Because it really is personal…

The strong (if skinny) mover guys got all our stuff in the house. For some reason, the heaviest furniture all belonged upstairs, except for the piano. It’s in, and we have about a bazillion boxes of assorted everything to be unloaded and placed. Sweet Daddio and Boys are in the hotel pool, and I am pondering the need for shelves, containers for the pantry, more shelves, and whether or not the living room should be here and the dining room there, or vice versa.

More later. I’m out of creative steam.

Now it’s Tuesday. I’m here, in the New Town, for good. It’s a nice place, people are generally friendly and that’s always a good sign. I’m sad about leaving the old town. It occurred to me on the drive over here Sunday that the Old Town was the first place in my entire life that I was consistantly happy. Nothing bad, not truly bad, happened there. I made good, lasting friends. We had a wonderful house in a comfortable neighborhood. Our front yard had a fabulous tree!We were really, honestly happy. I am not saying we won’t be the same way here, I expect we will and even more so. I am just sad about leaving everything there. In the New Towns defense, I seriously doubt we will have to deal with a houseful of PartySlut college girls next door, or a potsmoking teenager and his psychotic slacker friends behind us. I won’t miss that.

Sunday evening, I found a cheerful and festive envelope on my pillow. “Hullo!” I thought,”this looks like a little party wrapped in paper!”. It had my name on it, so I thought “Hullo, little party in a packet, you must be for me!” So I open it up. Wrapped in a printed flyer is a stack of $$, quite alot of it. “Hm!” thinks I, and I read the printed flyer. On the cover is a lovely logo and the name “Savannah Garden Day Spa”. Inside is an outline of services offered ranging from haircut and color (foil highlights, etc), to pedicures, facial and whole-body massage, and lessons on putting on makeup. “My word” thinks I. Sweet Daddio is standing there, grinning uncontrollably, and I crumble into a loved and affirmed heap. He gives me further instructions, that I am absolutely, positively NOT allowed to spend the money on anything I can hold. No clothes, nothing practical. “Lord” I say, “I can get a haircut, some highlights, a pedicure, a facial, a Reiki massage and makeup lessons, and still have enough left over to go to the Clinique counter and get some makeup.” (Makeup is allowed, he said, just not clothes or kitchen appliances)

He said this was an inadequate thank-you for handling all the minutia of the move, all the packing, all the dealing with the movers and whoever else, all that. I did it because it was what I was supposed to do. It feels really good to be appreciated, to know that someone notices what I do. Thank you, SD, for making me feel loved and special.

oh yah- I found the Wallflower plug thing, in a ridiculous and nonsensical place. I screwed in the little amphora of Warm Vanilla Sugar oil, and plugged it in. Hopefully now the house smells like cookies and people will instantly and uncontrollably want to buy the house just so they can own that fabulous scent.

I’ve tried many different versions of vanilla scent. The buy-them-at-Stuffmart varieties from Glade and Airwick fall sadly short, smelling like vanilla scented old socks. A while back I, in a mania induced shopping frenzy, spent an outrageous $12 on the Bath and Body Works Warm Vanilla Sugar Wallflower, because I am enamored of their bath products of that particular flavor. It smells incredible. If Glade were a car it would be a Kia, Airwick would be Yugo. B&BW Wallflowers would be…I don’t know…a Jaguar. Before Ford got ahold of it and made them accessible to the Commoner. Classy, not terribly flashy, but perfect in every way.

There, that’s the product endorsement for the day

I went all the way to the mall, fed everyone the ‘food’ of their choice, and spent a hard-earned $12 on Wallflower refills to make my house smell like cookies and now I can’t find the flippen’ plug thingy that goes in the wall! Grrr….

I probably threw it out. I had to say that before Sweet Daddio had a chance.

Now I have to convince #4 that, even tho it isn’t dark outside here, it is somewhere and that means it’s bedtime.

I love Air conditioning. May God continue to bless the descendents of whoever invented it. They deserve to be rich and happy, as it is an invention that truly, truly improves the quality of life for early-menopausal women everywhere.

Ok, so I can go to bed knowing I Have Done All That Can Be Done, I will close this Post of Procrastination and go pile things.

I go to the movies! That’s what! Charlie and the Chocolate Factory and I shout a Pentacostal AMEN of approval. Excellent movie, Tim Burton darkness, Johnny Depp whimsy, and some extra touches that weren’t in the book, things that give you insight to the peculiar personality of Willy Wonka. Very well done. Tim Burton and Roald Dahl were soulmates once.

I am on mental overload. I simply can’t pack a single box. not even a little one. I tried and I can’t. If I try again I’ll sit down and sob loudly. That would scare the kids and I really don’t want to do that. So, instead, we are going to the mall for supper, and I am going to get a Warm Vanilla Sugar warm oil air thingy from Bath and body Works so my house will smell like sugar cookies whenever someone comes to look at it, instead of the old-sock-and-boiled-broccoli odeaur it sports now. Why didn’t I think of this before today?

Whilst cleaning this morning, moving the beds and getting up the huge guinea pig sized wads of dust, I found a note. It’s a keeper. I think #2 wrote it, but I’m not sure. Here’s what it says (verbatim):
MISSION 1
(3 checks)1.SPARKALY CRAYONS
(2 checks)2.SNEEK PAST CJ AND NIC
(1 check) 3.SNEEK AROUND THE HOLE HOUSE WITH OUT BEING SEEN
(no check)4.FIND MY SHIRT WITHOUT HELP

Have you ever found something and you’re just dying to know what was going through their head when they wrote it?

ok. time to load everyone up and go to the mall.

That would be me. I have quit for the day. No more packing, even though I still have empty boxes. I am hungry and washed.

I am going to dinner with a rediscovered friend-we went to grade school together, then I moved away and both of us occasionally wondered “whatever happened to her?” Then 20 yr reunion happened and we discovered that we lived mere minutes from each other. How’s that for strange! Anyway, all that aside, she and I are going out tonight for margaritas and fajitas (or other Meh-hee-can food) I don’t care what I eat as long as I get a margarita. Only one, as I am driving. If Sweet Daddio were in town I’d let him drive and we’d drink all the margaritas we could hold.

I am even wearing White Pants. White Pants are an invitation for everything red or brown, sticky or runny to hurl itself onto my legs with a gleeful abandon usually reserved for sex addicts and small children. I can be standing on a 5 foot pedestal inside a sealed plexiglass box and somehow boogers and blood will find their way onto my white pants. Yet, I am wearing them anyway. Because I Want To. I’ll probably drop an entire platter of enchiladas verdes in my lap, or have a muscle spasm as I sip my strawberry margarita, but tonight, I Don’t Care.

Tomorrow is the last day. I have assorted small piles of random objects that I’ll throw into boxes and label “Never Ever Open”. There is a pile of 30 or so cans of paint outside, that must be dealt with. Hard to do as it’s BEEN RAINING EVERY HOUR SINCE DENNIS THREW UP ON US ALMOST A WEEK AGO. *Sigh* So there are all these cans of paint that the city won’t dispose of until the paint is all dry but the paint won’t dry because it keeps raining. We did something illegal (that will not be described) with most of the paint, but even the little dab in the bottom of the cans won’t dry until the sun comes out and the sky quits dribbling into them. I know how testy I got about the previous owner of the new house leaving all his shit in the backyard, and I don’t want to do that to the potential owner of this house. Other than that, my obligations regarding the outside of the house are met.

I have that feeling that happens when you know something earthshaking and momentous is about to happen. Time slows to a sluggish crawl, senses are heightened, and you crave release however you can get it. You know that you are the only one feeling this way, and you get irritated with the world for carrying on as if nothing at all is about to happen. I guess that is the self-centered nature of humankind. Since we are the center of our own universe, we think we should be the center of everyone elses as well, and that everyone should be dealing with the tension and nerves that you are. There are 6 people in my particular solar system, and a few more making up my universe. It is some comfort to me knowing that 5 people beyond myself are going through the same upheaval and earth-shakes that I am.

Bring it on…I’m ready!

2 days to go. A little packing left: #4′s room (he’s with grandparents for the next 2 days), the remainder of the kitchen (easier now that Sweet Daddio gave to green light to eat out), and trolling through the house for those oddball things that don’t go anywhere specific (a flashlight, a pair of table lamps, a couple of clocks).

I think it’s starting to sink in that Yes, Virginia, We Are Moving. Scary thought.So many loose ends to tie up. Change of address, cancel internet,phone,gym membership. Dinner tonight with an old friend. English lessons so I’ll write in complete sentences.

It occured to me last night, really for the first time sinking in and becoming reality, that the house we are moving into is Much Bigger than the one we’re in now. 3100 sq ft compared to our current 1850. I’m going to have to clean the whole damn thing. It’s all my fault, too. I’m the one who picked it. I’m the one who insisted that this was the only one there that suited all our needs and was within our price range.

Now I’m the one responsible for getting us into a church, getting the kids in school, finding doctors (must be done immediately as #4 needs biweekly allergy shots), grocery stores, pharmacy…Sigh. It’s all part of it, I know that, but a small emotional section of my brain wants to sit down and cry.

As soon as we are actually, physically IN the house, with all our stuff and pictures on the wall, I will be fine. Being there will be great. I love moving for that reason, all the new things to figure out and discover, new people to meet and places to see. It’s the process that I am tired of. This thing has been going on for nearly 3 months now and I am READY already!

It’s like knowing you’re going to have a baby just any day now, the nursery is up, the shelves are stocked, and you have meals in the freezer for days you’re too tired to cook. Car seat is installed, Dobson and Spock are on the shelf, bottles sterilized and hermetically sealed, and you don’t have anything else to do but WAIT.

So, yesterday we went to Books a Zillion and I bought a couple of novels to read. I don’t even remember their names or plots, but one cover is a pink and green belt and the other has several sets of legs on it.

Ok. Coffee has kicked in and I am going to get dressed and enter the basement to pack #4′s room. The nice thing about little kid’s rooms is everything is plastic and all you really have to do is throw stuff in a box. No worries about breakage.

Prayer for today: Lord, keep my mind occupied and my hands busy. Give me no spare time. Thank You, amen.

It’s raining again. At least, I think that’s what it’s doing. Here in the Deep South sometimes it gets so humid water just falls out of the air. Not really rain, just Wet. Another day of this and I promise you anything stationary will develop a lovely coat of algae. My parents own 2 big white dogs ( Great Pyrenees, very fierce) and they sleep alot during the day. Check them in the eveneing before dark, say 7:30, and they will have grown a definite greenish hue. They lose it at night because they roll in the mud a’la Schwarzenegger in ‘Commando’ before they go coyote hunting.

Ted, the male dog, is a dead ringer for a canine Arnold. Big and beefy, but starting to show his age a bit. He did this thing once, 6 years ago right after my parents got him (he was 4 when they took him over). Anyway, we were at my parents place with the kids (ages 11,9,8) and it was late evening-dark:30. Coyotes started yodeling below the pond and Ted got anxious. First he yelled at the coyotes to hold on, he’d be there in a minute to whup their asses, then he started headbutting the boys, shoving and herding them in the direction of our car. He yanked their pants, barked at them, gave them a shove, whuffled, yanked, and pushed them to the car, then blocked them against the door and barked until they got in. Once they were in he took off and dealt with the coyotes.

Another time there was a guy who came to read the power meter. The gate was closed, so he just parked his truck and tried to climb over. Ted took great exception to this intrusion, and took firm hold of the man’s foot as it dangled over the top of the gate. An hour and a half later, Mom returned from her errands to find the man still at the top of the gate, with his foot still in Ted’s mouth. She threw Ted a cheeze nip, and told him to go catch a turtle, apologized to the man but suggested in the future he call first (he heartily agreed), and took a mental note on the effectiveness of Great Pyrenees as watch dogs.

We have all learned to trust Ted’s judgement about human character. If he doesn’t like someone, neither do we. If he does, then we do. He has never failed. The last shady character to show up was later arrested for running a meth lab. He’s not fond of Jehovahs Witnesses either. He won’t threaten them like he will some skinny white guy with a mullet and missing teeth, but he won’t let them out of their Chevys either.

Mom and Dad have been making recent noises about getting another pair of GP’s, and letting Ted train them before he gets too old. I think it’s a great idea.

What a dog. I was unsure of him before then, I mean, he’s 3 feet tall at the shoulder and easily weighs 150 pounds. Think pure white newfoundland without the sweetness. Anyway, Ted is now my hero. I make sure to have a few cheeze nips in my pocket when I go there. He’s getting old- big dogs like him don’t usually live much past 10, and he’s 11 now. He can still scare people, or animals, but needs a nap afterward. He’s good with #4, and will follow him (at a distance) to make sure he stays out of trouble. I hope my parents let him have a peaceful retirement.

No, I haven’t suddenly turned into a poor black child in the projects. What I am is somewhat lonely and in need of conversation. There is an intelligent 15 yr old young man in the house, but his idea of conversation is a discussion of George Will’s latest article in National Review, and that just ain’t where I’m at. There’s the guy at the Exxon station where I buy milk, but “Dude! Lookit that car!” also isn’t where I’m at. Sweet Daddio is usually good for something interesting, but he’s at work and busy doing the mysterious things he does.

So there’s blogs. I can pretend like the world is my therapist and I can say whatever I want.

It’s only Wednesday. The minutes and hours drag, constipated with chores so dull I could give them names and put them to work as municipal clerks. Or IRS agents.

I have Waffle House to look forward to for supper tonight! Then Panera tomorrow, then Friday I am going out with a friend to Laredo for margaritas and fajitas. Then it’s Saturday and I’ll totally finish up packing and do all the last laundry, then Sunday us and the doggies will leave. And that will be all she wrote for This Town.

I think today I’ll hold out a couple of books for #4. We have a couple of Dr Seuss collections and he likes them, so I’ll pack up his million or so other books and be done with that. I may drive to Lowes and get a quart of white paint to touch up trim and doors, and floor wax, I don’t know. I’m rambling, but what I pay for this blogspot I get to ramble. No one said everything I write had to be witty and interesting.

Last post: 5:15pm
Now: 7:25pm

I made us some supper, good steward that I am. Tom Kha Gai- a Thai chicken soup with coconut and limes and every good Thai thing. #4 ate yogurt as he is decidedly plebian in his taste. It’s 6:00, and I’m watching the news, #2 is doing something innocent on the computer,and the phone rings, cell phone that is, and I think “I just talked to Sweet Daddio, what did he forget to tell me?” I know it’s him because the phone is singing Handels ‘Hallelujah Chorus’. Actually it’s the real estate agent, a different one that earlier today: Talitha, our listing agent, and she wants to show the house tonight. At 6:30. That what I get for indulging in complacency. I tell her Ok 6:30 but not one single minute before. Naturally they all showed up at 25 after and scowled at me as we blew out of the house in a flurry.

Modern blessings for the Homeseller:
Swiffer mops. They are fast, waterless, dry in a snap, and leave a pleasant scent behind
Brawny paper towels- you can clean the entire bathroom with just one (save the toilet for last, please)
15 yr oldchildren who know how to empty and load the dishwasher

Granted, the house was moderately clean from the earlier showing, but the doggies have the uncanny ability to shed every single hair and grow new almost instantly, and sweeping was in order. I never did get around to giving a good solid mopping, because I didn’t figure the house would show more than once in a day, and I’d decided to Think About It Tomorrow. I think I’ll mop in the morning, first thing.

Read the comment on my last post. Sweet Daddio gave me the green light to eat out every night (so long as it’s Waffle House and not Outback) Very reasonable..I like waffle house. Hashbrowns scattered, diced,chunked,covered and peppered with 2 scrambled eggs and a big glass of OJ. Yum.

Awright, now I can relax because I just don’t think anyone is going to want to househunt at 8pm.