It's been a long time

For a full explanation of the events of the last several weeks, please visit my other blog.

But here's this little tidbit of hilarious kid-ness. Noah was talking to me the other day as we were in the car running errands about his life as a grown-up. Apparently, he's growing dissatisfied with the fact that mommy and daddy are the boss and that there are a host of things for him that have to wait "until he's a grown-up." So he told me that when he's a grown-up, he's going to buy his own house. "Good idea, bud."

Noah: "Yeah, and when I buy my house, there's a lot of stuff I'm going to have to buy for it. Because a house is what you keep your stuff in." [see prior post discussing Noah's curiously about why people live in houses]

Me: "Like what?" [a couple of minutes into this conversation, I whipped out some paper and starting taking notes]

Noah: "Well, I'm gonna need a TV for grownups, so I can watch cartoons. And I should probably get another TV for the downstairs, too, for kids."

Me: "Oh yeah, your house is going to have a downstairs?"

Noah: "Yeah, an upstairs and a downstairs like our house in Minneapolis, not like our house in Charlotte. and I'm going to need a couch to sit on. And a refrigerator. And my very own big-boy bed. And I'm going to need a bike so I can take a bikeride all by myself because I'll be a grown-up and I won't have to ask you first. And I'm going to need to get some cables for my TV so it works right. [silence. he's thinking.] WAIT! I don't need cables! I'll just get satellite."

Me: "Anything else?"

Noah: "I'm gonna make sure my house has a guestroom if someone is staying for 5 days. And an attic, to put my extra stuff in."

Me: [laughing.] "Sure, that's a good idea. What else do you need?"

Noah: "Well, I'm going to have to put a garden in my yard so that when I run out of food I can just get it from the garden and I don't have to run stupid errands."

Me: [laughing harder] "Well that makes sense. Where are you going to buy this house?"

Noah: "I'm going to buy it by you and dad and Lukey. Not on the wiggily part of the street, just on the straight part. [thinking] No, you know what? I think I should buy the house next to yours."

Awwwww.

What a great Saturday night!

As the parents in the crowd will understand, we are ecstatic to have finally found a good group of babysitters. We have two go-to girls (both upcoming sophomores, so they'll be around for a couple more years) right here in the neighborhood who are smart AND responsible. Do you know how nice it is to come home to find that your toddler's diaper is on the right way and that it's obviously been changed at some point during your time away? Or what a relief it is to find the playroom has been cleaned and not looking like a tornado tore through? Seemingly not a big deal, sure, but we had so many nightmares in Charlotte that this is quite a treat for us.

Ruby (the boys' favorite) came over Saturday night because Matt and I were headed to the Avett Brothers' concert. They played as the Minnesota Zoo as part of the Zoo's summer concert series. It was a venue for only about 1300 people, and we were frankly concerned about whether there would be anyone else there besides us! We had no idea whether there was a following here in the upper midwest for this little bluegrass-esque band from the south. But there was! It was sold out, and everyone who was there was completely enthuastic. It broke our hearts when it ended -- Matt and I had such a fantastic time. I knew that their music helped me get through the past year -- it connects me to my family, it uplifts me and inspires me, and just makes me happy -- but I didn't realize it had meant so much to Matt, too. I learned this when commenting that we should have brought a poster to hold up or something, to which Matt replied, "but how can you bring a poster big enough to write 'hey, we're from NC too, but we had to move under depressing circumstances and thanks for getting me through the past year '?" Good point.


They're coming back to this neck of the woods in October, when they're playing in Madison, WI. Madison is supposed to be awesome, so we think we're gonna save our pennies and plan to go, and even to bring the boys. Noah loves the band, too, and we'll just do whatever we can to get Luke to make it through. There were actually several kids at this past concert, and they were dancing and having a great time. So, we'll just try to make it happen (that is, unless Grammie and Grandpa want to make a fall visit which would include a little time away for mom & dad...).

We took a video of them doing one of our favorites, "Go To Sleep," but I couldn't get it to upload. So I'm just going to link to a couple of their videos on YouTube. The first one is one of the most beautiful songs I've ever heard. I cry when I listen to it alot, and I cried when they sang it at the concert (the first song of the encore). The next one is actually two of their songs, but it's awesome.

Small miracles

Tonight, after some mild emotionally heartbreaking news (nothing truly noteworthy, I'm just very fragile these days), we opted for a treat and went to Chipotle. A wonderful, gloriously yummy $25 splurge (we opted for the guac tonight AND two sodas, instead of splitting one). I am crazy proud to announce that Noah ate almost an entire chicken taco (with just cheese, but still). This is huge for us, because it means we can partake in this tasty treat with a tad less parental guilt. Usually, we prioritized our own Chipotle cravings over the nutritional intake of our babies, allowing them to feast on tortilla chips and chocolate milk boxes (it's organic milk, okay?) as their entire dinner. But tonight, we made just a tad bit of progress. We're so proud.

A 5 year old's questions

Gus has gotten a little bigger since we first brought him home. About 20 pounds bigger. The vet predicts he'll be 80 pounds full grown. The breeder told us 50 pounds. Damn it.

Every kid needs a slip 'n' slide, right? Thank you Cauwels Family!

Noah has always been a curious kid, but he's becoming more and more intrigued by the world around him. A few days ago, he overheard Matt & I discussing the unfortunate news that our Charlotte house apparently had termites. This prompted question after question: what are termites? what do they look like? where do they live? why don't they live in Minnesota? if it gets warmer in Minnesota, will the termites come here, too? etc., etc.

Today, though, I was totally impressed with the kid's thought processes. We were in the car and he asked, "Mom, what part of my body controls what I do?" I did my best at simplifying the mechanisms of the neurotransmitters in the brain. He thought it was awesome. "So, my brain makes my arm move when I want it to move? And my brain tells by body when I'm hot or cold? That is SO cool!"

A few hours later, he says, "Mom, why do humans live in houses?" I had to think about that one for a second, because it takes time to formulate a response that I think a) he will actually understand; and b) will actually satisfy his curiosity. We discussed humanity's need for shelter, on the biological side of things, and our need for a place to put all of our stuff, on the logistical side. Apparently, the latter really clicked for him. "Yeah! Where would I put all of my toys if I didn't have a house?!?"

So, while my 5 year old is anxiously attempting to discover the ways of the world, my almost-3 year old is steadfastly refusing to use the potty, give up the pacifier, or -- most recently -- walk. And so Noah asked Matt last night at bedtime, "Dad, why do you and mom always do everything Lukey wants, but you always tell me 'no'?" Holy crap, we're really bad parents.

I'm published

I know that I said in my last post that this blog would be about the kids, but I do have some mildly exciting news to share. A little story of mine got published on The Poor Chef website. You can read it here. Gotta start somewhere, right?

What is the point of this blog?

I have completely lost focus and motivation to keep this thing up. Why? Because I have no purpose. Seems that generally this is the just the way of having an ongoing conversation with those friends and family we don't get to hang out with like we used to. That's good enough, I suppose. But it bores me. Sigh.

Per the name of the thing, I suppose it should focus on my kids. But the fact is that my mothering has gotten so crappy during the past year that all I ever do is negotiate with my toddlers, but one of them isn't even a toddler anymore. I could say the title represents the parenting principle I aspire to, but that isn't true anymore either. I have come to the undeniable conclusion that I somehow gave birth to two very strong-willed children who are wholly and consistently unwilling to abide by my motherly demands and commands. I chose Matt as the father of my children with the intention that his "I don't give a shit/yeah, whatever/that's cool with me" attitude would prevail in our genetic intermingling. But how could it? By definition, my controlling, obsessive, "my-way-or-else" personality traits were surely going to trump. So, apparently, what we're left with is two kids who look exactly like Matt and act exactly like me. Damn -- on both counts. I mean, we all know I'm the cute one, right?

Well, I hereby declare the focus shall return to the kids and our ongoing negotiations. Tonight, for example, Matt and I ate dinner alone because our children summarily refused to join us. About twenty minutes after we'd finished up, Luke meandered in the kitchen and informed us he was hungry and wanted his dinner on the couch while he watched the Flinstones (the boys are big fans of the old school cartoons). Matt told him 'no.' He said 'yes.' Matt told him to ask his mother if it's ok. He looks at me and says, "Mommy? It ok I eat my dinder on da couch?" I opted to trade that privilege for a slobbery, giggly kiss. Totally worth it. (The dogs will clean up the mess anyway.)

Mary, Mary, quite contrary... how does your garden grow?

We have two of these raised beds. This one has heirloom tomatoes, red leaf lettuce, romaine, arugula, fennel, red cabbage and peppers. The one next to it (not pictured, because there aren't a lot of plants in it yet) has beets, more tomatoes, more peppers, onions, and room for other stuff. I'm thinking okra and more beets.
All of our plants are going to have an uphill battle of survival if this continues. If Gus disappears someday soon, this will be why...
This is the strawberry patch and rhubarb bush. On the other side of the fence, we have cantaloupe and raspberry bushes.
And here, behind the house, we have the herb garden. On either side of the herbs is a zucchini plant and a patty pan squash plant.

And here are just some other random pictures of the house and yard. We have spent the last four weekends (plus many weekday hours from me), working on the outside of the house and yard. We've made LOTS of changes since we've moved in. One of these days, we'll be having the house painted and getting some professional landscaping. But for now, this is good enough for us...

So funny, so true

Selected excerpts from A Special Balls Deep Message to the Class of 2009, by Drew Magary. You can see the whole thing at Deanspin.com:

I bet you grads had one hell of a spring, didn't you? Oh, I bet you spent your whole spring taking a miniscule courseload, lounging on blankets outside on the quad, fucking each other, drinking your gay little Twisted Teas... I bet you even smoked pot on Wednesday morning, just for the hell of it. I bet you just had the time of your fucking lives the past four years, didn't you?

YOU MAKE ME SICK.

Guess what, fuckos? Party's over. You're out of college now, and your parents are now too poor to nurse you through grad school. No more fantasy life for you. No more ice luges. No more intellectual discourse. No more ripe teenage pussy. That's all over now. YOU ARE FUCKED. Your days will now consist of searching for a job in a marketplace where no available job of any sort fucking exists. Your commencement speaker will probably tell you your class "faces enormous challenges," or some bullshit euphemism like that. This is a lie. A challenge is something you can overcome. You, on the other hand, are completely, unavoidably fucked. You're not going to cure cancer. You're not going to stop wars. You're not going to save the planet. If you're lucky, you may stumble upon a $2 coupon for Honey Nut Cheerios one day. That will be about it.

Otherwise, you are entering a world that is running out of money, a world that will slowly choke itself to death unless it somehow stumbles upon a miraculously clean, cheap energy source that has yet to be invented and almost certainly never will be. Ten years from now, your degree will be 1/100th as useful as a fucking life vest. So wipe that nauseating smile off your faces and heed now this glimpse into your very near future…

95% of your future happiness will come from finding a good parking spot. You know that annoying Joni Mitchell song where she bitches and moans, "They paved paradise, put up a parking lot. OOOOOH BOP BOP BOP!" Suck it, you hairy-bushed twat. If it were up to me, there would be a 17-level parking garage on every other block in this fucking country. I swear to fucking God, I spend the majority of my time every weekend stalking outgoing Trader Joe's customers in my Honda, watching them walk to their cars, then having them wave me off because they weren't actually getting out. HEY COCKTEASE, GIVE ME A FUCKING HEADS UP.

I promise you, when you reach my age, not only will you exult at finding a great parking spot, but you'll immediately tell the first person you see about having secured it. "Yeah, I got a GREAT spot! I didn't even have to wait! Usually, that lot is a NIGHTMARE. God, I feel fucking good!"

At some point, you will not be able to sleep in past 8 or 9AM, and this will piss you off. I used to be cool. I used to be able to sleep until noon no problem. I SPAT RIGHT IN MORNING'S FUCKING EYE. No waking up at dawn for me. Waking up early is crazy gay. Am I right?

Except then I got a job, so I had to wake up early every day. Then, my body got used to waking up early every day, so it just woke the fuck right up at the same time on weekends, too. "But Body," I said to my big fat body, "There's nothing to fucking do, and I wanna sleep more." But my body wouldn't have it. Then I got married. Then I had kids. And holy shit, do kids wake up early. Not only does my kid come storming into the room at 6AM, but she screams WAKE UP at the top of her lungs every damn time. Having a kid is just like having a really mean spinning instructor. They give no fucking quarter. They're like tiny little Hitlers.

Now, even if there are no kids around, I wake up at 7AM at the latest. This should be good for me, I suppose. I get to run out and experience the full day, or something. But I don't feel that way. I feel like a complete asshat for getting up that early. I feel lamer than shit. Which is completely irrational. Then again, most anything I think or do now is beyond explanation. So rest up, kids. Because soon you'll be chewing Ambien like they're fucking Bubbalicious.

The day you become old is the day you find yourself looking at a paint swatch book. Holy shit, that shade of blue is only .000001 degrees away from that shade of blue! You practically have to view them at the atomic level to know the fucking difference! How the fuck am I supposed to choose? Fun fact: any paint color you choose will end up looking like a radically different color once applied to your walls. Why? Because the people at Sherwin-Williams are pricks, that's why.

You will begin caring about stupid shit in the front section of the newspaper. I used to read USA Today in college. I would read only two sections: Red and Purple. The green section was for boring assholes, and the front section was about a bunch of stupid political bullshit. I never cared about politics or world affairs when I was younger. College kids who care about politics are fucking douches. But suddenly, annoyingly serious shit like health care actually started to matter to me. And I don't like it one bit. I read an article in The Atlantic a while back. Voluntarily. I can't begin to tell you how annoyed I was at myself for this.

You will get dumber every day from now on. You're done learning. Time to start forgetting shit! The other weekend I was sitting in the parking lot shuttle bus at the Baltimore airport, on my way to get my car after a flight, only to realize I had left my car keys at my parents' house, which was now 300 miles away. I then bit down on my own finger until I had broken the skin. I am retarded, and I am only getting worse. IT'LL HAPPEN TO YOU.

Going out will stop being appealing to you. What? I have to put on pants? And pay $5 for a drink when I have 30 beers in the fridge? And talk to people? FUCK. THAT.

There is no point in raising your kids well, because other people's retard kids will end up ruining them anyway. You can teach your kid good manners. You can feed them nothing but organic dairy products milked from an angel's tit. You can read your kid 500 Sandra Boynton books every night. I promise you, none of it will matter. Because once your kid goes to school, some spoiled sack of shit kid with horrible parents will teach your kid the word "pussyfart," get them hooked on straight Whoppers, and immediately undo every good thing you did. Trust me. Other people can't parent for JACK SHIT.

You will find yourself, at times, tired of drinking. But you will continue drinking anyway. Beats the alternative, which is NOT drinking.

The key to a decent existence is owning a good bed. Most of your future life will be consumed with addressing reams and reams of tedious bullshit. You'll have to work. You'll have to run errands. You'll have to clean shit and pick shit up. Your only salvation is that fucking bed at the end of the day. So make sure it kicks ass in every conceivable way. Get it all: the pillowtop mattress, the egg crate, the featherbed underneath, the nice comforter on top… ALL THAT SHIT. No day is ever that horrible if you have a sultan's rest awaiting you. You'll still wake up at 6AM involuntarily. But at least you'll still be nice and cozy when you do.

What have we done?

Everyone, meet Gus. He is our new 9 week-old Goldendoodle. His full name is Gustafson (because we live in Minnesota now, dontcha know?). He's black now, but he'll his coat will change to silver as he gets a little older.

Probably still drunk off the high of having gotten an offer on the Charlotte house (we are officially "under contract"), we decided to be spontaneous and just go get the new dog we'd been fantasizing about for a while. We took a trip to the local humane society on Friday night, hoping to find a boxer or boxer mix (we are in love with my brother's boxer). During that excursion, we learned quite a few things about our eldest son. We knew he seemingly had sensitive hearing, but the poor kid absolutely lost it upon entering a kennel full of about 20 barking dogs. He was crying uncontrollably, with hands pressed against his ears, begging to leave. So Matt and I took turns waiting in the hall with the boys while the other scoped out the dogs. We decided to ask for an outdoor visit with Tank, a 7-month old, super cute boxer mix. It was then that we learned how much Noah hates big dogs. We knew he wasn't a huge fan, but he wanted NOTHING to do with poor Tank, who admittedly was pretty hyper and very strong and not exactly gentle with the boys. No matter how we tried to convince him otherwise, he remained completely freaked out by that dog and adamently opposed the idea of us taking him home. So we left the pound empty-handed and headed to the Chiptole for dinner (yum).

Our dilemma was that Noah was going to be perpetually freaked out by any large dog or yappy dog or any other dog with a persistent bark (thankfully ruling out Matt's request for a coonhound). But Matt & I really, really wanted a "big"dog. Mabel is great and all, but she's not much for fetch and can barely tolerate a walk around the block. She sleeps approximately 23 hours of the day. We wanted a golden retriever or a labrador -- a fantastic family dog, known for being gentle on the munckins -- to take on hikes and trips to the lake, but we didn't want the shedding. So we decided on a doodle, and we knew that we had to get a puppy, so Noah would have time to get used to it before it got too big.

And voila, Mabel has a baby brother. Wish us luck.

UPDATE: Day 1 and a half, and Gus is doing great. He made it basically the whole night without having an accident (Matt took him out early this morning and waited to do his business until he was outside), and barely whimpered at all during the night (or maybe he did, but we just couldn't hear him because he insisted on sleeping under our bed). When Mabel pees (which she only does outside, God bless her), Gus pees. Mabel is clearly in charge, and Gus seems to gladly submit. But he desperately wants to be outside, and only occasionally and with much hesitancy is he willing to leave his spot on the rug by the backdoor. We're off to the vet at 3 to have him checked out. I think this is going to be great!

In case you're wondering where Luke went....

We've decided to send him to military school. Sure, he's only 2 and a half, but something has to be done with this kid. Here are the immediate events that have necessitated such a bold move:

• Friday, 3/13: took a pen to our newly-painted walls.
  
• Tuesday, 3/17: scooped his yogurt out of the bowl and rubbed it all over the picture window.
• Wednesday, 3/18: poured an entire (full!) bottle of doggie shampoo all over my ottomans and my new area rug. (FYI, soap is a bitch to get out of shag carpet.)
• Daily: throws everything out of the toy box in search of his Batman costume, which is sitting two feet over from him on the floor.
• Monday, 3/23: poop. lots of poop, out his diaper and smeared on his leg. (This occurred while his Grandpa was babysitting, by the way, but since he insisted to Grandpa that he didn't need a new diaper, Grandpa ignored it, and I got the pleasure of cleaning it when I got home.)
  
• Monday, 3/23: upon seeing the bowl of gourmet chili at his chair for dinner, he said, "Ooooh yuck, that's disgusting." He then walked away.
  
• Tuesday, 3/24: found a jar of green paint, scooped it out with his fingers and started smearing it all over the (newly-painted) wall in the office. I yelled at him, took it away, and cleaned up his hands. Then I returned to the office, only to discover that he had already smeared the paint all over the arm of our light yellow couch. And we're not talking about crayola washable paint here -- we're talking about the paint included in the rock painting kit a friend got the boys for Christmas, which was being stored in the office closet. Thank you, Harrison family.
• Later on Tuesday, 3/24: took a pen and wrote ALL OVER the very same yellow couch. ALL OVER IT. Dozens and dozens of 6-in. to one-foot long lines, everywhere. Sure, we could flip the cushions, but the other sides are already stained from a couple of years of dripped pizza grease from our days sitting on our asses eating take out in Brooklyn.
• Every time we get in the car: "Rock Star song!" "RRRRROOOCCCCKKK SSSSTTTAAARRR SSSOOONNNGGGGGGGG!!!" Loud, incessant shrilly screams insisting on listening to Weezer sing "I'm a Troublemaker" over and over and over again. And as my brother pointed out, the song consists ENTIRELY of two guitar chords, making repeated airings feel like Chinese water torture (or what I imagine that would feel like). We have to alternate between the "Rock Star Song" and a song with a man singing about what he finds in his belly button.

Let this be a warning to all of you out there with a "second child." Never, ever underestimate them. Don't think that just because your eldest didn't do something, that his/her younger sibling won't do it. This may be especially true for younger brothers (Jeff, Anna -- thoughts?). You think they've reached some independence and that you have leave them alone to entertain themselves for a while, but this is a fatal mistake. You must never take your eyes off them, even for a second. They can be destructive little monsters, wreaking havoc everywhere they go. And whatever you do, stay strong when they come to you, crawl on your lap, and say "I love you so much Mommy." They're just setting you up.

What I did today...

In no particular order:

• Fed my children breakfast.
• Blew off preschool.
• Patched, sanded and painted holes in the wall where we removed the double doors in the den.
• Installed a coat rack in the foyer (drilled holes for the anchors and everything!).
• Hung a few more pictures.
• Replaced a few more switchplates.
• Gave a tour of the made-over house to the realtor.
• Made an appointment for Mabel at the groomers.
• Cleaned the floors.
• Scrubbed, scrubbed and scrubbed again the guest shower, which -- based on the layers of rust, hard water stains and soap scum -- hasn't been cleaned in years.
• Sanded ALL of the walls in the guest bath, which had been basically spackled in their entirety.
• Removed a couple of doors.
• Replaced the handrail down to the basement stairs.
• Fed my children lunch.
• Cleaned up the playroom.
• Cleaned up the playroom again.
• Cleaned up the playroom again.
• Cleaned all of the junk out of the "exercise room."
  
• Painted 1 and a half coats onto the walls of the "exercise room."
• Tore up the carpeting in the "exercise room"; cut it into 4 inch strips; rolled and taped the strips and carried them up and out to the garage.
• Ditto the carpet padding.
• Donned safety goggles and used a crow bar to pry off the tacking strips that had been nailed into the concrete floor of the "exercise room."
  
• Made a fabulous dinner of pasta, apple/gouda chicken sausage with sauteed onions, peppers & spinach.
• Folded and put away 6 loads of laundry.
• Whined incessantly about how much my back hurts.
• Drank a bottle of wine.
• Watched Lean on Me on BET. Damn this movie is awesome.
• Refused my husband's request that I assist him in hanging the new storage cabinet and medicine cabinet in the master bath. He can do it himself. I'm done.
  

Amen

Every person with kids will appreciate this, and every one who ever wonders what those of us with kids do all day NEEDS to read it. Courtesy of a friend's Facebook post.

Random thoughts on a rainy day

I am so friggin' bored I think I have actually lost my mind. I haven't blogged because I have not much to blog about. But I'm so bored on this morning in particular, I've decided to share everything that's floating around in my head the past couple of days...

• Holy crap, if Congress doesn't pass this stimulus package WITH the $15k tax credit for homebuyers, Sweetie and I are totally screwed. Without boring everyone with the details, we did our 2008 taxes the other night, and that tax credit means everything to us. So much so, that we've had to postpone the closing on our house to make sure that if it does pass, we'll be able to qualify for it. We were supposed to close on Friday. Obama wants to sign the bill by Monday. Time is of the essence here people! How many times a day can I check CNN.com for status updates?
• What's the point in packing if we can't start taking boxes over to the new house this weekend? (See supra). It's not like we have that much to pack -- most everything is still in boxes in the basement. I have, however, reorganized almost everything we own, complete with printed labels from my label maker. Awesome.
• This morning, Luke was attempting to put a barette in my hair. After he finished, I asked him if he thought I looked pretty. He said no. Noah, from his spot on the potty doing his morning business, shouted, "You are pretty in my eyes, mommy." Awwwww.
• I can't wait until Luke starts preschool.
• Why is kindergarten in Minnesota only 2 and half hours long? They call it a half-day, but it's not. It's only a third of a regular school day. Idiots.
• When, dear God, is Luke going to be potty trained? He wipes his own butt when we change his diaper, so why can't he just go on the damn toilet?!?!?!?
• I keep losing to Matt Robertson on Scramble. This bothers me.
• I hate clomid. I hate having to be on clomid. I hate that clomid didn't even work last month. I hate that I have no idea what the hell happened inside of my body to necessitate the clomid. I hate that no one knows if clomid is actually going to address the undiagnosed problem, but that I'm on it anyway. I hate that I have no idea when or if we are ever going to have another baby. I hate that I have such control issues.
• How the hell did Jon & Kate +8 afford such a huge house? I want a tractor, too.
• Noah doesn't know what "cheat" means. Luke doesn't know what "that's not fair" means. Nevertheless, they both use them frequently and fervently.
• Is Harvest Brown the right choice for the kitchen cabinets? Or should I go with Parisian Taupe? And should I go with brushed nickel hardware or antiqued bronze?
• 10 years ago today Sweetie kissed me for the first time. 10 years: 6 apartments, 2 rented houses, 2 owned (almost) houses, 3 states, 5 cars, 5 jobs, 2 kids, 1 cat, 1 dog, countless moments of perfection and bliss. I love you Sweetie.
  

The New House!!

As many of you know, a couple of weeks ago Matt and I got completely fed up with renting this tiny, tiny house with its detached garage and lack of dining room. More than that, we were sick of not knowing what our future held. We were constantly on edge waiting for notification of a showing on our Charlotte house, counting the days until our lease ran out here, worried that our Charlotte house wouldn't sell in time. Preschools have their deadlines for applications coming up, and kindergartens are starting to host the open houses for next year's students. We couldn't deal with either one of those things because we had no idea where we'd be living. The life in limbo got too much for us, and we decided that we'd been living our life "on hold" for too long. So, we decided that come hell or high water, we were going to buy a house. Either we'd qualify for a mortgage (thank you Mom and Dad!) or we'd BEG someone with a vacant house to let us rent it from them pursuant to a contingent offer to buy. We drove our realtor crazy and scoured every single part of the city we'd want to live for anything we'd be willing to call home.

And we found it. In all it's 1960 ranch glory!

This house is NOTHING like our house in Charlotte, and I never would have imagined that I'd be willing to buy a "fixer upper," let alone be excited about it, but I AM! In fact, I'm ECSTATIC! Fortunately, the only fixing the house needs is cosmetic. Lots and LOTS of paint! But the bones are fantastic. It has almost 3000 square feet all together, including the unfinished storage. Four bedrooms and 2 baths upstairs, and a guest bedroom and bath downstairs. It has an exercise room and a couple of storage rooms, one that's already set up as a workshop for my carpenter-wannabe husband, and a big playroom and family room downstairs. All together it has 3 fireplaces, one of which has 2 compartments and is in the dining room/kitchen, so we can cook on it. It is on a quiet street on a huge lot, so I have lots of room and sun to garden my ass off. It's a short walk from a nature preserve with a nature center and playground and, in the other direction, a park with a lake. We close in a week and a half and having it painted before we move in on the 26th. And we have LOTS of room for visitors -- even more room than we did in Charlotte. So come on people!!

What happens when you wake up and it's -21 degrees...

You read that right -- it's negative 21 degrees Fahrenheit outside right now, at 8:08 a.m. CST. The windchills are in the mid -40s. So when your alarm goes off at 6 a.m., and you hear MPR (that's Minnesota Public Radio) telling you it's one of the coldest days in this decade and they start reporting the school closings, this is what you do:

1) Immediately abandon all plans to get up and go to the gym before you husband leaves for work. That was a stupid idea anyway.
2) Hike up the humidifier next to your bed. You can practically feel the forced air heat sapping each ounce of moisture from your body.
3) Warn your husband about how car exhaust creates black ice on roadways, and how, when it's this cold, salt on the roads is wholly ineffective, so he should be extra careful when driving to work today (and then when going to the hockey game tonight).
4) Roll over and go back to sleep until your kids wake you up.
5) A few minutes later, when your kids wake you up, and you get them situated with their morning milk and dose of Scooby Doo, with the full expectation that they will rarely leave the couch for the rest of the day, except perhaps when you tempt them with making dinosaur-shaped cookies this afternoon.
6) Cancel the kids dentist appointments for the day. It's too cold for the dentist.
7) Decide against going to the moms' group. It's too cold for the moms' group.
8) Make a large pot of coffee and fetch the Bailey's from the liquor cabinet.
9) Spend the day knitting, challenging Irene to Facebook wordgames, pondering the meaning of my existence, moderating toy-related squabbles, preparing for my Westlaw contract job, and otherwise watching the minutes tick by. You know you're jealous.