I haven’t posted on my blog since Tuesday.
I haven’t read anyone else’s blog since Monday (or Tuesday).
I have, however, been in front of my computer more than my average 36 hours a day, compulsively window shopping for real estate.
Last time it looked like we might have to move I dealt with the uncertainty and stress by shopping compulsively (but only at really good sales). This time? Nobody is having any really good sales right now, and there is nowhere close by to shop anyway.
So instead I’ve looked at every house (within our parameters) in the state to which we highly suspect we will be moving. From now on I think I’ll just refer to that state as Canada South.
I had a great roommate in college who was/is Canadian and, though she had a good sense of humor about it, she didn’t actually appreciate it when people referred to Canada as US North. So, in honor of her, I’ll call it Canada South.
Anyhoo, so I’ve looked at every house within our price range (operating under the assumption that houses listed out of our price range can actually be bought within our price range, given the state of the housing market in Canada South), and I’ve emailed people I know who have lived/do live there (thanks people I know!) to ask about neighborhoods and things to do and shopping. You know, the important stuff. It all makes me feel like I have some sort of control over the situation, which of course I don’t; but knowledge is power and a good boy scout is always prepared and all that stuff, so it really isn’t time wasted and I haven’t spent any money doing it.
Much better than compulsive shopping, no?
In addition, I’m not as stressed about moving this time. I mean, I don’t particularly want to go north to Canada South. I really want to go back home. But mostly? I just really don’t want to
be here. Our house is great, our property is great, the people (the very few people) in our very rural area are nice, but the isolation sucks. And our church congregation here? Individually I enjoy the people, but as a congregation . . . let’s just say certain aspects are frustrating. Some
day I’ll blog more about that. After we’ve moved.
In other news, I’ve decided to officially announce that I don’t like February. Sure, sure, it has Valentine’s Day and all that, but? It also has cold and snow and more cold. And by the time February rolls around I’ve already had enough cold and snow and more cold. Really. Like anybody would dress a baby in nothing but a diaper and a sash in February, let alone arm it with a bow and arrow. Didn’t the gods have children’s services? Venus would so lose her parental rights today.
I think the only month I might like less than February is March. But only sometimes. It all depends. Sometimes March is warming up and greening up and all that good stuff, and then I like it. But sometimes it’s just extra February. So, you know. I suspect in Canada South it will just be extra February most of the time.
Oh, and the big news of the week is potty training! I’d been trying it with Quinn on a very inconsistent basis for a week or two, and in the past two days it seems to have finally taken. He comes up to me and tells me when he needs to go, and he hasn’t had an accident in two days. He even took a nap in is big boy underwear today and woke up dry. So there is something to cheer about that has nothing to do with moving. For posterity’s sake, his incentives have been quite different from those of his siblings (who always enjoyed a handful of mini marshmallows for their successes). Quinn has been motivated by bubbles for the liquid deposits and candy canes for the other. I gave him his first candy cane today (no accidents in his underwear for two days, but there has been some waiting for bed time and a diaper before he’d take care of more substantial business).
So I’m going to start taking the money I would have been spending on diapers and instead spend it on pedicures. Or new furniture if we get a new house.
Not that I’m one of those people who thinks you have to have new furniture every time you get a new house, but my couch is old. As in almost as old as I am old. My parents handed it down to me when I got my own place after college. It has been recovered more times than I can remember. Now it is sporting an ill fitting “sure fit” slip cover to hide the mess that it is. It is time for it to go to the furniture graveyard, or get passed down to someone else in my family who might want it, whichever.
Oh, and in case we aren’t “friends” on FaceBook, I should mention this here: I think we’re going to quit speech therapy sooner rather than later. When I told the speech therapist I needed some help understanding the point of her blowing bubbles, reading books and playing with happy meal toys with my son, all things we do at home (except maybe the toys aren’t all from happy meals) (and (I’m not even making this up) I’m a more competent bubble blower), she told me she probably approaches it differently than I do and he’s likely not getting the one-on-one attention at home that he gets with her.
BUZZZZZ! Wrong answer, but thanks for playing the game we like to call How Do You Justify Your Seemingly Pointless Job?
The truth of the matter is, right after early intervention services came out and did their evaluation, but before he ever got in to see the speech therapist for the first time, Quinn had a huge language explosion. He is still undeniably behind, but he is making progress that I know has nothing to do with his two session of board books and bubbles with the speech therapist who giggles to the point of snorting at his cuteness. Seriously, she is a very nice lady. I just don’t see the point.
And I think I’d better end here, because apparently my children can’t let me just write for a little bit without interrupting a thousand times to tell me they want to play Wii/need something to eat even though they just did/lost a tooth/are bored with their lives/need me to tie the sashes on their prairie dresses because they are playing Oklahoma!
No, I did not even make any of that up, either.
And Quinn is now hollering his version of “Table Tilt! Table Tilt!” McH and I are not the only ones wearing out the Wii Fit.
And George, if you’re out there . . .