Leavings

Sometimes when I look behind me at my past, all I see are footprints of those you walked out of my life.  Some of those people I pushed out, kicked out, do-let-the-door-hit-your-@ass-on-the-way-out kind of out.  And others I held dearly and watched them break my heart as they left.  Some of those people I should have kicked out, but I loved them too much at one point.

Another friend is leaving.  The Twins’ Mom.  And it hurts.  I adore her.  Simply adore her.  She’s blunt and in your face.  She’ll drop everything to help out a stranger.  She’s frazzled and completely lost in this parent thing.  She’s absolutely wonderful.

She was one of the first friends I made at Tornado E’s preschool.  I wasn’t gunning for her, but we clicked.  She wanted a wall between us because she was hoping to move back East, back to family.  She didn’t want to leave friends behind, again.  But we pulled her in, and she was one of us.  And when my life went to hell in a hand basket, she met me for coffee and waited for me to tell the truth drop by drop over a matter of weeks until she had the whole story.  During that time, she rubbed my shoulder and told me that Mercury in retrograde is a b*tch; you’re learning all your life lessons at once; you just have to ride it out.  When she magically appeared at the kindergarten open house, she shrugged and told me that the school was the best fit for the kids, not the other one.  She stood by me through trying months, and she was the first to recognize when I started smiling in the morning.    While she didn’t always get my sense of humor, we always had fun.

So when I get a text like this:

I need you.  I need your support. I need you to make me laugh.  Come over.

I had to respond:

I can’t Tornado A is napping.

She responded:

Crap.  When can you come over?

Me:

After school?  Tomorrow?  Not the next day.  How about the day after that?

She:

Soon.  You always make me laugh.  And I need that as I pack.

Me:

You need to laugh?  Oh.  Tornado E wanted me to take a picture of him naked for a friend.

She:

It’s a whole new world out there.

Me:

I told him there was *never* *ever* EVER a good reason to take a picture of yourself naked.  *EVER*

She:

LOL  You’re such a good parent.  I would never have thought to say that.

Me:

Experience is a b*tch.

She:

No!

Me:

Yeah, well, we were all young and stupid once.

She:

LOL You have to tell me!

Me:

You’ll have to get me drunk for that.  Very drunk.  Good luck with that.

She:

It would make me feel better!

She:

You know, you did organize a Mom’s Night Out next week.

Me:

Drunk.  Very, very drunk.

She:

You always make me laugh.

I’m going to miss her like crazy.  But in this world, with this technology, you’re only as far away as you want to be.  Texting, emailing, facebooking, web cam for the kids.  I am blessed with friends around the country, friends that make up my varsity team.  She’ll just be amongst a good crowd.

But I’m never telling her that story.

Easy there, boy

During the move, at times, the boys got very excited about moving.  One day they helped load up my parents’ truck.  As my Mom and I went up and down the drive way with small pieces of furniture and boxes, the boys carried big toys down to the truck.  I noted favorite toys being loaded in the truck and decided I better yank them when we got to the new house, since we weren’t moving for a few days.

When we got to the new house and started unloading the truck and my SUV, Tornado S ran off to play with Tornado A, but Tornado E kept helping unloading things.  At one point as I passed him in the hall, he tucked the toy castle under his arm and gestured to his shirtless body.

Tornado E: They can’t handle all of this.

I think someone has been watching too much How to Train Your Dragon.

And I’m pretty sure I’m in trouble once he gets hormones.

Recap 6/23 The moving edition

1. I have internet.  And my very own office.  Which is crammed filled with boxes.  Because I’m not sure where to place the bookcases.

2. Installing new rules.  Like put your plates in the sink after a meal (I know. I was to lax here) and don’t throw things from the top of the stairs and don’t kick things from the top of the stairs and don’t yell on the stairs when people are sleeping and don’t put things on that ledge you’re suppose to stay away from.  I’m starting to feel like the Gestapo and the jailer.  Follow the rules, boys.  Follow the damn rules.

3. Curtains.  Tornado A’s room needed ridiculously dark curtains.  So does my room.  But I suffer because moves are expensive.

4. I have to stop stomping around.  Bare feet + tile + stomping = very tired feet.

5. Dear Movers: You suck.  You do not get to pick and choose what you move.  But you did.  You decided the beds were too complicated.  And the fridge was too complicated.  But the floor lamps, the kiddie pool, the toy box, and enough stuff for us to make several trips on our own were NOT complicated.  You’re lucky I was at swim lessons with the kids or I would have had your heads.

6. Dear Old Rental Company: You took a picture of behind the stove.  WTF?  I want to see the picture of behind the stove before I moved in.

7. Dear New Rental Company: 7 days is not nearly enough time to inspect a house on my own with the whole moving in process.  I’m faxing in my inspection anyways.  And I have pictures.

8. Dear Actual Owner of New House: Who the f*#k paints the WHOLE house in flat paint?  INCLUDING the bathrooms and kitchen?!  WTF?  And the paint job sucked.  Oh and I refuse to take responsibility for all the stains that will happen because you’re too cheap to actually do the job right the first time.

9. Dear Dad: You’re totally right.  If you were retired (again), my move would have gone smoother and quicker.  But Mom isn’t going to let you retire yet.  She wants new carpets.  And new cabinets in the kitchen.  And to re-do the master bath.  And re-plaster the pool.  I second the pool re-plastering.

10.  P.S. Thanks for lunch.  You knew I wouldn’t stop to eat.  And thanks for bringing extra.  I fell into my teenage metabolism last week.  Of course, I’ve fallen right out of it this week.

Is that Lightening?: More bad luck than I can handle

We’ve had quite the run of bad luck lately.  And I mean to stop it.

 

It began the weekend of the move, when my husband disconnected the cable on accident.  When the picture came up the large, old TV just wasn’t the same.  It held a blue tint that blurred away when you stopped paying attention.

 

The next part was my fault as I refused to take the small garage fridge instead of my beloved kitchen fridge that I argued for thirty minutes to get over the stainless.  (Stupid stainless with their no magnets.)  Finally my husband gave up and searched Craig’s List for a nice used fridge.  What luck!  He found a deal of a fridge, washer, and dryer all for 900 bucks.  Watch carefully.

 

Next my husband was determined to get the best deal possible on a new screen TV for the new house in Arizona.  No amount of persuasion could convince him to wait until Arizona, so he found on Craig’s List a company that was selling TV’s 60 bucks cheaper than Costco’s sale.  Are you still watching?

 

The move went as well as it could except that the owner completely underestimated the amount of stuff we own, and my dad had to go buy more boxes several times.

 

Then on the way to Arizona, Evan got car sick.  The kid never gets motion sickness.  But at least he gave us enough warning for my mom to shout that she had a zip lock bag full of goodies I could empty out.  Any one remembers The Exorcist?  At least I caught most of it, and we were luckily near a rest stop.  But I had to deal with it as my mom can’t.

 

Meanwhile, it seems that the gas dryer we bought wouldn’t work because the house had an electric outlet that our realtor couldn’t remember to tell us.

 

The fridge was too big to fit into the kitchen, so the men lifted it over the opening over the counter.  (“opening” as in it should have been a breakfast bar if it wasn’t wasted space.)  The fridge was upside down for five minutes, and after an hour, my dad plugged it in, only to have the fridge start burning Freon ten minutes later.

 

The TV turned out to have a shadow on it that really isn’t a big deal, unless you’re my husband, who just can’t stop staring it.  We have named the shadow “60 bucks.”

 

After 24 hours of settling the Freon, the fridge STILL didn’t work, after it had been running 12 hours.  My husband called an appliance guy who said wait 48 hours.  Freon takes a while to settle down.

 

We found another dryer on Craig’s List, electric this time, and we shelled out another 200 bucks for it and placed an ad for the gas dryer for $200.  We got the dryer home to find that the plug didn’t match.  It had been a week since I did laundry, and the boys needed socks.  Wear the dirty ones; no one will notice.

 

After 48 hours, the fridge still DID NOT WORK.  We shelled out the money to have the appliance guy pronounce it DOA.  While I swear I checked the fridge out at the guy’s house, the appliance repairman insisted it never worked as it was missing electrical appliances.  F-ing awesome.  Luckily, the repair man worked for a company that fixes fridges to resell, which included a warranty.  Done.

 

My dad put on a new plug on the dryer, so I went to do laundry.  The water refused to flow into the machine.  I hate that guy who sold as the fridge, washer, and dryer; I want his head.

 

We got a new fridge, which is smaller, a little older, and radiates a loud hum, but I don’t care because it works.  It turned out the water wasn’t on to the washer.  Hey, it works fine now.  Someone bought the other dryer for $150, but beggars can’t be choosers.  My dad told me my luck had turned around.

 

Remember that weird color on the old TV in California?  Well, that was the TV, not the cable, so now we have to buy a new one.  My husband wanted to buy it on Craig’s List. Just please bring your on DVD player and DVD to check it.

 

Then I noticed a weird dent in the garage door.  It was odd because it looked like someone had backed into a closed garage door from the inside.  What idiot would do that?  The next day I found out as I backed into the garage door that hadn’t retracted all the way up.  Now it wouldn’t go down.  My dad came over and helped me close it.  After three days of calling and calling and calling the rental place, my dad decided HE would fix it, and he did.  “Your luck is changing, Fae.  Cheer up!”

 

Until two days later when the heater didn’t come on, and I was forced to get my husband out of bed and into a hot shower to make it to church not on time.  Um, Dad?  He rushed over to fix it so his grandsons didn’t freeze.  Two days later he came over again with a different fix as well as the day after and the day after that.  The door to the heater was loose, which activated the emergency shut off, which we had to find a way around.  As of today, my dad fixed it for good.  Don’t even say it, Dad.

 

I feel like tempting fate and asking what will happen n-.  But that’s silly.  I’m very superstitious.  I’m a Catholic, Irish girl.  The cards were stacked against me there.  Just add some Romani, and I really would be fearful.  So I’m determined to change my own luck because I’m hoping God is working on that cure of cancer I’ve been praying about.  I’m buying a lucky bamboo.  I’ve hung my crosses.  I plan on getting holy water to douse the house.  I’m in search of a horse shoe.  It’s the full moon tonight, which is perfect to leave something out for the brownies.  Don’t even make me pull out the big guns and ask my Grandma because I will.  My luck will change!

 

Knock on wood.

 

 

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Moving the Library

According to iBooks, I own 253 books.  That does not include the reference books, like Thesauruses, Dictionaries, parenting books, and palmistry books.  It also does not include the dozen or so of cookbooks or the text books I plan to read one day.  (Ink: In my defense, I only dropped lit crit because the original professor, who believed you can only understand it through doing it in one massive paper, grew very ill and had to drop teaching, only to be replaced by a pompous ass, but I swear I’ll read the book.)  Nor does it include several titles that the system says does not exist. (Honestly does any one not read graphic novels!) This does not include the fifty or so books that belong to my husband, who will NOT reread his texts books.  It does not include the large amount of children’s books that I haven’t gotten around to counting yet. 

 

But this large library, and counting, does make it difficult to move, especially when the owner realizes she might not need every title in the next year.  So the night after The Decision, I began to fill small boxes with as many books as I could back.  As I packed the books, I typed out the title of each book, making a list to tape to the top of the box.  And the system worked well until I ran out of boxes, and you just wouldn’t believe how hard it is to dumpster dive with two little ones.  They tend to want to bring home unsavory objects or cut themselves on syringes.  (Kidding.  Kidding.  You throw them in to fetch.)

 

Without boxes, I began to worry about the horrible mess of letting someone just heap books into boxes and not being able to find my very favorites when I needed them.  I did what any good wife would do; I nagged my husband.  During the times he didn’t tune me out, he suggested I get rid of some books.  I am, thank you very much, and I do, but I keep everything I will read again, and I do.  Then he would rant about how I had too many, and I would remind him why I have so many.  Soon I wished he had ignored me like usual.

 

There is a reason for the large library other than my intense love for the written word.  Years ago when my husband and I were just shacking up, we combined our moneys early because we were engaged.  As the honeymoon was over, my husband would leave to hang out with his buddies, which wasn’t a big deal, except I was young, bored, and had few friends that stayed in the area after they graduated.  After several stupid arguments, I came up with a brilliant plan.  Believing that a lot of my grief was because I was a saver and he was a spender, I decided that every time he went out drinking, I would go to the bookstore.  At first, he was against the plan, saying “You’re never going to read those books again; it’s a waste of money.”  “Well, you’re never going to drink those beers again; at least I have something to show for spending the money.”  Then I went to the bookstore.

 

In the end, I had to give up writing all the titles on the boxes and move on to just writing the type of books, like religious or parenting.  I had one box marked with my favorites.  Written on top of the box was “Favorite books; lose this box and I own your soul.”  They were in the office waiting for me when I arrived and were the first ones on the book shelves.  Of course, there’s a huge possibility that I’m going to have to move the bookcase.  Damn.

 

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We have moved

We have moved

        From a house with lush grass and beautiful trees to a house with rocks and cactus.

 

We have moved

        From a five bedroom house to a three bedroom house.

 

We have moved

        From a house with large bedrooms to a house my husband and my father were unsure the bunk beds would fit in the room.

 

We have moved

        From a house with a pool, a large patio, and a grassy lawn to a house with a backyard that could fit into the living room.

 

We have moved

        From a house with a giant kitchen to a house with a kitchen that just may be smaller than my college apartment’s kitchen.

 

We have moved

        From a house with a pantry to make chef’s cry to a linen-closet-sized pantry.

 

We have moved

        From a house with large dining, living, and family rooms to a house that you have to pick one or the other.

 

We have moved

        From a house that made my father whistle the “Leave It To Beaver” theme song to the stereotypical Southwest home.

 

We have moved

        From a house with a huge three car garage to a house that maybe two cars could fit in.

 

We have moved

        From a house with two working fridges to a house with a working ice chest.

 

We have moved

        From a house with a disbanded association to a gated community.

 

We have moved

        From a house in the middle of neighborhoods to a house close to all kinds of stores and restaurants.

 

We have moved

        From a house that the closest friends were fifteen minutes away without traffic and no family to a house where Grandma and Papi are five minutes away or less.

 

We have moved

        From a house where the park was five minutes away to a house where the park is in walking distance.

 

We have moved

        To a house where you could count the stars from one where you can’t.

 

We have moved.

I hope to catch up with you all soon.

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