clickmom

last time

I managed to make through most of the bitch boxes today.  There were no crying jags, but I still found myself shaking.  I think it is the pure venomous unadulterated hatred welling up inside of me.   Today's find: they packed my pile of paper recycles.  When we moved to stepford Evan was only three months old.  We hired people to pack us, which was much simpler then, we lived in a not quite 900 square foot apartment.  They packed Evan's dirty diaper off of the changing table.  I know who the bitches trained with.

Tomorrow is it for me.  Tick tick tick, time is up.  Friday is D day.  My plan is to do an hour in the AM, hit the posh club HARD, clean up, and then frantically clean for another 3 or so hours before picking up Josh.  Then there is some after school stuff, haircut, etc..  Dinner will be strictly order out and then what ever light cleaning I have the energy for in the evening.

Where ever we end up in new town better work for me because I never want to go through this again.

I'll be fine

I went to the posh club this morning and not only did I interval stair mill on level 10, but I set the machine for 25 minutes as opposed to my usual 20.  This made each interval 1:40 as opposed to 1:20.  I even did an extra high intensity interval instead of warming down.  

My motivation?  Two people this week have told me how good I look.  One asked if I had dyed my hair a different color (my hair is not dyed!) and then she thought maybe I had some work done  (WTH?  She doesn't know me very well) , the other just said I looked great and asked how much weight I lost.  

Also, the stretcher told me that he works out on the stair mill at level 10 but for 30 minutes at a time which would mean he does 2 minute intervals.  I have to get there now, but I'll need to take in steps.  (How much you wanna bet the next time the stretcher gets on he goes for level 12?) 

I knew I would need the endorphin help, since the rest of the day was earmarked for undoing the insanity left behind by those bitches yesterday.  (See yesterday's post)

Here is some of the stuff I discovered: They packed a half used spray bottle of super stinky deer repellent- on it's side- with books and scarves in the box.  They packed Josh's school library books.  They wrapped a piece of pottery I made for grandma when I was 12 or so in one of my silk scarves and tossed it into a plastic container with some shoes and books.  They organized my tea bag drawer.  They organized my pantry shelves.  They packed broken candles.  They packed half burned candles.  They packed unwrapped colored candles on top of my antique white table clothes.  

It was too much for me to handle.  Each discovery had me either screaming/shrieking in anger or sobbing in hopelessness and by 12:30 I was completely irrational and shaking with anger.  I grabbed the keys and headed for the door.

I went to the rehab.

A week and half ago the editor's husband had a stroke.  I really do love them both.  I ran over to the ER the night it happened.  The next morning I went back early to bring the editor some breakfast.  The nurse came into the room, and was irrated at being asked questions by the editor's husband.  She curtly answered the editor's husband in that special condescending tone someone might use when talking to a habitually naughty preschooler or a particularly annoying learning disabled child.  Then the condescending nurse slowly and loudly said "Your wife is here and your daughter is here, so I'm going to leave and let you visit."  The editor's husband thought it was so funny that the condescending nurse thought I was his daughter that he laughed out loud, despite what had happened to him in the past 24 hours and how otherwise worried he was.  Me posing as his daughter became our joke.

When I left the house today I headed for the rehab.  I found the editor's husband in the physical therapy room.  When he glanced up and saw me he smiled a broad smile, his carribean blue eyes twinkled, he threw his arms open and exclaimed "My daughter!"   In that one second I stopped shaking and the world was put into balance again.  We visited for an hour and a half, I witnessed his resolute effort during therapy, we had a great discussion about a million different things, and then someone came to wheel him off to speech therapy.

I stopped for grocery's on my way home and then during the 2 miles from the grocery store to my stepford house someone on the other side of the road flashed me her high beams.  I was momentarily confused, because I didn't know her, but then I saw the cop hiding in the bushes.  

I'll be fine.

 

Simply livid

at the stepford realtor and her faux stager.  She brought a faux stager in, and I say faux because I suspect, much like all those people that get a lap top and deicide they are writers, and all those people that get a digital camera and imagine themselves to be photographers, or video cameras and imagine themselves the next undiscovered singing sensation, that the faux stager always thought she had a flair for something creative and decided that staging would be her thing, not having any actual training or education (or talent)  in what it means to be a stager.

The faux stager came over this morning and I  left the realtor in charge thinking it was going to be too painful to see them rearrange my kid's furniture (like they had talked about) and when I came back I discovered that only thing they had done while I was gone was to carelessly shove all my personal effects from the kitchen, den, dining and living rooms, including things that were behind doors in my dining room credenza and den bookcases, into the plastic bins I had purchased at costco last week for storing our winter clothes.  Also, they found some boxes in the garage.  It was especially maddening since I had said to them twice before I left "Don't touch my stuff.  I have put aside the whole day tomorrow and am going to go through it myself.  Just leave me notes.  You move the furniture."  The only thing they moved was our baby grand piano.  They rotated it.  Now it doesn't face out to the living room, it faces the corner.  I am temped to put a dunce cap on it.  It looks like it is being punished now.

They did one other thing.  I told them not to touch the shoes in the mud room since I was planning on getting rid of about half of them.  They very pristinely piled them all up, I think even arranging them by what they imagined who wore each shoe. At least all of the women's shoes appeared to be separate.  Now I have to play jenga with shoes and slide out the ones I'm trying to give away.  bitches.

They just made my life so much harder today.  I wish I had 10 minutes (for which I would not be held accountable)  to pay them back.  I'm so angry I can feel the hulk lurking just below the surface.

 

 

 

can she live with it or not?

The lady who looked at my house last week that I ended up liking even though I didn't want to like her came back yesterday for another look with her husband.   Unlike the first time, when the realtor asked me to stay in the house in case they had any questions, this time the realtor showed up first and pretty much said "Get out."  I was okay with that, because I know that is how it works, so I hopped in the truck with the kids and the dog and sped off.

Knowing they were coming back for another look, I've been a bitchy cleaning mad woman for the past couple of days, because hyper cleaning makes me bitchy (such an understatement!) and knowing that I have to de-chaos the house in order for someone else to fall in love with it enough to just offer up our asking price and not bat an eyelash in case the inspector finds something (I don't know what an inspector might find, I'm not hiding anything here,  I happen to have a friend who had to do 50k worth of structural work before her one and only buyer could get the loan on their house once it had been inspected) 

One of the (many) areas I did a big cleaning on was my bathroom counter.  Normally my generously sized bathroom counter is basically covered from one end to the other with various bathroom type sundries, makeup and a big jewelry tree.  For the big event yesterday I completely cleared off the bathroom counter, putting just a few perfume bottles in what I hoped was a tasteful (if not at least thought out) arrangement near my sink.

Now, anyone who foolishly allows themselves to get trapped into hearing me whine about selling the house knows I am just a wee bit (under exaggeration) creeped out by the thought of strangers prancing through my house.  I've seen those news shows!   I know what those house hunting strangers do!  You should know that when I go through other people's houses I do not touch a thing.  Maybe I open the oven if it looks like one of those teeny ones.  It's just too creepy.  

When I came back after the realtor and couple had left, I wandered through house, looking around,  feeling somewhat safe since only one couple had been invading my (fiercely guarded, despite having a blog) privacy, but when I went into my bathroom I saw that one perfume bottle had been moved!   Incase you are wondering , it was the Chanel Chance that the lady I didn't want to like must have sniffed.  What I would like to know right now is wether the lady I didn't want to like but ended up really liking sniffed my perfume and thought "I could live with that" or "There is no way I could live in a house with that scent in the air." because that is totally something I would do.  (Without actually touching the perfume, naturally)

in need of procrastination cure

If it weren't for the posh club in the morning and damnyouautocorrect in the evening I think the stress would over come me and you'd find me quivering in a corner unable to form coherent sentences and just pointing at the floaty dust things you can see when the light is just right.  Other than the posh club and damnyou autocorrect I pretty much would like to go to sleep.

Instead of sleeping the morning away (post posh club, of course)  I spent a good chunk of time in the dentist's chair today having an old bridge carved out of my mouth.  The lesson here is FLOSS, BRUSH AND IRRIGATE people.  It's too late fo rme, but you can still save yourselves.  I have another implant in my immediate future, which is interesting to think about since implants are a somewhat time consuming process with lots of wait time in between.  I guess I'll be day tripping back to stepford this summer!  Could you think of a better way to while away the lazy hazy days of summer?  That's funny, so can I!  I was thinking of trying to take a solar printing workshop.  I have found exactly none that are running during my "free" time when all the boys will be at camp/summer volunteer programs teaching in eastern europe.  Figures. I did find out about some interesting sounding places for print makers to bond with other printers, though.

Speaking of print makers, I'm going (home!) into the city tomorrow to go to my painting teacher's opening and also to wander around with peanut.  We are going to a specialty paper store and I am not sure I can contain my excitement.  I wish I could print every day instead of procrastinating over cleaning the house and getting nothing done.  I'm going to have to change things up around here.

If only I could win the lottery then my cook could do the cooking that I do and my maid could do the cleaning that prevents me from doing anything else even though I hardly do it.  Do you understand me internet?  Any other big time procrastinators out there?  Are they close to finding a cure?

Okay, the truth is there is a big load of wet clothes in the washer and a whole house amount of bed sheets that need to be washed, along with some cleaning cause the chick who liked my house last week is coming back (I think with her husband this time) for another look.  I still feel weird about the possibility of selling stepford before we buy in new town.  I might have to live in utopia! Shucks! 

 

another one gets away

We were outbid on Tara.  So I am going to compile some sour grapes reasons why being outbid on Tara, a money pit if I ever saw one,  is going to turn out to be a good thing.

1. I'm sure a building that old has lead paint and probably lead pipes.

2. The bathrooms had toddler sized toilets and sink cabinets.  The toilets came up to my shins and the cabinets to my thighs.

3. The oven was too small for a 20 pound turkey.  We'd have to have cornish hen for Thanksgiving.

4. Electric stove.

5. pretty much the whole kitchen

6. drafty windows

7. skinny stair case with no head room

8. probably not well insulated

9. old wiring = fire trap

10.too close to highway

11. on a busy street

12. too much lawn to mow

13. detached garage inconvenient during snow and rain

14.  That crazy gold and black art deco bathroom with the 5 foot tall bird wallpaper. (okay maybe not, I secretly liked it)

15. Across the street from a church that probably hosts support groups for pedophiles (this is a stretch, I know nothing about the church) 

 16. I bet that seepage in the basement was from the septic tank.

17. I can't picture myself in a white house.

18.  I was totally willing to overlook all of these things

19. Because there was a "carriage house"

20. And I had big ideas for a future studio and workspace there.

 

 

Spring!!

And it is still coming down!!

snow again

Our bid is officially in.  We heard there was one other bid.  DAMN IT!!   Not sure what the other people bid.  Cross your fingers that our bid is higher.  The listing says the house is "colonial revival" but Matt thinks it looks like a plantation.  (It has columns) Would it be in poor taste to name the house Tara?  If it isn't in poor taste then Tara will be my (maybe if they accept our bid over the other people, who couldn't possibly want that house more than me so I should get it) pet name for my possible future house.  Cross your fingers.  If we don't get this house I at least expect that I will win the lottery tonight.  Either would be good.  Maybe the lottery is better, so if fate determines that the house is not my destiny, then I will settle for the mega millions.  Or both.  Both works for me too.  (HINT HINT FATE!!!  BOTH WOULD BE NICE!!)

Did I mention the snow in the forecast? I am going into denial now.

I tell the kids all of the time that if I win the lottery I am done with dishes and laundry.  I also tell Evan he would be shocked at how little his life would change if I did win the lottery.  (Aside from the full time cook and maid)  I'm totally keeping Sylvia despite the fact there is not an undented panel left on her.  Sometimes I feel happy driving around in a vehicle that is quickly approaching Beverly Hillbillies status.   I'd keep it simple just to drive him nuts. Also because I think I might be a hoarder-lite. I would hoard all of my hard won money if I won the lottery.  Okay, maybe I'd share a bit with a good deserving cause or two.  

I spent some more time cleaning today.  Painful.  Every torturous second of cleaning.  Pure suffering.

Worst parenting decision I ever made?  Buying that damned drum set for Matt.  Holy crap is that thing loud.  I'm going to have the attic in Tara sound proofed because now Josh has been playing too.  I'll just stick the drum set up there.  (No usable basement in Tara)  Okay, why is the cellar scene from Psycho flashing in head now?

Because I packed up all the family hats and gloves last week the forecast for tonight through tomorrow is 4-8 inches of snow.  I kid you not.  I'd like to sleep until mid April.  Is this not the worst month?  What a tease you are March!  Cut it out!  I mean it!  Stop now!  Please don't make me drag the winter stuff out of the basement!

The woman who liked my stepford house is coming back for another look on Saturday.  Gulp.  

I never made it to the posh club today, which is unfortunate, since I also never made it to the shower today.  I feel terrible when I don't exercise.  I have become dependent on the endorphin rush.  It's my drug baby!  I was going to shower at the posh club, after my sauna, my other drug.  Also, my work out clothes, which I am still wearing,  are not snuggly warm, like clothes I should be wearing on the eve of a 4-8 inch snow storm.  Dammit snow.

Why did I have to remind myself?

bidded

Rolling over and seeing the evergreens that line my rear yard covered in snow this morning was painful.  I may have shed a tear.  The kids had off from school for a teacher-in-service day and I had places to go and things to do.  So I jumped into my exercise clothes and headed out in search of groceries.  Only Josh was up and when you ask Josh if he is okay staying home (with his sleeping teenage brothers)  playing computer games while you gather up the food, since you are a gatherer after all, it's hard for him to look up from the screen long enough to pretend he's doing you a favor.

Then I ran off to photo class.  Then home for a couple of hours, with the kids who were so zonked out from this weekend that no one barely rolled over on the couch, and then to the posh club with Evan where I found some kind of deeply concealed effort reserve and kicked butt, panting and sweating the entire 31 minute expresso bike ride long and did a spin on the power plate because I am still in the month long power plate testing phase. (completely unmonitored by anyone official, yet I did whip out the tape measure early on and measure my waist for comparison purposes, though if someone from power plate wanted to supervise me I would happily sign on to be their test subject, Hello?  Power plate?  Are you there?) 

Then Josh had swim class.  Then I made dinner.  Then I SIGNED THE FORMS TO PUT A BID ON THAT HOUSE WE SAW YESTERDAY.  Oh yes we did.

New York's mega millions jackpot is now over 240 million dollars.   I want it.  Seriously.  For real.  

 

not entirely innocent

I took the kids to see A Funny Thing Happened on the Way To The Forum tonight.  Towards the end of the play one character pretends to be a dead version of a different character who is trying to avoid being sold into marriage.  The characters are all commenting on how there is nothing to be done about the dead character when Josh, who I thought was sooooo innocent leans over and whispers to me "Nothing to do with her unless you are a necrophiliac that is ...."

I almost fell out of my seat.

In other news .....  We saw a house in new town that we are going to bid on.  It's really the first house I've seen that even begins to compare with the one that got away.  I'm fighting the urge to get all excited because you just never know.  Cross your fingers.  I hate house hunting and we have a very interested person on this end for our house in stepford.  I'd feel so much better letting go of this house if we had something already lined up in new town.