House Selling Saga Part 1.5

Finally!

Although we had to wait an hour and were almost killed in rush hour traffic getting there, it's done. Old house doesn't belong to us anymore. It would be sad if it weren't such a relief to never set foot in that neighborhood again.

I took the oldest and the youngest by on the way to say good-bye. I thought I'd be more torn up about it, but it wasn't so bad. We took some pictures:







We pulled some limbs off the hibiscus bush we planted while Jacob was in the NICU. We plucked all the oranges we could reach. We played chase through the empty rooms. We said a little prayer for our good old house hoping the new owners treat her well and are blessed as much as we were there. Even if they are a tad on the bitchy side.

Oh, and yesterday they were all up in arms because NONE of the faucets were working. They would need ALL new faucets! Until our realtor informed them the water had been turned off last week. Like we told them it would be. Like, last week. Morons. Poor house. I feel bad for her.

I know I'll want to post more about it later, but for now, I'm closing up the computer, taking my kid out of school, and heading to the lake for a mini-vacation.

House Selling Saga Part 1

It appears our neverending house selling saga may soon be over...

We're supposed to be at the title company DOWNTOWN at 4 tomorrow afternoon. That is if they don't reschedule. Again.

Our first closing was scheduled for September 18, but when Ike blew through they wanted an extension to have the roof checked out. Of course, the roofers have been plenty busy so it took some time to get one to come out, but he did, found the roof in excellent condition and the closing was then set for September 30.

The second closing came and suddenly the buyers decided they really, really loved those solar screens that blew away in the hurricane. The same solar screens they hated just three weeks before so they could not, no, would not, close on September 30. They would reschedule when new screens were installed.

Now, we signed a contract on September 7 after haggling over a low ball deal and finally getting the price back up to asking if we kicked in 3,000 in closing costs. We didn't want to pay someone to take our house, but we know the reality that is the housing market and decided it was something we needed to do. We'll still turn a profit. Barely. The buyers also wanted us to close on the 12th, yes five days later, so they added the "as is" clause into the contract stating they would take that house "as is" and take care of any needed repairs themselves. They weren't even going to get an inspector. They needed that house. Right. Then.

But two days later I got a phone call from my realtor wanting to know where the magnet was to open the child lock under the sink because the inspector couldn't finish his work without it.

HUH?

So dumb ass inspector reports that the brand new air conditioner isn't functioning and the garbage disposal was broken and the kitchen faucet leaked a little bit. I think that's pretty good for an eighteen year old house especially considering the air conditioner and garbage disposal AREN'T broken. Seems trusty inspector dude stayed all of ten minutes and didn't allow our 85 degree set thermostat to cool down AND he didn't turn the garbage disposal switch on. So, guess what? We had to pay a hundred bucks for an AC technician to spend five minutes determining our furnace was in working order. Then we got a phone call that the buyers wanted a new disposal so the husband had to drive over and show the big doofuses how to work a light switch and while he was there he fixed the faucet and replaced some wood that was semi-sorta-if you squint you might see it- rotting under the sink.

So much for as-is.

Okay now. Let's sell this thing!

Third closing scheduled for October 2.

Oh, but hold up a second. As-is buyers decided they really, really needed a fancy-schmancy new faucet. You know, since the previous one leaked before it might do it again and, oh no, they couldn't have that because obviously they have never seen an episode of House Hunters or Property Virgins. If they had they'd realize that they're getting an eighteen year old house with new tile floor, new carpet, brand new heating/AC, free of termites and mold, and it's so effing clean you could feed your children off the floors, you're kinda stupid to be bitching about how ugly the kitchen faucet is. Especially with that capital lettered AS-IS clause they added.

We're GIVING them 3,000 bucks and it's still not enough?

If we were selling this home five years ago we would have told them to take a hike, but it's now and we don't want to pay another mortgage payment on the fifteenth, so the husband offered to refund their hundred dollar option fee to cover their "faucet expenses". Bah.

Fourth closing scheduled for October 7.

My mom came to town on the 6th to watch the kiddies while we went to the closing.

On the 7th they rescheduled for the 8th. Something about not having the buyer's proof of employment. Never mind that they were preapproved for a loan and we have a sheet of paper attached to the contract stating so. Ya think maybe this might be why all the mortgage companies are in such a bind???

On the 8th we started to head DOWNTOWN when we got a call an hour before telling us they still weren't ready. The lender hadn't sent in all the required documents to the title company. Maybe tomorrow Tara at the title company said.

Nope. Didn't happen on the 9th either. The 10th for sure. Tara assured us.

Uh, no. Tara isn't to be believed. Her word means nothing.

My mom went back home and backed away with my middle child mumbling something about how we'll never sell that home, those people won't be able to get a loan, ya'll are so damn screwed. But not just like that because she doesn't swear. Or say screwed.

Tara called at noon today. She wants to see us at 4 tomorrow. Two hours after the buyers because she probably assumed we would want to kick their asses if we were in the same room. She assures us it's a go this time. Supposedly all the paper work is in. Apparently as-is buyers DO have jobs and an income. Yippee.

Then my realtor called to see if I'd gotten her message and let me know that ASSHOLE is "still fussing about that faucet".

I think for 3,000 bucks I reserve the right to show him exactly where to shove his fancy faucet.

So maybe we'll sell our house tomorrow. I am sad knowing I'll never set foot in the house I brought my children home in, where we've watched them come and grow for the past sevenish years. Maybe I'll start a sappy I-miss-my-house post later, but right now, I am just wanting to get past this.

I hated that neighborhood. I am so glad we don't live there anymore. We just didn't fit there.

But I am thinking these new people will fit right on in.



Coming soon, part two or, Why you never, ever hire a friend to be your real estate agent.

People in Your Neighborhood

Jacob went out for the afternoon with his Gammy. They went shopping for new school shoes and are having a quiet dinner at his favorite restaurant, Olive Garden.

I am currently watching three children, not my own, playing in our backyard. Three kids came to the door about an hour ago looking for Jacob. I told them that when they saw the other car in our driveway he would be home and they could play then. So they left. Ten minutes later they rang the bell again and asked if they could just wait for him because they didn't want to miss him. They are planning all the fun things they are going to play when he gets here. They're excited.

Eight miles away the doorbell never rang. The neighborhood kids didn't want to play with my kid. They liked to laugh at him and try to fight him at three years old, but never did anyone come over to play with him.

I'm guessing I probably should've insisted the kids head home until Jacob returned but I was just so happy that my kid has kids who actually LIKE him I didn't really know what to do. They peek in here now and then and wonder if he's back. They need to tell him about some new Star Wars toy and the new Bakugan they got. What the hell is Bakugan? Should I even let my kid play that? Am I supposed to be outside watching them (I can see them from the living room windows) because I really have things I need to do in the house. I didn't figure on baby-sitting today.

I'm hoping Jacob gets here soon. I know he will be so thrilled that he has not one, but three friends waiting on him. It's new territory for him.

And for me too.

Anyone have a book on neighborhood playmate etiquette I can borrow?

And why does this song keep going around in my mind?

Six Things

Dana tagged me to tell six things about myself so here goes:

1. I was once engaged to someone other than my husband. I may erase this one soon because I don't think the husband is aware of this fact. I met this other guy in high school and dated him briefly then, but the majority of our relationship occured off and one while I was in college. He would profess his undying love for me and how he could not live without me and then, BAM, within three months he would be with this other girl. Always the same other girl. I would swear upon all that was holy that I would never speak to him and then he'd show up with some sort of sob story and a repeat of the undying love and I'd fall for it everytime. I was young and stupid. If he hadn't knocked up other girl and ran away to the Marine Corps to escape it all, I have no idea where I'd have ended up. His mother broke up with me for him, in tears because they loved me so much. I still wonder if I stayed with him because of them. They have since died. We were to have been married December 10, 1994. I want something great to happen on that day so I can stop remembering it every time it rolls around. I am indebted to other girl because if it weren't for her and her obvious attempt to trap him into marrying her, my life might have been very different and I don't think I would have been very happy.

2. I will eat anything that has blue cheese in it. Blue cheese is the bomb. When I go to a new restaurant I always scan the menu to see if any of the entrees or appetizers contain it. At one time Bennigans had tons of things with blue cheese and I must have eaten there three times a week until I got pregnant with Elizabeth. I will only, though, eat the Ultimate Blue Cheese Dressing that is sold with the salad veggies. All of the rest suck.

3. I have been phasing in The Feingold Diet for a few months now. If you haven't heard of it, it's eating food that does not contain artificial colors, dyes, and preservatives. You'd think it would be easy, but it's harder than you think. You can read the labels, but depending on the amount, sometimes the artificial things aren't listed. Or an ingredient in the food happens to have an artificial ingredient in it. The Feingold people will send you book with all the foods they have researched to be "pure", but it costs 85 bucks and I don't have an extra 85 bucks when groceries cost the way they do. I started this after learning about it at the ADHD support group. Apparently dyes and preservatives are linked to behavioral problems. Jacob's breakfasts and lunches are entirely Feingold acceptable and there has been a difference at school this year, so who knows? I am sticking with it because I don't think my little kids need so many chemicals in them. I don't know if we will ever be fully preservative free because it's very expensive to buy everything on the list. That and we like junk food a lot.

4. I LOVE the movie Sound of Music and I only just saw it for the first time in May. Julie Andrews rocks, man.

5. We had not agreed on a name before Elizabeth was born. I wanted Rachel or Erin (or better yet, Rachel Erin) and Derick was sold on Elizabeth which Jacob came up with from a Thomas car he had. On the drive to the hospital at 4:30 a.m., I was going to push Rachel when the song "Beth" by Kiss came on the radio. I took that as a sign that she would be a girl and her name should be Elizabeth. Hormones are a bitch. I still sometimes wish she'd been a Rachel. Sshh, never tell her.

6. My college roommate died of breast cancer in 1999. She was 27. I have been pen pals with her mother ever since I mailed a sympathy card way back then. We exchange letters about once a month. I send pictures of my kids and she mails them gifts on their birthdays, Christmas, and Halloween. I have not spoken with her on the phone or in person in nine years, but she considers my kids her other grandkids and their pictures claim a spot on their baby grand and my kids think she's their other grandma. I kind of feel like my friend led me to her because we have both been a big help to each other a different times in our lives.

You can play. Tell six things about yourself and then drop me a comment so I can go over and read yours too.

Tuesday Tidbits

I'm home today waiting on the cable fix-it dude. More channels bite the dust everyday. We are now down to the Spanish-speaking ones and some local channel that carries all the trashy talk shows and hours of Cheaters. All I have to say is he better fix that DVR WITHOUT erasing Cars because all hell will break loose if we do not have at least one daily viewing of Cars.

We are not closing on the house today. Nice of them to let us know. TODAY. Apparently we owe them some solar screens, some kind of natural disaster clause. Funny, but one of their biggest concerns was getting rid of the solar screens four weeks ago because they made the house too dark. Sudden change of heart or trying to take advantage of poor people in a poor home market? You decide. I just know for that, I WILL be taking my three kids to the eventual closing making your first home-buying experience your new birth-control.

Jacob is doing very well in school this year. Thank you for asking. His teacher is very nice. Quiet, sweet, smiling, yet she expects the best. Each week a different child is given the Christian Character award and given a trophy to keep on their desk until passing it to the next child. Guess who got it the second week of school? He never did get it last year. He was so proud of himself. He's done ten extra credit book reports and he's finished his scripture recitation through November. He's gotten a few demerits for talking but the teacher always gives me a thumbs up when I pick him up. I had a conference with her early on to let her know about some of the bullying he endured last year and she assured me she'd keep on top of it. So far she hasn't seen any of that and she said he seems to mesh really well with the kids in his current class. I don't know if he's matured or if it's the absence of the first grade boy clique, but he seems happier and less stressed, which in turn makes Mommy happier and less stressed. And the bitchy ladies are still bitchy, but I don't have to deal with them this year so all is good.

I have not seen THE CAR since Ike came to town. The neighbors sustained significant damage to their roof and subsequently lost all of their upstairs carpet and some of their furniture. Even if it comes back, I won't be saying anything to them about it. They have enough to deal with at this point. The HOA is working to have our boat ramp and boardwalk repaired and cleaned up so I figure a car on the street is the least of their issues.

I did not have Elizabeth's hair cut. I did think about it, but in the end I decided there was nothing I wanted a stylist to do to it. My mom kept my hair in bangs until I was old enough to make my own hair choices, like in high school, and I always hated it. I got crazy last week and purchased a ton of cute little clippy bows and I pull her "bangs" to the side like this:



But only if I hold her arms down to keep her from pulling it out.

When she gets away from me, it looks like this:



Is that Chris Farley on The View? Isn't he dead?

Oh yeah, I got my morning shows back this week. Yeah.

Let's see. Today I've made the beds and scrubbed the toothpaste out of the sinks and, of course, wiped all the boy pee off the bathroom toilets/floors/walls. Then I took my place on the couch to wait for the cable guy. Unshowered. Waiting. Can't go out back, might miss the bell. Can't go upstairs, might not hear the bell. So I sit. And wait. I won't even fold the laundry because I don't want to jeopardize being reunited with good teevee today.

Plus, I have help with that.



Adam comes running when I unload the laundry. He loves to fold. Seriously. And I let him do it. Because he wants to. I swear. And he takes the garbage out too. I'm going to have to fight the women off with sticks, man. He's gorgeous and he likes housework!

So Mr. C*mc*st Dude is now 47 minutes late. Someone call the police because surely he's been in an accident. He PROMISED he'd be here by 10. Geez, I hope he's allright.

I have a feeling I won't be getting a shower today.

Perspective

I have a hard time, sometimes, coming up with things to blog about. I guess since I've been doing this almost three years, I feel like I've run out of things to talk about. Sometimes I'll think something is kinda funny and realize I already did that somewhere deep in my archives. Sometimes I am just too busy with three kids to stand my old bones up at the granite slab sit down at the computer and put thoughts together.

I thought about all kinds of things I could post about today, though.

I could tell you about how I got a speeding ticket from a fourteen year old ass of a cop on Friday and how I almost missed the birthday pedicure I had scheduled on the only day I have been without my three children since, well, since pretty much they were born.

Or maybe, the huge fit my SEVEN year old threw in front of no less than ten of our new neighbors in the middle of our street might be more interesting.

And then I sliced my fingernail in half with a razor and that really sucked.

And then I got another call from our realtor relaying the message that our buyers now want a prettier kitchen faucet (and solar screens, and a new garbage disposal, maybe a new AC and definitely a roofer to look at the house because, no, they aren't busy) before Tuesday obviously not understanding the clause THEY included to take the house "as is".

And of course, there's the bathtub full of blue shampoo that my daughter decorated while I was blind in the shower.

But nothing beats the fact that my C*mc*st DVR has been broken for almost a month leaving me without 57 of the good channels on the upstairs teevee and I can't get someone out here to fix it. How now I have to watch the forty inch brand-new birthday gift plasma screen if I want to catch the House marathon. With no screen guide! The horrors!

And I'm freaking forty. FORTY. My mom was old when she was forty. You know what that means.

GAWD. My life sucks. Boo-hoo for me.

Then I read the paper.

While lying in my hammock with my tea and my healthy daughter.

I read this.

And took a look at this.

Really puts things in a certain perspective doesn't it?

I have seen the devastation on my DVR-less television ever since the storm. It's the Overcoming Ike show all day, every day on all the local channels, you can't see much else but the devastation. I haven't been able to have my morning love fest with Matt Lauer for a while now. Makes me cranky. I see all day how the homes are gone, the businesses are dark, and find out which schools will be starting back that day. Then there's some people complaining because they still don't have power and then they show the debris trucks, well, picking up debris. And then I turn it off. Yeah, yeah, yeah. I have power. My kid went to school last week. I finally got my hands on some milk. Two kinds. Can I just watch The Today Show please?

I had no idea. I just assumed everyone heeded the mandatory evacuation orders and left when we did. I thought the place was deserted. I hoped it was deserted.

I knew some people died in that storm. As of now the official count is like 24 and I think that's the last I heard of it last week. Things ARE getting back to normal and we haven't heard much about any rescue/recovery attempts. At least I haven't. I've seen nothing more about Ike on the national news and the local news deals more about how to help the survivors, many of whom are just that. They survived, but have nothing left. We don't even hear that much about them anymore. Maybe our local media doesn't want to air about the dead or thought-dead because it's hard to hear and probably harder to tell about. Who knows. I just know that I was too busy worrying about my own petty problems to think about just how lucky we were get out of here when we did and even luckier to have a house to live in.

Most of those people thought they had enough time to get out. They waited until Friday to secure their homes and pack their things. We were going to wait. We thought about staying. Would this have been us if we did? If the storm had been stronger? If we'd bought the house we wanted last year so much closer to the water?

So I got a speeding ticket and I'm forty.

At least I lived to be forty.

And I still have my lead foot.

Strike a Pose

At 17 months, I am finally seeing some difference between boys and girls.

Elizabeth loves to pick out dresses and change her clothes throughout the day. I have to stand over the boys and make sure they change their underwear every day.

Elizabeth loves to have her hair styled and brushed (although she still won't keep the clips). The boys hide the tangle spray and combs.

Elizabeth wants her shoes on her feet first thing in the morning and always knows where they are. The boys are lucky to find two shoes that match and wear them only under duress

My sons both began running from the camera at this age. Elizabeth will grin and pose anytime she sees one



Maybe a little feminine influence will be all it takes to finally get a beautiful picture of my children.



I can dream, can't I?

Happy Birthday To Me

I am forty today.

Yippee.

For almost a year we have planned my fortieth birthday. We would have a big party at my usual birthday restaurant and celebrate because, WOW, forty! Who says you have to depressed over it? The husband was going to take care of it all because no one should plan their own birthday party right?

Two weeks ago the husband was once able to focus on a little more than his own impending work-related doom to let me know that "with all he had going on" he didn't invite anyone to my party. Sorry. Since he also cares so much about etiquette, he refused to pick up the phone and invite anyone then because it would be too rude to give such short notice. Whatever.

Of course that doesn't matter now since most everyone we know is still out of town. I'll take husband forgot the party over no one wanted to come any day.

So two weeks ago we came up with Plan B. We'd stick with tradition and head to Galveston like we do every year for my birthday but this time we'd go all out and rent a beach house for a long weekend on Crystal Beach right here:



And we can't go with our usual Plan C:



And Plan D, drinking beer while watching the Mountaineers play, was moved to Thursday. And it wasn't fun.

So it's my birthday today.

Yippee.

I will spend it at my house with my family like every other Saturday before it.

But I will appreciate it so much more because at least it's still there.

About Ike

We're okay!

We are currently at the lake waiting on the word to return. The husband went back home yesterday and replanted the small oak saplings that were overturned in our yard and hooked the refrigerator up to a generator, but other than that we sustained no damage at the new house.

The old house....well, it's okay, too, but the yard it's a mess.

A huge oak in the back snapped and fell over the fence into the neighbor's yard. Another tree's limbs blew into another neighbor's yard. Our orange trees were completely destroyed. We'll need to buy a new swing set. Our solar screens blew all over the street, but it didn't bother the neighbors at all. They just kicked them aside and went about their basketball games and beer drinking. There's a small leak in the boy's room that will need fixed. Derick thinks a tornado went through due to the path of the damage. It's not great and will take some elbow grease but it could have been a lot worse. We're just keeping our fingers crossed that the buyers weren't really in love with the trees and will go ahead with the closing next week.

Oh yeah, we signed a contract on our house last week.

Power was restored at both homes late last night and school is slated to open on Wednesday so we are hoping to get back tomorrow. The weather here is wonderful today and Anna came to visit so we are treating it like a mini-vacation, a break from the storm so to speak.

We know how lucky we are to have come through this terrible storm virtually unscathed. We want to get back and help those who weren't as fortunate. I appreciate all of you for thinking and praying for us.

I'll keep you posted.

Stormy Weather Part Three

You know it's bad when Jim Cantore comes to town.

School is cancelled for the rest of the week and people are starting to panic just a little and since we're in Zone A, which means, you better get the hell out of here before you get blown away, we'll be leaving town. Again.

Figures we'd get the big one just as soon as I move into my dream home in my dream neighborhood fifteen miles from the coast.

Wish us luck or at least clear traffic.

I Really Hate to Complain But.....

I really love our new neighborhood.

The people are friendly, there's a creek down the road, and we have our own personal playground right across the street for our anytime enjoyment. Love it. My only regret is we didn't find this place sooner.

Anyway. Ya'll know how much I hated our last neighborhood. It hated me in return. You know, because I didn't find it cute when the children were pulling all our annuals or dismantling our gutters in search of lizards or because I didn't allow them all free access to our driveway 24/7. Yeah. Our old neighbors liked to park in our driveway. Sometimes I'd go out and raise the garage door to leave and find I couldn't because they'd just helped themselves. When I complained, they pretended not to speak English and then leave their car there until I'd have to call the cops, who for them they'd speak English. Go figure. Of course, this was six or so years ago and they eventually understood that their mortgage only covered their own driveway and that I was on to their fake language barrier. So they started parking in front of our house. Not their own house, but our house. Then they started cleaning their car out onto our lawn. Starbucks cups, beer bottles, dirty diapers, empty packages of Top Ramen, old school papers, candy wrappers, and little Buddhas all made it onto our lawn at some point or other. I wasn't happy about that, but I figured the curb was a public street that anyone was welcome to park so I just gathered up the trash every day and deposited it over their fence into their garbage cans and cussed about it under my breath all the way there.

And you just know they've been parking in our driveway ever since the U-haul pulled away.

So before we closed on this house, the husband requested the HOA rules packet to find out what we were dealing with here. It stated the basics, you know, the keep your lawn mowed, no appliances on your front porch, no dead vehicles on blocks in your driveway, and no parking on the street. You can't park on the street here. If you have visitors they can park on the street, but for only a few hours. If the board determines you are using the street as a permanent parking space you will be asked to move it and if you do not comply they can place a lien on your home.

Wow. A lien on your home for parking your car on the street. That's kinda harsh.
But I don't really care because we don't park on the street! Allright.

I mentioned how much I love this neighborhood right? And our neighbors? Totally awesome people they are. I like them. A lot. I really do. I can see us being friends with them for a long time.

Lately, though, they've had a friend living with them. They didn't say why and it's really none of our business, but they've had a friend living with them temporarily for the past couple of months.

Guess where the friend parks?

Every evening and most of the day, there is a white car parked directly in front of our house. I'd like to think he'd park in front of his friend's house, but they are located in the bend of the street and don't have much curb. They do have a driveway, however. A huge driveway that could easily fit his tiny car.

We are not too bothered about the car being there. Really we're not. We do wonder why he doesn't use the driveway, but not enough to risk our relationship with the neighbors by bringing it up. We're so happy to finally have neighbors who speak to us. And bring us cookies. And chase our dumb dog down the street when he escapes. What's an old white car out front?

I think, though, some other neighbors think it's ours and aren't happy about it.

See, the car showed up pretty soon after we did. One afternoon while we were enjoying the park right across the street, a friendly woman came up and starting talking to me and she mentioned that rule about no parking on the street. I didn't take the hint, you know, it not being my car and all, but later on I realized she's on the community board. The board that sends out warnings about these sorts of things. The board that can place a lien on your home. The board that now thinks we have an old car parked on the street every day.

And as of yesterday, an old car parked up on jacks missing it's right front tire.

Now we're breaking two rules! But we're really not because the cars not ours!

I really don't want to complain to the neighbors. I don't want to end up like we were at the last place, I want to get along with these people and have cook-outs and know their kids and go over for sugar if I need some. But at the same time, I don't want the other neighbors thinking we own that car and are deliberately breaking the rules.

So helpful internetz, do I wait until we've received a warning letter and then hash it out with the community board? Should I go next door and ask what's up? Or should I bury my head in the sand and go about living in ignorant bliss? I'm thinking ignorant bliss, but go ahead and correct me if I'm wrong.

I Am Not June Cleaver

Leave It To Beaver was one of my favorite shows growing up. It came on every afternoon at 3:30 and I'd park my tired elementary school self in front of the tube with my snack and devour them both as soon as I got home pretty much every single day. I don't know what it was that drew me to the show, maybe the boys intriqued me since I didn't have brothers or maybe the black and whiteness of it all caught my kodachrome eye, but mostly I think it was the mom.

As a young girl I never doubted I would grow up and have my own family. My mom has a book she kept for me detailing each of my school years and at each grade there was a blank to fill in about what I wanted to be when I grew up. I always put "Mom" in the blank. I think I had a great mom and I'm sure a lot of my eagerness to birth and raise children came from the example she gave.

And, of course, there was June Cleaver.

June Cleaver was the epitome of Mom to me. She was so kind, she never yelled, and even when Beaver did something that my mom would have hit the roof over, she kept her cool and made sure those boys were well fed and had warm cookies to make them feel better. Oh, and she was soooo well-dressed. She wore heels and pearls and perfectly starched dresses even while serving an big early breakfast to her family. I was going to be June Cleaver all right. Right down to perfect lipstick.

Yeah, right.

My first clue that I would never be June was when I first moved in with the husband and didn't yet have a job. The then-boyfriend (something else June would never do) would awaken at 5:30 to prepare for work and the very first day it occured to me that it would be nice of me to wake up also and cook a healthy breakfast and possibly a sack lunch. I dreamt I was doing it, but I couldn't drag myself out of bed at that hour so it never happened (still hasn't happened). I started buying his favorite flavor of Pop-tarts and leaving them on the counter before I went to bed at night. Now I just buy the Pop-tarts.

You know another way I know I am not June Cleaver? Well, for one thing, I am still in my pajamas today and it's after noon. I do usually dress each morning, and before eight at that, but it's definitely not in a fancy dress. I doubt June would ever have donned jean shorts and an old stretched out tank top EVER. My pearls remain in the safe where I parked them when I got them two years ago. I don't own even one single pair of heels, and I haven't ironed in thirteen years. No joke.

This weekend, though, just sealed the deal on my anti-Cleaverness.

The husband is having a hard time at work these days. I won't get into details, moslty because I don't understand them, but basically, he and the boss have a huge personality clash and there was some sort of meeting on Friday where the boss and his pets got together and slammed the husband, accused him of not being able to do his job, and kinda sorta demoted him. If you call taking all the responsiblities that weren't his to begin with demoting him. The husband was a mess on Friday. We went to a ball game and he didn't speak a word to anyone. He was mean to the kids. He spent a lot of time locked in his study with his head hung in his hands. I found my inner June and patted his back, baked him a pie, and listened. And listened and listened.

And on Saturday, I listened, and listened, and listened. I even listened while West Virginia was being thumped by East Carolina on ESPN in my living room. I mean, even the kids know not to bother Mommy when the Mountaineers are on.

Yesterday, though, when I saw him lying on the couch wearing his best pitiful look while I picked up another glass, another beer can, four pairs of his shoes and every toy we've ever bought, I didn't feel very Junelike. Well, maybe June, as in June Carter Cash and I wanted to run over there and smack him senseless and tell him to snap the hell out of it and it's a freaking job! Get a new one if you're not happy. Do you not see me working my ass off for an unappreciative company without even a weekend to take a break from it? I haven't slept in sixteen months, man! Get over yourself, dude!

(I didn't say that, by the way. I am not that mean).

Somehow I don't think June would have ripped Ward a new one like that.

It's official. I am not June Cleaver.

I am not Donna Reed.

Shoot, I don't think I could even be Marge Simpson at this rate.

But you know what? I'm okay with that. I'm just me. I try to be a good mother. I try to be a good wife. Sometimes it's easier than others. Sometimes shit happens. I figure if my husband wanted a June Cleaver wife he would have found himself one. He likes his pop-tarts. At least he says he does. My kids know they are loved even if they have to go out wearing unironed shirts. Sure, they get yelled at sometimes, but they're no Wally and Beav themselves.

I still love June Cleaver. I'm just glad I didn't turn out like her.

This is a Hairy Situation

What do you do with a baby girl when her hair gets in the way?

Seriously.

What do you do?

When the boys were Elizabeth's age and their hair began to grow past their eyebrows, we took them to the funhouse hair cut place with cameras in tow. Little boys took the place of my little babies, tears were shed, and then we returned to our car to head home and go about our lives until the next cut six weeks later. Lather, rinse, repeat for the past sevenish years.

What do I do with Elizabeth?

Ninety percent of her day is spent at home like this:



But sometimes I need to dress her and take her out and she's gotten quite a few, "Wow, your hair is really growing!" comments lately and a few, "Baby, can you see?" from some old bitties who did not offer to fix her hair for her.



What? Straggly's not in?

I am not well versed in the girly way of things. My boymom brain tells me to take her to the funhouse for a trim, but I'm afraid she'd come out of there looking like a boy, you know, since my boys came out of there looking like boys. I've tried to make some ponytails, but they didn't look good. I had a hair bow once. I thought it was cute, but I don't think Elizabeth liked it much. She lost it pretty soon after this picture was taken.



Is there some sort of manual I should be receiving soon about how to do girl hair? If you have the key to this mystery, please share your knowledge because according to the old bitties she can't learn with all that hair in her eyes and, geez, I sure don't want that. Do you know where I can purchase some girly hair products that will stay put in superfine girly hair? And do they come with step-by-step directions?

My girl would really appreciate your help in this urgent matter.

All Better

Elizabeth's back to her old, ornery, cereal-loving self this morning.

Of course, Cheerios just wouldn't cut it today.

She's sixteen months old and can open the pantry, climb onto a shelf, and help herself.

I am starting to see why some people have powder rooms off of their kitchens.

Stormy Weather Part Two

Let's see....

It's been a pretty boring week around these parts.

The pre-school kids and I have some sort of killer virus that makes the flu seem like the sniffles. Seriously. For one whole week now we have alternated between feeling sorta kinda achy fine to being in a near death feverish stupor. Just when you think you're home free, BAM, it comes back to kick you in the ass. The pathetic irony of it all is that our death stupors never coincide. Therefore, there has been much counter climbing, tampon flushing, and wall art this week.

I'd ask the husband to stay home and help out, but since he is currently fighting to keep his job at the moment, I thought against it. See, the husband's work is all about saving money and as a result, they've cut corners in places such as hiring skilled workers. Because, you know, if you hire someonea who is not trained, you don't have to pay him as much as someone who knows what he is doing. So what do they do with the untrained hires? Why, they have the husband spend every Monday evening and most of his day off Fridays attempting to teach them how to run things. Apparently, though, this isn't working well, because the new hires, they themselves like to cut corners while doing their job so they can go home early. Things like forget to follow the detailed protocol for capping a product into a rail car and then leaving for the night. So of course, they can't be held responsible for their actions because they surely weren't taught correctly and why the hell was the husband at home in bed at 3:30 in the morning instead of right. fricking. there. making sure they got it done right? So, we haven't seen much of Daddy this week. He's pretty much working around the clock these days, he's got to prove he can do his job, or something like that. Personally, if we weren't currently paying two mortgages I really wouldn't care if he lost this job. It sucks. It makes him extremely unhappy. And grouchy. And just plain miserable to be around. I do not want him to keep this job. I just want him to find something else first because we really need that paycheck and we're probably going to need that health insurance because who knows how long we'll have the monster crud.

Now if this wasn't enough, there's Gustav. Last night I went to bed and it was heading to New Orleans, this morning I check the local headlines and they say he's changed track and heading here. WTH? So now what do we do? Do we board up early and leave town, looking kinda crazy if it doesn't come way? Or do we wait a few days and risk getting caught in that horrendous traffic jam? Can you take out loans on plywood? Figures we'd live ten miles closer to the coast now.

And then, there's Hanna. Geez.

And I have seriously overdue library books I need to take back before this all starts. While Elizabeth is currently in her death/scream stupor.

Wish me luck.

The Post in Which I Complain About Something Totally Irrelevant

I like to keep a tidy house.

That was pretty easy to do when I had only one child who liked only one toy in which he contained to one room in a semi-order every day. Now I have two more children who do not share my love of tidiness. In fact, they detest tidiness. I know this because when I do try to pick up, I turn around and they've dug it all back out for me again.

So I've come to except the fact that my house will not be showcase clean as long as these kids are home with me all day. I am okay with that. Really.

My kitchen, on the other hand, is a whole other story.

I am a bit, how would you say?, anal about keeping the kitchen clean. I mean, we EAT there for goodness sake. I've seen too many of those kitchen cleaner commercials with the raw chicken smearing life-threatening germs all over some poor kids after school cookie. I MUST keep my kitchen clean or who knows what will become of us?

It was easy peasy at the other house with that faint green laminate countertop. I went through many a Clorox wipe there. Now we have granite. A blackish-greenish granite. After three weeks of scrubbing them with the old faithful wipe, I found out you aren't supposed to use the wipes on the granite. Or any kind of chemical cleaner for that matter. Oops.

In case you did not know, the way to clean counters is to use soap and water. First you wash the counter with the soapy rag. Then you go over it with a wet rag to rinse the soap off and then you use a dry rag to dry the wet off. If you're really good at it you can get that Karate Kid wash-on, wash-off thing going on at the same time. Of course, by then the kids have started college. Don't tell, but sometimes I just spray a little cleaner on it and go about my day. I mean, how in the world is hand soap getting my counters germ-free?

The husband, though, does not feel that my attempts at granite cleanliness are up to snuff, so when he is here, he spends way too much time scrubbing them until they shine.

And I thought I was anal.

Hey, dude, the bathrooms could use a scrubbing too. Do you know where they are?

Anyway, he likes the granite super shiny. I like it tidy.



This is NOT tidy!

OMG! We have lived in this house over two months. I didn't want to complain because he was helping, even if he was criticizing at the same time. But I cannot take the wet, dirty rags just lying all over the counter like that anymore. He scrubs his ass off and then leaves the evidence. WTH? I used to go behind him and toss the rag in the washer, a whole ten feet from kitchen, but I was then told to stop that because the rags can be reused. We can wash the counters again. With the same rag. Later in the day. Ewwwww.

And yes, I've tried turning him on to paper towels, but they just don't shine as well. And they cost money. And he likes the rags. And he paid a butt-load of money for this house he will clean it the right way.

Whatever.

So now in addition to the two wine glasses, four drinking glasses, and one coffee mug I have to deposit in the dishwasher every morning, I now have a scrungy rag I have to take care of too. Sometimes two.

Oh, crappy laminate countertops, how I miss you. And my Clorox wipes.

Welcome to the New Season of Boy Crazy

Well, that was a quick week.

Is it just me, or does it seem like the days and years have become shorter now that I have children? I had such grand plans for this summer. Where did it go?

We did see the new Star Wars movie (of course) and my sister came for ONE day where we squeezed in six hours of swimming and catch-up to last us until next year or Christmas, whichever her husband will agree to first. We took walks and hunted turtles and vegged by the pool that is right. across. the. street. I know you'd love to see it all but the camera batteries died just as I attempted to capture the lasting memory of taking all three of my children to their very first baseball game. It's okay, though, because I don't really want to remember that game. Ever. Let's just say three kids + seven innings + $7 caffeinated sodas = hell on Earth.

My sleep deprived mind never did remember to buy more batteries until eleven p.m. the night before the first day of school. Big shout out to CVS for being open twenty-four hours. And also having buy one-get one of my favorite shampoo too, that was a nice plus.

Of course, second graders MUST NOT have their photo taken at school lest they be deemed uncool so here is the ONE picture I got before the eye-rolling began. In our house. Nowhere near the school.

At least my littles still like to have their picture taken. In fact, they insist upon it. Heaven forbid Jacob be in a picture alone.



So far, second grade is going well. I know you will all rejoice with me when I tell you that we will not have to deal with Leader Mama or Party Mama as their boys are not in Jacob's class this year. (Insert celebratory dancing here) Seems the bully boys were all separated but surely Mrs. W. didn't have anything to do with that. *wink-wink* You should have heard the commotion going on outside the classrooms when the Mamas realized they weren't together this year. Oh woe, pity them. They might have to actually speak to someone else for a change. At least it won't be me.

Of course, ignore the fact that I sent him to school with one size 11 and one size 13 shoe.

Two days in a row.

Shut up. At least it was the same shoe.

I cannot believe my baby is in second grade. When he was born I was teaching second grade. I remember when I was pregnant with him and thinking it would be FOREVER before my baby was as big as the boys I had that year. Forever is here, apparently. I don't know if I am ready for it, though.

So now that our summer vacation is over, I need to get back to our regularly scheduled life. Stay tuned. This might be the best season yet.

I'm on Hiatus

I'm going to close up the computer this week and put it away, very far away, as not to be tempted to log on and nib into all your lives or play just one more round of word twist. School starts next week and I'm going to spend the rest of our summer having as much fun as I can with my three unruly kids while I still have them all at home at one time. We are going to a baseball game tonight and my sister is coming for two days tomorrow and then after that, who knows? The beach? The water park? Maybe I can talk them into some ultra-exciting napping?!

I won't be gone too long.

Don't miss me too much.

How Young is Too Young To Start Blogging?

One reason I haven't posted more frequently this summer is because I can no longer keep the laptop out and open throughout the day. And, of course, I am banned from the desktop in the locked study. Elizabeth loves the computer. If I turn my back on it (and her) for even few seconds, she'll change my fonts and type sizes and somehow forward random email to old co-workers who really need to be deleted from my address book. Oh, I tried moving it to the high counter, but that didn't deter her much. She's entered that stage where she tries imitate what I do. She gets washrags out of the laundry basket and wipes the tub down. She plays at the toy kitchen and can stir the heck out of her imaginary dinners. She rocks her baby and pats her back. I am so glad that I am setting a positive example of mothering and housekeeping for her. But I think, maybe, I'm spending too much time on the computer.....

Stormy Weather

So I woke up this morning and suddenly there's a tropical storm heading our way. Soon. Like tonight. Wow.

We went to the lake in 2005 for Hurricane Rita, figured we be safe 150 miles north but instead the storm rallied and pushed fiercely through inland and we spent three days with no power or water in hundred degree heat, eaten alive by mosquitoes, with a few trees down inches from our dark, boarded-up house. It sucked big time.

We've decided to stay put for this one, hoping it will be short-lived and mild and maybe cool the temperatures long enough for the kids to play outside before the summer ends.

I have taken this opportunity to veg out and enjoy my cable and internet today in case we are without it for any length of time. I also purchased storm provisions in the way of gallons of water, a tank of gas (which they completely jacked the price up twenty cents since last night), diapers, a bag of candy, a few Freebird burritos, and a six pack of Tecate.

I think we're set.

Bring it on, Eduoard. We're ready for you.