April 11, 2007

I am not gloating, unless gloating feels very much like a panic attack, in which case yes! I am!

This morning, I got up and took the kids to school and came home to read my e-mail and make the beds and wipe every possible inch of counter top with a Clorox wipe. The dry cleaners came and picked up the laundry and left the stuff from last week; I pulled it in off the porch and put it away in Wade’s closet and went to meet the realtor for the inspection on our new house.

More on that in a minute, I promise.

When I came home, I went back in the bedroom to put some laundry away and I thought, huh, what smells weird? Who has been eating hummus in my bedroom? WHY would anyone eat hummus in my bedroom? WHAT IS THAT SMELL? And I went around sniffing the laundry and the linens and the carpet.

And then I stepped into Wade’s closet and nearly fell over.

Our dry cleaners seems to have gone berserk. Last week, one of Wade’s dress shirts came back with a big rip down one side; this week, one of his suits smells like garlic. So much so that it makes my eyes water to be near it. And now the closet and the master bedroom smell like a Middle Eastern restaurant, which is a fine smell in a restaurant, but not so much in your bedroom. Ever.

The realtor is showing the house again at 2:00. I’ve taken the Suit of Death out of the closet; it’s hanging in my entry way, waiting to go back to the cleaners. So now the whole house smells like garlic.

Dammit.

Fortunately (watch this segue!) the woman coming to see the house has been here already, twice, in fact, on Friday. And yesterday she and her husband made us an offer, which is now sitting on my kitchen table, waiting for Wade to come home so that we can talk about what to do next.

That’s all I’m going to say about that.

The inspection on the new house went well. I spent the hour that the inspector was there visiting with the owner and my realtor and wandering around looking at the beautiful windows and the screened porch and the dining room. It was kind of stunning to realize that this will be our home. Soon.

Oh house, how I love thee.

I would like to say that I’m feeling good about all these real estate transactions, but I have a lingering fear that something will happen and one (or both) sales won’t go through. There’s no good reason for that, but I’m a little edgy and my chest hurts just a wee bit and I’ve been waking up at night fretting about various things. And after all, isn’t that the whole point of panic, that it’s not grounded in reality?

I do, however, pity the clerk at the dry cleaners who will have to face my wrath about the Suit of Death. Because I’m already on the edge, and then this! It won’t be pretty.

April 9, 2007

Easter Monday: fighting the sugar hangover

I’m blaming Jesus for the fact that none of my pants fit today; I’m sure its from all the candy I ate yesterday, and not from the two consecutive weeks of eating out every single night. Nooooo, must be those jelly beans.

I wonder if there are any more.

We had a lovely Easter, and then Charlie had a lovely Easter Monday off school and Henry had a lovely first-ever day of standardized testing (I don’t know why, I just pay the tuition and drop everyone off on time). And now all the good candy is gone and we’re left with two bags of gummy things that Charlie is dying to get his hands on.

I just need some new pants.

Tomorrow I’m subbing in Charlie’s class, which should make for some good stories if I live long enough to tell them. And Wednesday is the inspection at the new house, and yes I’ll be there for it, because the Internet needs pictures of my new wet bar and screened porch. And also I want to be sure that the inspector really goes up on the roof and all that.

But mostly I just want to see my house again.

April 6, 2007

buymyhousebuymyhousebuymyhouse

I swore to myself that I wasn’t going to keep writing post after post about the house, because I really DO think about other things during the day (like what the opt-out revolution has to do with the complete impracticality of my getting a proper job right now) and yet! here I am! again with the house!

I’m sorry. I really am.

Charlie was out of school today, for Good Friday; Henry got out at noon. So OF COURSE today was the day that the realtor wanted to show the house. First there was going to be one showing, at lunchtime; then another before that; then one of THOSE people came back with a spouse; and THEN there was one more guy out looking. Each time the realtor called she said, “Are you SURE this is okay?” And because I totally want to sell it, I said “BRING IT, BABY.”

No, not really. But I did say yes, please! show the house! to anyone who wants to see it!

Want to see my house? I can arrange that.

We took Henry to school this morning and then came home so that I could finish wiping up the bathroom counters and emptying the trash. I’ve been paying attention to all your suggestions about how to prep for showings (thank you all!) so this morning I did NOT make coffee (too much potential for a mess) and I DID go around ONE LAST TIME to make sure every toilet was flushed. Cathy, I think you’re the one who suggested that. Genius.

Someone else (I’m sorry, I can’t remember who–maybe Cathy again?) recommended taking the dirty laundry with me in the car, but I couldn’t; I drive a Honda Accord, and right now the trunk is full of stuff to donate and the front seat is piled with shoes that need to go back to Zappos. But I certainly don’t want potential buyers to be distracted by my dirty underwear, so I did four loads of laundry last night and put it ALL away today, although I just looked in Henry’s closet and apparently he did some rearranging when I wasn’t looking. Oh well.

Anyway, Charlie and I came back for fifteen minutes and did what needed to be done (trash, Febreeze, lights in every room) and then headed out for our Friday playdate at the bookstore. And then we went on to the bank and to ANOTHER bookstore and then we picked Henry up at school and then we went out for lunch and then we went to the eye doctor and then we went to my in-laws.

And THEN we came home.

It’s snowing here today, which was totally NOT in the forecast when I looked this morning, so the kids have sweats on and I’m not wearing any socks. Also I planted flowers on Wednesday, in some nice pots outside the house, which is probably why it’s snowing. Dammit.

Last night I said to Chris, “I wish people wouldn’t write posts about how they don’t have anything to write about. Unless you can make that funny, don’t do it.” And yet, here I am! And I don’t even have anything funny to tell you.

Except this: while I signed Charlie in at the eye doctor’s office, I sent the boys into the optical to have their glasses adjusted. Henry falls asleep in his every single night, so they are always totally mangled. They gave them to the nice woman and then started trying on ski goggles (”MOM! I need THESE!”) while she bent their frames back into place.

And I heard Henry say to Charlie, “I certainly hope she’s going to be careful with my glasses.”

April 5, 2007

I’m not eating anything gummy

Actual conversation I had with my mother-in-law today:

Me: Hello.

MIL: I’m in the candy store.

Me: Mmmm, candy.

MIL: What do the boys want in their Easter baskets?

Me: Whatever.

MIL: Does Henry not like ANY candy?

Me: Not really. He’ll eat some chocolate, but he loses interest pretty fast.

MIL: Okay. You said Charlie likes the gummy things?

Me: Loves them.

MIL: Well, they have gummies here. They have some cute gummy penguins.

Me: Oh, get those! How cute!

MIL: Well, wait. They also have frogs and turtles and worms and rats and . . .

Me: Oh, frogs! Cute!

MIL: They’re pretty disgusting, really.

Me: Oh sure. But Charlie won’t care.

MIL: Henry won’t eat these?

Me: Nope. But he might play with them. We kind of encourage that.

MIL: So what should I get?

Me: Oh, you know . . .

MIL: What do I get for Henry?

Me: Okay, do this. Buy whatever would be a normal candy selection for ONE kid and split it between the boys.

MIL: Really?

Me: Well, Charlie would eat candy until he puked, and Henry will eat about two M&M’s and I will eat what’s left, so get enough for one kid and split it. That should be plenty.

MIL: Okay then.

Me: Did Wade tell you that Henry tasted broccoli the other night?

MIL: No, he didn’t!

Me: Oh yeah, Charlie ate like four adult helpings of the broccoli–he ate more than Wade did–and Henry took three bites. Then he said, “This is pretty good.”

MIL: That’s great!

Me: Yep.

MIL: But he doesn’t really like candy?

Me: Nope.

MIL: Well okay then. Thanks!

Me: Thank you!

April 3, 2007

I’ve had it up to here with you, House

Our realtor showed the house yesterday; she called at lunch time, very apologetic, to ask if she could bring someone by at 4:30. “I know this is short notice,” she said, and I interrupted her to say “YES! COME BY! NO PROBLEM! REALLY!”

Because seriously, I WANT TO SELL THIS HOUSE. Right. Now.

I got off the phone with her and looked around at all the things I needed to do before I left to go get the kids, and decided that a good place to start would be by calling my parents because I had to tell SOMEONE that people wanted to see our house and Wade was in a meeting, the kind that can really only be interrupted if one of the children has lost a limb (and even then it maybe can wait). My dad answered and I said, “WE GOT THE HOUSE! CLOSING JUNE FIRST! REALTOR BRINGING SOMEONE TO SEE THIS HOUSE! GOTTA GO CLEAN! PRAY FOR US!” and hung up.

(No, I really didn’t, I talked to them for a few minutes, but I was sweeping floors and cleaning the front storm door while we talked.)

When I got off the phone, I tried to stop hyperventilating long enough to make some sort of plan of action. I washed and dried the dishes in the sink and wiped up the counters, and then I decided to wash out the coffee pot, too. Usually, I make a pot of coffee in the morning, and maybe another after lunch, but I don’t wash the carafe out until I make that NEXT pot, which means that there is cold coffee sitting on the counter for most of the day. Whatever, everyone does it (do NOT tell me if you don’t, I don’t want to hear it). But yesterday I started to wonder if the buyer might think that our inability to empty out the dregs of the coffee and toss the used grounds was indicative of our inability to care for the house, and I thought perhaps I should, you know, WASH THE CARAFE AND DUMP THE GROUNDS IN THE TRASH. How hard would THAT be?

Oh, you have no idea.

I grabbed the carafe and emptied the coffee out and tossed it in the soapy water in the sink. I grabbed the paper cone filter full of wet Starbucks coffee grounds . . .

And dropped it on the kitchen floor. The same floor I mopped TWICE on Saturday. THAT floor.

And then I took the Lord’s name, and possibly Mary and Joseph’s, in vain said a little prayer to the Holy family. Amen. And mopped the fucking kitchen floor AGAIN.

After that it was just a chaotic whirl of vacuuming and dusting and wiping stuff down and hiding things like our toothbrushes and the bowl that Wade keeps his keys in when he’s home (which lead, last night, to lots of questions: “Mommy, WHERE are our TOOTHBRUSHES?” “Hon, where’s my bowel?” which were met with lots of blank staring because I had no idea where I had put anything). And then I called Leslie and said, “Please PLEASE can we come play at your house? Because I don’t want anyone to touch ANYTHING at our house.”

The last thing I did before I walked out (okay, well not actually the LAST thing, the LAST thing was to spray the whole house with Febreeze because it smelled like Little Boy, which I find charming but other people might not)–the LAST thing I did was replace the missing bulb in our bathroom, which involves lining up the wee tiny feet of the halogen bulb with the wee tiny holes in the fixture, all while holding the bulb by it’s little rubber suction cup tool thingy. But see when you’re holding the bulb by the suction cup thingy you can’t SEE the little feet OR the little holes so you just have to HOPE that you get it lined up right. I had spent nearly an hour, on and off through the day on Sunday, trying to get that ONE damn bulb in, with no luck, but now I HAD to get it in because someone was coming to see the house. So I took a deep breath and took the Lord’s name in vain again said another little prayer and stuck the bulb into the socket.

And it went in on the first try.

Right there in the middle. THAT’S the one.

I took that as a good omen, and I left the house feeling very optimistic. The showing went well, and I woke up this morning thinking good happy thoughts about my house and how nice it has been to live here and what a wonderful home it will be for some other family.

And then the bulb fell out of the fixture and shattered in the sink while I was standing there brushing my teeth.

Son of a bitch. It’s time to sell this house.

April 2, 2007

don’t touch ANYTHING

We spent the weekend making the last push to get the house ready to show. Wade leveled the flowerbeds and swept the porch and replaced the smashed drainpipes and fixed the porch roof. I cleaned and cleaned and cleaned some more. The pantry is practically alphabetized, and the laundry room looks like it could be a home office (except for the washer and dryer, which might be a little distracting). You could eat off the floors in the bathrooms. On Saturday, I loaded the trunk of my car with things to give away; on Sunday, Wade went to Goodwill and dropped off the stuff in the trunk of my car. Last night I cleaned out more closets, and today the trunk is almost full again.

I have decided that if I didn’t marry it or give birth to it, I don’t really need it. And if Wade and the kids get in my way, I might drop them at Goodwill, too. Or just drag them to the curb, since tomorrow is trash day.

Every surface in the house is clear; there is not one extra bit of paper or piece of playdoh or plastic dinosaur. The boys have been practicing taking their shoes off in the garage and cleaning up every single little toy in their rooms. The realtor has house keys and is supposed to come today with a lock box. I have promised her that the house can be ready to show in thirty minutes.

Without all the stuff around–without the toaster on the counter and the blocks in the family room and the crayons on the art table–the house feels like it’s not really ours any more. We took down the family pictures over the sofa so the painters could redo the wall, and we chose not to put them back up because we didn’t want to mark the new paint; the wall looks incredible, white and pristine. It also looks kind of like someone else’s house.

Our offer on the other house was accepted. It’s a great house, in the neighborhood where Wade grew up. It has a screened porch and an upstairs playroom and a wet bar. And a wine refrigerator.

See why I wanted this house? I can sit on the porch and drink wine while the kids play upstairs. Perfect.

In the meantime I have to sell this house, though, which makes it hard to think about the new house without needing to breathe into a paper bag.

But honestly–wouldn’t YOU want to own that kitchen? Come on! Seriously.

I can make that happen for you. Today!