I think that with the very good possibility of a pending move and all the usual things going on, plus its being summertime, my brain just might explode. Even Marce is having a bit harder of a time getting to sleep at night, what with new interesting things popping up here and there. The night before last, I had a different real-estate search engine open and had made it a certain way through, and he kept on looking past where I had. So he comes to me at 10:45 at night (I was actually in bed, for once not staying up late reading -- the only quiet time I had alone) and says, "You've got to see this house." And he was right. We both LOVE it. It's "affordable" and is full of styles that we love. It reminds me a bit of the house we rented for a year in California before we moved here. So of course, we stayed up looking at all the pictures (of which there were 21, which was very nice) and me running numbers and hopping up and down a bit (literally) for him to allow me to take the keyboard and look up info on the agent so I could email her. Then we tossed around in bed for a while before we finally fell off to sleep.
So today, I decided it was really best for my health and sanity to take some time, first thing after I dropped off Charlotte at her "day care/camp/preschool" (whatever you'd like to call it), to take a nap. I dropped into bed around 10:15 and got up around 1 p.m. I am feeling a little more normal right now after having had some sleep. I still have lots of things to do (like pack, throw things away, give things away, ad nauseam) but I must have some energy to do them with.
The next thing coming up is my 20th high school reunion. That's this weekend. We're going to see Mom and I'll be trying to look my nicest for people I mostly haven't seen in 20 years. I'm kind of not looking forward to it. I know that there are people I'll be interested to visit with again, but I'm just kind of dreading it mostly because I'm kind of on the heavy side right now (thanks, stress...) and it's that typical "I hate people to see me like this" thing. It sounds terrible, but it's true. Just five years ago (or even three) I was looking trim and normal. Now... Arrrgh.
So I'm hoping that the weekend is fun, and from there, it will be a whirlwind of activity through the end of August. I almost wouldn't be surprised if I don't have another post on here until September. At least I'm somewhat up to date on here; my journal is another story (it was up to date... in March).
Tuesday, June 24, 2008
Wednesday, June 18, 2008
Leaving Limbo, We Hope
Marce now has an interview scheduled in California in two weeks. Things are moving along. It's exciting and a little scary. 'Cause that means we really are going to have to pack up and move, all the way across the country. It's 2,192 miles or so, according to Mapquest. Yikes! I just get butterflies (or some kind of bugs...) flittering around in my stomach when I think of all the possessions we have to move. I'm trying to shed them like our cats are shedding fur. But there
is always more stuff left, just as the cats seem to have endless amounts of fur to get rid of. I'm making a list now of all the big things to leave behind: the old, beat-up couch; the piano given to us free when we moved into our first place here; the car. The van we keep. It's crazy time. That's why I asked my doctor for some Valium or something similar the other day at a checkup! ;) Could be very useful, considering that swirling brain I've had lately on some evenings.
But seriously, life has been busy, but now I know it will swing into ultra-busy mode. It's a little nervous-making. But the move will be such a good thing for the girls, in particular, and nice for Marce. He'll be able to work in a rehab facility, with more neuro patients, 11 years after getting special training to do just that. Yay for Marce. Me, I'll just really, really miss my book page job here. I still have my website, though, so pass the word along about Rated Reads. I just love books!
is always more stuff left, just as the cats seem to have endless amounts of fur to get rid of. I'm making a list now of all the big things to leave behind: the old, beat-up couch; the piano given to us free when we moved into our first place here; the car. The van we keep. It's crazy time. That's why I asked my doctor for some Valium or something similar the other day at a checkup! ;) Could be very useful, considering that swirling brain I've had lately on some evenings.
But seriously, life has been busy, but now I know it will swing into ultra-busy mode. It's a little nervous-making. But the move will be such a good thing for the girls, in particular, and nice for Marce. He'll be able to work in a rehab facility, with more neuro patients, 11 years after getting special training to do just that. Yay for Marce. Me, I'll just really, really miss my book page job here. I still have my website, though, so pass the word along about Rated Reads. I just love books!
One Small Step for Charlotte-kind
She walked! She took four steps last night! Yay for Charlotte! What was really fun is that all of our family were gathered in the living room (Marce was watching the very disappointing final NBA game) and that I was on the phone with my mom. So all of us were able to see her take her first steps, and my mom got to hear us all cheering for her. Thrilling stuff. I have to admit, even on our fourth child, it's just as exciting as it was with our first. Could be even more so, since there are more of us to be excited! It's amazing how wondrous it is to watch a baby grow up and learn new things. It's always fresh and thrilling.
Thursday, June 12, 2008
De-camped and de-flea'd
So it's been an interesting week. I sent my oldest daughter off to our church's annual "girls camp." It's for young women ages 12 to 18. I went three years in a row when I was that age. I remember it was hot and muggy and miserable, since I was in Mississippi and Alabama at that time. I was SO grateful when it rained two of those years! I was singing hallelujahs.
Needless to say, I had the obvious feelings of "gee, I can't believe my baby is this old..." yada, yada. I took her and a few other girls up to the camp on Tuesday and watched them get settled in and start getting to know each other. I could tell that she didn't need a big kiss and hug from the ol' mom once she was dressed in her cute new camp T-shirt and sitting at a a table eating lunch with all the other girls. So I just let Cami kiss her and I stood at a very short distance waving. But I'd already given her the hug and kiss when it was just the two of us, no other girls around. So yes, she IS that old, and yes, she is old enough to want a little distance from me among a bunch of other teens. Whoa.
Before I went through all those hackneyed feelings, I was laughing a bit inwardly at the picture of her being at camp. I myself was never much of a camper. I was glad when it rained and we didn't have to go outside a pavilion and do stuff. We could just sing silly songs. I hate the hot weather and all the grunginess. And I am quite sure Brianna's not much of the camper either. She hated the YMCA kids day camp a few years ago that she tried a couple of times because it was hot and there were "lots of ants." Not the outdoorsgirl. So I'm smirking a bit picturing her there. Well, I WAS. Now I just picture her having fun and enjoying herself and then coming home to tell me all about it. That'll be tomorrow.
So on to the second topic. Brianna has been gone for two and a half days, and I haven't had her help with the younger girls. I've kind of missed that. Marce has had other things going on, including going up to the camp this evening in his church duties to participate as a leader. So I've handled things all on my own without any backup/support from older people like my husband or my competent 12-year-old. But during one evening we had "open" without anything going on, duties, etc., Marce and I chose to use our glorious time bathing the cats.
Yeah. I thought it would only take 15 minutes or so. No biggie. They've both been flea-infested so it was time for a good soaking and scrubbing with flea shampoo. Mac, the strong manly-man who's only 2, put up a big fight and left Marce looking like a druggie who shoots up both arms. We scrubbed him, pulled off a few fleas, and let him go. We grabbed Cocoa Puff, my sweet little stray I had to rescue a few months ago (she was obviously a good house cat before because she's spayed and de-clawed in the front and was obviously spoiled on soft food, which she ain't gettin' here on a regular basis, I can tell ya that) and put her in the clawfoot. (Hmm. Appropriate we're bathing the cats in the CLAW-foot tub....) She is much smaller and a whole lot furrier, and as I mentioned, claw-less in the front. We discovered that was REALLY nice. She made a few attempts to bite a few times, but she didn't put up a big fight. Which was a good thing. Because once we got that long fur all wet, and we could actually see under to her skin, we found a whole circus of fleas. We spent a solid half-hour or more crouched over the bathtub, picking at least a hundred fleas off her. We'd find them clustered three and four at a time in different spots and then grab them and try to pull them out. It was hard work, I tell ya. And we'd rinse, keep searching, and find three or four more. And on and on it went. She let out a few plaintive "me-rows" and sat there putting up a fruitless struggle on occasion. I felt so bad for her. I mean, I have no idea how many fleas we got off of her.
So there my dear husband and I were: huddled over a tub, holding down a scrawny-looking cat with fur plastered to her skin, meowing on occasion, picking off a ridiculous infestation. We're sopping wet from splashing and from sweat. I looked at him and had to laugh on numerous occasions: nice way to spend an evening with my beloved.
Life sure is good.
Needless to say, I had the obvious feelings of "gee, I can't believe my baby is this old..." yada, yada. I took her and a few other girls up to the camp on Tuesday and watched them get settled in and start getting to know each other. I could tell that she didn't need a big kiss and hug from the ol' mom once she was dressed in her cute new camp T-shirt and sitting at a a table eating lunch with all the other girls. So I just let Cami kiss her and I stood at a very short distance waving. But I'd already given her the hug and kiss when it was just the two of us, no other girls around. So yes, she IS that old, and yes, she is old enough to want a little distance from me among a bunch of other teens. Whoa.
Before I went through all those hackneyed feelings, I was laughing a bit inwardly at the picture of her being at camp. I myself was never much of a camper. I was glad when it rained and we didn't have to go outside a pavilion and do stuff. We could just sing silly songs. I hate the hot weather and all the grunginess. And I am quite sure Brianna's not much of the camper either. She hated the YMCA kids day camp a few years ago that she tried a couple of times because it was hot and there were "lots of ants." Not the outdoorsgirl. So I'm smirking a bit picturing her there. Well, I WAS. Now I just picture her having fun and enjoying herself and then coming home to tell me all about it. That'll be tomorrow.
So on to the second topic. Brianna has been gone for two and a half days, and I haven't had her help with the younger girls. I've kind of missed that. Marce has had other things going on, including going up to the camp this evening in his church duties to participate as a leader. So I've handled things all on my own without any backup/support from older people like my husband or my competent 12-year-old. But during one evening we had "open" without anything going on, duties, etc., Marce and I chose to use our glorious time bathing the cats.
Yeah. I thought it would only take 15 minutes or so. No biggie. They've both been flea-infested so it was time for a good soaking and scrubbing with flea shampoo. Mac, the strong manly-man who's only 2, put up a big fight and left Marce looking like a druggie who shoots up both arms. We scrubbed him, pulled off a few fleas, and let him go. We grabbed Cocoa Puff, my sweet little stray I had to rescue a few months ago (she was obviously a good house cat before because she's spayed and de-clawed in the front and was obviously spoiled on soft food, which she ain't gettin' here on a regular basis, I can tell ya that) and put her in the clawfoot. (Hmm. Appropriate we're bathing the cats in the CLAW-foot tub....) She is much smaller and a whole lot furrier, and as I mentioned, claw-less in the front. We discovered that was REALLY nice. She made a few attempts to bite a few times, but she didn't put up a big fight. Which was a good thing. Because once we got that long fur all wet, and we could actually see under to her skin, we found a whole circus of fleas. We spent a solid half-hour or more crouched over the bathtub, picking at least a hundred fleas off her. We'd find them clustered three and four at a time in different spots and then grab them and try to pull them out. It was hard work, I tell ya. And we'd rinse, keep searching, and find three or four more. And on and on it went. She let out a few plaintive "me-rows" and sat there putting up a fruitless struggle on occasion. I felt so bad for her. I mean, I have no idea how many fleas we got off of her.
So there my dear husband and I were: huddled over a tub, holding down a scrawny-looking cat with fur plastered to her skin, meowing on occasion, picking off a ridiculous infestation. We're sopping wet from splashing and from sweat. I looked at him and had to laugh on numerous occasions: nice way to spend an evening with my beloved.
Life sure is good.
Monday, June 9, 2008
Cool '70s vibe
OK, this is on a totally different note. But I got to go see a fun, fun performance of ABBA music on Saturday night. Here in Anniston we have a former fort that has been closed and turned into civilian use called McClellan. During the summer, they have been having a short series of orchestra performances out in a park there. On Saturday, this included the Alabama Symphony Orchestra performing with a group called Waterloo, a tribute band that does a really great imitation of ABBA. (If you want to see more about them, check out this link: http://www.abba-the-show.com/index.html)
They sounded fantastic. Really very close in sound, and their costumes and vibe were spot-on. The group is even Swedish, so they have that neat accent with all those soft, sibiliant "s's." The orchestra backing it up did a great job, and it had a really, deep, rich sound. On certain songs, the orchestra's presence was really spectacular. Most of the time, you wouldn't notice them obviously, but their backup gave real depth. My dad and I took Brianna to the performance, and we all just had a fun evening. I sang along with everything. Dad had gotten into ABBA back when I was about Brianna's age, and he started gathering up records, then CDs. So I grew up listening to them. Now their CDs are kind of my "traveling music." If I'm going on a trip, I throw those CDs in the car for sure.
I'd say, take a chance on the group if you ever have the opportunity!
They sounded fantastic. Really very close in sound, and their costumes and vibe were spot-on. The group is even Swedish, so they have that neat accent with all those soft, sibiliant "s's." The orchestra backing it up did a great job, and it had a really, deep, rich sound. On certain songs, the orchestra's presence was really spectacular. Most of the time, you wouldn't notice them obviously, but their backup gave real depth. My dad and I took Brianna to the performance, and we all just had a fun evening. I sang along with everything. Dad had gotten into ABBA back when I was about Brianna's age, and he started gathering up records, then CDs. So I grew up listening to them. Now their CDs are kind of my "traveling music." If I'm going on a trip, I throw those CDs in the car for sure.
I'd say, take a chance on the group if you ever have the opportunity!
Self-Flagellation
I'm starting to wonder (well, frankly, it's not the first time I've wondered this, but...) if I'm a masochist. I must enjoy rejection. That's why I became a writer.
Well, more specifically, I'm a writer who wants to be published. If I were just a writer doing it for my own pleasure, then I'd be fine. But, sadly, I'm one of those sorts who wants to publish and get my work out there for lots of other people to see. (Perhaps that's why I blog... Yikes. Well, no, really, I write this blog as a lazy way of keeping my friends up to date. Really. )
So I wrote a book about my experience as a mother and spent a good five years of my life writing, editing, and trying to get it published. I collected a lot of books about how to get published, as well as a file folder stuffed full of rejection letters from agents and publishers alike. I learned that it's nigh-near impossible to get a nonfiction book published unless you're some sort of expert, or have a really pitiful life story to share in the form of memoir. (Yeah, neither of my parents is an alcoholic, and I didn't grow up poor.) It sounds crass, but it's largely the truth in the publishing world. So I realized, hey, I'm going to have to self-publish. So I did. And I learned a lot more about publishing, as a result, and it was valuable information. I hope I've been able to put it to good use as I've tried to help some friends find publishers/agents. I can say I have helped a friend find an agent, which is more than I've been able to do for myself, so I suppose so far it's a success. Now we're waiting for his book to find a publisher. So, as I said, I at least can say my experience has been valuable in some way.
Now through the things I've learned, I thought that my best bet would be to work on children's books. I had an idea both for a picture book and for a middle-readers book. So I wrote one chapter on the latter about a year ago and have simply chewed over it in my mind ever since. I also sat down about a month and a half ago, I guess, and just wrote down the children's picture-book story. It took me three tries to get it right, to get into the right style and tone, but I did it to my great satisfaction. Then I edited it a bit more and felt very pleased with the result. I think it's a delightful, fun, silly little tale. So here comes the self-flagellation part: I decided to SEND OUT QUERY LETTERS to agents. I've sent out maybe 15 letters and emails, and I've gotten maybe 6 or 7 rejections so far. I started a new file folder. It's filling up with my little rejection letters. As much as it's to be expected that I won't get a positive response right away, it still kills me a little inside each and every time I open up an envelope with a standard rejection form in it. As if I don't have enough stuff to bother me as it is. Like possibly moving. Or all the other usual stuff. But I'm piling it on.
Even so, I feel inside that I'm on the right track. I am quite sure that writing books for young readers is where I'm supposed to go. So exactly how long will it take until I really get a "bite?" If I count my previous attempts at publication, I've been doing this for about 10 years, without any real encouragement. If I count this new situation, I suppose I'm at the very beginning of perhaps another 10-year run. I truly hope that this run will be more positive than the last. I mean, yeah, it's nice to learn things, and find valuable experience, etc etc. and to be able to help other people. But I'd REALLY like to find some success of my own. I always hope that I'm not one of those completely untalented types who is convinced they're talented. I'd hate to be one of the kinds of people who auditions for American Idol or some such thing, sure they're the next big star, but they can't even hit a note on-key. That's what bugs me the most, I think. Am I completely fooling myself? How many people ask themselves that question on a regular basis? Am I normal that way? Or am I abnormal in that I continue to cling doggedly to a goal that's truly pie in the sky?
I am a good editor and a passable writer when it comes to writing for the newspaper or magazines. I mean, on my first try, I got a story accepted for publication for The Friend, the Church magazine for kids. I saw that as a really good sign that I am meant to write for kids. But I would just love to have another little sign that at least I'm on the right track. Somebody throw me a bone!
Well, I'm just whining now. I should turn my pain into some good writing, rather than a blog rant. So, here I am, pulling out another rope to beat myself up with.
Well, more specifically, I'm a writer who wants to be published. If I were just a writer doing it for my own pleasure, then I'd be fine. But, sadly, I'm one of those sorts who wants to publish and get my work out there for lots of other people to see. (Perhaps that's why I blog... Yikes. Well, no, really, I write this blog as a lazy way of keeping my friends up to date. Really. )
So I wrote a book about my experience as a mother and spent a good five years of my life writing, editing, and trying to get it published. I collected a lot of books about how to get published, as well as a file folder stuffed full of rejection letters from agents and publishers alike. I learned that it's nigh-near impossible to get a nonfiction book published unless you're some sort of expert, or have a really pitiful life story to share in the form of memoir. (Yeah, neither of my parents is an alcoholic, and I didn't grow up poor.) It sounds crass, but it's largely the truth in the publishing world. So I realized, hey, I'm going to have to self-publish. So I did. And I learned a lot more about publishing, as a result, and it was valuable information. I hope I've been able to put it to good use as I've tried to help some friends find publishers/agents. I can say I have helped a friend find an agent, which is more than I've been able to do for myself, so I suppose so far it's a success. Now we're waiting for his book to find a publisher. So, as I said, I at least can say my experience has been valuable in some way.
Now through the things I've learned, I thought that my best bet would be to work on children's books. I had an idea both for a picture book and for a middle-readers book. So I wrote one chapter on the latter about a year ago and have simply chewed over it in my mind ever since. I also sat down about a month and a half ago, I guess, and just wrote down the children's picture-book story. It took me three tries to get it right, to get into the right style and tone, but I did it to my great satisfaction. Then I edited it a bit more and felt very pleased with the result. I think it's a delightful, fun, silly little tale. So here comes the self-flagellation part: I decided to SEND OUT QUERY LETTERS to agents. I've sent out maybe 15 letters and emails, and I've gotten maybe 6 or 7 rejections so far. I started a new file folder. It's filling up with my little rejection letters. As much as it's to be expected that I won't get a positive response right away, it still kills me a little inside each and every time I open up an envelope with a standard rejection form in it. As if I don't have enough stuff to bother me as it is. Like possibly moving. Or all the other usual stuff. But I'm piling it on.
Even so, I feel inside that I'm on the right track. I am quite sure that writing books for young readers is where I'm supposed to go. So exactly how long will it take until I really get a "bite?" If I count my previous attempts at publication, I've been doing this for about 10 years, without any real encouragement. If I count this new situation, I suppose I'm at the very beginning of perhaps another 10-year run. I truly hope that this run will be more positive than the last. I mean, yeah, it's nice to learn things, and find valuable experience, etc etc. and to be able to help other people. But I'd REALLY like to find some success of my own. I always hope that I'm not one of those completely untalented types who is convinced they're talented. I'd hate to be one of the kinds of people who auditions for American Idol or some such thing, sure they're the next big star, but they can't even hit a note on-key. That's what bugs me the most, I think. Am I completely fooling myself? How many people ask themselves that question on a regular basis? Am I normal that way? Or am I abnormal in that I continue to cling doggedly to a goal that's truly pie in the sky?
I am a good editor and a passable writer when it comes to writing for the newspaper or magazines. I mean, on my first try, I got a story accepted for publication for The Friend, the Church magazine for kids. I saw that as a really good sign that I am meant to write for kids. But I would just love to have another little sign that at least I'm on the right track. Somebody throw me a bone!
Well, I'm just whining now. I should turn my pain into some good writing, rather than a blog rant. So, here I am, pulling out another rope to beat myself up with.
Friday, June 6, 2008
Summer Cleaning, aka Battling Entropy
All you women who have ever been pregnant will probably know what I'm referring to when I say the phrase "nesting." It's that energy to clean up and organize that you get when it's almost time to have the baby. Gotta "feather the nest" for the new little chick.
Well, I can probably say I've been un-nesting. I've already got four little chicks, and they've done a whole hecka lotta feathering themselves over the years. And we've lived in the same town for exactly 10 years now. Although we moved houses two years ago, it was only a distance of 1 mile away. And it was a mess because all we did was throw junk in the car over and over again and move junk to a different location. I did not clear out as much junk as I would had I truly been "moving."
Well, I'm trying to un-feather our big nest just in case we actually DO move. And this time it won't be a mile away -- it'll be 3000 miles or so. And you just don't move junk that kind of distance. At least, I don't care to.
(For those who read "In Limbo," I mentioned we're waiting to move. We're still waiting, but at least we have found out that someone has given notice, so there will be an opening at the hospital Marce wants to work at. It's just now more waiting to see what the official position will be and when he'll get out for an interview.)
I thought of myself as a bit of a packrat when I was young. But since I've been an adult, I have thought of myself as a "thrower." I have packed up enough boxes over the years that I can't bear to have to pack any more than is absolutely necessary. And I am a bit of a neat freak and probably a touch OCD in the sense that clutter around me just heightens the clutter that is often my mind. It makes me a little "itchy" psychologically.
So this past week, I've used the time Charlotte has been at her "preschool" for a few hours at a time to clean out stuff while she's not underfoot. I told the girls I was going to clean out their room and they would help me decide what to give away. Even though on Tuesday, I filled a huge bag full of paper products for recycling, and a small bag for trash, pulled everything off shelves and from under beds, organized, and vacuumed up a few litters' worth of dust bunnies, Marce couldn't tell a difference when he walked in Cami and Marissa's room. So on Thursday, I went in there and worked some more to find dolls and stuffed animals to give away. We ended up with two paper bags full of them, which we took across the street to a place that helps children who have been abused. I am quite sure Marce still couldn't see a difference in their room, because the stuff primarily came from boxes under their bunk bed. I also organized their book shelf. Of course, I didn't give away a single book.
Even though my dear husband didn't see a difference in the girls' room, he did see a major difference in the kitchen. I spent a couple more hours on Tuesday in there. I threw away junk and cleaned and organized. A couple of trash bags went out to the garbage bin. And we could see our countertops! I went to the store and brought home a big watermelon and two cantaloupes and laid them on the counter, with plenty of room to spare.
I cleaned out the bathrooms a bit. While I've done this in the fairly recent past, this time was primarily for the purpose of getting all the blankets and towels off the large wire shelf so we could put tile on the floor. The bulk of our bathroom redo was done before Charlotte arrived last year, but we have been walking on a yucky, un-matching floor all this time. We picked out backerboard and ceramic tile a few months ago. Now that it's 90 degrees outside, it's the perfect time to finally hunker down and put down the tile, especially since there is no AC in the upstairs bathroom (there was no central air upstairs in the house when we bought it, so we bought very nice individual "Mr. Slim" units for each bedroom. They have great energy efficiency and are very comfortable, and they were almost entirely non-invasive on our old house. But they were quite pricey for each unit, and it wasn' t worth putting just in the bathroom. So we have no air in there but a fan.)
So here we are trying to get the floor somehow level (Marce is working on that right as I write), and put the backerboard down. And then we can figure out the ideal time to lay the tile. That will mean a day to dry, a day to put in grout, etc., making the tub inaccessible for a few days, and the toilet as well (since we are going to put a new one in finally). Not sure how we'll swing that. We do have a full bathroom downstairs, but the clawfoot is just a tub and not a shower. And as it is, Marissa hates having to go downstairs to use the toilet when the upstairs one is ocupado. She'll stand there and fuss for a few minutes when she could have just gone down the stairs in that time.
So we're not luxuriating in summer relaxation. I'm playing host to a house full of children freshly out of school, and cleaning like CRAZY and all the usual stuff. But the house is looking pretty good. It's not nearly as cluttered, although I think it will still have to be photographed very strategically in each room to make it look really stylish for any real-estate listings.
I'm just pleased that at least I've hauled out a lot more lately than I've hauled in. It's a start in fighting the uphill battle that is the encroachment of entropy.
Well, I can probably say I've been un-nesting. I've already got four little chicks, and they've done a whole hecka lotta feathering themselves over the years. And we've lived in the same town for exactly 10 years now. Although we moved houses two years ago, it was only a distance of 1 mile away. And it was a mess because all we did was throw junk in the car over and over again and move junk to a different location. I did not clear out as much junk as I would had I truly been "moving."
Well, I'm trying to un-feather our big nest just in case we actually DO move. And this time it won't be a mile away -- it'll be 3000 miles or so. And you just don't move junk that kind of distance. At least, I don't care to.
(For those who read "In Limbo," I mentioned we're waiting to move. We're still waiting, but at least we have found out that someone has given notice, so there will be an opening at the hospital Marce wants to work at. It's just now more waiting to see what the official position will be and when he'll get out for an interview.)
I thought of myself as a bit of a packrat when I was young. But since I've been an adult, I have thought of myself as a "thrower." I have packed up enough boxes over the years that I can't bear to have to pack any more than is absolutely necessary. And I am a bit of a neat freak and probably a touch OCD in the sense that clutter around me just heightens the clutter that is often my mind. It makes me a little "itchy" psychologically.
So this past week, I've used the time Charlotte has been at her "preschool" for a few hours at a time to clean out stuff while she's not underfoot. I told the girls I was going to clean out their room and they would help me decide what to give away. Even though on Tuesday, I filled a huge bag full of paper products for recycling, and a small bag for trash, pulled everything off shelves and from under beds, organized, and vacuumed up a few litters' worth of dust bunnies, Marce couldn't tell a difference when he walked in Cami and Marissa's room. So on Thursday, I went in there and worked some more to find dolls and stuffed animals to give away. We ended up with two paper bags full of them, which we took across the street to a place that helps children who have been abused. I am quite sure Marce still couldn't see a difference in their room, because the stuff primarily came from boxes under their bunk bed. I also organized their book shelf. Of course, I didn't give away a single book.
Even though my dear husband didn't see a difference in the girls' room, he did see a major difference in the kitchen. I spent a couple more hours on Tuesday in there. I threw away junk and cleaned and organized. A couple of trash bags went out to the garbage bin. And we could see our countertops! I went to the store and brought home a big watermelon and two cantaloupes and laid them on the counter, with plenty of room to spare.
I cleaned out the bathrooms a bit. While I've done this in the fairly recent past, this time was primarily for the purpose of getting all the blankets and towels off the large wire shelf so we could put tile on the floor. The bulk of our bathroom redo was done before Charlotte arrived last year, but we have been walking on a yucky, un-matching floor all this time. We picked out backerboard and ceramic tile a few months ago. Now that it's 90 degrees outside, it's the perfect time to finally hunker down and put down the tile, especially since there is no AC in the upstairs bathroom (there was no central air upstairs in the house when we bought it, so we bought very nice individual "Mr. Slim" units for each bedroom. They have great energy efficiency and are very comfortable, and they were almost entirely non-invasive on our old house. But they were quite pricey for each unit, and it wasn' t worth putting just in the bathroom. So we have no air in there but a fan.)
So here we are trying to get the floor somehow level (Marce is working on that right as I write), and put the backerboard down. And then we can figure out the ideal time to lay the tile. That will mean a day to dry, a day to put in grout, etc., making the tub inaccessible for a few days, and the toilet as well (since we are going to put a new one in finally). Not sure how we'll swing that. We do have a full bathroom downstairs, but the clawfoot is just a tub and not a shower. And as it is, Marissa hates having to go downstairs to use the toilet when the upstairs one is ocupado. She'll stand there and fuss for a few minutes when she could have just gone down the stairs in that time.
So we're not luxuriating in summer relaxation. I'm playing host to a house full of children freshly out of school, and cleaning like CRAZY and all the usual stuff. But the house is looking pretty good. It's not nearly as cluttered, although I think it will still have to be photographed very strategically in each room to make it look really stylish for any real-estate listings.
I'm just pleased that at least I've hauled out a lot more lately than I've hauled in. It's a start in fighting the uphill battle that is the encroachment of entropy.
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