Tumbling Class Drop-Out
A mother can only tolerate so much screaming before saying "enough is enough." Today: enough. After trying unsuccessfully, for the fourth time, to get Lil C to try her tumbling class, I finally gave up. I tricked her into staying in the room today and thought maybe she’d do o.k. if she couldn’t see me.
I was wrong.
She screamed and cried and her mood never improved. With 10 minutes left to go in the class, I grabbed her and left. We’re done with tumbling class. Tumbling is not in our genes I guess.
I spoke to the school director as we were leaving. One look at Lil C’s swollen and tear-stained face convinced her to help us out a bit. So, on Saturday, Lil C is going to try an art class. She’s been begging me to go to an art class, so Saturday she’ll get her chance. The best part about it being on a Saturday, is that I can make Mr. BBM take her. I’m off the hook. He just doesn’t know it yet.
On the home front, there’s a bulldozer parked in our lot as of tonight. They started to dig the lot out across the street, so I think we’re next. Tomorrow we make our selections and fight about colors. I doubt I’ll sleep tonight; I’m just that excited!
In other news, my best friend is away on vacation this week and I promised her I would write a post for her blog. The only problem is that I don’t have the password to log into her site. I thought I did have it. So, in lieu of me writing a fabulous post over there, please just go click over there and say hello. If I can’t write for her, I’ll flood her with traffic and link love.
Home Inspection
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!
Sibling Rivalry
July 4th was my sister’s 29th birthday. Every year, we have a cook-out/birthday party at my parent’s house. While my sister opened her presents (one of mine to her was a pair of silky underwear with rings all over it-hint, hint, boyfriend), my Dad disappeared. He came back a few minutes later with a piece of folded up paper.
I should note here that since my sister was born on a popular summer holiday, she always has a party. Since I was born in the dead of winter (February 7th), parties don’t happen. Once, my elementary slumber party had to be canceled because we had feet upon feet of snow. As an adult, I often get the old "the weather might be bad so I don’t know if I’ll be able to go out for dinner with you for your birthday" excuse. No one wants to celebrate a birthday when they’d rather be hibernating. It’s depressing and entirely unfair.
So, when my Dad announced that he had a poem to read to my sister, I couldn’t help but mentally roll my eyes. My Dad is not a poet, never has been, at least as far as I know. I think of him more like an algebra dictator, but that’s just my experience with him.
He started reading this poem about my sister. He talked about how bravely she approached her back surgery while in high school. He talked about driving her to flight school in Florida, only to have her change her mind after being there one day, which resulted in a mad rush drive back home so that they could enroll her at Penn State (my Dad’s alma mater). We should also note here that I am a graduate of Pitt and was not allowed to even look at out of state schools. If I had known that wanting to go to flight school would have gotten me to Daytona Beach, FL, I would have considered getting over my fear of heights.
The poem continued with the theme of "we couldn’t be prouder of you." I thought I might gag.
Don’t get me wrong. I love my sister, but she hasn’t exactly been a saint. She hasn’t exactly made my life easier either. When she was a baby, she knocked down my blocks. When I was a teenager, she used to try to spy on me and my friends. When my parents bought be a Geo Metro the summer after my freshman year in college, they made me keep it at home while I went back to school. She proceeded to "decorate" my car with Christmas lights while I was away. It was already pretty hard to make a Metro look cool. That did not help. The very next year, they allowed her to go trade it in for a purple Nissan AND allowed her to drive it to school. I almost always had to ride the bus, and when I did get to drive it was a beat-up Escort station wagon. I’m not complaining, but it wasn’t exactly a cool car for a high school girl.
After college, my sister got engaged and moved in with a total creep; and we had to move her out of that house in seven hours (before he got home from work). She also has six pets: three huge dogs and three cats. One of them spontaneously poops on my Mom’s floor whenever she dog-sits her. Not even my kids do that kind of stuff.
Because I’m totally mature, I spent the rest of the day and night playfully reminding everyone of my sister’s screw-ups. I also whined and complained that my Dad never wrote a poem about me. I told my sister she can quit calling me the favorite child; it’s quite clear I’m not.
And then it all became very clear. . . my Dad totally wrote that poem to throw her off. I really am the favorite daughter.
I’m the one who watched hockey with him from the time I was born while my sister preferred Sesame Street. I’m the one who played softball and made the all-star team while my sister showed no such interest in anything "sport." Like my Dad, I’m the one who gets grossed out by licky dogs (it must be genetic), while my sister practically makes out with hers. I’m the one who gave him two fabulous grand-daughters while my sister continues to up her animal count and bring them for frequent and mostly unwanted visits to my parent’s house.
I’m also the one moving in with my parents, in less than four weeks, for the second time in my adult life, this time bringing three family members along with me . . .
Something tells me there won’t be any poems written about me anytime soon, at least not good ones anyway.
27 Days
There’s something about "less than four weeks" that instills an absolute sense of urgency when it comes to packing and moving. I picked up boxes at the liquor store and egg boxes from the grocery store. I also put my uncle on alert that he should save boxes for me from his beer distributor store. One thing is for certain: our new neighbors will think we like to drink. . . a lot.
While Lil C is gladly helping to pack things, Big I is protesting and acting very much like a teenager. She’s also having a fit whenever I pack something that belongs to her. I put an end to that by telling her that Daddy would like to throw away all her toys, while I would only like to pack them. She seems to be helping a bit more now.
Yesterday, we went to my parent’s house for a birthday party for my sister/4th of July celebration. We ended up staying for 10 hours. About five of those were spent playing Mexican Train Domino’s. I realized that living there for under three months might not be all that horrible. We got along fine, had fun with the girls and didn’t get home until almost midnight. I’m feeling more relaxed about the whole thing. After all the noise the girls made yesterday though, I doubt my parents are feeling the same way.
After Tuesday, I’ll be completely relaxed. The home inspector is coming early Tuesday morning and since we waived our home inspection when we moved into this house, we’re slightly apprehensive about it. We’ve been here almost five years. Any problem that came up, we promptly fixed, but the not knowing is the anxiety-inducing part. So, if you could all just cross everything that it goes well, we’d appreciate you assuming the position one last time.
Mr. BBM and I have been packing up the basement today and there’s so much more work to be done. I promise I won’t talk only about the house and packing and moving for the next few months, so stick around because I’ll start posting house building progress with photographic evidence once it starts within the next two weeks.
I’m So Excited!
It’s starting to hit me that this moving thing is really happening. It could be because of today’s events.
I spent the day packing about 20 boxes of things that we won’t be using, loading them into the van and taking them to one of our new storage units, aka my parent’s house. We also wrote out the biggest check we’ve ever written (10% of our new home’s price), which means we’re eating only things in the pantry closet for the rest of this month. Along with the check, we signed the official paper removing the contingency and giving our builder the green light to get building.
Our realtor is also making our appointment to select all of our exterior house colors, interior colors, flooring, cabinets, hardware, lighting fixtures, etc. for next week. NEXT WEEK! They should be breaking ground within the next two weeks once they have the permits and we’ve signed off on the final plans. They have committed to a settlement date on or before October 20th, which is much better than I thought it was going to be (Our 10-year wedding anniversary is October 17th so that is pretty cool).
I also started putting things on Freecycle to get rid of things we don’t want to take to the new house and hopefully get some moving boxes for free within the next week or two. It’s working fabulously so far. One woman’s trash is definitely another person’s treasure.
In addition to all of these other signs that are pointing to this really happening, I have also started to break out (as in teenager face all over again). Who says that the stress is gone once your house is under contract?
When Halloween rolls around, I’m going to be one happy girl.
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