Retributive Kharma

Why is it that on the night we stay up late having An Important Discussion About Our Future, our four year old wanders in at 4:45 a.m. and proceeds to disrupt sleep for us until Tim's alarm goes off? Some sort of bizarre synergy -- you know, like "I'll push, you pull; you free-fall into space and I'll land on you like a trampoline" -- that sort of thing.

Or possibly the feral instincts of small children who know when you are most vulnerable and choose that time to set the seal on your complete inability to form coherent thought for the day. You could argue that their self-preservation instincts are woefully underdeveloped, since this sort of disruption in my already deprived sleep cycle greatly increases the chances that I will sell them later on ebay.

Wow, am I knackered today.

We met with our realtor last night and are both encouraged and vastly nervous. We think we can get what we need to out of this house, we also think we can make a good (for us) offer on the dream house without seeming insulting. We also learned that houses in our price range are selling well, despite all the media propaganda explaining how the housing bubble has burst and the market is dead.

Now that we are really on the brink of a serious decision, we are trying hard to go into everything with eyes wide open. Can we deal with the shortcomings that house has? The lot's rather small, the driveway is sloped, the tile is not a fave, there are way too many trees in the backyard, the basement is large, but not laid out in the most functional configuration for our family. Can we cope with all this? With the things that are basically not changeable?

Not sure. We're going to try to decide something this weekend, so we can at least move forward.

On the up-side, I did find a houseplan that is almost identical in size and style, though much nicer in elevation, so if we could find a sweet lot, we could build more or less the same house. Something else to think about.

Cheap Psychotherapy

So in light of my ulcer-creating anxiety about our might-be-happening move, I have been plumbing the depths of my psyche trying to figure out why I have such trouble with change and why I would cling, barnacle-like, to a house that we have clearly outgrown and which gives me fits on a daily basis. All I can come up with is this:

We moved a lot when I was a kid.

I'm not going to throw my hat in the ring with Army brats and migrant workers -- we didn't move that much -- but we did move around a bit and often at crucial times in my life when not moving would have been preferable. We moved twice before I was 6, both times within the same city. Then we moved to a different city in the same state when I was 7. Then at age 13 we changed school districts, though not houses. The real whopper was between my junior and senior years of high school when we moved halfway across the country. Then my parents moved again (old state, new city) between my junior and senior year of college, so my last summer home was one in which I had absolutely no social life whatsoever because I flat out didn't know a single soul and couldn't see a lot of point in getting to know anyone since I was only going to be there 2 1/2 months. In retrospect, I probably should have stayed in Minneapolis, where I was in school, but since I was coming off a semester abroad and had no money, going home seemed like the best (cheapest) option. Also, my parents insisted. I had a couple of forced-moves after college, both times because my duplex was sold. And then I got laid off in the Great Teacher Layoff of 1994 and ended up moving states yet again to find work.

I don't really like moving.

I think this is at the root of my problem. That, and the fact that I have worked for 10 years on this house and feel like I have finally achieved a sense of my own style (however obscured by clutter that style may be) and I am reluctant in the extreme to a)start over on a new house and b) live in a house redolent of someone else's taste.

And yes, I am a picky little twink, as I'm sure my husband would tell you if I ever let him touch my blog. Which I won't. Ever.

I worry, too, about my garden. No one moving in to this house is going to know what I know about it, or care like I do about all my goofy plants. I mention this to Tim and he gives one of those snorts -- the snorts that mean "too damn right, no one's gonna care!" -- and then he says "and don't think you're having a garden like this in any new house. It's too big and flowers cost money." Which of course makes me want to smack him. What if the shoe were on the other foot? It might look something like this:

"And don't think there'll be any football in the new house. Football is right off the menu."
"What? You don't mean that."
"I most certainly do. Look what a mess it's made of things. Too much of it and no time to get it all watched. No more. I'm not having it."
"But that's not fair! You can't just say 'No football.' You're not God, you know. It makes me happy. How can you not want me to be happy?"
"Sometimes we have to make sacrifices for the family. Football's a luxury."
"Not college football, that's practically free."
"No way. I know how this goes. One little college game here, then it's a little NFL behind my back, then we're knee deep in Fox Sports and ESPN. Forget it."
"I just need to see the uniforms, the bright colors, the mascots. Just a few mascots and some halftime analysis"
"I don't see it happening. I mean, you've got enough to do without that complicating things. Let it go."
"You bastard! You selfish bastard!"

Or something like that. I'm just guessing.

Wow, did I get off the point. But here's the real thing. If I don't start sleeping soon, I'm going to have to call the whole thing off just so I can stop being so crazy.

Day Two...

of my extended panic attack.

I think if we would just make an actual decision here, I would feel better. Right now I am overwhelmed with the what ifs. Also I haven't eaten today which is making me shaky and I am sleeping poorly, which is making me the Wicked Witch of the West.

What if we buy this huge house (and that's huge by my standards, not by anyone else's. It's only the size of one floor of my parents' house) and I am still the disorganized moron I am here? Who am I kidding...I will definitely be disorganized, only I will no longer have the excuse of Not Enough Space.

A thwacking big tranquilizer would not come amiss right now, just to stop my brain.

Feeling Ill

Why am I like this? Any change -- even any prospect of change -- makes me nauseous. Not only that, but so keyed up I can't seem to sit still (and yet manage to be utterly unproductive at the same time. I know, it's a gift). House anxiety is overwhelming me. If we move, I'll be unhappy for Reasons, Set A. If we don't move, I'll be unhappy for Reasons, Set B. Worst of all, I am caught in a nether-hell of indecision.

My husband, he of the not-terribly-helpful school of Get Over It thinks I am certifiable. How could I not be happy with the new house? WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME? He wonders in completely unsubtle tones. He is very fond of a little philosophy he calls "Losing by Less," the idea being that you're going to lose one way or the other, so try to minimize your loss by taking the less (albeit slightly) obnoxious path. So looking at this through his eyes, I should jump on the chance to move because it trumps the losing by less game (he would argue that it's not even losing by less -- it's actually winning).

But it doesn't feel like winning. It feels scary and unfamiliar and uncomfortable and a lot like losing.

How I would love to be like Tim's buddy, Dan. Dan, as far as I can tell, never gets fussed about anything. Anything. I would love to be on that sort of even keel. Okay, so maybe you never feel spectacularly elated, but neither does your stomach devour itself with worry. Then again, I would still be me and I am often able to get worked into a positive frenzy over things that are complete non-events for other people. Again, it's a gift. And it should be noted that I live with Tim, who has a real talent for making me feel backed into a corner (like saying -- "If we buy this house, we won't ever have to move again. We could live here until we die." What? No exit clause? That makes me want to hyperventhilate.)

So here I am, in what probably qualifies as the stupidest quandry in the free world. I feel like I'm between the rock and the hard place. Seen with a little perspective, I'm really between the comfy chair and the sofa. Just how much do I really want to stretch out?

Sometimes it is really hard to be me.

Gaps in My Childhood

Was driving home from the mall this morning when Maggie started melting down due to complete and utter starvation. Stupid Mommy once again left the house without a scrap of food and all three of us were perishing. To soothe screaming baby, I started singing children's songs -- you know, the songs you learned as a kid. I sang the ABC song and Twinkle Twinkle Little Star (did anyone else notice that these are the same tune?) then moved on to Row, Row, Row Your Boat and Frere Jacques (which I can sing in English, French and German -- ha!) and then I stalled out. Surely there are more kid songs than this, surely we sang lots of other stuff in the pre-Raffi days, didn't we? But the question, for me, remains: what did we sing?

Beats me. I know my mom made us listen to a lot of Barry Manilow, but I'm certainly not inflicting Copa Cabana on my kids, or worse yet, Mandy. I get nauseous just thinking about it.

When my kids were tiny babies I mostly sang Christmas carols to them, because that's all my sleep-starved brain could remember. I might not have known my own social security number, but I could sing Good Christian Men, Rejoice with only four functioning brain cells.

Sure wish I remembered my childhood a little better.

And it all came crashing down

Not having a good day.

Called the school and discovered Abby Kate had been placed with the teacher we least wanted her to have. Short of moving, we don't have much recourse here unless the teacher does something overtly awful. I am uptight, worried that this woman will grind the love of learning out of my daughter before she finishes first grade.

Went to dentist and came home to message explaining that my carpooling arrangement for Grant's preschool had blown up. Mother #1 had to go back to work full time, essentially because her husband is a great twonk. Twonky husband is going to take their son to school but is evidently afraid of all the Women and cannot therefore do carpool. Mother # 2 still wants to carpool, but we conversed and it transpires that she wants me to do the more complicated pick up run. When I suggested that we could split it and each do it for half the year, she said she'd rather not do that as it would mean altering her baby's schedule midway through the year. I told her I'd have to think about it, but I already know what I think. I'm trying to be fair and she's not having it. Objective opinion from other, non-involved girlfriend confirms that I am being reasonable and she is not.

Daughter found caterpillar in garden and was elated. Son accidentally killed said caterpillar and daughter has been utterly devastated for about an hour now. Much wailing and gnashing of teeth.

Baby is going on 8th straight day of diarrhea.

I am going to take some motrin and try for some Zen.

To House or Not To House?

And that really is the question. We went and looked at the House of Houses again and it was a good look-through. This time, instead of being dazzled by the sheer size of it, we were able to see past that to some of the (admittedly small) warts. Liiiiikkke....
there's no bathroom in the finished basement (although there's a bar -- like we care about that. Bathrooms are a lot more critical than bars when you have children under 6). There's not a ton of storage in the basement, though what there is is probably adequate. You could certainly make the argument that if we have too much for that storage area, we probably have too much stuff.

The yard is rather boring, with too many trees and really over-trimmed shrubs. It's fenced with chainlink (yuck). I think I can do something with it (like rip out nearly all the shrubs), but it will never be the wild, fascinating tangle we have now. And there's really no place I can have a flowerbed like I do now. There is wallpaper in the master and kids' bathrooms, neither of which I am all that wild about. I am, however, experienced in wallpaper stripping, so I could change it if I had to. I am not so keen on ceramic tile, which is all through the entryway and kitchen. The carpet throughout the house probably has about 5-7 more years in it before it needs to be replaced. The lot is small. It's actually the same size as our current lot, only with a house nearly double the footprint on it.

The driveway and front yard are sloped -- very sloped. That bothers me, mainly because I know how much our kids play on our driveway now and enjoy doing that. There'd be no more biking, scootering, etc. on that drive. They'd roll right out into the street. This is kind of problematic, because they're going to lose interest in that yard pretty quickly and then there's nowhere else for them to go. Then there's the money. They're asking a fair price, and they're not messing around: they clearly want to sell. But even if we sank all our savings and had a brilliant offer for our current home, we are still about 50,000 short what we'd need to put down so our payments won't overwhelm us.

So here we are. Frustrated, jittery, indecisive. Part of me says, chuck it...let's just find a good lot and build our dream house. Another part of me says that one more winter with all these kids in 725 sq feet is going to send me to the loony bin. What to do, what to do...the readiness is all.