I’d Like to Thank the Academy Neighbors
Our Open House is over. It was declared a "success" by both our mortgage guy and our realtor. We had eight separate parties come through the house. Usually my realtor downplays any potential interest, but today he said that two of the parties showed some real promise. This is what happens when you just decide not to care anymore.
The only cleaning that got done today was by Mr. BBM. My parents kept the girls last night so that we could get cleaned up. We ended up doing some of the cooking for today and then spent the rest of the night having dinner (Hungarian Pasta to die for and salad) over at our neighbor’s house (They didn’t want us to dirty our house so they invited us to just hang out there). We also had wine, lots of wine, sort of like the never-ending glass of wine.
We also had margarita’s, pina colada’s, and sangria.
At one point, I was showing our house to my neighbor and he went into my crawl space and stayed in there for a good 15 minutes remarking how he would turn that into his private office space since he likes sitting on the floor anyway. It was that kind of night.
This morning, while I held my head in my hands and cursed white wine and the glass that always stayed full, my other neighbor (an extraordinary personal chef) showed up and began rolling up these beautiful little flatbread sandwiches containing Tuscan turkey, baby leaf spinach, cranberry and mango chutney and whipped cream cheese. She also helped us make lemonade and mint tea from scratch and then adorned the pitchers so that they looked like they could have been at a fancy restaurant.
We then garnished the mini cream cheese cupcakes plate and these amazing chocolate chip peanut butter desserts with fresh raspberries. It was kind of like preparing for a party at your own house that you can’t attend. Thank goodness for leftovers. As we were finishing the last bit of set-up/clean up, the first party started coming through the house and we quickly made our exit.
There are wonderful things about this house that I will really miss when our house finally does sell and we move. But of all the things that I’ll miss the most, it’s a few choice neighbors who have become really great friends.
I’d Like to Thank the Academy Neighbors
Our Open House is over. It was declared a "success" by both our mortgage guy and our realtor. We had eight separate parties come through the house. Usually my realtor downplays any potential interest, but today he said that two of the parties showed some real promise. This is what happens when you just decide not to care anymore.
The only cleaning that got done today was by Mr. BBM. My parents kept the girls last night so that we could get cleaned up. We ended up doing some of the cooking for today and then spent the rest of the night having dinner (Hungarian Pasta to die for and salad) over at our neighbor’s house (They didn’t want us to dirty our house so they invited us to just hang out there). We also had wine, lots of wine, sort of like the never-ending glass of wine.
We also had margarita’s, pina colada’s, and sangria.
At one point, I was showing our house to my neighbor and he went into my crawl space and stayed in there for a good 15 minutes remarking how he would turn that into his private office space since he likes sitting on the floor anyway. It was that kind of night.
This morning, while I held my head in my hands and cursed white wine and the glass that always stayed full, my other neighbor (an extraordinary personal chef) showed up and began rolling up these beautiful little flatbread sandwiches containing Tuscan turkey, baby leaf spinach, cranberry and mango chutney and whipped cream cheese. She also helped us make lemonade and mint tea from scratch and then adorned the pitchers so that they looked like they could have been at a fancy restaurant.
We then garnished the mini cream cheese cupcakes plate and these amazing chocolate chip peanut butter desserts with fresh raspberries. It was kind of like preparing for a party at your own house that you can’t attend. Thank goodness for leftovers. As we were finishing the last bit of set-up/clean up, the first party started coming through the house and we quickly made our exit.
There are wonderful things about this house that I will really miss when our house finally does sell and we move. But of all the things that I’ll miss the most, it’s a few choice neighbors who have become really great friends.
Open House Prep. . . Again
It’s been a beautiful day today, but I’ve spent almost the entire time inside cooking. I’ve made like 500 cream cheese mini cupcakes (how I wish I was kidding about the number), and then my personal chef neighbor friend is helping me make some kind of little rolled flatbread-type sandwiches with things in it that I’ve never tasted, chutney for example.
Our Open House has been advertised like crazy and there are signs directing people to my house from here to Alaska. We’ve had a lot of street traffic pulling in today and taking fliers. One couple in particular got a bit under my skin.
Earlier today, there was a kitten hanging out in our front yard. It was adorable and we were all out front playing with him. The girls were just loving him. Because it’s so hot today, Mr. BBM put a water dish out for the kitten. The kitten was super grateful.
However, when some potential buyers pulled in a little while later, I’m guessing they didn’t like the bowl being out front. As they pulled a flier out of the sign, they exchanged disgusted looks as they gestured towards the bowl. Maybe it’s because I’ve had it with stupid potential buyers (especially first timers), but it took all I had not to scream at them, "You know, the bowl is not a permanent fixture. It doesn’t come with the house and it’s not cemented to the ground. It’s not a pile of trash, a car jacked up on cement blocks, or a washing machine that doesn’t work anymore. It’s a bowl. It’s there temporarily to show some compassion to a thirsty kitten, jerks."
Instead of launching into my tirade, I delivered my trash to the dumpster and scratched my head with my middle finger. I don’t know if they noticed or not, but being passive-aggressive sometimes makes me feel better.
Something tells me they won’t be back tomorrow and I can’t tell you how happy I am about that. I’ll also be happy if the second set of low-ballers stay away. I don’t know what’s up with buyers lately but they obviously don’t know how this whole process works.
Step 1: Buyers make crappy offer.
Step 2: Sellers counter.
Step 3: Buyers counter back
Step 4: Somewhere in this process, an agreement is reached that is acceptable to all.
Instead, this is how it’s been going for us:
Step 1: Buyers make sucktastic low-ball rage-inducing offer.
Step 2: Sellers counter with a reasonable number and terms.
Step 3: Buyers walk.
This is a home, a very nice one at that, for sale. We’re not operating a charity here for ignorant first-time home buyers. All I know is this: we better get some serious traffic tomorrow because I won’t be able to fit in my front door if I have to get rid of all the stuff I cooked for it tomorrow.
Where NOT to Honeymoon Part II
This story is continued from a previous post.
We awoke in the morning to more rain, but at least we could see where we were. Our surroundings were beautiful, but that didn’t change our disgust with the situation. Mr. BBM tried to call our travel agent. She basically told us her hands were tied. We weren’t getting in to Sandals St. Lucia anytime soon. We decided we’d make the best of it.
The sun began to come out. For once the rain had stopped, so we thought we’d go play a quick set of tennis. To get around the resort, either a golf cart or a van would come to transport you. They dropped us off at the tennis/spa area and we started to play. We were the only idiots stupid enough to be playing tennis instead of enjoying the spa. But spa treatments were not covered by Sandals so we stayed away. In retrospect, we should have gone and made them pay for it. I’m sure we could have convinced them that we ate a sugar wrap or cucumber mask instead of bathing in it.
The air was thick with humidity and we barely made it through the set when it started to rain again. We had no idea that they were so serious about October being part of the rainy season when we booked our honeymoon. When we arrived back at our villa, all I wanted to do was take a shower. I tried to run the water and nothing happened. I tried to run the sink and nothing happened.
The next thing we knew, there was a man knocking on our door with a large water dispenser jug of water. He explained to us that because of all the rain, the water filtration system had flooded and was contaminated. This jug was our water for the forseeable future. This is not what you want to be told after playing tennis is 99 degree weather on your honeymoon.
We needed to use the water to bathe, brush our teeth, and even to flush the toilet. This was not going to be fun. We basically took sponge baths and then Mr. BBM assisted me with washing my hair. We didn’t want to waste too much water. We weren’t sure how much we would get or how long this would last!
We ended up needing that jug of water for just over 24 hours. We were never so happy to see running water when it was finally fixed. Of course, we could have just bathed outside in the rain because it rained pretty much non-stop.
Despite this, we tried to make the best of it. We ate lavish meals that we decided to stick to Sandals. We weren’t as bad as some of the other couples who were ordering bottles of Dom to stick it to Sandals even worse. We stayed at the Jalousie Hilton for four days and three nights.
It was on Wednesday of our week long honeymoon that Sandals sent a boat for us. It was faster to travel to the resort via the boat. Unfortunately, Sandals forgot to tell us and one other couple, and we missed the boat. We had to take a van to the other side of the island.
A driver came to pick us up and we drove up and down windy and terrifying roads. I have never had such horrible motion sickness. It was a scary drive I don’t wish to repeat. As we went through certain villages, the driver would instruct us to keep the doors locked, look straight ahead, etc. It was just plain awful.
When we finally arrived at Sandals St. Lucia, we were severely disappointed. The brochures had obviously been airbrushed extensively and the resort was buzzing the way a fraternity party would be, not a honeymooning resort. We were told we were given upgraded rooms, but they were directly above the DJ booth at the pool, which meant that the next morning we would be woken up to beer-chugging contests at 10 a.m. It wasn’t exactly the upgrade we were looking for.
Upon arrival we made an appointment to speak with the manager the next morning. We were livid about our treatment and wanted some answers and payment for all of the inconveniences.
That night, we ate dinner and then went dancing with our new friends from Boston. We had a pretty good time, but another set-back was just around the corner.
A few hours after arriving back at our room, I woke up alone in bed. There was no noise in the room and I had no idea where Mr. BBM had gone. I slowly crept around the room and found him in the bathroom. He was curled around the toilet, trying to keep cool on the tile floor. He had a fever and had apparently been sick with horrible food poisoning while I had been snoozing. He looked green.
Mr. BBM spent the night getting sick on and off, and was too weak to make it to Sandals "orientation" and our subsequent meeting with the manager. He told me to go. What else was I going to do? Sit there and watch him barf all day? So, I went to orientation alone and was immediately singled out because I was without my husband.
"Oh, your man had too much to drink last night, huh?" the obnoxious orientation leader asked me on his microphone in front of a crowd of about 30 couples. He was trying to embarrass me as he jutted the microphone out at me. I doubt he expected me to grab the microphone with such force.
"No, actually my husband is currently curled around the toilet not knowing which end of his body to put over the toilet because he got food poisoning shortly after eating at one of your crappy restaurants."
That shut him up.
I stormed across the resort to the manager’s office. The other forgotten couple and I sat there shooting visual daggers at the manager. His apology was not forthcoming and his only answer to our troubles was to offer us three free nights at the same crappy airbrushed resort, provided we pay for a total of seven nights and our own airfare. We all told him where he could stick that invitation and left. We obviously weren’t getting anywhere with him.
Our next visit was to the resort nurse, who gave Mr. BBM something that finally calmed his digestive tract down enough to function outside the bathroom. He spent all of Thursday and Friday feeling horrible, weak and still slightly nauseous.
On one of the evenings, we managed to get into the french restaurant on site. Most of the restaurants were booked solid since the people who had arrived earlier in the week booked up all the reservations. We were mostly stuck with the dregs.
We expected the french restaurant to be romantic and wonderful. It was anything but. Tables were stacked close enough that I had to watch my elbows when I ate. There was no privacy, no romance, only more disappointment and girls who appeared to be wearing prom gowns. It was like being stuck in a bad movie.
There were beer chugging contests at the break of dawn, dumpsters strewn about the property and the private beaches were anything but private. You had to be careful because there were people begging for money all over the beach. The beautiful hillside of the brochure was more like a mirage created by the artist who airbrushed it. It was anything but a relaxing honeymoon.
On our final day, we finally had a little bit of sun. I convinced Mr. BBM to take a kayak out into the Caribbean with me. He was still feeling sick. We rowed our kayak out into the sea. It was beautiful, but as we got out as far as we were comfortable going, the water got dark as did the clouds. And just like that, we were in the middle of a torrential downpour. We rowed back to shore, convinced that we had a big bad cloud following us everywhere we went.
When our plane touched down in our hometown, we were thrilled. I’ve never been so excited to go home. It was truly the honeymoon from hell.
The Morning from H E Double Hockey Sticks
This morning was Lil C’s second tumbling class. I don’t know why they schedule little kid classes at the crack of dawn, but they always do. I figured we could all deal with it one day a week. I figured wrong.
Big I whined and complained about having to get up. Lil C woke up screaming like there was a demon being exorcised from her body. Because I wanted this to be the day where she decided tumbling class was fun instead of Mommy’s new innovative way to torture her, I went into her room being the Mom I’ve always wanted to be.
"Good Morning Sunshine," I said with a big grin on my face.
"Not a good morning," Lil C spat back at me.
Cool.
She then pulled ridiculous fleece clothing from her drawers while I sat on her bed and gently suggested she wear the outfit I picked out for her. "I will not freak out. I will not freak out. I will not freak out" was my mantra.
"Do you need a hug this morning to squeeze out the ‘grumpies’?"
"Yes," she said. So I hugged her and then quickly dressed her before she realized I wasn’t letting her dress like it was December. She refused a pony in her hair so I figured we’d just work with the whole wild woman, Linda Blair theme she had going on and deal. Who needs nice combed hair to go tumbling anyway, right?
We arrived at tumbling and I was shocked that Lil C allowed me to take her shoes off. Last week, that was a 15 minute struggle. I thought this was going to work.
Wrong again.
The other little ones went right in and started jumping around. Lil C’s teacher took her hand and we shut the door behind her. Two seconds later she was at the door, staring out at me longingly and trying to open the door herself. The other kids may be learning tumbling, but my daughter is learning MacGuyver like door opening skills, because in only a few minutes, she was climbing onto my lap.
She spent the rest of the class refusing to go back in, while one of the other Mom’s talked me to like I was a first-timer. She’s one of those Mom’s, the kind that I’m not.
At the end of class, the teacher came out and told Lil C she could go in and play with Mommy on the mats. Lil C put her shoes on and said, "No, I’m going home."
I told Big I to go in there and show her little sister how it was done. The teacher told her to go in too. Always the good sport, Big I went in and stood at one end of the mat as the other two-year olds were doing perfect forward rolls. And then, she did what can only be described as violently throwing her forehead at the mat and almost paralyzing herself. The teacher decided Big I needed some serious help, so she went in and taught my 7-year old how to do a proper forward roll.
Meanwhile, Lil C held my hand and tried to lead me to the door.
When Big I came out of her quick tumbling lesson with the toddlers, she said, "Mommy, this just isn’t my thing."
Fabulous mornings like this are not going to help me become that Mom. To be completely honest, I’m not sure I’m capable of being that Mom anyway. It’s just not my thing.
The Honeymoon from Hell post will be continued later today or tomorrow morning. Are you sensing a theme for this week?
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