Pep Talk For Myself

I will not be getting any of these when we finish up school supplies shopping tonight. Maybe I'm wired differently than other parents, but if I truly felt like my kid would need one then I wouldn't be able to let them go to school - ever. Am I an ostrich? I know how random and unpredictable violence has gotten. Of course I think about Columbine and Virginia Tech. I just can't help but think that the solutions that lead to safety and peace for our children are not down the path of better defensive armament.

This week is filled with new student orientations, placement tests, and meet the teacher nights. I keep typing and erasing what I want to say about this. We had a short family meeting with the kids to get organized about the week and to say that we'd found out Mr. Tapioca was no longer moving here and that he was suing for custody. We told the kids that when they felt like sharing we wanted to hear how they felt. We had to make some decisions and certainly wanted to take their thoughts/feelings into consideration. I'm sure I'll hear more as I have more one on one time with my guys this week but it's hard. Mostly it's hard to see my kids now torn about investing themselves here. Chaos got home from the time with dad and didn't want to look at his schedule to see what classes he got. Havoc (the 8 year old) told me last night while we were waiting for the muffins to bake, that since I'd gotten to have him for the weeks and Dad had only gotten the weekends for the past six years, then he thought maybe he wanted to live with dad for a while. Very interesting to me that Havoc quoted the six year part. He doesn't track time like that. He's never once shown an awareness of how long his dad and I have been divorced. It was hard to hear him parrot his dad's type of reasoning. I let him keep talking and he began to sound more like himself - trying to find a solution, trying to put things together one way and then another. He told me it was hard - he didn't want to have to choose because really, he wanted to choose both. He said part of him wished dad and I hadn't gotten divorced so we could all live together still. Then he said that wouldn't work because he'd miss Linus. He said he'd still have gotten to see Bet (as she's known them all their lives.) He finished by saying he didn't know what to decide.

I told him that I needed him to understand some very important things - the first one being he never had to "choose" one parent over the other. He could say where he wanted to live, he could say how he felt - but he didn't ever have to make a choice of one over the other. He gets to love his parents as much as he wants no matter what the living arrangements are - and that none of this custody stuff changed how much we loved him. I explained that I needed to know how he felt because that informed my decisions, but that he didn't have to make any decisions, the decisions were for the grown ups to make. He said, "Yeah the judge." I told him I still hoped his dad and I could work this out without a judge but if we couldn't then yes, a judge would have to decide for us. My peacemaker middle child, Mayhem said whatever happened would be ok with him.

Interestingly, Mayhem just came in to snuggle and talk to me. God, I love my kids. They are so ... good. I keep reminding myself how lucky we are. This custody stuff sucks. I feel threatened. I do not want my kids taken away from me. I believe with all my heart that they are better off with us because we know how to be present, how to build family, how to help them with school and how to teach them life skills. Mr. Tapioca hasn't yet been able to maintain any of that even in the time with the boys he has now. He talks a good game - but work always trumps family for him. I can't imagine how he thinks he'd be able to do all that needs to be done in daily life with the boys. But for all that - even if the "worst" case happens and I lose in court - it has to be remembered that my kids are not in a war zone; they are not doing drugs or in trouble with the law; they are not being abused and molested. And in addition to all the bad things that aren't happening to them, they are, at heart, naturally sweet guys! They will be good men. Even if this patch for our family is rocky, they will be good men.

That helps. Some. I think the more I remember it, the more it will help. I had NO IDEA that parenting would require learning to give myself pep talks. Feel free to give me advice on how to do it better! I'm not at all sure I've got the hang of it.
Peace.

When Not To Bike To The Beach

Our bike trips seemed to be plagued with extreme weather. Last year we chose to bike in Upstate New York and Canada thinking to avoid the heat. Sadly two of the seven days we biked were the hottest on record there - and incidentally some 10 - 15 degrees hotter than home! Then in April Bet faced record breaking cold temperatures while biking in the South. I don't know why we didn't expect the 104 degree day we had on our first day biking to the beach! I was done after two days but Bet biked the 73 miles on the last (and coolest day) to finish on a very strong note. Here are some images from the trip:

Bet and I checking our gear just before take off.

Fluffy dog saying goodbye to Mama.

Fluffy dog not so fluffy anymore.

Wasabi barked at the waves and tried to bite them. I wish I'd been able to get a picture of him when he'd only gotten his legs wet and the rest of him was still dry. He looked like a cotton ball with chicken legs. Later when his face was soaked and his beard hanging all bedraggled, he plunked his chin down into the sand and pulled it back up again - with sand dreads dangling from his chin. We burst out laughing which made him run around some. All in all it was a fun trip to the beach. (I'll gloss over the part where Linus, the Princessa, Bug and Bet all stayed out in the sun between 12 and 4 without enough sun screen on. They are all peeling now. I'm peeling too - but if I hadn't sat under an umbrella back in the state park headquarters for those four hours, I'd probably still be in the hospital with sunstroke.) The boys should be home tomorrow and school starts in a week. Summer is coming to a close. This time of year is both sad and exciting to me. This year it might end up being more of both of those things. I'll try not to be a bore about it here on Lilymania, but I just got a certified, return-receipt letter. (I hate those fuckers. They are never good.) This one was from my ex's new lawyer saying that not only has my ex decided not to move, but he's decided to sue me for custody of my children. Soooo pleasant, that. I'm hoping he brings my kids back to me as scheduled tomorrow. I'm hoping I won't whine and carry on here. But I might. It helps me process. Hope the summer is closing out nicely for everyone. I'm off to see Order of the Phoenix a second time.
Peace.

Shopping Carts And Bicycles

I don't know what it says about our shopping habits that we have discovered the following since the move:
-You can buy caskets online from Costco.
-You have to be careful in the freezer section of the grocery store lest you end up with these instead of the ones for kids. (By the by, do you know what national holiday August 2nd was? Random, I know. Also? I missed it. Wasabi didn't though! He celebrated with his new favorite treat.)
-Here broccoli is more expensive (in a price per pound kind of way) than steak. Linus freaked out a little bit about that.
-Feeding ten children dinner at a baseball game takes almost all nine innings. Baseball fan that I am (not), I think this is the exact right proportion of funnel cakes, cotton candy, and hot dogs to strikes, balls, and conferences at the pitcher's mound. As an added bonus, you get to say things to the kids like, "Stop touching your uvula!" This won't stop them from daring each other to do weird things in public, but it will ensure that the other baseball fans scoot over to give your group a wide berth. You should try it sometime. Of course, if you happen not to have ten kids of your own, you could maybe borrow some of mine. They're the four on the back row and the one in front on the left. You'll have to talk to St. Ann about borrowing the other five.

Although now might be a good time to ask, because she could use a break! On her drive back to PA, she ended up with a scarily high fever from mastitis. Instead of staying in bed (or going to the hospital!), the crazy girl went to her job interview on Monday. Sure hope she gets a job she wants that bad! Send some good mojo her way.

Finally, we're leaving tomorrow morning to bike to the beach. Yes, it's 103 degrees here. Bet and I have realized that we cannot possibly plan a big bike trip without the weather gods freaking out. What with record high temperatures for us in Canada and NY last summer and record low ones over Spring Break - we've come to accept that we're doomed to bike in extremes. If you have any mojo left over after sending some to St. Ann, you could send the remainder out into the Atlantic to make sure we don't have a surprise hurricane or something.

Peace.

Going Postal (By Way Of The DMV)

Postal Thing One: I went to the post office in Tennessee before we left and got a "relocation packet" chock full of completely useless crap. It had thirty-seven coupons I didn't want and only one change of address form when it turns out only the most unblended of families can manage with just one. Even though there is a check box you can mark to indicate that you want the address change to apply to the whole family, it doesn't do diddly for you if your family members happens to have different last names. We were three forms short. I had squillions of errands to run and dammit, I had already marked the post office off the list! Grrrrr. I had no idea how to get everything done. I had to get immunization records for all the kids, their school transcripts and report cards, the dog's vet records, the HIPA (are there two P's?) forms to release my medical records, forms to have Havoc's gifted program qualifications transferred, and so on and so forth. Then I was told by some helpful soul that you can change your address with the post office online and have your mail forwarded immediately. Hurray! Or rather, it would have been "Hurray!" if we'd been able to do anything online, but some dipweed at the cable company disconnected our internet two days early. Grrrrr. When we could get online (in East Asheville, halfway through the move), guess what we found out? You CAN change your address online if you have a credit card in each name and are willing to pay a dollar per change. Even if I were willing to pay the stupid dollar fees - I don't have credit cards in my children's names! Duh! And grrrrrr.

What with a house to buy, two ginormous trucks to unload, ceiling high stacks of boxes to unpack, kids to care for, and people to feed in the midst of it all, I will admit that it took me a couple of days to get myself down to my new local post office. I'm such a slacker!! I filled out all the forms and handed them to the nice lady. (Nice here being a euphemism for scowling bitch.) I asked her about the online address change process. It seemed to me that not being able to change your children's addresses is a drawback to the system, so maybe I'd missed something. She explained (while rolling her eyes to indicate what a moron I was) that the credit card requirement prevented terrorism and identity theft. The system protected postal patrons from having strangers submit false address changes. Ok. I then handed her four cards where I had filled out my children's names at the top and then printed and signed my name (which in no way matches that of my children) at the bottom. Did she bat an eye? Did she ask to see my ID or any type of proof that it was my children for whom I was submitting address changes? No and no. Apparently terrorists and identity thieves are totally stymied by the online credit card obstacle and never, ever think to use the paper forms. Being ever so helpful, the nice lady snarled at me for not filling out the other side. Er, other side? There was one long blank with something like "Address of Post Office" written underneath. No explanation. Had I realized I was supposed to have written something there, I still wouldn't have known what to put without asking. Ms. Snarlyface gave a huffy puffy sigh and explained that OBVIOUSLY I had to write the name of the city from which I had moved because my mail was still there, not here. In the four seconds it took me to fill in those blanks, she managed to add, "You know, most people do this BEFORE they move." So pleasant. I wanted to klonk her on the head with the two tons of paperwork I did manage to get done BEFORE I moved.

Postal Thing Two: Our mailbox is attached to our house, not on the street. It came that way. For the first few days after we unpacked, we got mail. Not a lot and mostly junk, but we got mail. Then for a few days we got nothing. Zilch. Those few days happened to coincide with the arrival of our fabulous guests (and their two minivans - which is the relevant piece of information vis a vis the mail although we didn't know it at the time.) I wasn't particularly worried about the lack of mail, but Bet was. She's a very orderly person and the empty mailbox with no explanation was driving her crazy. While the rest of us were entertaining ourselves by inventing strange and unlikely reasons for dearth of mail, Bet marched down to the post office for the official word. The post office was holding our mail. Our pull-through driveway had not been so pull-through due to the five cars in it. At the post office they said that the mailman should have left us a note explaining the situation. And he did. Look. This is the note the mailman left us:

Am I the only one who thinks it is absurd that the official explanation of why we had no mail delivery is a note scrawled upon a piece of mail that the mailman REFUSED TO DELIVER? This piece of mail (from my bank and clearly marked "Time dated material - response required") was mixed in the pile with all the other mail being held. PO can stand for pissed off and for post office. Coincidence? I think not. Be that as it may, the Post Office is the model of convenience and efficiency compared to the Department of Motor Vehicles. Ask me how I know.

DMV Thing One: Linus, The Ninja Princessa, Chaos, Mayhem, Havoc, and I spent three hours at the DMV today. The children needed to get state photo ID's (required for air travel now, even for kids) and Linus and I needed to change our licenses from TN to NC. The idea behind the DMV process is that there is a triage desk at the front where they assign you a number based on what you're there for. Driver's test? Your number is B233. License renewal? Your number is A111. Anybody need a study booklet? Here you go. Bing, bang, boom.

For us? Not so bing, bang. In three hours we only managed to get the kids' cards. Linus and I have to go back in two weeks for ours. We stood in the line to get a number for more than forty minutes before the line even moved. We'd been there about an hour and fifteen minutes before we got to the front. When we did make it to the triage nazi we were told we hadn't brought enough documentation to get our licenses today. Even though Linus and I both had our old licenses, our birth certificates, our passports, our social security cards, the deed to our new house, and our insurance cards - we couldn't get our licenses transferred because we did not have the declarations page from our car insurance packet. Fine, we can come back. The boys, however, are getting on a plane tomorrow morning at 8 am and need their cards today. The DMV woman (definitely kin to the post office matron) went through the paperwork we needed for the kids.
"Birth certificates?"
"Check."
"Social security cards?"
"Check."
"Proof of residency?"
"Proof of residency? The deed to our house?"
"Are they listed on it?"
"On the deed to our house?! No. But we're provably their parents and we have our custody papers with us and our names are on the deed."
"No, that's not good enough. We need something with their names on it."
"Like what?"
"Utility bill, credit card statement, that kind of thing."
"For the KIDS?? They don't have credit cards and their names aren't on the utilities!"
"What about the lease? Kids have to be listed on leases."
"We just told you. We moved two weeks ago from Tennesse straight into the house we bought. No leasing."
"You'll have to stand aside until I can get the supervisor to come straighten this mess out."
I didn't move over much. The supervisor happened by.
"What seems to be the problem? No lease? No credit card bills?"
"They're kids between the ages of 8 and 15."
The man cackled, "8 to 15! AH HAH! Then you should have school records!" like he'd caught me out.
"I do have school records. From Tennessee. We just moved here TWO WEEKS AGO and the kids have not been in school yet."
"Bank account statements?" he shot back.
"I haven't had time to open accounts for them and I don't think we'd have statements this soon anyway. Isn't there any way to make this work? The kids are supposed to fly tomorrow. They need these ID's."
No answer. The supervisor walked away, clipboard in hand, to administer a road test. I kid you not. He just walked away! Fortunately for everyone concerned, another DMV worker sauntered over and said we'd have to have affidavits.
"Ok. Where do we get those?"
"Oh we can do them when you get called back. You just have to pay $2 each."
I wanted to scream. We cannot be the first people to ever have just moved to the state with their kids! I couldn't believe it took fifteen minutes of dickering back and forth when the triage nazi could have said in 10 seconds, "There's a small extra charge and a form for you to sign but it's not a problem. Here's your number. Next!"
We took our hard earned numbers and sat down. There were about 15 chairs and about 35 people waiting. The supervisor came through and made everyone who was sitting on the floor stand up. Nice. Random, pointless, and unposted rules for added entertainment value! We were so over our DMV experience. At least we'd had enough foresight to have the kids bring books. They were super as we waited another hour and a half for our numbers to get called.

DMV Thing Two: The triage nazi loudly told incoming people that they'd have to wait for hours. At least two, possibly four. She'd been there 17 years and August was always the very worst month. All these people moving into the area. Clogging up the lines. Many of them associated with the university so they had to get here before school started. So inconvenient of them to all come at the same time. Lots of them furriners whose paperwork took forever to process. I'm thinking sensitivity is not something they screen DMV job applicants for.

Finally our numbers got called. It took under ten minutes to do all four kids. They didn't once look at my license or question if I was the mama even though I signed my legal name now which, again, in no way resembles the name I had on the birth certificates. (I've legally changed my first name and taken my maiden name back.) It mattered not. Silly me for hauling all the divorce, custody, and legal name change paperwork. Who cares about that stuff? The declarations page of the insurance packet, now...everyone knows you can't go anywhere without that!

DMV Things Three and Four: Before it was all said and done, each of the children got to decide whether to be organ donors or not. I ask you - does that make any sense to you?? Yes, it's a good thing to know my children's wishes. Yes, I was pleased that they were all so hypothetically generous with their precious organs, but come on now! God forbid it should ever come to pass that that horrific decision has to be made - but if it does, I should hope that it is an adult who loves my kids and NOT a check box on a form at the DMV that decides the issue. Finally, Havoc (the EIGHT year old!) had to sign a piece of paper saying that he was not a registered sex offender. I have no explanation for this. I did ask if the woman was sure she'd given us the right form. She took it back, looked at it, handed it back and said it was required.
But when we all compared notes afterwards, we realized that none of the other kids had to sign such a form. We were scattered at different desks and passing money back and forth because the $2 affidavit fee had to be paid separately from the ID fees and then the photos were taken way over here and it was a lot of back and forth in a few short minutes. Otherwise I would have asked why the holy hell such a form was required for my cherubic third grader. Profiling? Has there been a rash of unregistered sex offenders of elementary school age?!! Did I miss something?

I'm trying to stay positive about this move. I want very much to invest myself in this community. It's just that today I've begun to wonder what is up with North Carolina. I can't put my finger on it exactly, but I have a feeling that somewhere something is amiss when the state bureaucracy expects children to pay their utility bills with their credit cards and to register their sex offender status. I can only hope that if I keep my children out of the Post Office and away from the DMV that things will be ok.
Peace.

HP And Me

Harry Potter and I have the same birthday (=today). For years I've thought I was soooo much older than Harry - but I was wrong! I just finished the seventh book and it turns out that we are only a couple of years apart. Weird. I have no idea how he's planning to celebrate his day, but mine is jam packed with fun, adventure, and KIDS! St. Ann, John the Magnificent, and their five children are visiting. If you do the math, you will discover that we have TEN children and five adults in the house. Have you ever tried to coordinate activities for 15? St. Joseph's valium for children would come in handy, but sadly I think they stopped making that. Barring that, we've been using our entire bag of tricks to keep us all entertained. My godson (and one of the cutest babies on the planet, as I'm sure you'll agree) has been the one thing guaranteed to make everyone smile. (I can hear St. Ann pointing out mildly that Baby Z is not particularly smile inducing at 3 am.) Still! He's DARLING the rest of the time. So easy going. Cooing and drooling. Amused by makeshift toys like the top of the chips bag. Not even complaining when we turn his toy into a hat for his enormous head! How can you beat that for entertainment?

If you see Harry, let him know that we've started the party without him. Peace.

If You Give A Mom A Muffin

He was very patient while the old kitchen was packed up for a month but the second the boxes were sort of unpacked at the new kitchen, he was rarin' to cook! His first project (orange glazed muffins) were such a hit that the entire dozen disappeared immediately.
His next project was an entire dinner: stuffed shells, salad, and fruit for dessert. The brothers (even Chaos - who looks grumpy in this picture but wasn't in real life) gobbled it all up. They told Havoc that if he kept cooking food this good then he should start doubling his recipes.


Havoc LOVES the whole process. He pores over the recipe books; he makes the shopping list; he cooks the food (with supervision); and he basks in the praise. The kitchen is his kingdom and he is a happy king. The rest of the house, however, is still a shambles. I can't seem to make any headway. I swear the boxes are replicating in the dark of the night. Linus has been out of town all week but Bet and I work all day unpacking and the next morning there is even more than there was before still left to unpack! Good thing Havoc knows how to bake yummy muffins to keep our energy up.
Peace.

Zombie Proofing The House

In today's installment of "My Kids Are Weird" I'm going to tell you my boys' first reaction to their new home which was, "We'd never survive a zombie attack in this house. There are way too many doors and windows!!" They then spent the next 10 minutes scouting out appropriate shelter/hiding spots in case the zombies converged even before we managed to get the moving trucks unloaded. I had no idea my kids were so worried about zombies.

Of course, it has been made clear to me in the past few days (while being trapped in the car with the boys for hours and hours and hours) that I have zero understanding of how their brains work. Even 8 year old Havoc thinks bizarre thoughts that I would never, ever just happen to think. As Havoc floated dreamily in the hotel pool the other afternoon he said, "You know what would really suck? Drowning in your own blood." Uh, yeah. Ok. And ick!

I'd worry more except they are all in great moods. I keep checking in with them, making sure they know we're not to busy to talk. I've cut each one of them out of the herd a couple of times to see if the good mood is a mob mentality kind of phenomenon - but it doesn't seem to be. They all have healthy appetites and have been kinder with each other than normal. They are having fun puttering in their rooms, arranging miniatures and computer parts. Bug and Chaos do want to paint their room black. Mayhem and Havoc want the airplane decals off their walls. Joey and Thaxton want to stay. The biggest thing on their wants and needs list? All of them want me to hurry up and find a different place for the old table. Currently it's blocking their only access to the best zombie proof closet.
Boys!
Peace.

Landing

Goodbye old house! This is the crew we traveled with (minus my mom, second from the right - next to Chaos in the back row - she and VBGF's mom were there to see us off.) Who's Who - (L-->R) Thaxton*, Bug, Joey*, Mayhem, Uncle Richard, Marmie (my mom), Chaos - then SH, Wasabi, Havoc above him, Me, VBGF. Is now a good time to say that I'm tired of using initials? Names are so much easier. Will it confuse you terribly to switch to Linus and Bet instead of SH and VBGF? I'll write a new thing for the sidebar soon, really my poor blog is long overdue for it, but it will have to wait. First I must deforest the cardboard jungle that is currently growing in my new home. See?
Bikes. In the library. Hmmmm. Not a good long-term plan I think. Upside down couch. Difficult to sit upon. Must. Rethink. Library.

Cook? Can you even see the fridge? Not sure we'll be making home-cooked meals anytime soon. Yet, I can't believe we brought even more cardboard into the house by ordering pizza!

Here we are! Homeowners! Bet, Linus, and Lilymane (me). Do you see our one key? One. key. For a family of eight - in a house that has FOUR doors. (I will not say bad things about the previous owners. I will not say bad things about the previous owners. I will not ...)
This is a bumper sticker we saw in the parking lot of the closing attorney's office. I had already decided I liked these people when I saw "Coexist" on one car, something funny and anti-Bush on another, and two HRC stickers, but when Linus saw the one above, he said he was never living anywhere else. (And if you don't understand it, it's ok - it's a Dungeons and Dragons (or general d20 RPG) reference.)

I suppose I'd best get up and dig into some of those boxes!
Peace.

*Thaxton and Joey are both only children who have been friends with my kids for years (five years? four?) They are part of the junior troll boy contingent who game(d) at the house every Wednesday night. When we moved I told both of their mothers that I wanted visitation rights. They are such good sports! They agreed to let their boys move with us for the first week. We have to send them back on Sunday but it has been such an incredible help to have them with us. Aside from the fact that they have hauled more than their fair share of stuff in and out of U-haul trucks, they are helping my boys set up their rooms, explore the new neighborhood, and adjust without losing their friends. They are more precious than gold to me.

It's The Little Things That Get You

Despite the fact that I have been fixing to move for well nigh three months now, it's a whole different thing to actually BE MOVING. There is a part of me that just hasn't caught up. (This is the exact same part of me that opened the skinny middle desk drawer into my pregnant tummy twelve times a day while I was carrying Chaos. It didn't matter that 99.999% of my brain was obsessed with being pregnant, having a baby, thinking about the baby, etc. That .001% was not only not obsessed with my pregnancy but it actively refused to make any allowances whatsoever.)

Yesterday morning VBGF and I went to the convenience store next to the hotel to buy some Dramamine for Havoc. (Havoc, bless his heart, had puked the minute he got out of the car the night before.) The chewable Dramamine comes in small, one dose packets. I picked one up and then said to VBGF, "I know he only needs the one dose for today since we'll only be in the car for a couple of hours, but do you think I should get another one to have on hand for the drive back?" She gave me a funny look and said, "Drive back? This is a move." RIGHT. Move. Not vacation. Not a visit. A permanent move. To another state.

The slow fraction of my brain hates being caught out. For a moment all was shaky and a little teary. Then there was some mental wagon circling and some internal cluckings of "There, there" and "It'll be alright." The rest of me got back in the driver's seat. I think we're all onboard now - slow bits and all. I'm hoping we're even all buckled up, because this next part is a doozie. Closing. In an hour. With crazy* people involved. Cross those fingers!!
Peace.

*I know, I know. Pot, kettle and all that. But really, these folks (<-- our sellers) are a piece of work. I would avoid all of Chicago if I were you because that's where they live now! Travel to the Windy City at your own risk.

Mid Point

Greetings from East Asheville! We're a traveling circus - we have four adults, six mostly teenage boys, a dog, two U-Haul trucks (one of them towing my 12 year old Rodeo), and two VW's all trekking east on I-40. Our closing took about 10 minutes (and most of that was chat!) Our realtor gave us a huge canvas bag stuffed with goodies. She laughed and said she tried to put some healthy stuff in there. Her ratio? 40 lbs of junk topped with a two peanut butter crackers and a token bag of trail mix. I think we'd gone about thirty miles before all of the cookies, the M&M's, the jelly beans, and one of the peanut butter crackers were gone. The trail mix and the vitamin fortified water bottles were all that was left. Yep - Lindy the listing agent rocks the house!! Smartest gal on the planet! What else can I say about someone who sells my house in two days and then gives me the perfect present to appease a car full of teenage stomachs??

Poor Robbie the Realtor on the other side. She is working probably four times as hard for not nearly so much joy. We will all breathe a huge sigh of relief when we get through the closing on the new house. The people selling us our new house are ... crazy. Like ape shit crazy. From the first week of weird negotiations with them where they ended up not even being able to accept their own offered price, we've known they weren't right. The house is perfect for us or we would have walked away at about the third obstacle. I no longer buy the excuse that they are young, don't know what they're doing, and have stressful jobs in Chicago. Normal people, even young, inexperienced ones with stressful jobs in Chicago can figure this stuff out. I would add that they have their own realtor to help them through the process but I don't know if she's speaking to them anymore.

We knew they wouldn't do any repairs. They have no money. Integrity seems to be in short supply with them too. Emotions, however, they have in spades. They have bitched and whined about how we're taking advantage of them by buying their house at the list price. We have received more than one letter accusing us of "taking advantage of a marketing strategy" by purchasing the home they've been trying to sell for months and months (with several agents and more than one agency). Ok fine. They are crazy, but we can work with crazy for a limited time. Let's just get through this!

We say to them - we hear you, no repairs, but please provide us with the building permits for the work you had done as the inspection shows that there are some code violations which we will need to address. They refused. Not only did they refuse but their response was a "how dare you ask for such a thing" type of letter. They blathered on about how they'd had licensed professionals do the work - NOT day laborers (a strange defense since we'd not even thought of that - we just wanted the papers to cover our butts about the permits). According to our sellers, they'd paid good money (here we were treated to yet another digression about how we had NO IDEA what kind of deal we were getting on the house) and the work was done flawlessly (despite our evil inspector's malicious observations to the contrary). They will not be providing documentation of any description - not even the name of the (supposedly licensed) contractor who did the (provably not flawless) work.

Sometimes I really don't understand how people work. Do they expect us to believe what they say even when it makes no sense? Do they have friends who listen sympathetically to their woes and say, "There, there. Your buyers are just whacked. It will all be over soon"? That's all neither here nor there. We have in writing what we need legally to cover ourselves. Our inspector gave us detailed instructions on what needs to be done to make everything right. We're ready to close and be done with these jokers.

Then on Friday our realtor lets us know that there's a teeny, tiny little problem that affects them, not us, and as far as she knows we are still set to close on Wednesday morning. This infitesimally small issue turns out to be nothing other than a LIEN against the house, a dispute with the neighbors, and a pending court case. Poor Robbie had to tell us (yet again) that she's never had anything like this happen in her 20+ years in real estate. It's the third never-before-seen thing these people have achieved. I think it is a remarkable act of faith that we launched ourselves out on this journey with so little assurance of a successful end. Granted, we hadn't many options considering our homelessness as of 8:30 a.m. yesterday. Might as well launch and hope for the best, eh? Of course it wouldn't hurt if all of you out there, my lovely internet friends, would hope for the best for us too! Maybe that will tip the cosmic scales and the universe will allow Wednesday to proceed without a hitch. A girl can dream, can't she?
Peace.

In The Midst

Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you, happy birthday dear SH, happy birthday to you.
Nothing like getting lost in the moving shuffle! We did celebrate - and mostly his present is the PS3 he's had since December - but it was a bit "Oh, hey, it's your birthday. Have some cookie and let's talk about moving some more!"

Monday. We leave Monday morning. It might not seem quite so overwhelming if I didn't have a wedding to go to on Saturday. And not just any wedding - it's one of those where the save the date cards went out last summer. It's in South Carolina. I know! I leave tomorrow to drive 10 hours to South Carolina, go to the wedding on Saturday, drive 10 hours back on Sunday - help finish the packing up, sell the house, and drive 500 miles back to NORTH Carolina on Monday. C-R-A-Z-Y! But that's the way we're going to do it.

Recently I saw the PODS commercial where the people stand by and all their stuff marches itself into the storage container. I made some comment about how wouldn't that be nice if it would all just load itself - and the response I got was that from my perspective that's exactly what will happen. Right! Lucky me! Only I'm OCD enough that the thought that people will be moving my stuff around while I'm gone completely stresses me out!!!! Oh well!

Likely I won't blog from the wedding or from the in transit portion of the move! Next you hear from me I hope to be able to thrill you with fascinating accounts of ...unpacking. Woo hoo!
Peace.

We Needed That Extra Dash Of Stress

One week from today we will be in transit - halfway between homes. There is so much to do that I get the screaming heebie jeebies if I think about it too long. I want to navigate this transition as smoothly as possible for my kids. We are having fun with many aspects of it all, but there are distinctly hard parts to it. On top of that there has been additional emotional drama. One example is that the Ninja Princessa was forbidden to open a myspace account - clearly, expressly, and with lots of explanations as to why. In ongoing revelations coming from her mother's home in Colorado, we have been finding out that not only did she try to sneak in getting permission to open one there with her mother's blessing, but after her mom presented a united front with SH and said no - the Princessa did it anyway. Only now it turns out that she didn't just do it - that she opened her account in April and lied about it directly on several occasions. Not only that but upon reading email that has been sent to her - there is at least one troll that has sent her pornographic email. I suppose she gets credit for deleting that email - but it is disturbing that when she was faced with evidence of exactly what we'd told her we did not want her exposed to - that she covered that up and proceeded with her own agenda. It is not surprising in the sense that it is completely normal for kids her age and in her situation to push these boundaries, to try to sneak this type of thing past, and to learn about the consequences of lying. Just because it's normal does not make it easy. Adolescents experiment with a vast array of risky behavior. As parents, we expect it. We prepare as much as we can - forearming our kids with information and empowering them to make the best choices. We keep ourselves informed and on alert to detect what we can - knowing we'll miss something, knowing there are dangers that we can't even imagine, knowing that in some ways it's a total crapshoot. Somewhere out there - there is a kid who has done things a thousand times worse than anything our kid will ever think about and that kid (against ridiculous odds) is fine - maybe even stronger for having walked that particular road. Somewhere out there is also a kid who did nothing - or did something very minorly risky and that kid is dead or traumatized for life. Parenting is about staying open to information without becoming paralyzed by frightful possibilities. Somehow we frantically try to shepherd our kids through the Scylla and Charybdis of adolescence.

And for some of us - we are trying to do that while being attacked, evaluated, judged, and found lacking in our parental abilities. I am having some fun with my mom and my ex - can you tell?

Peace.

Hire Me, I'm Irish?

Yet another example of marketing I don't understand:
We saw a huge white truck with shamrocks painted all over it with the slogan "Gaelic Gutter" and then some small print about never having to clean leaves out of your gutters again.

What does the Gaelic have to do with anything? Are there that many people out there that would make a choice of gutter guards based primarily on ethnic affiliation? Is it a move to distinguish this company from the crowded field of gutter guard installation by making it memorable? I. don't. get. it. (Seems to me that if I were trying to make a point about leaves not getting in the gutter I wouldn't necessarily think a truck with giant, green leaves painted all over it would do the trick. Maybe it's just me.)

After the move, I think I'm going to have to start looking for a paying job. I think I should take marketing specialist off my list of possible career fields. What do you think?
Peace.

Wasabi's New Name

SH gave Wasabi a bath today. Because Wasabi doesn't shed, he has to be bathed and brushed often. His fluffy, fluffy fur holds LOTS of water. No matter how much you towel him off at the end, when you let him loose to do his allover body shake - TONS of water goes flying. And he looks like a hairy, scraggly mess until he dries off and fluffs back up. I wish I'd taken a picture of him today but SH now calls him "Sponge Dog Hair Pants."

Peace.
PS - Happy 4th of July (to those in the States). Hope everyone has a safe and happy holiday. Catch back up with you when the fireworks are over.

Grownup By Degrees

Until recently, I have always been one of the youngest in my crowd of friends. I have also always looked significantly younger than I am. (That used to make me sad and often frustrated - like when I was in the Navy and got carded for BUYING GAS for my car on my 19th birthday. Now? I kind of like it.)

I think the connection between how old you look and how old you act is strong - and not necessarily straight forward. Perceptions about age and aging shift subtly. Our ideas of what we think a certain age is going to be like are often very different from the way it seems to us when we get there. On my thirteenth birthday I wondered when I'd feel like a teenager. Confusing cultural messages about what age signifies abound. Uplifting slogans like "You're only as old as you feel!" and admonishments like "Act your age!" war with the next generation's comeback of "If my music is too loud, then you're too old!" Our mile markers along the journey are not precise. When are we "grown up"? When we make our first paycheck? Get a driver's license? Vote? Serve our country? Get shitfaced (legally) for the first time? Get married? Have a baby?

For me I'd done all of those things and still didn't FEEL grown up until I was trying to prove to my 6 year old cousin and my 2 year old son that it was possible to eat brussel sprouts without gagging. At 25, I'd never actually managed to eat brussel sprouts (and keep them down) before but I was highly motivated by an article I'd just read. This article seemed to imply that my child would die of malnutrition if I could not find a way to instill an appreciation of all things vegetable in him IMMEDIATELY. Apparently, moms can DESTROY a kid's chances of ever liking healthy food by failing to provide enticing, nutritious food during a critical developmental window lasting approximately three weeks in toddlerhood. I put on a jolly face. I made vegetables EXCITING and INTERESTING. Earlier in the week I had tackled the easier ones - sweet potatoes and carrots (with brown sugar!), peas (roly poly!) , squash and pumpkin (fun with gourds!), broccoli (with cheese), green beans (with dipping sauces!) and the like. I worked my way down the list and was stumped by brussel sprouts. Egad - do people still eat those? They were not only on the list but STARRED (meaning that if you were on a desert island this vegetable was soooo good for you that you should choose to be stranded with it above all.) I didn't even know how to fix brussel sprouts. I ended up buying frozen, buttered, baby sprouts with the jolly green giant on the box, figuring the big, green, leafy guy was more fun than the Kroger brand. I admit I was grasping at straws. MUCH to my surprise, I gulped down the first one and realized it was not horrid. I even chewed the next bite and LIKED it. It dawned on me somewhere in the middle of that second bite, that I must well and truly be a grown up now. Despite my vegetable epiphany, the brussel sprouts were not a hit with the pre-school crowd. I was too freaked out to worry about it. I kept thinking to myself that somehow I'd become a grown up and not even noticed it! I think I spent the next three days eating cheetos and drinking coke for breakfast.

Today I again feel like I turned a significant corner in the aging process without noticing. Somehow I've become middle aged without meaning to!! I've just come back from our first meeting with a financial planner. We PAID someone lots of money to spend an hour or two talking to us about insurance, wills, retirement accounts, and estate planning - and it was ENJOYABLE! It was affirming to find out we've been on the right track; it was interesting to learn more; it was exciting to think about what the next five years are going to be like. LISTEN TO ME! Insurance, budgets, IRA's - interesting and exciting?!!

Oh my god - I don't think coke and cheetos are going to soothe me this time! Quick somebody throw a keg party!!

Peace.

Wimbledon

Two weeks from today we sell our house. For 48 hours we'll be in transit and then we'll be in our new home. All with the caveat of "God willing and the creek don't rise." Well that and if Mr. Tapioca Head doesn't find a way to take me back to court and ruin things. YES - it was that kind of a fun weekend. But I'm not going to talk about it. I'm going to talk about way more fun stuff.

What I want to say is "Yay me!" for starting to run again and for playing tennis this morning for the first time in almost two years. VBGF joined the USTA (US Tennis Association) purely to get the shirt to wear while she watches Wimbledon. Unlike me, she cannot watch Wimbledon without being completely motivated to go out and play some tennis herself. Now she's busy infecting her closest friends with her tennis enthusiasm. She bought a racket for me to use (mine being packed already - who knew I would play tennis the last 14 days I'm here??) and dragged me out on the court this morning. We had a ball! It was warm but breezy. Clear skies. Perfect tennis weather. I love being active. I love being outside. I love being around other active people. Especially ones who are having as much fun as VBGF has on the tennis court.

After two consecutive days of exercise and crazy amounts of adrenaline, I feel justified in spending the afternoon on the couch watching other people exert themselves. If you're not going to watch Wimbledon, I hope you do something to enjoy the summer day!

Peace.

The Toolbox O'Beauty

After spending HOURS on the phone last night with his new girlfriend Kelsey, Chaos asked me if she could come over today. I said yes, but...
-I expected him to introduce her to me and his sibs
-He had to clean his room and the family areas (living room and kitchen)
-She couldn't be in the house if I wasn't (I had one errand to run today)
-He couldn't be a butterhead to the rest of us to show out for his girl
-They couldn't be behind closed doors
-Her parents needed to know she was here

He agreed to all of this. He woke up earlier than usual. He cleaned with only minimal prodding. He took a shower and picked out his clothes. He came to my room dressed in his new *bright* green pants (with chains) and said, "Do you have any pliers?" I gave him directions to the toolbox before my brain caught up enough to remember to ask, "What do you need pliers for?" He pointed to the bridge of his nose and said, "I want to get rid of the uni-brow." "Tweezers, Chaos. You need tweezers, not pliers." He agreed to let me help him out with the tweezing.

He was ready by 11 and she wasn't supposed to come until around 2 or 3. I suspect that the day went faster for me than for Chaos - but eventually she did come over. She was at a friend's house down the street and they walked over. (Not so sure the part about her parents knowing she was here was followed to the letter!) The friend had a brand new puppy so they mostly stayed outside after Chaos brought her in for introductions. I liked her. She looked me in the eyes, wasn't giggly, and wasn't too shy to hug Chaos goodbye in front of everyone. I wasn't sure what I expected after yesterday's conversation with Chaos about her.
"Tell me about Kelsey."
"What do you want me to tell you?"
"I don't know. Anything. What's her last name, what kinds of things does she like, does she play sports, does she have siblings, is she from here or elsewhere, what interests do you have in common - tell me anything."
"Uh." (accompanied by a blank look)
"Do you know anything about her?!"
"Mumble, mumble, mumble."
"What did you say?"
Mayhem yells from the other room, "She likes Sponge Bob."
"I was talking to CHAOS!"
"Chaos, do you have any common interests? Do you know anything about her as a person?"
"I don't think so." He laughed sheepishly at my expression. "That's why I need to talk to her more - to find all that stuff out!"
"What have you BEEN talking about?!"
"I don't know."

Ah, young love. Where is my beauty wrench? I need to clonk a boy over the head with it.
Peace.

Does He Stay Up Late Thinking Of This Shit?

Or is it a natural gift? That's what I'm asking myself this morning.

(**Please, dear readers, skip this whole post and check back with me tomorrow if previous tapioca reports have bored you senseless. This pudding-headed interlude, while a bit stranger than most, is probably not worth reading. Unfortunately for you, I've become dependent on my blog as a venting vehicle! I have tried but I cannot properly complete my freaking out and move on without blogging about it. I'll be over it tomorrow. I promise.)

So I got an email from my ex, Mr. Tapioca Head, this morning inviting me to a surprise going away party he's having for the boys. That is not weird. That is kind and normal. Thoughtful even. (Ignore for a moment that his email also asked me for a list of the boys' friends and phone numbers.) The part of this email that has me freaking out is the part where he says, "But I also wanted to let you know that I did invite [let's call her Jessica] to this, so her son can say goodbye to the boys as well. I don’t want to make things awkward for you. " Jessica happens to be my ex girlfriend. I met her a year or so after my divorce and we dated for about a year. It ended in a very ugly way. She lied to me, then cheated on me, and then lied some more. I told her I didn't want her in my life or my children's lives, in any way, ever again. (Can you blame me?!) So, naturally, as I read his email, several obvious questions came to mind.

First: What possessed Mr. Tapioca Head to invite her to a party (supposedly) for my children? Yes, he had kept in contact with her. (I had introduced them at the time. They work in the same industry. She got him a job and later he returned the favor and got her a job somewhere else.) Fine. Then he should invite her to a party for HIM. My kids haven't seen her or her son in at least four years. Why the need to say goodbye now? Not to mention the part where I told my children that the reason she and her son weren't in our lives anymore was because she'd lied to me about something important. The boys and I had lots of discussions about friendships and boundaries and second chances and making hard decisions. We talked about what to do when people seemed nice but did mean things. (They were too young to know that it was a romantic relationship so I wasn't processing my "break up" with them - but the lessons are important and universal. Everyone ends up with tricky friendship situations at some point in their lives.) Mr. T knew all about this. As a co-parent, I wanted him to know what the kids were dealing with. I told him what was going on and why and how much I was telling the kids and why. He knew what kinds of questions they were asking and what answers I was giving them. Again - fine if he wants to stay connected to her even knowing what she's like, but to pretend he's inviting her to this party for my kids' sake? Mixed messages. Does not compute.

Second: As bizarre as it is to invite her in the first place and to pretend it's for my kids, I think it is WAAAAYYY more bizarre for him to then invite ME. And it is beyond ridiculous for him to say he doesn't want to make things awkward. His middle name is Awkward. Tapioca Awkward Head.

The man has NO boundaries. None. I won't be going to this party. I wouldn't have been able to even if it had been a normal going away party for the children. It is the day we load the moving truck (we'll ignore the fact that my ex knew this little fact too) and it is also the day of a good friend's wedding. But if you're free that day and want to attend the first (hopefully not annual) Bizarrefest, I'm sure I could get you an invite. I know a guy.
Peace.

Sassy Sassy Garden Snake

There was a snake right outside my window yesterday. It slithered across the stepping stones in the courtyard and was way to fast to be caught on film. It reminded me of one of my favorite children's books EVER, EVER, EVER. Small Green Snake by Libba Moore (author) and Holly Meade (illustrator) is rollicking. Crazy word but it's exactly right. Hiss a hiss a hiss a hiss a boom! Small green snake wanders off from the safety of his mom and has all kinds of adventures from almost being snicked by garden shears to being trapped in a glass jelly jar. The words are fun to read aloud, the story is sweet, and the pictures are vibrant and interesting. GREAT BOOK. You should read it to a child you love (or sort of like) even if you don't have snakes in your garden.
Peace.

Haven't Had One Of These In A While

Remember how cute my dog is? This is for his godmother (VBGF) who said she had to search too long through the blog to show a picture of him to some friends. It's also for SH who is in San Fran for the week for work. I'm tempted not to pity him after he told me about the scrumptious breakfast he had, but I think I still will. After all, I have 40 lbs of cute dogness curled up on my feet and he doesn't. Come home soon y'all. Your dog misses you!

Just Like Vegas, Only In Kentucky

When I picked Chaos up from camp on Friday, he was one of only two kids left. There was no set pick up time. I was told that they'd call when they were on their way. Chaos didn't call until they were already there. When he gave the one remaining camper a great big hug as he left, I began to suspect why he'd waited to call. Her name is Kelsey.

I asked about her (NATURALLY) and he blushed sweetly and laughingly said, "What happens at church camp, stays at church camp." All righty then! I asked Chaos great, big, open-ended questions about camp in general and got great, big, meaningless answers back, "It was fine." I was patient and he was stuck running errands with me for the next two hours so I eventually got a lot more out of him. He even enjoyed telling me. I think sometimes teenagers want to make sure you really want to listen before they're willing to invest energy in really talking to you. I think it takes them a lot of work to sort out what they're thinking and feeling about whatever they've just experienced and they aren't going to open that up only to be shut down. It means the world to me that my 15 year old is still willing to do that work to talk to me. Here's what I learned about church camp -

-Sunscreen works differently there. Chaos put it on five or six times a day (ask anyone in his group!), even on rainy days, and still got majorly sunburned. (I did explain to him that even with sunscreen on - a pale, red-headed boy like himself who spends 10 hours outside in the sun is going to get lobsterfied.)

-Chaos played football, ultimate frisbee, and soccer everyday, had Bible study and worship, and "partied" every night. ("Partied" meaning "talked to girls while there was music playing" - I am sooooo okay with this definition of partying and hope it lasts a lot longer than it is likely to!)

-Chaos is not born again. He learned a lot but doesn't agree with everything he was told. Also? He prefers being Catholic because they don't make him sing. He did ask if I would take him to Bluegrass Baptist Church next time it's "my" Sunday. He said he wants to hang out with Nate. I suspect he also wants to hang out with Kelsey.

Chaos told me at seven o'clock that he needed the phone around 8:40. I asked why and he said, "You know. Remember that girl that you saw me hug?" Yeah. I remember. I told him absolutely he could use the phone but he couldn't call her after nine and he couldn't stay on the phone later than nine-thirty. He called her. This is an historic event as it is the first time that a boy from our household has called a girl. My boys have, up until now, been too "Warhammer 40K" focused to have girlfriends! I was at the other end of the house but I know he didn't call her until after 8:50 because the kids were finishing up a movie. He was off the phone and horsing around with Bug in the kitchen not much after nine. I didn't ask about it. He was in a good mood and I hadn't had to pry him off the phone. Good enough. Small steps for as long as possible. The longer it takes us to get up to cruising speed for this part of the journey, the better in my book. Perhaps now would be a good time to buckle my seatbelt?

Peace.

Error Message Writers Or Philosophers?

While webcrawling today I was told by a numbered error message:

"Sorry, but you are looking for something that is not there."

Cheeky bugger.

Tri Fever

My studio is packed up. My books are packed up. My bike is packed (and shipped!) to NC already. Pretty much all I have left are my running shoes. Pretty much that's all you need to run. But did I run this morning? Noooooo. And why not? Because I didn't feel like it. And now that I do feel like it, it's raining. Yay for the rain. We needed it! Sad for me not to have run this morning when I had the chance.

In spite of not running, I haven't been completely useless today. I got myself fired up about the triathlon again. I plan on being one of the first to register for next year's event! I also found a great online workout tracker. I'm a logbook junkie. I can't train without a good log to write it down in. This time I'm training with friends from all over though - so an online workout log is ideal. It is interesting to me that very few of the athletes use the blog feature of the online log.

I also found two quilt guilds - one in Raleigh and one in Durham. Even more exciting than that, I discovered many art quilters in the area. Of course my favorite art quilter EVER is Hollis Chatelain and she is only about 15 or 20 miles from me (as best I can read the map!) Surely at some point, I'll find a way to take a class from her. (Rapture!)

I Am A Sunflower (NOT)

I am a Sunflower What Flower Are You?

I took an online quiz to determine what kind of flower I am (do not ask me why - I don't know) and this is what it came up with: a sunflower. Bleck. Sunflowers are boring. I'm not so fond of yellow to begin with. Add to that the fact that real sunflowers grow taller than I've managed to and then end up bent over and sad looking - and you can see why I don't like them. They are FAR from one of my favorite flowers. They make me think of cheap, overly-coordinated kitchens - rooster themes, country apple motifs, cheery sunflowers. Bleck, bleck, bleck. I tried changing some of my answers - which my buddy Duncan (AKA Unky Dunky to my kids) says is cheating. Who cares?! I don't want to be a sunflower! I challenged Dunk to take the quiz and find out what kind of flower HE is but he declined. However he informed me that he had just taken an online quiz to determine whether he'd survive a zombie apocalypse. He rated as a Zombie Slayer. Considering I don't even know what a zombie apocalypse would entail - I think I'd probably be the equivalent of a sunflower on that quiz to. Stupid quizzes.

Kroger's Has Just SERIOUSLY Pissed Me Off

I don't know why I'm surprised at this story. I can't wait to be out of here!
Peace.

Eep Opp Ork Ah-Ah

To settle our bet SH - it's "Eep Opp Ork Ah-Ah". (I win.)

Something You May Not (Want To) Know About Me

Step dancing knocks me out. I absolutely love it. I went to my first step show at the U of MD in the '80's and it totally blew me out of the water. I'd never seen anything like it. Well - I guess that's not entirely true. I'd seen black marching bands. (Something you may not (want to) know about my mother is that she got a scholarship to go back and finish college when I was in grade school. The school that offered her a scholarship was a predominantly black state school and they had a FANTASTIC band.) But in a band the steps are to showcase the music being played. In a step show the steps showcase the line, the bond of the fraternity brothers/sorority sisters, and they showcase the steps themselves. I never wanted to be part of the white greek system the way I wanted to be a part of the black greek system. Ignore (completely) for the moment that I am one of the palest and most arrhythmic white girls you've ever seen - there was something that called to me at that first step show. The percussive steps, the syncopated stomping, the precise angles of shoulders, necks, heads and hand movements - every bit of it amazed me. The exact and coordinated appearance of those on line, the explosive pride on display, and the unruly appreciation of the audience at the show all spoke to the kind of solidarity I desperately wanted to be a part of in college.

I've seen shows that have some of those elements: percussion, showmanship, mind-bogglingly uniform athleticism. Stomp. Riverdance. Whatever those huge Japanese drums are called. I love (Love, LOVE) stuff like that - but none of it reaches into my being the way step shows do. On the flip side, I've seen things that unexpectedly repulse me. Example: Krumping. For the love of God I do not understand Krumping! Given my bizarre attraction to stepping you'd think I'd have at least some appreciation for it - but no. None. Maybe it's the clown thing? Maybe it's that it's too much like professional wrestling for me? Maybe it's that I can't think of a less euphonious word than "krumping"? I have no good explanation for my lack of krumping affinity. All I can say is that I yearn to be in a step show the way I could never, ever - for love or money - want to be a krumper.

Impossible yearning and inexplicable repulsions aside - I'm not exactly hooked into the step show circuit. I haven't gotten to see one in years. But tonight I got to watch Stomp the Yard (on DVD because I missed seeing it in the theater a few months ago by ONE day!) Ignoring the mistake I made in renting it instead of buying it (why, why, why? I KNEW I was going to want to own it!) it was perfect watching it at home. I watched the whole thing through. Then I watched the extra features. Then the step scenes again. And then again. It was not a complex plot (by any stretch) but it was extremely well acted for a dance vehicle. It was believable in all the story ways it should be and it was unexpectedly authentic in the dance-story elements. And the stepping was abso-fucking-lutely brilliant. If you have any, even the slightest, interest in stepping you must go watch this movie. Like now.
(I mean it. You must. Now.)
Peace.

Distraction

Wednesday I learned how to solve the Rubik's Cube. Yay! It's been a mere 26 years since the one my Uncle Paul gave me drove me up the wall of frustration. Before the rejoicing gets out of hand, I should probably mention that I didn't figure it out all by myself. I just figured out the solution guide. That is enough cube accomplishment for me. Apparently this sentiment ranks me low down on the cube mania scale. I see on the official website that "cube fans everywhere" are invited to various competitions (Chicago for the US Cube Open and Hungary for the World Championships). Cube community members can chat (about cubes? all cubes all the time?) They can even send cube greeting cards to one another. For the serious cubers (maybe the ones who wore their cubes out?) there is now a virtual Rubik's cube online. Who knew?

In further avoidance behavior news - I have spent the better part of my computer time this week being distracted by random links. I have come across links to all kinds of things I didn't know about like the fan fiction genre of femmeslash, the gender neutral pronoun het, and the very interesting term tranzi which is being used by people I don't agree with to mean things I didn't know it meant. All very hmmmmmmm.

I have also been writing. You'd think writing and blogging would go hand in glove - and sometimes they do for me - but this week between the lure of links and non-blog writing, I've used up all my computer time. Fortunately or not, I have had plenty of time to worry about my son, Chaos, who is away at bible camp. He comes home today. Will I be able to tell if he's been born again the minute he gets off the bus? I imagine all kinds of horrible things like the youth leader telling me how proud they are that they got him to speak in tongues. (Given Chaos' interesting way with language - it's the most probable of his spiritual gifts if he were to lean in a pentecostal direction, don't you think?) In reality, I think Chaos is relatively impervious to religious fervor. Now sneak attacks of the hormonal variety? Not so confident about his skills deflecting those. How pretty are the girls at camp, do you think?
Peace.

Trust

I'm not sure if it came through clearly in my catch-up post, but SH has not seen the new house. That's right. Him no see house. He had just returned to TN when we found it. Blithely he had said as he was leaving, "Let's put an offer on [the house we'd seen three times] unless you find one that trumps it. We've seen enough houses together that I'd trust you on that." I'm pretty sure he did not think we'd find a clear trump. After all, we'd looked at 20 something houses already. No other even close contenders. We talked a little bit about the feasibility of him dashing back for a look see. It went like this: "Feasible? Not so much." No more time off from work to drive, no more money for plane tickets, no reassurance that waiting wouldn't lose us the house because the price reduction might bring in competing offers, etc. So this amazing man said, "Go ahead." He is buying a home sight unseen - incidentally committing to a 30 year mortgage in the process - based on what VBGF and I could tell him (and show him through pictures). That is a boatload of trust and love. It is humbling and wonderful and I just had to point it out. I'd like to think that I could have done the same thing if our positions had been reversed. My love for him is boundless and my trust in him is immense. It's just never been put to the test. I'm trying not to feel too pressured by it, but damn - I hope he likes the house when we get there!
Peace.

Chaos: 7 am On His Birthday

Chaos wanted to tell a joke this morning. (Since it's his birthday and he's on his way to Bible Camp where we've told him he is NOT allowed to tell any of his jokes - we let him tell us one over breakfast.)
"Mom, why don't dinosaurs talk?"
"Because they're dead?"
"Did I tell you this one already?"

I love life with Chaos - even if his future is clearly NOT in stand up comedy. I absolutely adore him - sweet, shaggy, man-child that he has become. I can't believe I've been a mom for 15 years. Pretty freaking amazing.
Peace.

A Month Of Sundays

Happy Fathers' Day to all the dads out there! Here at Lilymania, we are going to play catch up while the man of the house snoozes. (He and Bug - his first born and also the only child at home this weekend- stayed up until the wee sma's playing PS3, so it may be quite some time before they awaken.) The plan was to make the Dad Of The House a lovely breakfast - until we realized we'd packed up the kitchen and the oven won't be fixed until Wednesday! Plan B: IHOP.

News:
Who knew that selling the house would be the EASY part??
Turns out that buying a house is an adventure in crazymaking. We have been looking at houses, online and in person, since April. We have seen dozens of houses. We have learned a LOT about each other - and about our realtor. We found a house that would work. We went to see it three times. Sweet Hubby left with the kids to get back home. I stayed with VBGF to help close up her classroom and get her grades in. Robbie the Realtor said she had two more houses for us to see. The plan was that unless either of these two houses trumped it, we'd put an offer on the one we'd seen three times. Wouldn't you know that both houses trumped it? There was a clear top choice though. This house - oh man! We loved it. LOVED it. Naturally, the list price was 30K above our upper limit. Here is where the fun came in.

We spent the better part of the week (=Tuesday morning through Friday afternoon) "negotiating". The first step was to offer 20K less than list price. They countered by going down 2K and wanting both triple the earnest money we offered and triple the cost of repairs contingency. That was weird. They wanted a LOT of our money and they wanted us locked into the contract even if there were repairs of ten grand. Danger Will Robinson! The house was built in '56. We said back - meet you half way on the price but that's ALL the earnest money we've got and we'll up the cost of repair contingency a little bit (NOT to ten grand!) Mind you - these people are in Chicago, Sweet Hubby is back in TN, and the realtors, VBGF, and I are all in NC. Getting answers and signatures and initials is not the smoothest of processes. We went back and forth and back and forth - and finally arrived at a verbal deal. Yay! Minor celebration ensued. Robbie the Realtor told us we couldn't really celebrate until it was all signed. We waited for the signatures. Signatures were not forthcoming. Major sadness and anger ensued. Turns out the young couple could not "afford" to sell their house at the price they verbally agreed to. Note - they were already getting a discounted commission rate. Their realtor said she was in shock and this had never happened to her and she was so sorry - but she could only relay what her clients said. We thought about it. We all decided that this was the right house for us. We raised our offer up to their original counter offer. They still couldn't afford it. Our realtor was irked and said that the sellers were not acting in good faith during the whole of this process. Their realtor agreed! What to do? Walk away? Make an offer on one of the two other houses that would work (just barely) for our family? We decided that we'd make one final effort and offer the list price. [There were other weird contingencies this couple tried to throw in, but all of those details are too tiresome to go into. At one point it truly seemed like the sellers were not hip with the whole concept of what selling entails (i.e. releasing ownership of the house for an agreed upon price).] At long last, however, all documents were signed and faxed (we made them sign first before we wasted time faxing again) and celebration recommenced. (Robbie the Realtor told us we could celebrate 75% - that there was still the home inspection to get through.)

More of the story -
We saw that the house had been listed in April for 90K more than the list price for which we bought it. Somewhere near the end of all the negotiating, our realtor turns up the fact that before that it was listed for 75K more with a different realty company. I guess we should feel like we got a deal, but really? I think they were smoking crack if they thought they'd get their original list price. Yes they did updates (oh, wait until you see the pictures in a minute!) - but the house is still 50 years old and has very little curb appeal (according to R the R.) We did get a deal because we got a house we love, that suits us all, that is close (walking distance on sidewalks!) to the schools and public library and community center, AND that we could afford (even if it's a bit of a stretch!) Keep your fingers crossed for us until July 18th!!

Here are a few of the previously promised pictures!
First, Mayhem and the Princessa as they tested for their black belts. This picture was taken at the beginning - about a half an hour into the three and a half hour test. They are both still so nervous they look like they're about to hurl. The posters on the walls behind them are lists and lists of the techniques they are being tested on.

I have fantastic movies of their freestyle sparring match and grappling match. They are not usually paired in class because they are siblings so it was surprising to have them fight each other during the belt test. The sensei was both amused and impressed. The Princessa didn't slow down one bit when Mayhem sent her earrings flying and Mayhem didn't let up even when the Princessa snagged and ripped out the ties on his gi (you can see them dangling in the pictures.) This is a picture of their final test element: to hold their belts straight armed, out in frontof them (not below their chins or above their foreheads) for 3 full (and very long) minutes.
Here is their first formal bowing out as black belts. Yay!!!!


Next - Chaos is 15! We celebrate with decorated birthday cookies instead of cakes and everyone gets to pick their own theme. Chaos likes skulls.

He also likes the two new holes in his head. One of his closest friends (Nate) got Chaos a scholarship to go to camp. Nate is super excited that Chaos gets to go. Me? Not so much. It's a Baptist summer camp - away for a week. I talked to the youth minister and explained that my son was Catholic and I did NOT want to send him if he was going to be told that his baptism didn't count or that he wasn't a real Christian. The nice youth minister said that didn't happen. ("Since when?!!!" was my sister's response to that.) We'll see. I've explained to Chaos that by choosing to go, he has accepted responsibility to modify his behavior, dress, and attitude to fit within the boundaries of a much more conservative group. He says he still wants to go. I think it will be good for him to follow through on a choice like that, but I'm also a little worried about it. (Can you tell?)

And finally - I have to show off my new kitchen (squeals with delight!) Look at the skylight! Do you see the coolie, cool purple, lavender, and lilac glass mosaic above the range? Have you ever seen an island that big? It's either 9 or 10 feet long!
This is the other end of the kitchen. The black is chalkboard. Painted right onto the wall. Ok - it's weird and not really well done - but it's the only thing I don't just love, love, love about the kitchen. Havoc, however, thinks it's perfect! He can't wait to write out his menus.
Give you one guess as to what he now wants to be when he grows up!
Peace (and keep those fingers crossed for us, please!)

One For The Money, Two For The Show

I have half a dozen half-written posts languishing. I've discovered that the surest way to show my house is to sit down to blog! We've had six showings in four days and we had an offer which is now a contract from the second one. YAY!!! The home inspection is Friday afternoon - and with a 30-year old house that part is a bit worrying! However, I am keeping the faith and I know that it will be smooth sailing. It has to be because, quite honestly, I can't handle many more showings.

We have all worked like fiends getting the house ready and keeping it that way - but oi! I charged Chaos to clean the fans - and he did a lovely job - but he left grimy handprints on the ceiling. I had to show Mayhem that it was, indeed, possible to vacuum the carpets without gouging the baseboards. We pressure washed the house only to have the kids water the baby grass and spray dirt and water up onto the clean windows. Wasabi "helped" by brushing his furry butt against new paint and then sitting on the leather couch. I really thought I'd scream. Actually I did scream a little. I was completely exasperated and explained (in an overly loud voice) several things, including (but not limited to) the pointlessness of creating even more work for ourselves, the financial reality that our house being in better shape meant it selling for better money which in turn meant being able to buy a better house in NC - and importantly that spending money on stupid stuff here (e.g. new green paint to cover up the sparkly red "I love you" mark left by window clings that had been adhered to the wall not the window) meant lowering the budget for fun stuff there (e.g. food, clothing, shelter). Mayhem turned to the Princessa and in a funny, mock sad, little voice said, "See what you did? You made the good Mama go away." The other kids held their breath and waited to see whether my head would start whipping around and around on my neck or whether I'd laugh. I laughed. I hugged them each and sent them off to work - and immediately had to call them back for remedial walking down the hall lessons. Who knew that there were five children in the world who could not for love or money walk down the (need I mention newly painted?) hallway without bumping into the walls with some part of their pointy, grungy little bodies?!!!

Once I'd gotten the kids on board I thought things would fall into place. And they did. Light bulbs fell out of sockets into hard to reach places. Wooden slats in the library unglued themselves and fell to the floor. Clearly, somewhere along the way I have managed to piss off a household god (or three). The lamp we'd moved from the library to Bug and Chaos' room ignited and spewed toxic fumes. Unky Dunky (who was babysitting while SH and I were out to dinner with my father) had the boys put it outside and then they all went back to their video games. In the middle of baking a casserole one night, the oven went "Phht" and died. The stove top still works but the oven won't heat. Is this an old oven? Why no, it is not. (The library lamp was ancient in appliance years and perhaps had an excuse for self immolation even if the timing was uncanny - but the oven was only old enough not to be under warranty!!!) To add insult to injury, for a year and a half we had a spare oven in the garage (along with a spare washer and dryer and at one point a semi-dead refrigerator). Our garage - a half way house for appliances. We looked around a few months ago and said to ourselves, "This is silly. The new appliances in the house are fine. We don't need these other ones even if they aren't all that old and they all work. Sure, it would be great to have another washer and dryer available, but there's not room for a second set to be hooked up. It's wasteful to have these perfectly good appliances sitting here benefitting no one. Let's give them all away!" And we did. We gave them to a needy family through a friend's church.

I don't regret that. I do regret having to spend hundreds of dollars either fixing this oven or buying another one. Grrr. I had no idea that selling a house was so expensive! For the first showing, I got a call at about 5 pm asking if the house could be shown between 6:15 and 7:15. As I hadn't started cooking supper, I took the kids out to eat. $75. The next day the house was shown from 1 to 2. I took the kids to the bookstore. $75. The next day we got three calls in the space of 15 minutes scheduling showings for the next two days. I told the kids we could not spend $75 a pop on these showings. They agreed. The next showing we went into town and bought the boys running shoes - which had been in the budget for a couple of weeks even though we hadn't had time to get there . Three pairs of running shoes ($311.85) and ice cream at Maggie Moo's ($19.61) totals $331.46 which (as Mayhem pointed out) is waaaaaaay more than $75.

Here's today's mantra: Contract. Done deal. Closing on July 16th. No need for any more showings! No more spending money! (We'll stick to all that just as soon as we get back from our trip to Wal-Mart to replace bathing suits we had but can't find ANYWHERE!)
Peace.