Tuesday, January 29, 2008
Well, apparently the people that came to see our house are REALLY messy. Either that or our house was just what they were looking for. We got an offer from them this morning but it needs to be negotiated. They gave us our full asking price, but want us to pay closing and provide a home warranty. Not bad, but not quite where we have to be financially. Hopefully they will be willing to negotiate. But a few other things are questionable, since they don't want to close until the end of April (uh....NO!), and aren't pre-approved yet. We'll see what happens. There are quite a few houses on the market I'd like to look at, so hopefully we will be able to get this settled and move on! I'm ready to start packing and get this over with. I'm too pregnant to move and settle into a house any later than March! Say a prayer for us!
Sunday, January 27, 2008
The big news on my end is we listed our house two days ago. Our realtor told us he would get everything to us as far as print outs of upgrades to put in the foyer by Monday. What do I do? I relax, thinking we won't get any showings. We leave the house in total disarray.
Off to church we go. About 15 minutes into it, a cell phone rang. A very loud, obnoxious, I-can't-believe-that-person-has-that-stupid-ring-on-their-cell-phone ring in the middle of a congregation of 328 eyes...no make that 656 eyes. Wait, yes, it was mine. I rush to turn it off but.the.button.won't.turn.it.off. Woops. In my fury to turn it off, yes, I was punching desperately at the wrong one. I finally flip it around and silence the madness. By this point, I had already turned 12 shades of magenta and didn't even recognize the number. Freak. Stop calling me.
It could be a realtor wanting to show our house. NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!! I'm crying desperately inside. The house is as far away from being shown as it could possibly get, but more on that later.
I get up and recall the number. It must be my lucky day. Realtor X wants to show our house in 15 to 20 minutes. Even if I wasn't a good Christian, I couldn't have left church in time to get home and clean up the mess. We're screwed. I explained to him in a very psychotic way that the house is a mess, we're still finishing painting the bathroom, a treadmill is the hallway, the kitchen is a WRECK and we had to leave for church before I could clean...I'll conveniently leave out that 45 minute nap I took this afternoon that could have been spent cleaning. It wasn't worth the headache it gave me anyway.
So I return to my seat and all I can see instead of the words on the song book is my kitchen. The treadmill in the hallway. The clothes, probably dirty underwear in our bathroom floor. My PJ's strewn haphazardly across the unmade bed. Did we put up the KY? I didn't get much out of church tonight, needless to say. Hubby, of course, teasingly blamed me, because after all, he was painting all afternoon and all I did was just sleep. Loveable loser.
So I was so stressed I thought I was going to go into labor. Not really, but my blood pressure was definitely elevated to a dangerous level. However, when we got in our van (haven't I been through enough people?!?!), I saw I had missed more calls from the realtor. I called him and he was telling us our door lock was messed up. But...wait, what did you just say? They really liked the house? You think they're going to make an offer but you're waiting back for the final word? Yeah, no way. I don't believe you for a second. Sorry about the mess, sir, I'm really embarrassed. But he never said he was kidding about the offer, so either the people that looked at our house have never owned a place before and don't know this whole thing works, or our house must be the stuff. (Either of which is entirely possible, I love our house - well, in a cleaner state). So we'll see what tomorrow brings and if they make an offer. If they do, I'll consider it a blessing straight from the hands of God for a contract within 48 hours of listing it, because he knows I can't deal with 6 months of keeping this place spotless with two kids and being pregnant. I'm not expecting one, but it sure will be nice if we do!
So, after our giddy ride home from church, thinking about the prospect of getting an offer with 48 hours of listing our house, we walk in. Boy oh boy was it worse than I remembered. Our pizza pan was still on the oven from lunch, the smooth top oven anything but. Crumbs everywhere. Goldfish crackers (DIE!), dirty dishes, paint paraphernalia, splattered paint in the sink, and other questionable things that probably hasn't been wiped down since 2005. And don't get me started on my floors. Let's just say bleach is a common household item on my shopping lists these days. I don't think of us as dirty dwellers, we just don't deep clean much. What's the use with a 2 year old and an almost 1 year old?
But then...I walk into Chicken's room. Just because I was in a hurry when I was changing his diaper before we left doesn't mean anything. And just because we've started him on whole milk and he's a little constipated doesn't mean anything, either. Unless, of course, we had just shown our house. I walked in his room to hang up his jacket and something caught my eye on his changing table.
There, lying atop his soft little changing pad was a little dingleberry that apparently rolled right out of his diaper and I was never the wiser.
Yeah, these "contract" people certainly don't have high hopes for their new house.
And we're officially gross.
Monday, January 21, 2008
Perhaps the passing of a dear family friend has also gotten me a little sappy. It was someone who was so very close to my mother in law. She gave my husband his first piano lessons and was proud of that until the day she died. She left behind two beautiful daughters and FOURTEEN grandkids. Those daughters of hers are so remarkable, and it only gives testimony to the kind of woman she was. I didn't know her that well, but the times I did talk to her I was always left with so much respect toward her. I never thought I would know someone like that. She lived such an interesting life, born in England, and raised in Africa where she met her husband as a young child. If I remember correctly, they had their first kiss before they were teens. She died from aggressive breast cancer after battling it for exactly one year. Thousands of prayers were offered to God on her behalf for her to live but sometimes, as we all know, God says no. It's not up to us to question his reasons or to grow bitter. In fact, their family and the rest of us have grown closer to God. I like to think that this whole ordeal has been a blessing in disguise for many of us.
For me, I've learned to slow down and smile. My kids are only little once and even though things are pretty tough with them right now, I love every minute of it. They're my babies that God has given me. After all my prayers, God said yes. With Carol's death, I've been reminded that there are times he says no. I can't imagine my life without them. I don't want to imagine my life without them.
Life without our friend will be hard. She touched so many lives with her gentle, Christian spirit and unfailing love. Truly, she was a virtuous woman and the example God would have us all be. May everyone's prayers be with her family. May God heal their sorrow and time dry their tears.
Monday, January 14, 2008
Just when I think I'm good.
I lose a little weight. I'm down to a size 8 or 10 again. I go and find out I'm pregnant...AGAIN. Yes, this isn't news to any of you, but there's more. I'm not counting my chickens before they hatch so to speak, but the heart rate at the last visit was 160. That was Chicken's range. Not cool. Chicken is so stubborn right now if I find out I'm having another boy I'll have to go into a nuthouse for a little while. Testosterone sucks.
Next, my mother and I get into petty arguments that are starting to wear me down. Mainly about going to church, but I've said most of all I can say to her regarding that. There's been no major blow outs since the last "parent" post, but I'm stressing about my mom and her health. She told me this past Friday that her doctor told her as high as her blood pressure was right now that she was a prime candidate for a heart attack or a stroke RIGHT NOW. As in, this second. I asked her if that motivated her to lose some weight (she's at least 50 pounds overweight, probably more like 60 or 65). Her response? "Scare tactics don't work with me." Whaaa?? I'm sorry, but if someone told me that I might lose my life and all it would have taken would be to lose the twinkies and the potato chips? Adios. I wouldn't want to leave that kind of legacy for my grandkids. Not to mention I wouldn't want to choose those things OVER my grandkids. At my heaviest I was 160, about 40 pounds overweight. I felt soooo gross that I became depressed and all that good stuff. After having Punky and losing 20 pounds just by being pregnant, I realized it wasn't worth eating bad and getting to that point again. Granted, I still eat oreos and mac and cheese (especially since I'm pregnant right now), but just before the pregnancy I was gung-ho to get the rest of it off and enjoy the rest of my 20's and 30s in good shape and looking nice. I learned how to enjoy those things AND still be able to lose weight. I don't want to be an embarrassment to my kids or to my husband. I want him to enjoy a nice body. I want to be able to run after my kids when they get older (PLEASE LET ME BE IN SHAPE BEFORE THEN!) HA! I feel like my attitude is right, so whenever all these little blessings stop coming, I'm certainly going back to the diet and exercise. I mean, I'm still watching what I eat, but of course I can't be trying to lose weight while I'm pregnant!
Ok, so yeah. That's STILL not all. This weekend? Yeah...we got rid of the mustang. My precious, beautiful, awesome-stereo-system, dream car convertible mustang is no more and is in the hands of an unappreciative wholesaler. I'm better now but I felt a little like I was mourning a death. I never get toys. When I do they're never very fun...usually something that's functional or something I actually needed. That car represented my youth. A youth I never got to enjoy, a youth that I resent even now because I had to grow up so much faster than my peers. When that top was down I felt freer than I ever had and it was so much fun to pump up the mach system and feel like a kid again (or at least what I imagined it might feel like). So what did we get in it's place?
A friggin' mini-van. I'm officially...old. I swore I would NEVER get one of those things before 30. To get a mini-van was to admit the aging hands of time had grabbed hold of me and forced me to realize I could no longer have fun. Who can do doughnuts in a parking lot with an Odyssey (not that I ever did.)? Who WOULDN'T laugh if I cranked up the bass (which is pathetic mind you) and rode down the road singing to Old MacDonald? Who can peel out of an intersection and feel the POWER underneath your fingertips with A MINI-VAN!?!?! That's right. You can't. I'd be laughed at, pointed at and people would wag their heads in embarrassment FOR me. Not that I care what someone else thinks, but having a mini-van certainly takes what little fun you can find in driving right out. Don't get me wrong, the van drives awesome. I will admit that much. A mustang tends to be a little shaky since it's so low to the ground, so that's a good aspect of the "van". It's clean, the paint is immaculate and the kids aren't getting their feet wedged between their car seats and the front seats any more. That alone is nice for them. They were getting tired of getting cramped in that thing and I felt bad for them, therefore - at the time - I was ready to get rid of the mustang.
Until the last paper was signed and then I had some MAJOR buyer's remorse. Hubby pulled it around to the front of the building for the last time so we could take out all of our stuff from it. I had to resist the ridiculous urge to smooth my hand over the rag top and kiss it farewell. I also had to resist the urge to grab the keys and pull a Britney Spears and lock myself in the bathroom with them until someone allowed me to take both of them home. We really needed the van with #3 coming. I really needed the mustang. But as I always say, life is tough, I guess I just have to get tough with it. It's more motivation to start writing and get published so I can save enough for another one...maybe even a better one. But for now...
...goodbye ferocious growl that gave me chill bumps when I started you up
...goodbye v8 with so much power it sometimes freaked me out
...goodbye convertible top that gave me the most wonderful feeling of freedom
...goodbye mach stereo system that could jar the windows out of a house a mile away
...goodbye leather seats that were always nice and warm during the summer
...hello squirrels. I will try to feed you well so you can continue working hard.
...hello v6, ran by said squirrels. Just believe in yourself.
...hello automatic opening side doors. My husband thinks that's cool, so I will too.
...hello PATHETIC stereo system. Play your heart out for the kiddos. They need don't need bass like I do.
...hello velvet-like seats. Once we get the pet smell out of you from the previous owners, you won't be too bad.
:oD Give me another week and hopefully I won't miss the mustang too bad and can redeem my sanity amongst all of you, my internet friends.
Wednesday, January 9, 2008
We're still trudging along. The good news is my nausea is getting much better all of a sudden. I'm very grateful for this but I'm still not able to eat much at a time. I've lost about 4 pounds but in the last week or so, I've stopped losing and started maintaining. That's a good thing. With Punky, I only gained a grand total of 3 pounds. I lost 7 in the beginning and gained 10 back. When all was said and done I was 20 pounds lighter than I had been in years after I delivered her. With Chicken, I gained the traditional 25 and after I delivered him I had only gained a total of 1 pound that I couldn't get off. Hopefully with this one, my goal is just stay the same after delivery so I can resume my weight loss goals and not have to back track any because my butt got bigger. I'm eating what I want, but I still feel like I'm eating for a bird, not two humans.
I went to the OB today. Baby #3's heart rate was 160. That's on the low side if the slow for boy/fast for girl is true, and so far it has been with my pregnancies. Punky's was always in the high 160's and low 170's and Chicken's was always in the high 150's to mid 160's. That heart rate better get faster soon! No more boys!
Chicken has been trying us a lot lately, as has Punky. They've both discovered their will's and I think they're in cahoots sometimes on how they're going to drive me crazy each day. Just the other day, I found them in the bathroom, door closed, light off and when I opened the door they both started giggling. A little disconcerting considering I'm about to be even more outnumbered. It's also sweet in a shoot-myself-in-the-foot kind of way because I love to see them being friends already.
Punky is going to be two in only a matter of weeks. My little baby has turned into a toddler who walks, talks, refuses to poop in the potty, and feeds herself. I honestly don't know what I'm going to do with #3 is this old and i'm not needed as much. My life has been so involved with infants for 2 years now I just can't imagine how it's going to feel to tell them to go play in their rooms and not have to worry about them as much.
Chicken will be one next month, too. I can't believe he's going to be so big! His stubborn streak is on its way out...one way or another I will win. He loves our DVD cabinet but he simply doesn't understand (or care, rather) that there is punishment for his disobedience. I actually have decided that he's made up his mind that the punishment is well worth it just to have a few seconds of winning glory with the DVD of the day. The turkey. I will win. I will win. I will win. This is my mantra lately.
Nothing else really to update. I guess I'll write again when there is more to say! Hope everyone is well!
Thursday, January 3, 2008
"Are you poopy?" I asked as I took Punky into her bedroom for her nap. I put her on the changing table and commenced changing a poopy.
"Yeah," she says in her normal little whiny voice. "Medicine," she appeals pitifully with her poochy lips out as far as they can go (this is her new thing-she believes she needs "medicine" on her bottom every time she poops).
"No, you don't need medicine...when are you going to start pooping inthe potty?"
"No," Punky says determinedly.
"Why not?" I ask, even more determined to know WHY she refuses to learn how to go to the potty.
I guess that explains that. The little stinker.