Because it really is personal…

workin workin workin oh yeah we’re workin like a dawg…

Terry went to bust out the tile floor in the bathroom. Well, 30 minutes later he had a chunk about the size of a piece of paper, and had discovered whoever laid the PORCELAIN thus unbreakable tiles 35 years ago, put them on a 3 inch thick slab of grout…Dang…hard to get up. So. We abandoned the Replace The Tiles concept and initiated the Cover The Old Tiles With New Laminate project. Much easier, cheaper, modern looking, and O So Stylin. I have painted the walls with white paint impregnanted (I even got to watch that! Kinky!) with Mildew Inhibitor. So now, instead of being the esoteric dark red, drk blue and tan Antique Flag motif the RE agent found “too individualistic” it is a nice white, oak floor, bone ceramic utilities. BORING but easy to move into for the next guy. We even took down my very favorite wrought iron towel hooks and replaced them with a BORING chrome bar.

Whilst waiting for the walls to dry so I can put on the second coat (it takes alot of white paint to cover navy blue) I packed a couple of boxes, made and ate a pan of mac&cheeze, and banged out an email to the realtor in the town we are moving to, telling him what houses from the weekly book listing thing I want to look at on Monday. A couple of them are even on a golf course, a couple have pools, and a couple have those Bonus Room things over a detached garage. Now, if I could find one with a pool, a bonus room AND on a tee or green (Terry sez no houses at 200 yds on the right side of a fairway….nonono…bad idea), for less that $200,000…we’d be set.

I found one house I REALLY liked…I mean, fabulous! Built in 1870, wrap around porches, modernized with 7 br and 4 baths…that would give us enough to have an office AND a guest room, modern restaurant style kitchen…gorgeous. and $1.6 million. Ah well. Terry is a fabulous provider and I will not think about this incredible house.

Lord I am hungry. mac&cheeze was wholly unsatisfactory. A reuben would be nice. or a Big Mac and fries. A big platter of pad thai with all the trimmings. Chocolate milkshake.

A maid would be nice. a big strong…6 foot tall 20 yr old eager to please maid who thinks toting huge heavy boxes down inadequate stairs is a treat. One who needs no sleep and minimal food and can read minds.

I must quit thinking. There is so much to do. I have this recurring fear that niggles in my mind, that there will be one small thing I forget to do, and that will be the one thing that utterly repulses any potential buyer, and we end up having to live here while Terry works 4 hours away. I keep telling myself this is a very nice house, with alot going for it, but the bathrooms are still mid-70′s with their shallow little tubs and small counters and no real room to do improvements. People these days expect huge garden tubs with jacuzzi’s and multiple walk in closets. We do have a big backyard nicely fenced and a kickass deck that doubles as outdoor living space 9 months a year.

Ok Rootie, calm down. We only need 1 person to buy the house. hee hoo hee hoo…breathe….

The morning was fine. I found the source of the stench. A mortally wounded chipmunk chose the sanitary comfort of a neat stack of clean white bathtowels to gasp his last. I guess he did it sometime last weekend, or maybe Monday. It was a welcome find, as disgusting as something that’s been dead for 4 days is, because it was located in washable, bleachable towels on a washable, bleachable tile floor. I washed, I bleached. StenchNoMore.

Our bedroom closet is now bereft of clutter and useless things like winter clothes and shoes. They are now all nicely boxed and sitting in the middle of the living room floor.

That Pesky Mildew Problem has been dealt with. Bleach bleach. It was the result of 6 weeks of upper respiratory epazooty and subsequent application of Vicks Vapo-Rub and a steam vaporizer. I love a steam vaporizer, it’s like comfort food, or your favorite stuffed animal from childhood. I don’t know that it actually does anything beyond mildewing the ceiling, but I am more content for having it.

I finally bought and hung curtains in the bedroom and bathroom. Oh! I also discovered that the pale pink paint on the bathroom walls is very bleach sensitive, so to get the white walls that the agent recommended, all I have to do is wash them down with bleach, instead of all the effort of painting! Cool, huh, and No One Will Ever Know.

Earlier this afternoon I made the mistake of going outside. Terry found me 10 minutes later, sitting on the low brick wall clutching my knees and rocking gently. He asked what was wrong and I said something incoherent about trash and stuff and all my job and …and…
He took my hands and told me not to worry that he’d take care of the outside if I would promise not to watch. Ok, but I am still a little freaked about it.

My roses are all blooming and it makes me sad to think I can’t take them with me. They are gorgeous, phenomenal. I bet whoever buys this house will just cut them right down, too. Some of them are antiques. I have a velvety red Tuscany, a pink something or other that you can smell 10 feet away, and a couple that I am going to dig up and pot in the next few days. Must get pots, must get dirt.

I am so tired now I could just fall over. I think, now that we have ice, I will fall over into a nice gin and tonic while I work on supper (Convenience Food Rootie Style: Meatball stroganoff with shiitake mushrooms , oversized noodles, and some kind of random green vegetable.)

Off to the gin and kitchen. Terry has the day off tomorrow and is going to put in a new bathroom floor. I am going to paint the same bathroom.

And they’re off!
Ok lets see….today this morning in between taking kids to school and getting ready for Bible Study at 9 I got 2 boxes packed. I don’t remember what is in them but it must not be important because I’m not missing it. Then after lunch and about 45 minutes in front of the tv catching up on Katie, Henry, Mike, and whatever that ditsy redhead is called, I emptied Yes, people, EMPTIED the basement onto the patio. EMPTIED included boxing up 4 cartons of books and sorting all the toys into their respective containers. When #’s 2 and 3 got home, I gave them each a scrub brush, a bottle of Soylent Green, and a little can of Comet, and put them to work scrubbing the floor.

The Basement Floor is now Clean and Waxed.

It will become the staging area for all packed up boxes, as the real estate agent says people expect basements to have boxes in them.

Now. I have a problem. There is a phenomenally funky odor eminating from either under my bed or under the bathroom sink. I mean, really funky. Like something maybe even squirrel sized crawled behind a suitcase and died. On the carpet. Underneath my very heavy Sealy Posturepedic mattress. On the carpet. *sigh* Hopefully it’s in the bathroom, replacing a vanity would be much easier and cheaper than a 15×25 carpet. *deep sigh* 9 years in a house and something chooses NOW to crawl into my bedroom and die. Gross. and I’ll probably be the one to get it out because I am the one with a strong stomach.

I am taking the task of getting this house ready 1 day and 1 room at a time. Tomorrow, I think it will be the basement closet, as it is the repository for All Unnecessary Stuff Deemed Too Valuable To Throw Away. You know, the camp stove, the pitcher shaped like a lemon, the ugly but finely crafted afghan, and the 2 large boxes that haven’t been opened since our move in 1988 but must be valuable because I’ve held on to them this long.

The good news is, I have plenty of boxes, tape, paper to wrap breakables. I went to the U-Haul store armed with a credit card and a minivan, and bought supplies. I firmly believe in starting out with more than I might need because nothing is more frustrating than having 2 shelves left to pack and you’re scrounging for liquor boxes. Terry says all boxes should be the same size so they stack neatly.

So, every evening, maybe after supper or perhaps before while I am having a nice relaxing gin and tonic, I’ll post progress. I’ll let you know if I find the dead thing. I bet it’s that stupid vole I saw…

wel whaddya know.

I went at 10 to pick up #1, filled with anxiety and trepidation about his reaction to the impending move.

He reacted…well! No accusations about ruining his life, no threats of harm, nothing. He asked if his friends could come visit (of course they can) and if he could return here occasionally (naturally) and with those assurances, he asked about what kind of house, what it’s like starting at a new school, that sort of thing. Then he said the Taco Bell there is owned by the same franchise as the one here and he could possibly just transfer without losing his promotions and pay.

Will wonders never cease!

I told him he’ll need to ask off a 3 day weekend the middle of may, so he could go househunting with us. I said his opinion about the house we pick is important, because he’d be living there too.
He said ok.

When I got up this morning there was a note by the coffee maker, apologizing for being a jerk (“a consummate jerk” is how he said it). That was a first. I’m going to tell him that he’s not a consummate jerk, he just plays one on TV.

Suddenly, I am 50 pounds lighter and 10 years younger and not dreading this move like an upper colonoscopy.

Now I have to make a list! One for every room! What needs to be done! Paint touch up! Bleach the mildew! Doors on the kitchen cabinets! Scrub and wax the basement floor! Call an appraiser! Real estate agent!Boxes! We Need Boxes! Tape! Bubble wrap! Carry stuff to the thrift store! Oh Lord the yard is a wreck! Stump grinders! Must Rake Must Pull Weeds Must Pick Up Small Pieces of Random Plastic!

I am going to be a very busy woman for the next month. Shoot I gotta get that antique rose dug and in a pot so I can take it with me. The other 15 roses will just have to stay. and all my irises, those lovely irises. It is SO the wrong time to be moving anything.

Sigh.

i have 20 more minutes before going to pick #1 up from work (he lost driving privileges due to egregious assholedness and lying about where he was). 19 minutes. I am on the proverbial pins and needles about telling him of the move. I am praying nonstop for the right words, and the right reaction, and everything whatever it is I need to pull this off calmly.

I hate that I am in this situation, that I have to be so incredibly concerned (worried, fearful) about my child’s reaction. I don’t feel like I should be in this position. I mean, I understand his desire to stay, he has a job, friends, all that. Really I do. But I deeply resent being made to feel such fear about displeasing him. Thing is, he’s 6’2 and 250 lbs. He could really hurt me if he took it in his mind to. And I don’t know but what he just might. If not me then one of his brothers, or the dogs. Sweet Daddio is 4 hours away. Well. We’ll see how it goes. Don’t get me wrong, I have thought about getting him to a psychiatrist. HArd to do with an upcoming move, tho.

All I can say now is “Dear Lord, help me out, here.”
amen and amen.

Ok. It’s all over but the handshake. Sweet Daddio has accepted a position with a company in East Georgia, and we’ll be moving as soon as school is out and the house sells.

It’s Good. It’s a very good move with oodles of potential for advancement plus he’ll have a title. And a raise, and we’ll be in a town with a lower cost of living than this one.

That translates as a bigger house and yard with maybe a pool for the same as we sell this house for.

I am a little tense about telling #1. He is violently opposed to a move, and has said he’ll find a boarding house to live in before he moves away with us. I am, frankly, fearful about telling him. I have to, because I told the other boys and they won’t be able to keep their mouths shut. Tell him I will, with courage that comes from knowing SD will kick the shit out of him if he gets violent on me. He could react totally different. He could be accepting, philosophical even. That’s what I am hoping for. I may drive to the police station and tell him there.

How sad that I have to feel like that about my own child. How sad that he thinks he can act that way.

We moved between my junior and sr. year of high school. It was the best thing that ever happened to me. My reputation as a weird lesbian geek didn’t follow me, and within a month of school starting I had boys asking me out and friends and everything. I think it would do #1 some good to get away and start fresh. I hope so, anyway.

Pray for us.

Huge, life altering, earth moving, upset-the-applecart news. Stuff that dreams and nightmares are made of. Tension causing, gut churning news.

No, I am not pregnant. It’s not THAT big, but almost.

I can’t tell you what it is. The devil is in the details.

Maybe tomorrow.

What They Are Doing Right Now:

#1 is at Taco Bell, blow-drying a cash register and making cheesy gordita crunches.

#2 is admiring himself in his navy blue trench coat and plaid pancake hat. Whatta stud.

#3 is in the bathroom doing something unmentionable and creating a “righteous stench” Mom! Where the spray stuff?

#4 is in the shower, singing and playing slap the monkey on his stomach.

#1dog is walking around with her teeny tail way up in the air, looking sexually deprived.
#2 dog, twice the size, is, again, attempting to hump various body parts on #1. Not only is she gender confused but she needs anatomy lessons too. I gotta get them both spayed so they’ll stop this ridiculous behavior.Humping dachshunds are laughable at best.

I am sitting in my comfy leather recliner, lap warmed by a computer, tummy full of tasty chinese food (teriyaki…ok so it’s japanese…it was on the buffet, assorted fried and sauced bits, “crab” rangoon- delicious but I have yet to find any crab in it, and a big bowl of formerly frozen mango chunks and unidentifiable exotic fruit.,…either lychees or rambutan…I know it wasn’t toddy palm or durian…something anyway…and a “fried chinese donut” really just a deep fried canned biscuit rolled in sugar. Tasty and expiditious!) #1 will be pissed when he finds out we went out to eat, but frankly he has been such a stupendous asshole lately I didn’t want to do him any favors.

Now I am waiting for a call from Sweet Daddio to Fill Me In. Lordy I hate waiting. I am SO not good at it. In fact, I am such a pill about waiting he started letting me open all my presents on Christmas Eve, we have Mothers Day in March, and my birthday the weekend before my birthday even if it falls on a weekend. I like it, it makes me feel like I am getting away with something.

So now I am just filling time, typing here, attaching thoughts to “paper” and mentally twiddling my thumbs. I am thinking about people I know who are creative, and others I don’t know but admire anyway because they have made it through tremendous adversity and held firmly on to their sense of humor. What I like best is how they all seem like such normal people, not big fancy stars or some nobel prize winners, just regular people with regular names who have made it through extraordinary circumstances with (sort of) dignity. So if any of you are reading this I want to thank you for reminding me you don’t have to be fabulous and perfect. Or something.

Ok I must go remove #4 in all his pink naked cuteness from the shower, grease him heavily in expensive cream and put him in his warm Bob the Builder jammies. Warm? you say…yes indeed, for even tho it is the Deep South and nearly May, the air has the chill familiar to February. Ridiculous! I refuse to turn on the heat in (practically) May! I won’t turn the a/c on neither! Phooey on that!

Sit and wait. Twiddle thumbs. Think to myself : maybe the younger boys are taking notes on #1′s consummate assholedness and won’t act that way. I hope not. I am not sure I could do this 3 more times. Of course, what I am seeing with #1 is a sort of culmination of behaviors seen all through his growing up. Taken 1 at a time, these behaviors were annoying, but manageable. When they happen all at once it becomes an exponential increase in problems, affecting everyone in the household adversely and making the desire to just throw him out on the street almost overwhelming. Not very maternal, I know, but genuine. Fortunately for him I am an optimist, and every morning when I wake up I thank God for a new day, and another chance to make things right. Then I take a couple of aspirin, a xanax for my nerves, and start counting the hours until I can have that first cooooolld martini. Phie! on him for making me so tense! Well, at least he is at school all day, then goes to work5 to 10, so it’s only on weekends and off days that the tension gets really high. Still. Sometimes I’d like to pinch his head off.

long post, I know… but a cathartic one, and a time filler. It’s my blog and I’ll cry if I want to!

Thanks to Lab Munkay #9 for sparking this idea.

My List of What People Wear In Hell

Pantyhose, and no one is allowed to shave their legs so hair gets caught in it.

polyester pants, too tight so ass looks huge and cellulite shows

underwire bras. I’d rather droop, thank you

Mahnolo Blahnik shoes. That man is a sadist and women are pure-t idiots for falling for that hype. Just cuz Sarah Jessica Parker was dumb enough to wear them on tv doesn’t mean the rest of us have to follow like mind-numbed lemmings. Geez. now where are my keds?

cheap nickel earrings. My ears always break out and feel very hot after wearing them. Darn, I have to buy expensive ones.

Thongs. also known in my family as Butt-floss. Ok yah so you don’t get pantylines, and I guess that’s a good thing if you’re wearing polyester pants (see above), but I’ve spent too much of my life digging panties out of my copious crack to put something there on purpose. I tried it and Sweet Daddio assured me I was most sexy and inviting, but I kept wanting to dig them out and that was distracting. I just don’t understand how they could be comfortable.

strapless formal dresses full of sequins and a boofy tulle skirt. All that boning, little plastic dingly things that itch and fall off to make you look like a badly scaled fish and all that tulle….
snaggy and itchy, plus the constant worry that someone will step on your tail and make you expose your bosoms most embarrassingly. What’s worse, if you’re wearing said dress you probably have on pantyhose,a thong, an underwire bra, and pointy toed stilleto heels.

So there you have it, Hell is filled with prom queens.

I have attained that state of bliss known only to the Housewife. The washing machine is churning out piles of clean clothes, there are enough coathangers for all my shirts, and the kitchen floor smells of lemony wax, after I bullied #3 onto his hands and knees for a good scrub (don’t forget the corners, that’s where the ick is) Now he’s asleep on the deck with a dog on his back. He’s a good an dutiful son. It won’t last, but right now I’ll take it.

I also bullied #1 into scrubbing the bathroom. He’pful Hint: If your tub is coated with nasty scum because there are 4 people who take daily showers in it, get that scruffulous crud up with Sno-Bowl- the toilet bowl cleaner stuff that will gas you badly if you mix it with bleach (go ahead, ask me how I know this). Squirt the blue stuff all around, let it sit for 15 minutes or so, and the soap scum will come right up. It will also remove the chrome from the drain flange, but who cares. If it’s copper underneath the chrome it will polish the copper.
ok ok ok …#1 cleaned the bathroom and had to have the toilet pointed out to him no less than 4 times, but as he couldn’t argue with the dried nameless (hopefully) residue on the side of the bowl, he eventually got it all up. And the bathroom is clean and sweet smelling.

Well! Terry is planning a surprise party for me this weekend! I turn 40 on May 4, and the last (and only other) party I’ve had was when I turned 16 in 1981. What I think is truly cool is one of the people at that last party will be at this one! Purely by accident, we discovered that we lived in the same town, her husband is a chemist, my husband is a chemist, she is a nurse, I was going to be a nurse but opted for housewifery, she has boys, I have boys, you get the picture. We grew up in the same church and school, going to the same summer camps. We didn’t actually hang out together and best buddies, but we always liked each other and were very happy to discover we’re 2 miles apart.

Anyway, on with the surprise party. I am not aware that my brother and his family are coming up from Tallahassee, nor am I aware that my best friend Ruth and her kids will be here. In fact, I am so totally ignorant of this party that I am cleaning the house and deciding if I don’t want Terry to get a bought cake with roses on it or have #2 not make a homemade yellow cake with fudge icing. I don’t think I’d want to spend the entire time with a glass of gin and lemonade in my hand, not making fun of my brother and his egregeous baldness. At least he has enough dignity to just go ahead and shave it all off, instead of growing a nasty comb-over.

This is a long and rambling post, but I don’t care because it’s mine and I can say whatever I want.

About my brother. He is right brained so bad you could cut off his right hand and it would take him a week to notice. He is an EngineerDammit. He is The Engineer’s Engineer. Left handed, logical, can do a Rubiks cube in 30 seconds. No lie. I just look at it for a minute and decide I like the artful arrangement of random colors, and use it as a paperweight. When we were in high school he actually wore a rubiks cube out. It was great, if you pulled one of the blocks out the whole thing would fall apart and I could put it back together with all the colors in place and make everyone think I had solved it in the privacy of my room. BB is someone who always maintained a standard I didn’t think I could keep- National Merit Scholar, Eagle Scout, Georgia Tech grad w/masters, patented inventions, blah blah. I’m very proud of him, but a little intimidated too. His accomplishments are just so…public, and mine…aren’t. I do make better risotto than he does…he admits that. I also know what makes a Good Martini, and he doesn’t.

So I ask you, which is more valuable to society: Someone who is working on a project that could revolutionize warfare and make it more surgical, thus reducing exponentially the number of civilian casualties; or someone who knows The Perfect Blend of fine gin, white vermouth, and plenty of cracked ice? Hm? Which is more important? Queen olives or titanium coils?