Ssshhhhh, Don't Tell Anyone We Live Here

I've only sold two houses in my life, so I'm no expert, but I'm pretty sure that living in a house while it's on the market sucks.

Excuse me while a whine a little:  
Not only do I have to constantly keep the house clean (which just totally sucks by itself because who wants to spend all their time doing that?) but we're also supposed to pretend we don't live here. No toothbrushes out on the sink, no visible shoes or hats, no hairdryers/straighteners in view and no laundry baskets anywhere. That last one is a doozy for me - there is always a laundry basket full of clothes sitting around at my house. 

Oh, and we're supposed to leave the house each morning ready for a showing. 

Great. Because I needed 6 more things to do each morning. You know, with all that extra time I have. 

So our house went live last Thursday (meaning it hit MLSgateway and all the other online listing sites) and the very next day we got a request for a showing. Yes! And I know you don't usually get an offer the first showing but deep in my heart, I was hopeful. 

They were scheduled for 12:15 Saturday.  I woke up just as the hubby was leaving and the scramble began. Since I'm out of shape, almost as soon as I started to move I broke a sweat. When I went to turn down the air, I noticed the thermostat screen was blank. Huh. 

My next step is to do what any independent, educated woman would do - I called my husband.

Because he's mechanically inclined and very knowledgeable about electrical stuff,  he suggested changing the batteries. It worked. 

Sort of.

It had power but the air wouldn't kick on. It's not blowing air. Nothing. Another phone call and me flipping breakers and still no luck.

Are you kidding? The day we're showing our house? NO!

I crank the upstairs unit down to 60 and get a fan to blow all that cold air downstairs and continued on my mad cleaning crusade. Praying the AC repair guys could make it out before noon.

At 10:00 I call the repair guy to remind him to come before noon. At 11:00 I call our realtor, explain the situation and develop a plan. The house, because the second unit, is not hot. We're sitting at about 72-74. Completely doable. So right before they're supposed to arrive, I'm gonna turn off and put away the fan and leave all the blinds closed to keep it as cool as possible. I call the repair guy again - change of plans, DO NOT COME until after 12:30. 

Now my house is pretty much perfect, as perfect as I can make it, and I'm on the last leg of chores - carrying bags to the car to take to storage. Because that's another thing too - no cluttered (i.e. full) closets. You can't let potential buyers actually think you might store stuff in your closets because that would just be weird, right?

The girls have a very deep closet that actually stored a baby mattress. I'm not a hoarder, our baby furniture was a set - crib and two dressers. The girls are using the dressers until we move and buy them new furniture so I'm storing the crib until we can sell it as a set. The crib slates are stored under M's bed but I've got to find a new home for the mattress. Because I have the girls with me (along with a trillion bags of clothes and shoes that are going to storage) I can't fit the mattress in my car. My plan was to put it in the bed of my husband's truck on our way out. 

About 15 minutes before noon I go out to put the pool vacuum in - it's the last thing I've got to do. But when I look at the pool,  I notice a lot of little bugs floating around. That's not a good sign.

I stick my hand in the pool and the filter isn't working. WHAT?!

Another call to the husband. This time he's confident that it's the breaker. The pool and the air conditioner are on the same line. Or the same wire. Or whatever it is... I flip everything again and check the pool again - the filter is working!  Walk into the house and the air is blowing! YES - maybe we can sale this crappy old house!

Now it's almost noon. Call the repair guy AGAIN - never mind, false alarm.  I do a final sweep through the house opening all the blinds and curtains. As I go to pull the office curtains open, the rod comes crashing down. Almost simultaneously, the girls begin to yell "They're here!  They're here!"  WHAT? HERE? THEY'RE 15 MINUTES EARLY!

Let me just say that's a pet peeve of mine. I think being early is just as rude as being late. If I tell you to come at 2, don't come at 2:20 and don't come at 1:45. Come at 2, LIKE I ASKED.

Pandemonium breaks out - I grab the curtain rod, find the screw and other pieces that flew across the room when it fell, and make a mad dash to find a place to hide it. It's a solid rod, not a collapsible one so I can't make it any shorter - where can I stick this thing?  THE MATTRESS! The baby mattress! I can't carry it out now-they're sitting right in front of my house! And they're here - waiting! 

I'm so frazzled I can't think. I throw both the mattress and the curtain in the laundry room, hurriedly grab the broom and sweep up all the little sheetrock dust that has resulted from the fall and grab my purse to go when the girls start screaming again - "They're leaving!  They're leaving!"

I call my husband, way more hysterical than I should be, and cry into the phone "WE LOST THE SHOWING!" and some other hysterical-woman nonsense. He wasn't worried or sympathetic, mainly just annoyed that I was so emotional. But I felt like I had just ruined everything. Like if I had been out of the house already, they wouldn't have left. And I had spent all morning working so hard to make sure everything was perfect - it was just so disappointing. 

Our realtor said they left because they decided the driveway was a bit small. A load of crap since our driveway runs all the way to the backyard. They really just didn't like the look of the house and she was trying to be nice. 

In the end it was a good lesson because I realized it really doesn't matter if the salt & pepper shakers are perfectly aligned, or if the hand towels are folded in a specific way, or if the curtain tie-backs are exactly even - they're either going to like the house or they aren't. 

We have another showing tonight. I did spend last night cleaning but I was not nearly as neurotic about it as last time. And who knows, by the time the house actually sells, I may be barely wiping things down...

We Got It: Part II

So about the refunding:

It's weird. I kinda knew that morning that it would be a big day.

When I was getting dressed I thought to myself "wear something cute, you need to look good today." Did I wear something cute? No. Not that I didn't want to; I just couldn't fit my fat behind into anything. But that's a discussion for another time...but dang, I wish I had been able to fit into a cute dress.

Not that it's hugely surprising I felt some anticipation - we've known since last week that we would find out any day this week.  But yesterday just felt...heavy.  I know that sounds weird. But it did. Usually I'm all high-strung happy energy but it was just...different. In fact, I walked into work with a colleague and after exchanging pleasantries, he flipped his sunglasses up and asked if I was okay. It was that obvious.

And I'm not kidding when I tell you I'm lucky.  I got a text right before going to a meeting that the slate was out. But there was no buzz on our listserv and I hadn't heard anything. So immediately after our meeting I decide to call the congressional office myself, just to see. And voila - I got the slate emailed to me. That happened to me the last SSS grant competition I was in too - first call and I get the slate. You probably can't understand the miraculous nature of something like that happening unless you get DC politics but trust me folks, it was lucky.

The problem, though, is that once you have the slate you also have people who call/text/email you wanting to know who got funded and who didn't. My phone was blowing up. It was mass chaos. Most people had legitimate reasons for wanting the information but some did not. And if you aren't a Director of the program, I'm not sending it to you. Feel free to get it on your own but I'm not helping you undermine your supervisor.

And then there's the responsibility of knowing who didn't get funded. Let me just say that even though our programs are funded through a competitive grant process, there's nothing competitive about what we do, at least not to me.  The mission of our programs is the same - we all seek to serve the same population and have the same goal: provide access to education in the hopes of changing lives. It's that simple.

So it isn't a "me against them" thing.  It's all of us, together. And when we lose a program - it's a bad thing. For everyone. For the students, for the staff, for the institution and for everybody that believes that education is a pathway to a better life. It's heartbreaking. Especially when it happens to people you love.

So I'm thrilled that we were refunded. Couldn't have felt any better than when I saw our name on that list. But it was immediately followed by a great sadness for the names that were missing. Being one of the first to know - knowing that as excited as I was, these people would very shortly be feeling devastated - the reality of that is not something you can just ignore.

As I was walking out I got a call from a Director not on that list. I answered the phone with my heart in my throat. When she said my name, she sounded so solemn that I thought she knew. I simply said "Hi X" in a way that was meant to express my love and comfort. But her response was immediately bubbly and upbeat. Oh dear God. She doesn't know.

Word had gotten out that I had the slate, could I send it to her?  Yes, I could. Please don't ask me. Please don't ask me. Thanks, where you guys on the list? Yes, we were. Please don't ask me. Please don't ask me. Congratulations! That's so exciting, isn't it? Yes, it is. I'm so sorry. So, so sorry.

I absolutely could not tell her. Not that I was afraid to deliver bad news, I just strongly felt it wasn't my place. And I wanted so badly to put something in the email - something to soften the blow. But I couldn't let that be the first thing she saw.

I gave her a few minutes then called. I had to acknowledge her loss. Have you ever talked to someone after they've just discovered something horrible? She was in a state of shock and my little "I'm so sorry. Maybe you'll be in the funding band. I'm praying for you." all seemed so trite.

Then immediately after I got a call from staff that our grant writer had been in, demanding a copy of the slate. He didn't even have the decency to say congratulations. He did have the audacity to then email the President, Executive Vice President, his supervisor and ME to inform us that the program had been renewed. What a prick!

And in case you don't understand why that makes him a prick, let me elaborate.

I just typed about four paragraphs of back story on this guy. But then I decided he's not worth it. He doesn't deserve any more acknowledgement than I've already given him. So just trust me - he's a prick.

I went from this euphoric high, to guilt-ridden and sad to pissed off and angry.  All within a 30 minute time span. It was emotion overload.

I'm still ecstatic that we made. Still in disbelief. And in shock that now I'm talking about writing two more grants.

I get one little tiny victory and I feel like I can take on the entire world...

We Got It!

I am emotionally drained.

We got great news today - our program was refunded!

I cannot express to you the enormous relief and thankfulness I feel. It's beyond words. I'm just so grateful.

God is so, so good!

It's been an exhausting day so I will have to fill you on on the details tomorrow. But let me share this before I close - today as I was driving, Jeremiah 29:11 popped in my head (more on that later too) and as I head to bed, I am thanking God and trusting in His plan.

Cracked Up

**Contains mature content. Not responsible for any repulsion caused by reading the post below.**

There comes a point in every relationships when you get to the "secure" spot. This is the point where you have the level of security and confidence in the feelings of the other person that you begin to feel comfortable, even in the most uncomfortable situations.

That's one of the nice things about being married - you're way past that awkwardness hump. So you wouldn't expect any of those embarrassing sex things to happen, right?

Yeah. I didn't either.

Our realtor is coming Wednesday to take pictures of our house so I decided I wanted to deep clean. And by deep clean, I mean do all things that should be done on a regular basis but that I spend a large quantity of time avoiding. 

We have a ginormous (and really cool) pocket door between our living room and study - it's one of my favorite things about this house.  It's about 8 feet tall and about 4 feet wide and I'm pretty certain it's authentic to the house. Our former neighbor told us that the couple that owned the house before us had knocked out the wall to put in a french door when they found it hidden behind the sheetrock. 

We usually keep the door open and since it sits in the wall it gets really dusty. Well, that and the fact that I don't ever dust it. So I'm in the office, dusting and looking particularly unattractive  when my hubby comes in. Apparently, I must have been holding that can of Pledge just right because the boy got frisky.  Or maybe it was just the shock of seeing me do something domestic.  Either way, one thing led to another *and this is the part where it gets adult, so escape now! and I go from the ladder to the desk. When suddenly there is a loud and unmistakable popping sound. I freeze and even though I know, I ask anyway. "Did the glass just break?" 

Yes, the like super thick, tempered glass that covers our desk had cracked. 

Nothing better than having the fact that you're fat highlighted during a moment of intimacy. Nope, that's not awkward at all.

Normally, I don't think it would have even been that big of a deal but I know it only cracked because I am super heavy right now. No, I really do know that. I've...um... kinda been on that desk before. 

And not that he doesn't know I've gained weight - but breaking a piece of furniture is a first for me.

So diet begins tomorrow!  Seriously have to do something, like now. 

And when I want to cheat or eat something I know I shouldn't, I'm going to close my eyes and remember the night my ass cracked the glass.

The Day I Wasn't

Some days I’m a great Mom...some days I am not.

We rushed home – we are always rushing somewhere, I honestly don’t think I can remember what it's like to go somewhere without rushing – in a hurry to get to practice.  If we moved really fast, we would get there right on time. As we approached the house I told M “We’ve got to run in, get changed and GO!” 

When we pull up to the house there’s the neighborhood girl waiting in our driveway. Great, I thought.  M excitedly asked to talk to her. “Two seconds!” I barked. And then as I shut the car door I said again “Two seconds and then you get inside and get dressed!” I said the last two words very sharply, so she would know I meant business.

I ran in, ran to the bathroom and then ran upstairs to change clothes. I ran back downstairs calling ‘LET'S GO!” No response. I call for M. Nothing.  My house is empty.  I flew to the door, ready to let her have it because I knew she was still outside talking. I didn’t even wait to get the door all the way open before I began “M J (this is full name seriousness), I - ”

I stopped mid-sentence when I saw M standing by our neighbor. Not the kid neighbor, but the grown-up neighbor who lives right next door. He had his cell phone in his hand. As soon as I opened the door she ran to me with this excited, amused look on her face (the neighbor didn’t look so amused) shouting “Mom, you locked me out!”

I look over at the neighbor - the childless neighbor who I am sure will tell his wife over dinner what a horrible mother I am -  and smile apologetically. M continues “I kept banging on the door, but you wouldn’t answer…” I rushed her into the house before he could hear her say something else embarrassing. 

I had locked the door instinctively, not even realizing I had done it. We haven’t had a doorbell in years.  We bought a new, fancy doorbell when we moved in – it’s wireless and works on sensors. When M2 was an infant, someone else in our neighborhood got the same type of doorbell and our sensor picked it up. So every time they had a visitor, our doorbell would go off. The cute little “Please DO NOT Ring Doorbell, Baby Sleeping” sign I would put on our front door was useless. I yanked the batteries and we haven't used the doorbell since.

Then she says “I made a sign so someone could help me. I was holding it up to the cars as they drove by but no one stopped.  The neighbor saw it when he pulled up. He was getting ready to call you.  Good thing I know your phone number, huh?” 

I stifled my feeling of pride at her resourcefulness to concentrate on my feeling of mortification at my ineptitude.

The Tale Of Two Inches

Yes, everything is okay.

No, there isn’t a good reason why I’ve been neglecting this thing.

Unless you count life getting in the way as a good reason and then yes, I have a reason.

Will you forgive me for being a bad blogger  if I tell you a story? Good, because I was going to tell you anyway.

The Tale Of Two Inches

Once upon a time a bright young couple bought a dumpy old house.  It needed a lot of work but that didn't deter them.They had big plans to fix that dumpy old house.  Because, you know, they were young. And bright.

To the surprise of the bright young couple, life got in the way and the 'fixing' never got done. Years passed and that dumpy old house remained old and dumpy.

On a bright and shining Saturday, when they should have been floating around in the pool with a cool beverage in their hands, the slightly older jaded couple decided to tackle the bathroom of that dumpy old house. They spent all morning ripping out the old bathtub only to discover this:

The bathroom floor of that dumpy old house had rotted away. While they were grateful the tub hadn't fallen through the floor, the slightly older jaded couple was not surprised by this discovery. Because, you know, the house was old. And dumpy.

The slightly older jaded couple spent some time putting in a new floor and then they were ready to buy a shiny new tub. As they were leaving to buy the shiny new tub, the hilarious smokin hot wife asked the smart experienced husband if he had measured the area. 

The smart experienced husband informed the hilarious smokin hot wife that all tubs were a standard size so off they went to the big name home improvement store. The hilarious and smokin hot wife had not reason to doubt him.  Because, you know, he was smart. And experienced. 

After unloading and carrying in the heavy awkward tub, the slightly older and jaded couple realized the smart and experienced husband had been wrong. Very wrong. Shiny new tubs do, in fact, come in different sizes. And it just so happens that this particular heavy awkward tub was too big. Two inches too big.

But the resourceful determined husband assured the worried uncertain wife they could make it fit. Then the impulsive fearless husband cut out a big chunk of wall. When that did not work, the stunned horrified wife watched the crazed stubborn husband also cut the framing and plumbing pipe.

After half the bathroom had been butchered away, the tired frustrated couple moved the heavy awkward tub in place. As they were putting it in, the cheap flimsy tub brushed up against the wall and this happened:

The edge of that cheap flimsy tub chipped. In multiple places. Which obviously concerned the tired frustrated couple but especially since this was an all-in-one and they were not real sure how if the enclosure would fit if the cheap flimsy tub was chipped.  After the desperate distressed wife picked up all the tools the irate fuming husband had thrown out of frustration, she calmed him down and convinced him the the cheap flimsy tub would still work.

After more pushing and shoving, the tired determined couple finally got the cheap flimsy tub in place. Victory -  the job had been done! 

Until they noticed this:

The overpriced crap tub had cracked. And no matter how good you are, you can’t fix a cracked tub. So the angry bitter couple headed back to the stupid cursed home improvement store to buy another shiny new tub. Because, you know, the first one was crap. And overpriced. 

The shiny new tub went in without any problem, partly because half the bathroom had been cut away but mostly because the shiny new tub was actually the correct size.

While the happy and relieved couple were excited to have the shiny new tub, there wasn’t too much celebration. 

Because, you know, it was still a dumpy old house.

Deep Cut

Well, it was just a matter of time.

After a life of mostly fortunate experiences, my luck ran out and it happened.

I got a bad haircut.

Goodbye long hair!

Now, don't get me wrong. I've had some ridiculous looking hair before. Usually because I picked a style based on trend and not because it would actually look good on me. Or the stylist would give me something completely different than what I wanted.  So did it look good? No.  But it also didn't look like my hair got caught in a weed wacker.

It all started when I decided it was time to cut my hair. I haven't had a haircut in almost 4 years because I grow my hair and donate it.* I was completely happy with the stylist that cut it the last time. In fact, several months later I went back to her to get it cut even shorter. Both times she did a fantastic job.

So the reasonable thing to do would be to go back to the person I was happy with, right?

But no.

I was about to call (seriously had the number written on a post-it note) when I happened upon a salon I've heard about before and I decide to try that place. Because why go to a place that you know you'll like when you can take a gamble?

I called, made the appointment and then realized I didn't ask how much they charge. I called back and I promise you, the woman sounded almost embarrassed to tell me. And she should have been - it was outrageously expensive.

So I called my top fashionista friend, the guru of all things beauty, just to make sure I wasn't out of touch or just being cheap. She confirmed it was a little high and suggested I go to her girl.

For a fleeting minute I thought about keeping the appointment, just to see what a haircut that expensive would be like...but I couldn't do it.

So I call her girl.

One cut. That's all it took for me to know something was wrong.

She chopped my ponytail off and I remember thinking it felt really short - like too close to my head.  It immediately made me nervous. But I thought maybe I was just being paranoid and it was probably just the immediate shock of going from hair down my back to WHAM, now it's gone.

The more she cut, the less it looked like what I wanted. And I was worried. But I pushed my concerns right out of my head. After all, I had done everything I was suppose to - I brought a picture.  I told her exactly why I liked the cut in the picture.  I told her exactly what I wanted. And my friend's hair always looks so cute - this lady knows exactly what she's doing. She's the expert.

She's chopping and chopping. And that's exactly what it was - chopping, not cutting. She held my hair upside down between her fingers and just kind of jabbed at it with the shears - like a sword fight. All the while telling me about her time working on New York's Fashion Week. See, she is an expert.

When she was done I didn't like it. At all. I was trying hard to stay positive and give it a minute. I thought I just needed to go home and restyle it - a trick that has worked for me countless other times. In fact, I was in such a rush to get out and mess with it that I forgot to give them my coupon when I checked out. So not only did I pay and tip for something I didn't like - I cheated myself out of saving $25!

I got home, stuck my head under the faucet and tried to do something with it. And it wasn't happening. There was nothing I could do. No matter what it literally looked like my hair had gotten caught in a blender. At high speed. Choppy, chunky and just...weird.

Then I looked at the back. HOLY COW! My hair is stacked! In case you don't know - stacked in a style where the hair is essentially layered up and it requires short, short, short hair.  In fact, my neck hair (gorilla girl!) was showing. I'm convinced she didn't shave my neck because she didn't want me to know how short it was in the back.

So I called the girl I should have called originally and got it fixed the next day.  She tried to save as much length as she could but she had to cut even more to get it to look decent. Still not great but she could only do so much...

This is what I ended up with. You would appreciate it so much more
if you could see the before picture!

She was super sweet though because she cut me a deal on her price, since I had "already been through so much". And I don't want this to sound ungrateful, because it's absolutely awesome that she discounted it but I've been through some stuff, some real stuff and haircuts, no matter how bad, will never be included on that list.

Anyone besides me find it ironic (and kind of sickening) that I ended up paying more than the really expensive haircut that I cancelled?

Oh well, guess I can't expect to be lucky all the time...

M decided to donate with me. So proud of her heart!

*I don't donate to Locks of Love. I have nothing against that organization, they have an admirable mission statement but there is a huge misconception that they provide wigs to cancer patients. I'm not saying they don't, because they do. But that isn't their primary focus so it's more difficult for a cancer patient to get a wig from them than it is from other organization that focus specifically on cancer patients. That happens to be a cause that is near and dear to my heart so I donate to Pantene Beautiful Lengths.  Click here to find out more about the program.