I'm back. Sometimes you have to vent before you can let it go. And since I did that (in a little under 4 pages of craziness at 3 am for everyone to read and ask about) I am now back and ready to tackle new craziness (that I'm sure I will or have somehow brought upon myself).
As many of you may (or may not) have heard...We Found a House!!! We put in the offer and the inspection went great. We got the financing and have figured out how stressful it is to stop spending money so you have 20% plus closing costs to put down at closing. But it was all worth it, because we close on Aug 14th and get to move into a very nice house that will actually be all ours (in 30 years when we finish paying the bank). While living in the duplex has been OK, I will not miss the noisy night activities of the neighbor or his dogs recent decisions to poop everywhere in the yard (or their owner's decision not to clean it up). In all of my excitement and stress over actually finding and getting the house I managed to overlook the fact that must now pack, AGAIN.
You would think that this is not such a big thing due to the fact that our garage is stuffed to the point of exploding with junk we didn't bother unpacking when we got here the last time. We have spent the last 7 months feeding our family of 7 with 8 plates, 8 bowls, 8 spoons, 8 forks...(you get the idea. The reason for this is that WalMart sells their junk in sets of 4 and we need 7 so we bought 2 so we wouldn't have to unpack the dishes that were so carefully packed from the first move this year. I still have no idea if they are still in one piece or smashed to smithereens, and I'm really happier that way.)
It truly amazes me that even with everything that is still packed, I have so much more to put back in boxes/baskets so they can make the move 10 minutes eastward (as in Eden cause the new house rocks). I find myself wondering if I really need all the crap I have spent the last 11+ years accumulating or should I just chuck it all (and start over because you know I will. Once a pack rat...).
So what if I've had to convince my kids that sharing towel is normal, and that shoes are not considered gender specific (even if they are pink). So what if I have repurchased pots and pans (because apparently I need them to cook even if I don't want to dig through 15 boxes marked “Kitchen” to find the perfectly good ones I already had). I think it is really a matter of deciding what you can and cannot live without. For instance, I can live without opening the 6 boxes of my children's toys because we just didn't have the room, but I cannot live without my cell phone (which my children have decided is a toy because there is nothing else to play with and, has had to be replaced once already). I guess the decision there has been made for me. The toys serve the greater good so I have to not only keep them, but unpack them. On the upside, my kids now know that I am serious when I tell them that I will throw all of their toys away if they don't pick them up.
What really irks me is the fact that I have not unpacked all of the clothes/shoe boxes. What that means is that I have 4 closets full of clothes and a mound of dirty clothes (perpetually) in front of the washer, but there are still more. I have to get rid of quite a few things because I can't stand the idea of moving dirty clothes to an new clean house. Maybe it is time for a compromise (I'll make my husband move them. He is sort of a germ/dirt-aphobe and how he has managed to live with me all these years is still a mystery).
In the end all the stress is totally worth it, because we will be moving from less then 1500 sq feet to almost 3300 and there will be plenty of room to hide all the junk so that I can live another 5 to 10 years without ever having to open half the boxes if I don't want to. I could just leave some of them packed and make sort of a game about moving boxes full of who knows what, from place to place until finally I break down and open them to discover that they have become priceless antiques. I think we have found a winning plan that will enable me to make it through the next few weeks until we finally settle into our new wonderful house.
I didn't realize how much I took space for granted (or maybe it is just that I am missing my beautiful blue kitchen that my husband tiled perfectly, exactly the way I asked him to. Or maybe I am missing my girl's room that my sisters helped me paint with pretty flowers that coordinated perfectly with the comforters that I got for their beds. Or maybe it is the high ceilings with crown molding that Danny and I spent months putting up while trying to pretend the piles of molding waiting, lined up in the entry hall, to be installed was an interesting decorating piece and a conversation provoking design choice. But sill there is the office that was built from scratch using instructions downloaded from the internet by my sweet husband with a little help from my dad and his and the skilled texturer that lived next door). Maybe it's not the space alone I missed.
I think the reason I am so happy is that I will finally be able to settle in and make it a home of my own (by painting and making my husband spend all of his free time on pet projects that require hours of backbreaking manual labor). Once we get settled, we will have more then enough room for visitors. If there are any of you out there who are longing for a fun filled vacation in beautiful and exciting Andover, KS (a suburb of Wichita) then give us a call, and we'll make sure you feel welcome.
Monday, July 20, 2009
Thursday, July 16, 2009
I've heard that a weak flow could be a symptom of several conditions. You might want to see a doctor because I am tired.
It would appear that I cannot sleep. I am up at an unnatural hour because I cannot seem to turn off my brain. My husband never understands this because he denies ever being overtaken by the constant bombardment of sometimes random, but always unending rapid fire that causes one (generally me) to toss and turn until they (I) have no choice but to get up and watch a few hour of mind numbing TV until there is no choice but to surrender to sleep (repeat that sentence 5 times fast).
I want to sleep. I crave it. I need it. I grow fangs and claws when I am operating at a deficit (which is often but usually self inflicted). This is a proven and indisputable fact. Small children cower and grown me tremble when they see me coming after a fitful night of sleep. (Tonight, it would seem, my inability to sleep has caused me to make myself sound like a wonderful and pleasing individual.)
Every night, before I go to sleep, I seize the opportunity to talk with my husband for the few child free moments we enjoy together. Tonight we strayed to a topic that got my mind whirling. He had a conversation today that he found innocuous but I found (in my completely rational female way) to be laced with judgment. We were talking about looking down. (not to be confused with looking up which I find to be a necessary, hope filled, and enjoyable activity.)
Just in case you skipped the first few paragraphs of my little schpeel here, I am perfect and completely without flaws (she said sarcasticly), so I assure you that I try with all my heart never to judge. This is not to be confused with my love of holding firmly to my opinions and views while trying, with all that I am, to shove them down the throats of others. I just subscribe to the school of not throwing stones while standing in a glass enclosure of any kind. This may be hard for some people to believe, but coming from where I do, you know without a doubt that it takes all kinds. And being one of a kind (and wanting to be necessary) I try to let you be you without judgment.
So this is where I find myself now. Sitting at the computer hoping that by spilling my guts into cyberspace, I will be able to unburden my abnormally large frontal lobes (my brian people) and find sleep. Knowing (as I do) that those that bother reading this know me well enough to chalk everything said up to delirum, I plan on continuing without fear of offense but looking for answers.
Looking down is a time honored tradition employed by many due to its effectiveness and high success rate in achieving tears and turmoil. The “down lookers” make you feel like less because you don't seem to have as much. These are people who are stuck in a rigid box that dictates if you don't do things the way they do, you are wrong and therefore deserve to be scorned and ostracized. These are stupid people who have put themselves on a teetering pedestal of their own design, who will fall as soon as they realize that they are not really standing on anything. (Here I go with the judging. I don't really mean stupid. I mean snobby, rude, condescending, boastful, prideful, shallow, spiteful, unkind, mean spirited, hurtful, and small minded...but stupid seemed to be an easier way to express my current feelings even though I know it is not a nice word. It also made me sound like a little bit nicer person who has chosen to hike up that high road. But as we have already established that those of you reading know me pretty well, you might want to grab your flashlights and shovels because I am about to dig a tunnel beneath the low road. Wait. Just the thought of doing that was enough. I really feel a little better so, at the risk of seeming flaky, we are going to hop on the golf cart (because It is always easier to take the steeper route when you don't have to actually walk it.))
What do you do when someone that you care about is a judgmental pain in the patute (pronounced pa-toot-tee meaning bottom)? There have be subtle jabs for years that have steadily intensified (undoubtedly due to that fact that I have tried to be completely oblivious to the intended underlying hostility). I am vocal and quick-whited (if I do say so myself), so these types of attacks have little to no effect on me because I try to take it as well as I dish it. The problem is that I have recently found that the offender has changed battle tactics by sharing opinions and misinformation with other people I value. And now the questions have begun, and the looking down has spread. It makes me want to spit (and not just due to an abundance of saliva that I am convinced is a condition associated with aging even though my husband is trying to convince me that it has more to due with the bucket of Sour Punch Straws I got for my birthday. They are yummy and I would live on only them were it not for the sores they create in my mouth after a while).
So what do I do people? Do I surrender to my instincts and expose my confrontational nature? Do I put my gift for making people cry on display in open warfare? Do I respond by removing myself from the situation and duck and weave my way out of the relationships? Do I continue as if I am unaware? What do I do? What would you do? What would Jesus do (because, at this point I feel that both cheeks have been slapped)? Why do I even care? I must really be getting soft in my old age (or I just have a very close relationship with the offender/s) because normally I don't care.
And so here I am in the dead of night at the end of a week that has denied me sleep repeatedly (I went to the midnight showing of Harry Potter 6 and that sort of messed with my schedule). On the up side I am not fuming anymore (I would classify myself as being at the tale end of smoldering nearing the stage where the boy scouts pee on me to put me out (because that is what boys do at scout camp outs I have recently been informed)). I just wish they would bring on the pee because I am so ready for my bed.
I want to sleep. I crave it. I need it. I grow fangs and claws when I am operating at a deficit (which is often but usually self inflicted). This is a proven and indisputable fact. Small children cower and grown me tremble when they see me coming after a fitful night of sleep. (Tonight, it would seem, my inability to sleep has caused me to make myself sound like a wonderful and pleasing individual.)
Every night, before I go to sleep, I seize the opportunity to talk with my husband for the few child free moments we enjoy together. Tonight we strayed to a topic that got my mind whirling. He had a conversation today that he found innocuous but I found (in my completely rational female way) to be laced with judgment. We were talking about looking down. (not to be confused with looking up which I find to be a necessary, hope filled, and enjoyable activity.)
Just in case you skipped the first few paragraphs of my little schpeel here, I am perfect and completely without flaws (she said sarcasticly), so I assure you that I try with all my heart never to judge. This is not to be confused with my love of holding firmly to my opinions and views while trying, with all that I am, to shove them down the throats of others. I just subscribe to the school of not throwing stones while standing in a glass enclosure of any kind. This may be hard for some people to believe, but coming from where I do, you know without a doubt that it takes all kinds. And being one of a kind (and wanting to be necessary) I try to let you be you without judgment.
So this is where I find myself now. Sitting at the computer hoping that by spilling my guts into cyberspace, I will be able to unburden my abnormally large frontal lobes (my brian people) and find sleep. Knowing (as I do) that those that bother reading this know me well enough to chalk everything said up to delirum, I plan on continuing without fear of offense but looking for answers.
Looking down is a time honored tradition employed by many due to its effectiveness and high success rate in achieving tears and turmoil. The “down lookers” make you feel like less because you don't seem to have as much. These are people who are stuck in a rigid box that dictates if you don't do things the way they do, you are wrong and therefore deserve to be scorned and ostracized. These are stupid people who have put themselves on a teetering pedestal of their own design, who will fall as soon as they realize that they are not really standing on anything. (Here I go with the judging. I don't really mean stupid. I mean snobby, rude, condescending, boastful, prideful, shallow, spiteful, unkind, mean spirited, hurtful, and small minded...but stupid seemed to be an easier way to express my current feelings even though I know it is not a nice word. It also made me sound like a little bit nicer person who has chosen to hike up that high road. But as we have already established that those of you reading know me pretty well, you might want to grab your flashlights and shovels because I am about to dig a tunnel beneath the low road. Wait. Just the thought of doing that was enough. I really feel a little better so, at the risk of seeming flaky, we are going to hop on the golf cart (because It is always easier to take the steeper route when you don't have to actually walk it.))
What do you do when someone that you care about is a judgmental pain in the patute (pronounced pa-toot-tee meaning bottom)? There have be subtle jabs for years that have steadily intensified (undoubtedly due to that fact that I have tried to be completely oblivious to the intended underlying hostility). I am vocal and quick-whited (if I do say so myself), so these types of attacks have little to no effect on me because I try to take it as well as I dish it. The problem is that I have recently found that the offender has changed battle tactics by sharing opinions and misinformation with other people I value. And now the questions have begun, and the looking down has spread. It makes me want to spit (and not just due to an abundance of saliva that I am convinced is a condition associated with aging even though my husband is trying to convince me that it has more to due with the bucket of Sour Punch Straws I got for my birthday. They are yummy and I would live on only them were it not for the sores they create in my mouth after a while).
So what do I do people? Do I surrender to my instincts and expose my confrontational nature? Do I put my gift for making people cry on display in open warfare? Do I respond by removing myself from the situation and duck and weave my way out of the relationships? Do I continue as if I am unaware? What do I do? What would you do? What would Jesus do (because, at this point I feel that both cheeks have been slapped)? Why do I even care? I must really be getting soft in my old age (or I just have a very close relationship with the offender/s) because normally I don't care.
And so here I am in the dead of night at the end of a week that has denied me sleep repeatedly (I went to the midnight showing of Harry Potter 6 and that sort of messed with my schedule). On the up side I am not fuming anymore (I would classify myself as being at the tale end of smoldering nearing the stage where the boy scouts pee on me to put me out (because that is what boys do at scout camp outs I have recently been informed)). I just wish they would bring on the pee because I am so ready for my bed.
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