson (At least I don't think I have...), but I love the other two.

Aside from the fact that I sound like an advertisement, I think it's worth a mention. For the life of me I can't remember where I first heard of it, though.

So, here I am, listening to some rather laid back music and trying to de-stress. Nicci and Joel moved out today and I watched Katelynn and Leah for several hours. I shouldn't complain because the house was already a disaster area. For some reason, having four kids under five in the house puts me on edge, though. Plus, it was nasty outside again and bad weather tends to make me a little edgy, too. Nicci was not actually here. She's spending a couple of days in the hospital after having contractions last night. The twins aren't due until July so that's not a good thing. Joel said she's fine, now, but they want to keep her there to monitor her. I'm glad she's getting a much needed rest. I packed up my Nintendo DS and most of the games and sent it with Joel so she could have a break from the monotony of lying in the hospital bed. I remember how horribly boring that was. I really believe that being pregnant and in the hospital is worse than just being in the hospital (with some exceptions). Thank goodness she has people to come visit her. Three days seems like an eternity in a darkened room with no visitors. I should give her a call tomorrow and see if needs anything.

Abby will miss playing with Katelynn, but it's not like we're going to be here much longer anyway. (Is it moving day yet?) I'm sure we'll keep in touch. At least for awhile. Maybe longer if I can act like an adult and put a bit of effort into it. I've selective about the company I keep, but I rather like Nicci and Joel. Now if I could just get Sarah to move out here... Both my mother and Heath's seem to think I don't have enough friends. They keep trying to make more for me. I guess they think I'm lonely. I've tried to explain that that's not the case, but to no avail. I just don't have the time or patience it takes to let several people into my life in a more than casual manner. It's not like I'm J.D. Salinger or something. I DO know how to socialize. Like I said, I'm selective. If I'm comfortable with someone, I know that right off. If I'm not... Life's too short. Arm's length is plenty close enough, thank you.

Now that I've completely lost track of what I started writing about...

I'm in a journaling kind of mood tonight and I feel like I could just go on and on about whatever comes to mind. That's not something I'm really keen on doing in cyberspace, though. Must be time to go read a book.

The Two Fountains

One of the many responsibilities I have as a mom is bathing my children. It's so much easier now than when they were babies. I always hated those infant bathtubs. The kids did, too, if all the crying was indicative of their feelings. Who wants to take a bath in three inches of water? Especially when it goes from somewhat warm to freezing in about thirty seconds. I get that the umbilical area can get infected, but the whole process is almost cruel, really.

Now that Abby and Perrin are older, they enjoy bath time a good deal more than they used to. Abby continues to act like she could live in the bathtub. She can actually float if I forget to turn the water off soon enough. Perrin usually wants to get out about ten minutes in. This kind of confuses me, as he is the "neat freak" child. If he gets something on his hands he gets all concerned and holds them out to me with this look on his face like he's afraid they'll fall off if I don't get them clean right away. I had to CONVINCE him to put his hands into the potting soil when we planted my peony bushes. He about lost it the first time I stuck his hand in it. I thought boys were supposed to LIKE dirt.

I took some pictures of them when they had their bath today. In spite of the fact that I may be scarring them for life by letting them bathe together, it saves water. (Being "green" is in now, right?) Now, if I could just get them to keep the water IN the tub... Maintenance has already replaced the seal along the floor once and I've had to re-stick it several times since then. I have tried to spare the floor by bathing the kids in their wading pool outside during the summer ( not naked, mind you ), but I don't know that it's really made much difference. I haven't noticed anything growing out of the floor yet. That must be a good sign. In a couple of weeks it won't be my problem anymore anyway. At least I've got a few interesting pictures of my kids hosing down the bathroom. Maybe I'll put them to use watering the lawn if it gets dry this summer. You don't think that constitutes child abuse do you?

In Hindsight...

I'm really beginning to wonder if I made a mistake buying this dog. Okay, so I'm pretty sure I did. I knew the guy we bought him from wasn't being honest with us as soon as I saw the dog, but my heart won out over my head yet again. He claimed the dog was ten months old. Apparently, the guy has never set eyes on a ten month old papillon. I HAVE. I knew the dog was well over eighteen months, at LEAST. I should have said no right then and there, but looking at the "home" the poor little guy had there, I felt like I couldn't just leave him. I'm a sucker. I should have asked more questions, but I'm sure that would have only given me more lies for answers. The dog is NOT up to date on his vaccinations, he's NOT housebroken, can't walk on a leash without getting himself (and me) all tangled up about a dozen times, doesn't know ANY commands, and chews on EVERYTHING. I've never been the kind of person that believes pets are disposable. That, and the fact that the kids love him, is probably the only reason he's still here now and I'm ready to snatch myself bald in frustration.

I thought I could handle another papillon, but now I'm starting to wonder if I thought it would fill the hole Paddington left. Honestly, that could never happen, anymore than you can replace ANY loved one. I resent the new dog because he's NOT Paddington and that's not fair. Add all of his issues to that fact and the poor thing was doomed from the beginning. I didn't think it through as far as I thought I had. That was stupid.

Being much more aware now of things like this, I am trying to have patience and be understanding. It's not the dog's fault that everyone in the past screwed him over and didn't spend time teaching him the basics any RESPONSIBLE pet owner should teach a dog. That falls to me now. I just didn't expect to have to start from scratch with a two year old dog. I am more than capable of training him and I WILL get it done. Maybe once he behaves like a dog his age should, I won't feel so detached emotionally. If not... Well... If he's trained it shouldn't be hard to find a new home for him with someone who doesn't have the emotional issues that I have with him. The kids would be sad for awhile, but they would get over it. I hope it doesn't come to that, though.

I hope my stress level will go back down once we move into the house. This waiting is driving me crazy. It's like there's nothing happening and no one's doing anything but waiting for that magical closing date. No one told me how irritating this part would be. I just want it to be over. Heath heard from our lender today and apparently we're alright for closing now. What?! What does THAT mean? I didn't realize we weren't alright for closing in the first place. Was that ever in question? I feel so out of the loop right now because I really don't understand what's going on and I don't even know what questions to ask or who to ask if I did. I let Heath do most of the technical stuff because I didn't think I needed anymore to think about, but maybe that was a mistake. It's not like I'm not smart enough to get it. I just thought I could get by without knowing, for some reason. Now I feel lost and frustrated. There's only so much one can learn from watching HGTV (Which I'm absolutely burnt out on, in case anyone cares.).

I'm just feeling snappish and I probably need to go for a walk by myself or something. Probably ought to do it before it snows again.

Green Eggs and Mom

I suppose this is a bit late in coming, but anyone who knows me knows I'm always late for EVERYTHING. Many of the people closest to me have already devised and implemented a system to get me places on time. They tell me I need to be someplace half an hour or so before I actually have to be there. The only way this works is if they sometimes tell me the actual time rather than "my" time. This way, I never know for sure if they're telling me the truth. It rarely works, but I give them an "A" for effort.

So back to the green eggs bit. Like your average parent, I thought it would be fun to color Easter eggs with my kids. We bought the basic coloring kit, which has only been slightly updated from when I was a child (since when is "denim" a color, anyway?). I chose to use the vinegar method rather than water because it makes the eggs come out brighter (it helps that we always have a gallon of vinegar on hand for those times when the kids get mouthy), but you have to get used to the smell. I actually am surprised at how quickly the kids got into it, considering their dislike of vinegar (Really, they've only ever tasted a drop at a time. It's not like I make them drink it.). Before long, we'd gone through the dozen+ eggs I had hard boiled and the entire place smelled like a jar of pickles. Yes, we ended up with a few green eggs. Although, several of the eggs were an indiscernable color from being over-dipped in different colors. The greenest things, by far, were Perrin's hands. Green from fingertips to elbows. Considering there was only about half a cup of liquid in each glass, that's pretty impressive. The kid is a natural at making messes.

Take the week after Christmas, for example. Heath's parents sent the kids some reindeer shaped suckers. Perrin somehow managed to get it all over his face to the point his right eye was stuck shut. Yes, I took pictures before cleaning him up ( and, believe me, it was REALLY hard to hold the camera steady enough and see through all the tears of laughter to take them ), but I had to have proof.

So, after taking the soggy remains of the sucker away and cleaning him up, I let him go on his merry way. My mistake was that I didn't realize the bag of "puppy chow" was perilously close to the edge of the counter in the kitchen. Now, for those of you who have children, you KNOW they can smell sugar from at least a mile away. I must have missed the sound of him sliding the bag off the counter and taking it up the stairs because the next thing I knew he was coming around the corner covered in a white powdery substance. After my mind flew through all of the possibilities, my eyes closed in denial when I realized what it inevitably was. For a few seconds I kept them closed to avoid having to face what I was certain was going to be a mini disaster area upstairs. Of course, Perrin had that poo-eating grin on his face and he looked ridiculous so I had to laugh. I'm still trying to block out the images of the bed covered in Chex and powdered sugar, though.

A couple of days later he got into the bowl I had mixed chocolate batter in. Again, how could I not take pictures? One of these days they're likely going to have children and they're going to wonder why they make so many messes. I will have evidence. Oh, yes. I will have evidence.

In Which I Become Furniture

I have a vague memory of a body that was once my own. So distant it almost seems like a dream. What happened? Why is it that, with all the furniture in our house, everyone wants to lay on me? Is my body really THAT inviting? The kids, the dog, and even Heath seem to see me as some kind of ultra-plush mattress or fuzzy throw. Now, don't get me wrong, I love my family dearly, but a little personal space now and then ( especially when I feel like the business end of a toilet plunger ) would go a long way. Heath, to his credit, has attempted to get me out of the house alone by giving me a spa certificate. After over two years, I decided to use it. Why, do you ask, did I wait so long? Allow me to explain.

1. I have to get someone to watch the kids in the first place since the spa is supposed to be relaxing and peaceful. Something my children most decidedly are not.

2. I have to make an appointment to go, which implies that I have some general idea of what my life holds in store for the next week. Chances are, someone will have the flu that day.

3. I have to go to some upscale place where I feel quite out of place amongst all of the designer labels and coordinating clutch purses thus making relaxation a real challenge.

4. I feel obligated to carry on a conversation with a total stranger who has been assigned to me like I'm just another file in the "In" box. This person is quite likely to discover beauty rituals even my husband doesn't know about and the only thing I know about them is the name printed on the badge they wear.

5. I tend to over-tip. I have no idea why I do this.

So much for peaceful and relaxing. I don't think I'm cut out for regular spa sessions. And massages? I don't really want some stranger seeing me naked enough to know all the details of my tattoo.

You know, maybe when I had children they gave me a second tattoo ( with highly top secret invisible ink ) that says something like "Please lounge on me". They could have easily done it in conjunction with my epidural and I wouldn't have noticed. Whatever the cause, my body seems to be the choice place to be around here. Someday soon I'm going to wake up with a tag that says "Not To Be Removed" growing out of my backside like a tail.

I've Fooled Them!

The doctors, that is. At my follow-up appointment today, the doc made me take the depression test again and it says I'm normal now. Somehow, I managed to keep a straight face when he told me that. He doesn't seem to have much of a sense of humor anyway. Granted, depression isn't exactly funny in and of itself, but if I can laugh about it then you think he should be able to at least force a smile. He hasn't really seemed like a good fit for me as a regular physician from the beginning. ( Guess that's what I get for letting proximity be the deciding factor in my choice of doctors. ) He's kind of bossy and he's a little TOO gentle when he has to touch me for things like listening to my chest or taking my pulse. A gentle, yet firm touch is fine, but when it feels more like a caress it's creepy. At least from my doctor. I mentioned today that we are moving to Ankeny before my next follow-up and he said I could transfer my file up to the clinic there. I think that's a great idea!

So what does "normal" mean anyway? I suppose the criteria doctors use is different than the criteria I use. ( Obviously. ) They seem to figure that as long as I don't have thoughts of hurting myself or anyone else and I sleep through the night that I'm normal. Okay, I fudged a bit about sleeping through the night. I still wake up a lot, but at least I fall back to sleep easier than before I was on the meds. As for thoughts about hurting myself or others... I may imagine Tow Truck Guy's trucks getting washed away in a flood of rampaging wildebeests, but does that really count? It's kind of unlikely that I'll ever be able to actually obtain a flood of wildebeests, much less a rampaging one.

You see? I'm not really normal. I quite glad I'm not. In some weird way, I believe that the years battling depression have greatly improved my wit and sarcasm. I can't promise I won't go all "Arsenic and Old Lace" in the end, but at least I'll have an interesting time getting there. I really think that if everything in my life were perfect that I would be a terribly dull person. I would be just like all of those other "normal" people out there who put on their happy masks and act as if they have it all together even though they are quietly dying on the inside from sheer boredom of their own personalities. I've been told so many negative things about the way I live my life and some of them may very well be true. I'm not very organized and I'm terrible at keeping house, but at least my kids are happy. I'd much rather teach them to enjoy painting or dance with them in the rain than fold laundry or dust. So what if I hate wearing shoes? I don't think you should have to wear shoes everywhere anyway if you have reasonably tidy feet. And my compulsion to rinse everything three times? It certainly doesn't hurt anything.

The verdict, for now, is that I stay on my meds and go back in six months. I'm going to miss all of the free samples the doc gave me, though. He finally wrote the prescription and the forty-five dollar price tag was NOT a pleasant surprise. It seems to me the antidepressants should be free, or at least cheaply priced. I probably WOULD have thoughts of hurting myself or someone else if it weren't for our insurance coverage on part of the bill! What a price to pay just to be "normal"!

The WGR

Thanks to The World's Greatest Realtor, we will be closing on our new home on the 25th of this month. ( Glorious fanfare accompanied by shouts of joy! ) Oh. My. GOODNESS! I am SO glad to be getting out of this place! I have already made apologies to our decent neighbors for whomever may move into our unit once we vacate. Hopefully, it won't be someone worse than most recent new neighbor who curses at her small children loud enough that everyone in a ten mile radius can hear her telling her children she hopes someone takes them. Someone probably SHOULD, but DHS is too busy slapping the wrists of twelve year olds who sexually abuse their step-siblings and sending them home to do it again.

Wow. Kind of got angry there for a moment. I probably shouldn't talk anymore about my vile neighbors. If I get started on Tow Truck Guy I might never stop.

So let's focus on the positive, shall we? We are actually getting a house that is pretty close to perfect for us. Once I get my 12 foot privacy fence with electrified barbed wire 'round the top installed, it should be perfect. Of course, there's also the moat to consider... Well. One thing at a time. My grandfather made my mom and her siblings dig the basement under their house so surely I can make my children dig a moat. Mud pies, anyone?

My dad did the inspection on the house today and didn't find anything major to fix. Another positive thing. The bedrooms are all a good size ( especially ours ) and Perrin's room even has a John Deere ceiling fan. He'll be right at home with all of his tractors in there! Abby's room will need painted and probably ours. The house also has second floor laundry so no more lugging around big, awkward baskets of clothes. The first floor has no carpet at all so my dear Dyson won't get nearly as much use as it should. The floors are nice though so I really can't complain. It has a fireplace, a finished basement, good sized garage, two decks off the back and a nice little stream along the property line. Across the stream in a bike path, an aquatic center, and... A LIBRARY! I never imagined I'd be fortunate enough to have a library within walking distance TWICE in my life! (Nigel, WGR, really does his job exceptionally well. ) Now, if only I could find more time to read...

Maybe, this summer I'll find time to curl up on one of our decks and re-read "War and Peace" while the kids and our new papillon, Izzie, play in the yard. Yeah, right. Only if we get a fence put up. I remember someone suggesting an invisible fence to me. Who was that?

I guess I should mention that we bought a papillon yesterday. I don't think Heath really wanted to, but he spoils me and I adore him for it :) He was there with me the night I lost Paddington. He held me while I held the sweetest and dearest dog I have ever known as he took his last breath. He took care of me and drove me from Atlanta to his parents' house in Virginia so I could have a place to bury Paddington.

Okay, now that I'm crying all over the keyboard I realize I've gotten sidetracked once again. ( Deep breath... ) Long story short, I've been waiting for very nearly five years to have another furry ball of love and energy come into the house and now he's here. He was posted on Craigslist the day our offer on the house was accepted. It was fate. I don't believe much of what the guy we bought him from told us about him, but it doesn't really matter. He's ours and he will have a wonderful life, provided I can get the kids to cease their asking him to lick them all the time. I don't know for sure if we'll keep calling him Izzie since it sounds a bit feminine. The previous owner called him Gizzy. How original, right? I shortened it to Izzie for the time being so as not to confuse him with a total name change. It'll probably stick. It'd be far too much work to convince him AND the kids to start calling him something else. I'll try to post a pic of him when I get one put onto the computer. He's a handsome little guy. Cleans up quite nicely.

Well, after a fun-filled evening of dog walking, child rearing, and belly dancing, I think I'm about ready for bed. I need to start thinking about packing pretty soon and that's going to require planning. Planning means brainpower and that means rest. ( Please, please, please, let there be no feet or elbows digging into my back tonight.. )

Not-So-Happy Hunting

So we've been house hunting for just over a week now...
...
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Where do I begin? I honestly thought I knew exactly what I wanted in ( and outside of ) a house before all of this started. I suppose part of me thought it would be similar to purchasing a car. You know; you decide what you want, go look at a few, pay for your choice, and it becomes yours. The only thing I don't think really registered, was that there is no "perfect" house out there. There will always be something we need/want to change. Things like paint are a simple, and rather inexpensive fix, but ugly bathroom tile or a backyard with no fence? Part of me feels horrible for going through someone else's home and commenting on the less desirable aspects of it. The people who live there might actually like it, after all. ( Oh, my... ) I feel especially poor about it all when their realtor calls and wants to know what we didn't like about the house. I know it's probably standard procedure ( constructive criticism and whatnot ), but for goodness' sake! You don't truly want me to be honest, do you? I mean, you want me to give you a vauge idea, but not an itemized list, correct? Years of living with myself have shown me that you don't really want to get me started on what I don't like. How long do you have? I'm sure these homeowners are all really great people and who am I to judge their homes? I'm positive I'm taking this FAR too seriously. At least I recognize that.

I've lost track of how many houses we've driven by and even the ones we've walked through. I feel like we're right on the cusp as far as cost goes. We're right where we could get a really decent house or we could get stuck with less than stellar possibilities. I'm not a soccer mom and I don't want to be. I don't like feeling like I have to keep up with the rest of the people my age like everything is some kind of juvenile contest about whose is better. I just want a little room to spread out so I can breathe. I don't want my neighbors peeking into my windows to see what I'm fixing for dinner or watching me hang my unmentionables to dry. I wish we could have enough yard for me to have squirrels, chipmunks, chickens, and such ( the chickens would not be wild chickens, naturally ) but being in a good school district is important, as well. As much as I dislike people in general, I want to be reasonably close to civilization. I want all of the bedrooms to be on the same floor, but I need a space away from that where the kids and I can play while Heath sleeps.

Nigel has been good about all this. Very patient. Well... Except for that bit about shoving me into the closet under the stairs. ( Do ALL real estate agents accost their clients? ) I try to keep from pestering him with questions, yet I can just imagine his eyes rolling when he receives another email from me. Thank heaven he has a similar sense of humor or we might not have got on at all. I don't think I could have handled this whole process were it not for humor. I'm glad our family has it. Heath, Abby, and Perrin all make me laugh even when I don't much feel like laughing. For instance, Perrin keeps bring different articles of clothing to me as I write this and asking me if they're "way cool" before he puts them on. He's now wearing Abby's snow boots and flower-shaped sunglasses with his red footie pajamas. He's "way cool" alright :)

I know that eventually this whole house thing will come together, but I hope it's soon. I will feel much safer walking barefoot in my own yard than the bare scrap of grass we have here with all its charm. We're ready to move out of "The Ghetto of Johnston" and on to a better place. I want to believe we deserve a better place. At least, better than this.