Wednesday, December 26, 2012

New blog

I started a new blog.  If any of you would like to read it, then follow me on over to Whatever.

Monday, August 20, 2012

That's all she wrote.

I'm 33 now, and I never intended to continue writing this blog beyond the age of 31.  I've had a good run and it's time to move on.

I won't delete Year 31, but this will be my last post.  I won't respond to comments anymore, but you can email me at yearthirtyone [at] gmail.com if you really need to talk to me--or if you just want to say hello.


It's time to get busy living or get busy dying.


Thank you for reading.

Love,

Teri  :)


























Monday, August 13, 2012

All my clothes are dirty.

Apparently, I learned nothing from the DIY Caulk Disaster of 2010.

The washing machine in this rental house has been broken ever since we moved in.

At first, it wouldn't drain, so every time I'd go to empty a load of laundry, I'd stick my hand directly into a giant puddle of clothes water.  Ick.

Then, The Hubby and I thought it would be smart to stack the washer on top of the dryer, and just let gravity do its job.  A washer that's not completely drained of water is VERY VERY heavy, but we got it up there eventually.  We used it like that for a few days, until I realized that the washer was not holding water at all.  In fact, the water just kept flowing and flowing.  At one point, I went down to the basement to check on the laundry after about an hour, and it was still "filling" for the first wash cycle.  Because it wasn't holding water, the sensor never told it to stop filling.

Side note:  A water company man came out soon after and changed our meter, saying that there was something wrong with the reading because it was astronomical.  I'm hoping this was a coincidence.

Since we'd just moved and couldn't really afford a big repair bill, I made do.  How is that done, you ask?  Well, I stood in the basement with the washing machine, held the drain pipe up while it filled and during the whole wash cycle, manually moved the cycle to rinse, held the pipe up some more, then let it down at the end.  I would not recommend this to anyone, but it did help to tone my flabby arm muscles.

I quickly developed a strong hate/hate relationship with my washing machine and I tweeted as much.  Believe it or not, the washing machine replied:

I knew it.  I apologize for his dirty mouth, but what else would you expect from Satan?

As the weeks wore on, my laundry piled up and I knew that I had to do something more permanent about my appliance situation.

Google to the rescue!!

...but really, when does that ever work out?  Google helpfully suggested that there may be a sock or a ball of lint stuck in the drainage pipe, so we should check it out.  The screws on the back of the machine were stripped, but we removed every last one of them after an hour and an endless amount of frustration.  When we finally got the hoses off (SO HARD TO DO), we found nothing in them but some dirty old water and a little slime.  Gross.

Finally, I convinced The Hubby to read over the lease.  That's when he discovered that, YES, our landlord IS responsible for upkeep on all appliances.  I TOLD HIM THAT A MONTH AGO BUT HE DIDN'T BELIEVE ME.  He thought he remembered the landlord saying something about him leaving the washer/dryer, but we'd have to fix it if it was broken.  He was wrong.

I was furious.  This whole dang thing could have been avoided.  We called the landlord on a Friday night and he called the repairman, who couldn't make it here until today (Monday).  The Kid is currently wearing his last pair of clean shorts, which happen to be Super Mario Brothers swim trunks.

When the repairman finally got here, he was none too pleased with our handiwork.  Apparently, the reason those hoses were so hard to remove is that they aren't supposed to be removed.  Ever.  He also said that we weren't supposed to have taken off the back, since the whole thing could have been done through an easily removable front panel.  Oops.

In the end, the angry repairman concluded that we need a new pump.  Unfortunately, he had to special order it, so he'll be back in a few days with the (hopeful) solution to our problems.

Instead of dwelling on who's to blame (THE HUBBY) for The Kid wearing swim trunks for the past four days, let's see if we can all learn a lesson from this.  In case you didn't get the gist of my story, I created this handy dandy flowchart, fittingly titled "Should I Repair My Own Broken Appliance?":
Click on it.  It'll get bigger.
I only hope that, with this flowchart, I can keep some poor soul from making the same mistakes I made. 

Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go finish hand washing a load of colors in the bathtub.

Wednesday, August 1, 2012

Hunting Miley

Miley Cyrus is like a cable guy:  when you're looking for her, she's nowhere to be found, and then she pops up when you're unprepared and your 12-year old niece is nine miles away.

Okay, maybe that analogy doesn't really work, but I'm tired.

My niece (12) and nephew (8) left today after a three-day visit from Missouri.  The Hubby and I had a grand time as tour guides, and I have the blisters on my feet to prove it.  We showed them the sites, fed them the local foods, took them to the beach, and got them autographs from a famous football player.


All that, and I still feel like a failure of an aunt.  Why, you ask?  Because I couldn't deliver on the one thing that my niece, Kaytlin, was REALLY hoping for while she was here:  a Miley Cyrus sighting.

Miley is in town with her fiancee Liam Hemsworth while he's shooting a movie.  Kaytlin is Miley's number one fan--or at least in the top 100.  She doesn't wear Miley's face on her t-shirts or anything, but she does know all of her songs by heart, has seen every episode of Hannah Montana, and owns all of her movies.  It felt like fate when their visits coincided, and I told Kaytlin that we'd try and arrange a chance meeting between the two.

People, please learn from my mistakes:  don't ever tell a teenage girl that her favorite actress/singer is in town.  It's a recipe for disappointment...and fatigue.

On Sunday, we divided up: the boys went to Penn's Landing, and the girls went walking.  We started at the river and made our way up South Street, then to Rittenhouse Square, shopping in stores that seemed Miley-esque and moseying around the park where I've heard she's been seen walking her dog.  There's a fine line between stalking (like the paparazzi) and hopeful loitering...and we were walking it for four hours.  Several miles and a sunburn later, we decided to call it a day and try again on Tuesday.

This was Sunday--that should have been us!  Maybe  we didn't dress weird enough.

Now, one of my favorite things about Kaytlin is that she's a very generous, appreciative girl.  Before she even got here, she had agreed to stay home with her brother and The Kid to babysit while The Hubby and I went out to dinner to celebrate our 11-year wedding anniversary.  Of course we took her up on it, and The Hubby made a reservation at an excellent restaurant in the same neighborhood where we'd been wandering around earlier in the day.

When we got there, we decided to have a drink at the bar and wait for a patio table to open up since it was such a gorgeous evening.  Not five minutes after we sat down, I turned around and who do you think was standing directly behind me, at the hostess stand?

Miley.  Freakin'  Cyrus. and Liam Hemsworth.

I was SO FRUSTRATED--there are no words.

Not five hours ago, Kaytlin and I were hanging out across the street from the restaurant.  Now that she was at home watching the kids, here was Miley Cyrus, standing ten feet away.  Out of all the hundreds (thousands?) of restaurants in this city, she just happened to show up in the same one I was in.  Really?


REALLY???

Not wanting to interrupt her dinner (or jeopardize mine by being thrown out), I concocted a plan.  Since we were going to be eating on a sidewalk table near the front door, we'd certainly see them leave.  Therefore, I wrote "hi Kaytlin!" on a cocktail napkin and planned to (very politely) ask Miley to hold it up while I took her picture.  Brilliant, right?

Only, she never came out the front door.  The pair left out the back, because there were two photographers staking out the front entrance.  I hate those photographers.

Just having dinner with Miley and Liam....technically.

We spent a few hours yesterday back at the park again, hoping to garner a photo or autograph, but to no avail.  I guess I wasted all of our celebrity-spotting luck.  We did get water ice, though, which was *almost* as good.

Even though Kaytlin didn't get to live out her dream, I think the experience brought us a little closer together.  She was really sweet and good-natured about the whole thing.  She hasn't even been gone for 24 hours and I miss her already.  Such a great kid.

Being in the same restaurant as Miley Cyrus also gave me a whole new appreciation for my privacy.  She can never enjoy dining on the patio at a restaurant on a beautiful evening.  Heck, she can't even dine in a restaurant in peace--I can't tell you how many times I heard the words "Miley Cyrus" being spoken in that two hours we were there.  How distracting would that be, to hear your name over and over, everywhere you go?  I get mad if my husband posts a picture that I TOOK to Facebook without my permission--being followed by paparazzi would be the seventh circle of hell for me.  I'm so happy I'm not famous.

Miley, if you're reading this, I hope you enjoyed your dinner that night and that you're enjoying your time in Philly.  I hope that everyone is being nice to you.  If you would like to turn one of your top 100 fans into the happiest girl alive, drop me an email.  I can hook you up.

Tuesday, July 24, 2012

Come see where I live! (VIDEO)

It's not as shaky as the first one, but I could still do with a steadicam.  I apologize for the cuts, but I accidentally said The Kid's name twice, so they were necessary.



If you make it all the way to the end, you'll see a scary surprise.  :)




Behind the scenes

I just shot the video tour of my house, but it's sooooo shaky that I'm going to try doing it again (I could really use a steadicam).  Since the camera battery needs charging, I thought I'd share with you all a little clip I found when I uploaded the video to my computer.

 This was shot by The Hubby at my friend Todd's home, the night before we filmed his scenes for He Thought/She Thought.  The woman in the video with me is his gorgeous wife. Basically, if He Thought/She Thought had been a full-length film, this would have made it onto the special features as a behind the scenes making-of featurette:



If you never got a chance to see the short film we made, here it is again:


Video tour coming soon!  :)

Friday, July 20, 2012

F this S.

Talking with Phyllis has gotten me nowhere.

For those of you who are playing catch up, my family moved into a haunted house three weeks ago and it's way less cool than you'd imagine.

Yesterday sucked.

As I was cleaning The Kid's [completely empty] room yesterday, I got shot by a toy projectile.  It didn't hurt, the sun was up, and I was barely even annoyed--certainly not freaked out.

Fast forward to last night. 

The Kid, The Hubby, and the dogs were all in bed.  I stayed up late watching a National Geographic documentary on PBS (ok, it was Showtime, and it wasn't so much a documentary as a reality show--there were boobs, though) and headed upstairs around 12:30. 

As I was brushing my teeth, I heard a noise.  It sounded like it could have been an alarm coming from outside.  I ignored it for a few seconds, and then I realized that it was coming from inside the house (just like the babysitter in that urban legend!).  I put down my toothbrush and walked into the hall, trying to follow the high-pitched "dun....dun...dun......dun..dun". 

My ears brought me directly into The Kid's room, where he was still sleeping, blissfully unaware.  As I zeroed in on the sound, I realized that it was coming from this:

I took this today, in broad daylight. I did put it back exactly as I found it last night, though.
The piano book was playing.  By itself.  One note, over and over and over.  As soon as I stood in front of the bookcase and discovered where the sound was coming from, it went silent, even before I touched it.

WHAT THE HELL, PHYLLIS???

I was really freaked out.  Not sure what to do, I picked up the book, woke up The Hubby, and told him what happened.  He mumbled an "Oh yeah?" and rolled back over to sleep.  I put the possessed book in the guest room and tweeted until I was tired enough to fall asleep myself.

This was the last straw.  I am tired.  Sleep is important to me.  I do not have time for this crap.  I just want to live here, guys.  I do NOT want to move again any time soon.

Today, after a suggestion from blogger Ian, I contacted TAPS (tv's Ghost Hunters) through their website.  At Joshua's suggestion, I had The Hubby visit our friendly local occult store and pick up some sage on the way home so that we could burn it and cleanse the house.
 
Not a joint.  Sage.
The Kid and I did not miss even a corner of a closet with that sage smoke, and you know what?  I think it worked.  It just feels different in here now.  As I was making a final pass around the back porch, I looked around and it felt like I was looking at the house for the first time.  Everything looked new. 

Let's just assume this worked, shall we?  I'm ready to move on.  Let's hope that Phyllis is too. 

Wednesday, July 18, 2012

Go away, Phyllis!

This ghost thing is getting out of control.

I thought old Phyllis was done messing with us.  Aside from the occasional cell phone interference, I hadn't heard from her in days.  We were living harmoniously...until last night.

Around 11:30 PM last night, I climbed into bed with The Hubby and our two dogs.  I'd been lying there for a good five minutes, trying to decide on which lucid dream I'd like to experience (hey, it's worth a shot), when I heard a very loud


*%#*CRASH*%#**


from another room.  Breaking glass.

Now, I know what you're all thinking:  it must have been something I'd set into motion while I was getting ready for bed.  I thought that too.  I figured maybe it was the photo hanging in the bathroom and I'd somehow brushed it on the way out of the room and left it wobbling for the last five minutes or so, until it couldn't take it anymore and fell off the wall.

No such luck.

Upon investigation , I discovered (okay, I woke up The Hubby and HE discovered) that the sound came from two picture frames falling off of a shelf and onto the floor.  In the guest room.  Which is only ever used in the mornings, since that's where The Hubby irons his clothes and gets dressed. 

The glass in the larger frame broke, but the smaller one was alright.  I was going to take a picture of it when it happened, but I was too scared of what else may show up in the photo, so I took this one today and added some helpful information.


The two that fell are the one with the arrow pointed at it and the one to its left. 

See the lip on that shelf?  That's the thing that's really baffling me.  I mean, if the pictures had been slipping, the lip would have caught them, right?  Also, how did they both fall?  They didn't overlap.  You may be thinking it's rodents, but I haven't seen any evidence of mice here, and this shelf is about five feet off the ground, so there goes that theory.

I'll have another talk with Phyllis when The Kid isn't around, but this is getting ridiculous.

My first instinct is to call a paranormal investigation team, but when I look those up online, they all say that they don't do ghost removal, just investigation.  Also, you have to let them in your house at night, and I don't want to scare The Kid--so far, we haven't used the G word in front of him.  Yesterday, he was talking about how his toys kept ending up where he didn't put them, and he just said, "Well, life IS weird.".  Gotta love the thought process of a five-year old.

What do you guys think I should do?  I'm not really scared of her--well, maybe a little bit at night, but mostly she's just a nuisance.  I plan on doing the video tour of the house in the next few days, and I hope I can get rid of her before then, but if not it may turn out to be a really creepy tour.

I'd really like people to come visit me, so we need to get this ghost situation under control ASAP.  Who would travel all the way out to Philadelphia to be terrorized by paranormal activity?  Even the promise of pretzels, sandwiches, and day trips to NYC won't lure in friends and family if they're afraid of my house.  :(

Help!

Monday, July 16, 2012

Poor boys.

Today, as I have done many days now (Philadelphia is soooo going to make me fat), I took The Kid to get a slice of cheese pizza at the pizza place up the street.  Since there was a cartoon on the TV there that he wanted to watch, and I was in no hurry to get back home, we decided to sit and eat there.

About halfway into the meal, a group of three boys came and sat at the table behind us.  They were ranging in age from about 6-8 years old, and they had the most hilarious conversation.  It went something like this:


Boy #1Do you think there are more girls in the world, or boys?

Boy #2:  More girls, definitely.

Boy #3 There are more girls now, but there used to be more boys, until the Titanic.  They let all the girls and women on the boats and made all the guys go down with the ship.  So now, there's more girls."


I am no longer afraid that my kid will know the least of anyone in his class when he enters Kindergarten this fall.

Friday, July 13, 2012

Stream of consciousness

I couldn't organize my thoughts earlier, so I just did a little stream of consciousness writing.  Luckily, I type very, very quickly.  Here are the results:



I want to write.

I want to sleep.

I want to cry.

I can’t focus.

My head is too full.

Is this what happens when you go too long without writing?  There are too many ideas to get out at once, so they all jumble together and won’t allow one another a turn.  Take turns, ideas!  You’re ruining this for me!

I just want to feel like I am making a difference.

Being a mom is making a difference, I know that, but it’s not the only mark I want to make on the world. 

I want to feel like I’m contributing.

I’ve never been further away from that than I am right now.

Moving took me further away.

I wanted to move West, but we moved East.  This is not conducive to a screenwriting career.  Neither is not 
writing.

I see other people writing, other people gaining some experience or celebrating their success, and I’m stuck.

I want to do so many things, but all I end up doing is sitting around playing facebook games when I’m not taking care of my kid.

No more facebook games.

Discipline.

I want to write songs.

I want to record songs.

I love to sing.

Do I want to be a singer?

I don’t think so.  No.  Definitely not.

Do I want to be a songwriter?  Probably not.

Do I want to be a writer?  Yes.

What kind?

Screen?

Novel?

Play?

I don’t know.  I just need to get something out and on the screen so that I can figure it out.

Is it so hard to write a novel?  Why do I only think in screenwriting terms?  Isn’t it much easier to self-publish a novel than it is to self-produce a movie?  Definitely.  I need to be writing a novel.

Why can’t I get it out that way?

Maybe I’ll turn the Us story into a novel.  That would be good.  Not too visual anyway.  But I already 
wrote fifteen pages of screenplay.  I’ll have to translate those to novel pages.

I still really want to write the Elvis movie, though.

FOCUS.

Why isn’t anyone ever excited for me?  I feel like people look at me like I’m nuts when I tell them about what I’m writing.  Or they don’t care.

My sister never even read the screenplay I left at her house*. Why not?  It’s good.  I think it’s good.  It’s funny.  Maybe it’s not that good.  Maybe it is, though.  I like it.  I’m going to say it’s good.

I need ot write something.

Other than this.

This is not really a good thing to be writing.

Oh, ice cream.  With peanut butter pretzels.

Yes.



After I ate my chocolate ice cream with peanut butter pretzels on it (seriously, you should try this.  It's delicious), I began adapting one of my screenplays into a novel.  

Expunging my brain of clutter actually worked.


*I later found out that my sister was actually reading the screenplay I left at her house at that very moment.  She loved it.

Wednesday, July 11, 2012

Best. Kid. Ever.

Guess who turned five today!





Yipee!!

I don't often do entire posts dedicated to The Kid, but I think that living for half a decade warrants one.  If you're not into "mommy blogging", or if you hate children (what kind of monster are you???  how did you find me???), then this post is not for you.  Move along.

The truth is, I'm a really lucky mom.  I know that all of you parents out there think that your kid is the best one, but you're clearly mistaken, because I somehow managed to get him.

Want some proof?  Oh, fine.



The Top Ten Reasons Why My Kid Is Awesome

1.  He randomly stops watching TV or playing video games to give me hugs.  It's so sweet.  He'll be all, "I think you deserve a hug!", then he'll attack me with his tiny arms.  It's the best.


2.  He's hilarious.  No, he's not the best joke-teller ("Why did the tree cross the road?  To get to his tree family!"), but he's funny in a different way.  For instance, he was recently practicing writing his last name and he said that he was running out of room on the board.  I told him to flip it over, meaning to use the other side, which was blank.  A few minutes later, he handed me this:

Cracked.  Me.  Up.



3.  He makes up the best songs.  And they're often to the tune of "Brass Monkey" by the Beastie Boys.  For example, he just sang, "Skyyyyylanders!  Those funky Skylanders!".

4.  He's oblivious to race.  When referring to a person, he describes him or her by the color of his or her shirt.  For example, a white guy in a black shirt will become "that black guy" and a girl in a blue shirt becomes "the blue girl".  I'm sure this will end someday--maybe soon--but I'm grateful for now that he doesn't see skin color.

5.  He's handsome.  I know that this really isn't important, but his little freckles and big hazel eyes melt my heart.



6.  He's a classic.  He prefers old-school animation to new computer animation.  He spent a lot of the day yesterday watching old Popeye cartoons.  His favorite things to watch on Cartoon Network are Tom and Jerry and Looney Tunes (The original ones, not the new sucky ones where Bugs and Daffy live in tract housing and have jobs and fly on planes).

7.  He's grateful.  He never expects to get the things he wants, and when does, he'll spend a good hour saying, "I can't beweeve you got this for me!  Thank you so much!  I just can't beweeve it!"

"I think I'm going to burst with joy!" he said after I got him those Skylanders and that ginger ale.

8.  He randomly yells at me if I'm out of the room to tell me that he loves me.  I think he's just checking to make sure that I haven't left him alone in the house, but if I'm not in the room, the conversation usually goes (loudly), like this:

"Hey Mom?"
"I'm upstairs."
"I yuv you!"
"I love you too, bud!"


9.  He shares.  It doesn't matter what he's eating, he will always give me as many bites as I want.  He's also just as happy watching someone play a video or computer game as he is playing one himself. 

He even shared this cotton candy with me.  ♥


10.  He's kind.  One of his birthday wishes was that nobody yell at our puppy today, and he told me last night that I could choose five things that I wanted to do today (I picked four hugs and a kiss).



So there you have it:  ten reasons why I'm the luckiest mom ever.  I could list probably a hundred more.  One day The Kid will read this post--possibly during his teen angst stage--and see that I actually do love and appreciate him, though I hope he never thinks the contrary.

To him I say now, and always:  I could never ask for a better kid than you.  I love you, bud.

Friday, July 6, 2012

Let's do this quickly.

I took a pill to help me fall asleep early, but it hasn't quite kicked in yet, so we'll see how this whole "blogging" thing goes.  If I go off-course, please keep in mind the pill thing.

I apologize in advance.

Here are all the things I've been wanting to blog about since landing in the greater Philadelphia area exactly a week ago today:

1.  Water Ice.  Do you guys know what this is?  Some of you are thinking, "The pill kicked in.  All ice is made of water.", which is actually true (the second part, not the first--I don't think.  Yet.  Right?), but I was referring to the delicious kind.  For those of you who've never visited this part of the country, "water ice" is a frozen dessert offered in spades around these parts.  A lot of people say it's Italian ice, but it's not like any Italian Ice I've ever had.  I'd describe it more as a very fine-textured sno-cone, or a firmer, scoopable Icee.  It's bizarre that everybody calls it "water ice" and nobody thinks twice about how nonsensical it is to call it that.  I'd say something, but I'm afraid they'd be all, "No water ice for you!", and that would be no good, because ohmygodit'ssodelicious.

2.  Dead birds.  As I said, I've lived here for exactly a week today.  In that time, I've come across four dead birds.  That seems excessive to me.  WHAT DOES IT MEAN???


3.  Other woodland creatures.  The reason for the dead birds may simply be that there are about a billion percent more live ones here than there were where I lived in Kansas City.  In fact, my whole neighborhood is a woodland creature wonderland.  We've got squirrels digging through our trash, chipmunks playing with our dogs' toys in the backyard, and bunnies who eat the strange fungus growing on a stump in our front yard.  They.  Are.  Everywhere.  Is this what it's like to live in a nice neighborhood?


4.  Phyllis the ghost.  When we moved in, some weird things started happening right away.  Unexplained noises.  Objects appearing on the floor of an empty room in which nobody had entered.  A cup flew out of the cupboard right after I put it away, the moment I walked out of the room.  Stuff like that.  I looked up some history on our house, and the original owner, whose name was Phyllis, died in 1989, the same year that the next owner took over.  This leads me to the conclusion that Phyllis lived here at the time of her passing, and that she never really left.  I had a talk with her yesterday, and the mood has been a bit lighter around here since then, so I think she moved on.  If not, I may have to pull out The Kid's proton pack and ghost trap from last Halloween.  Stay tuned.

5.  CRAP.  Just heard a very loud *bang* come from my closet.  Will have another talk with Phyllis when I'm done writing this blog post.

6.  Bikes.  Back in 2001, when we lived in Santa Monica, The Hubby got me a really cool bike for my birthday.  I rode it around town, to and from work, and then we moved.  For the last 11 years, we haven't lived in a bike-friendly neighborhood, but we do now!  The Kid and I washed it off with soapy sponges, The Hubby pumped up the tires, and now I'm in business.  I'm sure all of my neighbors think I'm a weirdo, but since I wear vintage-style dresses all summer, I usually look like this when I ride:

Hey, it's a look.

The Kid is also learning to ride his bike, so people probably aren't looking at me with this around anyway:

Talk about a diversion.

7.  ...what was I going to say?  I think the pill kicked in.


I guess that's it.  Sometime in the next few weeks, I'll be recording myself giving a video tour of my home, so look for that!  I'll do it some day when the house is clean, after all the pictures are hung.  Keep an eye out for Phyllis if I can't send her on her way before then.


Goodnight!

Friday, June 29, 2012

Poor planning.

We've arrived at our new home.  It's...empty.  Well, we have a TV that we went out and bought today so that the cable guy could install service, and there are a few odds and ends we were able to fit in our cars, so it's not COMPLETELY empty, but you know what I mean.  We have no furniture. 

The furniture arrives tomorrow, and I thought that would be just fine.  You see, The Hubby and I have been wanting to go back to a king size bed for a while now, what with two dogs and the occasional child sleeping with us and all.  Our old bedroom *just* fit a king, but it was very difficult to get around it if we shoved one in there. 

The Kid was also due for a bed upgrade.  He's been in a toddler bed up until now, and since he's about to turn five (and he often sleeps with half of his body on the floor, half in the bed), we decided that it was time to put him in a twin.

So, my brilliant plan was that we would arrive at our new home early, a day ahead of our belongings, and run to IKEA (where they offer same-day delivery) to buy our new beds for our first night here.

Well, I THOUGHT it was a brilliant plan. 

Unfortunately, here I am blogging at 9:45pm instead of sleeping--or even piecing together our new DIY furniture.  The Kid is sleeping on the living room floor.  He's sad to look at, so I only looked at him once to take this picture:



Our delivery window was between 5-9, which I thought was rather late, but I was a beggar so I wasn't about to be a chooser.  I figured they would arrive somewhere in the middle of that window, as most optimistic people would, and that we'd be tucked up in our HOPEN, under our MYSA RĂ–NN at a decent hour. 

It was not to be.

The delivery driver called me forty minutes ago and said that he was thirty minutes away.  I'm about to give myself whiplash every time a car drives by, hoping against hope that it will be a big 'ol delivery truck backing into our driveway, but NO.  Just a bunch of neighbors, probably going home to sleep in their fancy-schmancy beds, or maybe on their cushy couches. 

I hate them.

I want to go to bed.

Wednesday, June 27, 2012

Moving right along

I am currently writing this from a bed in a Quality Inn in Richmond, Indiana, en route to my new home.  We are traveling in two cars with a great deal of our belongings, two dogs, and of course one child.  The Kid is crying because the hotel television won't hook up to his Wii, but I think he's *really* crying because we left the house at 4am to get a jump on the trip and he's severely short on sleep. 

I'm short on sleep too, but not quite as much so as The Hubby, who wins (loses?) this game, clocking in at 3 1/2 hours last night.  We are all tired, some of us are hungry, and I'm blogging.

I was going to post some pictures of the trip thus far, but since The Hubby packed the camera God-knows-where and I don't feel like trekking down to the car(s) to rummage through our belongings, this post will contain pictures, not from this trip, but from our last.

The craziest thing about this move is that it all happened in such a short amount of time.  Somebody once told me that moving would take up a good 6 months of my life, but this whole idea of moving to Philadelphia was only really even conceived as a possibility about six weeks ago.  Everything has moved so quickly that I haven't really had time to process the enormity of it all. 

The weekend of June 16th, about a week after The Hubby accepted his new job, we flew out to Philly to find a home.  We ate Philly cheesesteaks and water ice.  We had dinner in Chinatown.  We played mini golf and rode the carousel in Franklin Square.



 


Call me a nerd, but one of my favorite things about our new hometown is that when you're walking around downtown, you come across this kind of thing:

I just love this stuff.


It was a whirlwind trip, to be sure, and we left with a (really wonderful) place to live and a love for the city. 

When we got back home, we quickly loaded up all of our belongings and began to mosey our way across the nation towards our new home, visiting family and bidding farewell (and recording silly songs) along the way. 

It's been fun, but sad.  Like I said, nothing has really sunk in yet, but sometimes it'll just hit me and I'll start to cry.  It's hard to move away from the only home The Kid has ever known.  I'm sad for him, more than anything.  I'll miss my family too, of course, but at least I can keep up with everyone via Facebook and phone calls--he's not really able to do all that at his age.  I think we'll probably try to get everyone to use Skype and see how that works out.

Now, The Kid has stopped crying and is snoring away--and so is The Hubby.  I think I'll try and get in a nap as well before I miss my window of opportunity.  I have a lot more to share, but that's a blog for another day. 

Thanks for hanging in there with me and my sporadic blogging.  :)
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