Relax? Yeah, Right!

~ My husband said we'd be out of our house by last weekend.  I have been busting my hump to get us out of this house by this weekend.  I've even got things that I use on a weekly (not daily) basis all packed up and out.  This took a crazy amount of effort on my part.

~ Now we are not going to totally vacate the house prior to selling it.  WHAT?!  So the plan has changed, okay.  That's fine, but if you know my husband, our son, or our dog, you'll completely understand why I'm freaking out at the prospect of keeping the house clean, in order, and "show-ready" until it sells.  Not to mention that I've already packed up things that I use fairly frequently because we weren't going to be staying here!

~ I'm in the process of explaining how to coordinate completely loading the portable storage thing as full as possible, getting it picked up and off our driveway, getting the driveway guys to fix our driveway (will take a week), getting everything that's left in the house in the garage, getting a place to stay temporarily while the outside and inside of the house is painted (this will also take about a week).  And tree trimming fits in there somewhere.

~ In the last seven weeks, I've experienced more days with blood flowing out of my body than I have had days without.  It's not like hormonal imbalances wreak havoc with your emotions, right?  Ha!  In a word, it's stressful and exhausting.  Well, I guess that's two words, but you know what I mean. 

~ My progesterone suppositories are definitely causing my body to experience symptoms very similar to early pregnancy.  Plus I get the benefit of spotting all the time - except the spotting stops when I rest.  Rest?  Yeah, when exactly can I do that?  I'd love to crawl into a wine bottle at night, but I'm not 100% certain that I'm not pregnant because I still haven't had a period yet.  And I feel dangerously close to spending another two hours crying today because:

~ I just discovered this morning that my husband will be working - again - tonight.  Indeed, he will be working three evenings per week for the next three weeks.  I guess six days and two evenings per week just wasn't enough time for me as a single parent.  If you know my high-energy son, you know why this is so distressing to me.  Put simply, I NEED the break that I can kinda get when my husband is around.

~ I'd finally got back in the swing of things, socializing and having fun with friends, and I necessarily had to pull back and get this stuff done at the house.  Except I guess it wasn't so necessary after all.  At least, it wasn't nearly as urgent.  Now I feel frustrated, angry, and isolated.

And people wonder why I can't relax.  I'm tempted to disappear on vacation for a couple of weeks.  The only problem with that is I'm pretty sure all work will stop until I return so there would be no point in getting away only to deal with the same bullsh*t when I return.

Am I a Serial Killer?

It's probably shocking to the readers of this blog, I know, but I've been accused of being uptight more than once in my life.  At one point, I could walk into my bedroom and immediately discern if my hairbrush was out of place by less than 1/4 of an inch on my dresser.  Certain words, topics, and situations left me in a wretched knot.  Bodily functions disgusted me beyond belief.  My sister had nicknamed me "Prudence."  I was a (young) woman who desperately needed to be loosed. 

Though I have improved significantly, I still feel bummed out when certain things aren't just so.  Take, for instance, my pantry.  I insist that all of the cans and the few boxes in my pantry are in order.  I rotate the older stock to the front every single time that I go shopping.  All labels must face front.  I throw away anything that is at it's expiration date.  Heck, I have tossed milk that makes me suspicious even if it hasn't reached it's expiration date.  If these conditions aren't met, I'm terribly upset. 

Unbelievably, I became unreasonably bothered by a spice container that is on the "wrong" shelf.  Indeed, a lemon-pepper shaker actually inspired this post - it was on my coffee & ranch powder shelf.  Take what you will from that admission. 

Okay, I don't kidnap the daughters of Senators or take the skins off my "humps" (a la Jame Gumm or Hanibal Lecter) so I'm not going to be a serial killer, but I do get totally mental if my cupboards are not right.

I don't know when I loosened up, but I really did.  I'm pretty mellow these days.  I somewhat take the stance that the house can manage itself and I don't waste a lot of time screwing around with making sure that everything has it's place.  It takes a lot to surprise me, let alone embarrass me.  I'm almost uncomfortably comfortable with bodily functions at this point in my life. . .as those who read my blog regularly can attest!

But, damn, I get freaking nuts if my cupboards aren't in order!  Yeah.  I'm like the abusive whack-a-doodle husband from the movie "Sleeping with the Enemy."  Just don't get out of line and I won't have to lay a smack-down on you!  Or, more accurately, don't screw with my cabinets. . .

Shopping for a House

I hate shopping. I rarely spend money because I hate shopping. I never buy new clothes, shoes, jewelry, books, CDs, DVDs, or stuff that clutters up the house. I don't care for electronics, expensive cosmetics, or collectibles. I tolerate grocery shopping because, well, my family has to eat. My husband's first wife was on a first name basis with her favorite Nordstrom sales associates, so he definitely appreciates that I'm not fond of spending money on frivolous purchases.

For the last several months, we've been casually talking about buying another house. Every few weeks or so we'll drive around the neighborhoods we like and check out what's available, stopping in on any open houses along the way.

I love my husband's house. I don't want to move and I'd be happy to spend the rest of my life here. Unfortunately, our neighborhood isn't as nice as it was when my husband moved here in 1981. Thanks to the RHNA and government interference, our neighborhood is slated to turn to what I consider absolute crap. My side of town will most likely be where the city council is dumping over 800 very low or low-income units.

Our city traditionally does not allow high-density housing, but housing advocates don't really care how the legitimate residents feel about the matter. I guess they feel that everyone deserves to live in an area with low-crime, highly rated schools, and very high property values. . .whether they can truly afford it or not. That last part is particularly galling to those who worked hard and saved up to live in such a great area.

One of the things I like the best about living here is that it is mainly single-family homes. If I wanted to live around high-density housing, I'd be living in my condo. Call me a snob if you want, but I don't want to live in an area with a lot of apartments or condos and I don't want my son to go to school (even a highly rated school) in such an area.

So we've been looking to move and just rent out this house. We walked through a house that I actually liked a lot today. My husband HATED it. I asked what he didn't like and he said it was too small. I think our current house is too big (it always feels that way when I'm cleaning anyway!) and I've been hoping that we'd buy a smaller house. He actually wants a much bigger house! Of course, I know who will be cleaning so I'm not quite on board yet.

I want a big & open kitchen. I want glass fronted built-in cabinets. I want at least 2.5 restrooms because I don't want visitors to use the restroom my kids will be using. I want both a living room and a den and I must have a dining room. And I do not want to hassle with a 2-story house. Seriously, we aren't getting any younger and there will come a time that we won't want to drag our old bones up and down stairs. Frankly, I want our house with an extra bathroom and in a better neighborhood.

My husband wants a lot of space for parking - at least space for six vehicles. He wants a very large backyard and at least a 3-car garage. He wants at least four bedrooms. And he wants a bigger house.

Purchasing property was much easier when I was single because I only had to please myself and didn't have to consult with anyone. I hate moving and I don't want to ever move again once we buy another house. Right now, it seems that we don't really care about the same things and I don't think that the perfect house exists for us.

I hate shopping. . .even if it's for a house.

Calgon, Take Me Away!!!

I feel like I'm living in a Calgon commercial. Do you remember those? I realize that I'm dating myself as quite a bit older than my stated 29-years by admitting that I remember those commercials, but I'm totally living those commercials today. They depicted a harried housewife, overcome with stress: the baby is crying, the dog is barking, the phone is ringing, the pan is boiling over, there's someone at the door. . .all at the same moment in time. In the midst of this frantic situation, she calls out, "Calgon, take me away!" Poof! Just like that she's relaxing in a nice, bubbly bath filled with Calgon.

I'm having a Calgon Take Me Away Day today. You know, the part before the sudsy bathtub.

It actually started last night. My right eye had been bothering me and I kept rubbing it. Big mistake, I know, but I actually woke up rubbing it in the middle of the night. Since I wear disposable contacts, I decided to toss them and use new ones tomorrow. I crawled back in bed without another thought. Notice that I didn't actually make sure that I had another pair to use come morning. Of course, I did not. So I had to blindly fish around for my ancient emergency pair of eyeglasses. And when I say "blind", I mean it. At my last exam, about 2 1/2 years ago, my vision was -6.00 in each eye. I fully expect that I have continued to grow nearsighted since then. I feel handicapped without vision correction.

Thankfully, I finally found my glasses in the back of a drawer. They are at least eight-years old (I really do not like wearing glasses) and I have had at least six prescription changes since then, but they are better than no correction at all. I took the kiddo to his class, which is only about two miles away from the house. After baby school, I decided to jam over to my optometrist. I was going to squeeze in an exam and, hopefully, score a pair of contacts to tide me over until my contact lens order arrived. Unfortunately, my optometrist (who I've been seeing for 15-years) is on vacation until March 10th. So I am stuck wearing eyeglasses with a terribly outdated prescription for at least another week and a half.

I arrived home to find that the freaking ants, who I've been battling for what seems like forever, made another attack on my kitchen counter. So I went on a cleaning spree and, like always, didn't find anything that could possibly be attracting the crawly little bastards.

I went to the living room to try to come up with a solution to my blind eyes and I heard birds chirping in my chimney. I gritted my teeth and shook my head. I have an intense fear of a bird flying loose in my house. I hate birds in general and it's just bad luck.

Then I heard even worse. The unmistakable sound of a damned rat in my attic. I love having the avocados and figs in the backyard, but they absolutely do attract rats. I was starting to feel like Marlin Perkins in Wild Fucking Kingdom between the ants in my kitchen, the birds in my chimney, and the damned rat in my attic.

I decided to leave the house to the wildlife and took the kiddo grocery shopping. I couldn't find my special shopping card at checkout. You know, those stupid club cards that every store requires that you have to get the sale prices? I hate those cards. I hate those cards. I hate those cards. Typically, you can give your phone number and the checker can credit the sale to your card that way. Unfortunately, I hate giving out my information and I always give fake phone numbers. I think an angel must have been my checker, though, because she took pity on me and used another card.

Once I arrived home, I realized that I never started dinner in the crockpot this morning. I promised my husband a crockpot meatloaf and he was going to get one! I fed the kiddo lunch and started prepping like a madwoman. I tossed the meatloaf in the slow-cooker and I made a couple of tasty vegetable sides, which I stored safely in the fridge.

About this time, I realized that I hadn't changed my son's diaper in a couple of hours. Normally, this wouldn't be a problem. He always tells me when he poops. He didn't today. His bottom was so pink, it broke my heart to hear him crying as I wiped away the waste.

Suddenly, the day improved dramatically. My husband came home. He loved his dinner. Our kiddo was in a good mood. I even took advantage of the lull to clip the little one's fingernails - a task that is usually full of tears and drama. The baby doesn't like it either - haha. Oddly enough, he was very well-behaved as I wielded the nail clippers and he only cried a couple of times. I thought the day was turning around. I was wrong.

My husband returned to the office and the kiddo & I had our dinner. Then it was time for his bath. I stripped him down in the bathroom and dropped his diaper. Remember how I said that he always tells me when he poops? Yeah, well he didn't tell me yet again. He looked down and FREAKED OUT when he saw his diaper. He started screaming, "POO-POO! POO-POO!" and he began climbing me to get away from his diaper. I took him to his changing table to clean his bottom and the bottom that had only been pink an hour or so ago was now a deep red. My poor babe cried so hard as I wiped his bottom. It hurt so much that he refused to sit in his bathtub. He took his bath standing up tonight. He wailed and kept trying to move away as I cleaned his sore bottom. He threw such a fit when I slathered on rash ointment that I wanted to cry for him.

My poor babe didn't want to sleep tonight and he kept whimpering as he clutched my arm. I must have rocked him for nearly thirty minutes before he was settled down enough to finish our bedtime routine.

I don't generally drink during the week, but I am having some wine tonight. Sauvignon Blanc, take me away!!!