Dear Friend (coming from hours away to help me pack today):
I should probably warn you that I went on a cleaning strike about two weeks ago. I have kept true to my word. I’ve found that when the strike hits the crucial point of 14 days, Mr. BBM will indeed, pick up a toilet wand and go to work. Remember this number, because it may come in handy for you too one day. Regardless, I’m staying firm in my anti-cleaning stance and hope you’ll understand.
I should probably warn you that there’s not a single room in my house that one can walk through without tripping over boxes, random packing peanuts, and miscellaneous items that are just waiting to be put in the dreaded "misc" box.
I should probably warn you that the only things we have to eat in this house are: one can of beans, one can of Sloppy Joe sauce, and some crackers. It should make for an interesting couple of lunches.
I should probably warn you that the radon guy will be here bright and early at 7:30 a.m. so you’ll have to leave your perch on the sofa unless you don’t care about Stan seeing you in your jammies.
I should probably warn you that Mr. BBM and I study our house floor plan every 15 minutes or so and also randomly say things like "I wonder how many pendant lights we’ll need," sometimes while someone else is in the middle of telling us something important. We’re kind of house-obsessed these days.
I should probably warn you that each and every night, we drive over to our lot and analyze the size of our backyard, the angle of our driveway, and discuss various other ridiculous things like how we’ll arrange our furniture. You should know that we fully realize they have only just poured the basement walls, but these things are of crucial importance to analyze for the next three months.
I just wanted to give you fair warning before you make the trip.
Oh wait, you’re already on the road. Oh well.
A VERY grateful BBM
We’re moving on Saturday and I feel like we’ll never be ready to go. I am completely overwhelmed with all of the crap we’ve accumulated over the last five years. I don’t even have time to go through it and get rid of things, because there just isn’t time to do anything but throw it in a box and send it away.
Besides a little help from Lil C, I have had no help with packing. I can’t even tell you how much I miss my best friend (the most amazing kitchen packer I know). She helped me when I left Pittsburgh many years ago and I’m about ready to overnight her a flight ticket so she can fly out and help me again.
Although I packed up much of the basement and loaded it into the van for yet another trip to my parent’s house tonight, there is still so much more that needs to go and I just don’t know where to even start. I’ve found myself wandering from room to room today, feeling on the verge of tears and like I’m drowning in packing peanuts.
Literally, because the girls thought it would be a good idea to dump all 4000 of them on the dining room floor today while they were playing "Marshmallow store." I was too overwhelmed to do anything but calmly tell them they better pick them all up and now before "Mommy has a complete and total melt-down." I’ve also found myself murmuring, "There’s just no way" and "I can’t possibly do this" all day long.
Something tells me that the rest of this week will only get worse. The only bright spot is that I’ve managed to recruit some wonderful young guys from my dojo to help us out on Saturday. For their help, I will be eternally grateful.
Hmm, I wonder if they’d come help me pack too.
Just kidding guys. . .
. . . or not.
I feel terrible even writing this post because my blogging friend Lisa is going through something much, much worse right now. Please go visit her and offer what support you can.
Filed under: Building the BBM House, Mental Strain for Mama, Moving
This morning, a friend took both of the girls to play with her four daughters so I could have a couple hours to pack in peace (i.e. pack up all the things the girls don’t want me to pack). Is she fantastic or what? In the middle of my morning, I got a call from the showing center. I used to crave calls from the showing center, but when they called this time, I was first confused and then completely thrown off my game plan.
It was 11 a.m. when the phone rang and the person on the other line, who had set up many of our showings during those grueling months on the market, told me that the appraiser wanted to come at noon TODAY! I sighed with disgust as I looked around at my house. Newspapers were everywhere so that I didn’t have to keep walking up and down the stairs to get more to wrap things in, empty boxes covered an entire wall, full boxes were littered throughout the house and you may remember that I have been on a cleaning strike since last week. I’ve shown fantastic follow-through with that pledge.
I figured it was better to just get it over with while the girls were out of the house, so I said yes. Then I turned into the Tazmanian devil and spun my way around the house, picking up dirty clothes, folding the pile that needed to be folded, making beds, wiping off counters and begging Mr. BBM to please, for the love of God, use part of your lunch break to run the vacuum.
Instead of arriving at noon, she came at 11:30. I think I would have told her off if she wasn’t so overly apologetic and sweet. I continued to pack while she went from room to room, taking measurements and pictures. When she was finished upstairs, she found me downstairs in the family room and asked me if I had a professional decorator work on the house. Dumbfounded, I told her no. "Well, are you an interior decorator by trade?" I think I may have snorted with laughter, as I told her "I wish." She then said, "Well then I hate you. I seriously hate people like you, because you didn’t have to hire anyone and this place is gorgeous. It looks like a model home. You’re amazing at picking colors."
Her comments had me on my heels and I almost fell into another box of "misc toys." I thanked her and then followed her around fishing for more compliments. I told her that her compliments meant the world to me because I am currently second-guessing everything I’m choosing for the new house.
Want the truth? I think she was buttering me up so she can come in with some out in left field low appraisal that’s going to wreck my life. I’m all for thinking positive, but that’s just too much good all in one day right there.
I got a ton of packing done, despite all the interruptions, and figured I’d take the girls to the pool this afternoon. Lil C wanted to hang out in the baby pool, so I sat there and watched her demurely make her rounds, surrounded by her little float. When she noticed another little boy who was probably newly two, she approached him and told him her name. He ignored her and walked away. She seemed irritated.
A few minutes later, the little boy walked over to Lil C and started splashing her. As the water droplets landed on her hair and face, she clenched up her little arms in disgust and turned her back to him to weather the rest of the storm. When he was finished, she turned around, clenched her fists and raised her arms and said, "I VANT YOU TO STOP SPLASHING ME RIGHT NOW!"
He looked at her with fear, turned on his heel and went quickly back to his side of the pool. He didn’t bother her the rest of the day. After listening to Big I ask me to take care of her problems for her since she’s been born, I can’t even tell you how my heart soared with pride when Lil C took care of business on her own! That munchkin is two years old and she completely stood up for herself, without whining, without crying, and most importantly, without asking me to get involved. It was simply awesome.
Later tonight, we went to check out the progress on the house. The hole is deeper and the girls were having a blast running around in it and asking which room they were in now. When I first put Lil C down in the hole, she looked up at me and asked, "Where’s the hole Mommy?" It was fairly obvious we were many feet below the normal ground level. Then, she looked down and saw a little area where the dirt was pushed away. It looked like a small rock had been removed, leaving a little gutted out area in its place. "There’s the hole!" she yelled.
After a couple more minutes wandering around the dirt, she murmured to her sister, "this is fun." As we were about to leave, one of our new neighbors rode his bike up with his sons to say hello. He was super nice and he let us know that everyone on the street hangs out, drinking beer and cocktails while the kids run around and play behind the houses in the park. I’ve never been happier about the lot we chose.
Next week, our realtor is taking us to a pig roast as his guests at the local pool. Our realtor will live just down the street from us, so he offered to take us and introduce us to all the neighbors. I just hope no one splashes Lil C. Things could get ugly.
With less than two weeks to go until we move out, I am getting to that annoying and annoyed stage of packing. Certain things need to stay out like hair dryers and shampoo; certain things I’m not sure about like razors for example. I found myself contemplating whether or not I could get away with not shaving my legs until we move in with my parents. I decided that I’d like to use the pool a few more times before we go, so I should probably keep the razor handy. Honestly, I think I’d like to just buy everything new and just forget this packing and moving business altogether.
Each room in my house is in various stages of deconstruction. Pictures are off half the walls and things are starting to look empty. Curtains that aren’t staying are packed and moved. Mr. BBM and I have taken about six or seven van loads of boxes to my parent’s house and I feel like we’ve barely made a dent. It is absolutely stunning how much stuff you can accumulate after five years in one place.
Previously, Mr. BBM and I have only ever stayed for a maximum of about two years at any given location. I am really hoping that this will be our last move. There is really nothing fun about moving. As Mr. BBM was bringing container after container and box after box out of our crawl space yesterday, he kept making little comments about getting rid of things.
I’ll be honest. I am 99% sure that I am done having children. Lately I’ve been feeling that two is plenty. I can’t even imagine the whining and fighting if there were more than Big I and Lil C. There’s just that 1% of me that refuses to say so, because that means I’m closing the door on that part of my life. Right now, I want to keep that door cracked, just a bit. And if that means hauling all of the baby stuff across town, then so be it. Mr. BBM is just going to have to deal with it.
I have decided to get rid of some baby things that I never much liked, like an inflatable nursing pillow which never worked anyway. I’m also going to get rid of some of my maternity clothes that I know I won’t wear again if I ever get to the basketball belly stage again.
As I was packing yesterday, I came across three of my knee braces/wraps, two wrist braces and a soft collar that I used when I had whiplash. That was another box I wasn’t sure if I should seal or not. You just never know. Considering how good my knee has been feeling after going on hiatus from working out (as per my PT), I think I may seal it up today. Leaving this house is going to mean packing up all the memories, but I’m going to pack up the injuries too. I’m hoping that box is one that will remain in the basement indefinitely.
This morning, the home inspector and pest inspector showed up bright and early at 8:30 a.m. Mr. BBM was working from home today so we were told he could stay. I took the girls to the post office and out to breakfast and figured that by the time I got home, they would be gone. I was very wrong.
The inspection took 3.5 hours.
When you have a little one who happens to be potty-training and by potty-training I mean making me take her to the bathroom every 15 minutes because she might have to pee, or she’d just like to wash her hands. . . again, you can’t walk around the mall for three hours. So, we kept ourselves busy and out of the way as much as possible. Occasionally Big I would approach the buyer and her realtor and start gabbing it up. She just can’t help herself. When I finally got the girls occupied, the inspection was drawing to a close.
Due to my mad eavesdropping skills, I heard the inspector say "no major issues or problems." He told us a few minor things, all of which are easily remedied, especially considering that one of the buyers’ dads is an electrician (I also eavesdropped that bit of news).
As the buyer was leaving, she said she’d be seeing me soon, so I’m assuming they’re still going to buy the house. Because we bought this house without first having a home inspection, we were sort of nervous. We figured that if something was wrong, in five years time it would have showed up; but you never know. Stranger things have happened.
I spent the afternoon packing like a mad woman, realizing that in just 2.5 weeks, we’ll have to be out of here. Since we settle on a Friday, we’ll need to move the big stuff out the weekend before if we want help. We do.
Since it seems like it’s all officially going to happen, I wore a huge grin this afternoon as I packed up books and dishes. I realized that after over four months of being on the market, I can officially go on strike when it comes to cleaning.
I think I’m going to take a three month hiatus on making any beds and my days of vacuuming perfect lines into the carpet are officially over until October. . . 20th to be exact.
Tonight, we drove by our lot to see if there was any action. We were thrilled to see stakes marking each of the four corners of our house on the lot. Mr. BBM got out and walked around in it and I just sat there thinking, "Now he’s in the family room, the living room, the dining room, the kitchen. . .". It’s amazing how four little pieces of wood with blue flags on them can make you so happy.
I told Mr. BBM that I feel about our new house, the way I felt when I was pregnant. The excitment and anticipation is almost too much at times. It’s all you can think about, and you’re just filled to the brim with joy. The only difference is that this time, our "baby" is made mostly of wood and the wait time is a whole lot shorter.
104 days until the big joyous move-in! With any luck, maybe we’ll have some pictures of a big hole in the ground by next week. We pick our colors on Friday!