Help Wanted-Moving
In 29 days, the entire BBM family will be moving in with my parents.
Deep breath.
Our house is under contract, just as soon as my realtor shows up at my door so I can sign. He’ll be here in minutes. The contingency on our new home is being removed as I write this, and the builder will break ground in two weeks or less.
Because we’re moving in with my parents, Big I will be in the school district that she needs to be in. She’ll be starting the year at her new school. This, I’m telling myself, is the reason we’re agreeing to inconvenience ourselves in such an incredibly huge way.
So, I have some needs:
1. Boxes: I need to pack seven rooms, three bathrooms, a basement, a crawl space and a garage in 29 days. I don’t even know where to begin. I don’t know how I will get this done.
2. Packing Help: See #1, and let me repeat: I don’t know how I will get this all done.
3. Moving Help: Because this knee is just not cutting it yet, Mr. BBM is going to have to single-handedly carry our washer and dryer down 21 stairs and then up seven stairs into a truck and then back into a storage unit. If you’re not available for the first move, keep in mind that there will be a second move. Yes, two. Yes, I’m crazy.
3. Counseling: Because did you read that first sentence? We will be living with my parents for three months. I’m not at all concerned about living with my Mom, but there’s my Dad to consider. When we lived with them for a year when Big I was just a baby, he drove me insane. He treated me like I was 15 years old again and as much as he thought he would hate to relive that year of my life, I hated it much more. I told Mr. BBM that it’s really no big deal for him. He works out of the home three days a week. I work at home (two jobs) and raise two munchkins. As appreciative as I am to my parents to let us move in with them (again), I know it might not be easy for us me, or our cats who will have to stay somewhere else entirely. I’ll probably need counseling; I’ll definitely need sangria. Copious amounts of sangria, so cabernet contributions will be graciously accepted as well.
Next week I’ll pick my colors for my new house. My realtor says it will hit me then. I’m starting to believe that this is really happening!
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?
Where NOT to Honeymoon
I swore I would tell the world about my horrible Sandals honeymoon someday. Today is that day. I don’t know what’s moved me to do so now, other than to prove that a big storm cloud followed me, even back then. Literally.
Mr. BBM and I were married in the middle of October in 1998. When we were planning our honeymoon, we considered Hawaii, but then heard that St. Lucia was the Hawaii of the Caribbean and decided to save some money and go there instead. We paid for it ourselves, and decided we would go to Sandals St. Lucia. The brochures looked so nice. We’d pay more for what we considered was a guaranteed awesome honeymoon.
Our flight left the Philadelphia airport on a Sunday morning and we arrived in Miami, Florida for a brief layover. We boarded a plane to St. Lucia with great anticipation. Several hours later, we were in the middle of a horrible rain storm and I was completely panicked. Our pilot kept lowering the landing gear and circling what appeared to be a small and barely lit speck of an island, before she would abruptly pull the gear back up and continue to circle some more.
The older man seated beside us was drinking rather heavily and explained this erratic flight behavior on the fact that our pilot was a woman. I was too scared at the time to punch him in the nose, but thinking back, I sure would have liked to. I thought that perhaps it was the bad weather and the fact that our pilot preferred to land our plane at an airport and not in an ocean that was holding us up.
After circling for quite some time, we finally landed. The rain was coming down in sheets and the airport was pretty much open to the elements. We retrieved our bags and went out to where our Sandals van was supposed to be waiting to deliver us to paradise.
We gave our names and were then herded out of the way by the Sandals drivers/organizers along with eight other couples. While other weary couples were getting into the vans, we stood there getting wetter by the second. After flying for 9 hours, and barely getting any rest the two nights before, I was on edge.
After continually asking what was going on and getting nowhere, Mr. BBM finally had enough. He approached one of the guys and demanded to know what was going on. We finally got our answer.
Sandals had overbooked the resort. There was no room for us or the eight other couples. We were being "bumped" to a hotel on the other side of the island, for not one night, not two nights, but for four nights. We had paid for an all-inclusive Sandals vacation and we now didn’t know what we were getting.
When Mr. BBM delivered the bad news to me, I immediately burst into hysterical tears. I was exhausted and this was the icing on the cake. I thought I was going to die on the plane and now I didn’t know where I’d be sleeping. Because of the tears and the hysteria that was building because of them, the Sandals man quickly grabbed our bags, loaded them into a rickety cab and told us to get in. He gave the driver directions I didn’t understand and we were off.
We had no idea where we were going. The roads were dark; the rain was pouring so much so that goats were washing out into the road. The cab was so old and awful that I felt like we were in a Flintstones car. The floor of the car seemed transparent. For all we knew, we could have been taken off for slaughter. It was a terrifying drive.
After driving for about an hour, we arrived at a gated entryway. We drove through the rain forest and arrived at a building. We were at what was then called The Jalousie Hilton (now The Jalousie Plantation). Another couple was also there. We were trying to get the details of our stay straight. Sandals could not guarantee that our expenses would all be covered, yet we brought no money with us at all. We had paid for an all-inclusive vacation.
While the other newlywed wife and I sat and tried to comfort each other, Mr. BBM and the other husband were laying down the law and trying to get a straight story about what was going on.
Soon, we were taken via another resort van to our villa in the rain forest. We were nestled between the two Piton mountains in St. Lucia but our view at night was of a pitch black rain forest. It was too late to call our travel agent and we were starving. With no guarantee that Sandals would pay for our expenses, we decided to stick it to them.
We ordered comfort food: hamburgers and a half case of beer via room service. We ordered other island specialties as well and stocked our villa with food while I cried and Mr. BBM paced angrily. This was not how it was supposed to be. . .
Check back tomorrow for the next segment of the honeymoon from hell. Here’s a brief preview: water shortage, more rain, food poisoning. . .
Straw & Berries
Yesterday my Mom and I took the girls to a farm to pick strawberries. I didn’t realize when my Mom asked us to go that she was going to pick 8 quarts of strawberries. I thought we were going more for the experience of it all.
We were given a row and my Mom and I decided we should each take a side. It was time to divvy up the girls. Big I wanted to go with my Mom and Lil C wanted to stay with me. I thought I was getting the short end of the stick on this one. I was wrong.
Lil C was a natural strawberry picker. She loved it. She kept saying, "Mommy, this is fun. I a having so much fun." Big I almost immediately got bored. She ran ahead in the row and picked whatever she could find, which wasn’t much. Meanwhile, Lil C would only pick perfect berries and she was quickly filling up her basket.
Since Big I had run so far ahead, my Mom hustled down the row to catch up with her and that’s when I heard my Mom yell back at me, "You are never going to believe this."
With Big I, I’m always afraid to guess. Things just happen to that girl. Tonight, she tripped while crossing through a parking lot and skidded on knees and hands. She’s a "Calamity Jane" if I ever saw one.
I saw my Mom going through her purse and throwing her head back laughing. Apparently, Big I got some straw in her Croc’s. She took her shoe off and was balancing her other foot on the edge of my Mom’s strawberry container. She doesn’t exactly have good balance.
The next thing you know, strawberries went flying through the air everywhere. My Mom dug out the piece of straw that started the whole string of unfortunate events, gave her shoe back to her, and started picking up her strawberries. The only problem was that when Big I put her shoe back on, there was a very large and ripe strawberry in it, which she obviously smooshed with her foot which meant that my Mom now had to clean up yet another mess.
Meanwhile, Lil C got tired and decided she’d just sit down in the middle of the row and wait for us to finish. I definitely got the better partner.
Straw & Berries
Yesterday my Mom and I took the girls to a farm to pick strawberries. I didn’t realize when my Mom asked us to go that she was going to pick 8 quarts of strawberries. I thought we were going more for the experience of it all.
We were given a row and my Mom and I decided we should each take a side. It was time to divvy up the girls. Big I wanted to go with my Mom and Lil C wanted to stay with me. I thought I was getting the short end of the stick on this one. I was wrong.
Lil C was a natural strawberry picker. She loved it. She kept saying, "Mommy, this is fun. I a having so much fun." Big I almost immediately got bored. She ran ahead in the row and picked whatever she could find, which wasn’t much. Meanwhile, Lil C would only pick perfect berries and she was quickly filling up her basket.
Since Big I had run so far ahead, my Mom hustled down the row to catch up with her and that’s when I heard my Mom yell back at me, "You are never going to believe this."
With Big I, I’m always afraid to guess. Things just happen to that girl. Tonight, she tripped while crossing through a parking lot and skidded on knees and hands. She’s a "Calamity Jane" if I ever saw one.
I saw my Mom going through her purse and throwing her head back laughing. Apparently, Big I got some straw in her Croc’s. She took her shoe off and was balancing her other foot on the edge of my Mom’s strawberry container. She doesn’t exactly have good balance.
The next thing you know, strawberries went flying through the air everywhere. My Mom dug out the piece of straw that started the whole string of unfortunate events, gave her shoe back to her, and started picking up her strawberries. The only problem was that when Big I put her shoe back on, there was a very large and ripe strawberry in it, which she obviously smooshed with her foot which meant that my Mom now had to clean up yet another mess.
Meanwhile, Lil C got tired and decided she’d just sit down in the middle of the row and wait for us to finish. I definitely got the better partner.
Copyright
© Copyright 2006-2019 blackbeltmama dot com ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
Follow Me
Blog Designed By
My Creations
Things You Could Care Less About
