Over the past week + there have been sooo many things that have made me think, “Now that would make a great story for my blog!” but at the moment I can’t remember a single one of them.
Pathetic, no? Busyness, a steady stream of out-of-town company this month, and panic over not yet being quite sure how we are going to accomplish our home schooling this year have taken over my brain, leaving no room for writing entertaining or interesting anecdotes.
But it’s been over a week since I’ve posted anything, and in the four years I’ve been blogging I don’t think I’ve ever not posted for this long. So I must post something. SOMETHING! Will it be interesting? Entertaining? Worth anybody’s time? I just. don’t. know.
So we got a new bed. Did I post a picture of it here or just on Facebook? Just FB, I think. Well, here you go:
I am mildly upset about this because we have more company coming in a couple of days and, knowing that the furniture was offloaded to the local delivery facility about an hour from us last week, McH took Old Blue down to the basement this past weekend when we had other company with strong muscles here to help.
We figured since our new stuff was sitting an hour away, we would have it here by midweek.
Ha! We figured wrong.
Today being midweek and all, I called the local delivery folks to find out when it would be here and you know what they said? Next Wednesday! Because they only deliver to our area on Wednesdays!
Of course, today is Wednesday, so that begs the question, “Why isn’t it being delivered today?” I guess the simple answer is that they just hadn’t gotten it on the truck yet.
So we have company coming on Saturday or Sunday and very, very limited seating in our family room. I guess this week will NOT be the week I take my grandmother’s two chairs to the reupholstery place.
Moving along . . . in addition to the painting I did and shared two blog posts ago (I think), I have also painted two walls in my family room, one wall in my dining room, and a wall in my bedroom.
Hmm . . . switching gears . . . I won’t even get started about the whole issue of utilities at our old house not being taken out of our name like they were supposed to, and the people who have been lying to us to cover their butts and not have to figure out how to fix the accounting/billing issues this would cause if they did have to retroactively switch names on the accounts as we try to sort out why we are being billed for water and electric usage during the month of June WHEN WE NO LONGER OWNED THE HOUSE and who is going to pay for it.
(I think I just crowned myself Empress of the Run On Sentence.)
Not us, let me tell you. I mean, we’re paying up front, but we’re getting reimbursed.
And can you believe our real estate agent (who should have taken care of all this but didn’t and then led us to believe it was the relo company’s fault) asked if we would be willing to split the water bill with the new owners (the relo company has since sold the house to actual people)? Yeah, that would be a big fat no. It’s not our fault and it’s not their fault, so why should either of us have to pay it? I mean, it’s a small bill since nobody was living there, but still. It’s a tank of gas or a few pairs of shoes for my kids, know what I mean?
I have come to the conclusion that lying for convenience is just a way of life back in that little area, and I can’t wait until our time there is a very, very dim memory. Gack!
But anyway, I said I wouldn’t get started and I did so . . . let’s move on to my three-year-old and the fact that he is finally stringing words together! And his vocabulary is just soaring!
(Oh gosh, my Cootervillian upbringing just slipped out a bit there.)
For instance, no sooner do we walk in the door from anywhere, and the first words out of his mouth are, “Shoes off, mamma. Shoes off! Hep me, mamma! Shoes off!”
Once his shoes are off, the whole conversation is repeated but focused on his pants. I am not even making that up. Once his pants are off he sometimes asks for help taking his shirt off, but sometimes not. I think he gauges my mood, and he knows I generally draw the line after the pants have come off. I wish I were joking when I tell you that he even has underwear tan lines from playing outside in his tightie whities, but I’m not.
Honestly, I never aspired to be a white trash mamma, but along with his increased verbal ability? came The Whining. When you get to be almost 40 and you are raising your fifth child, your backbone tends to get a little spongy when it comes to The Whining. Oh! My! Word! The Whining!
Thank goodness half of his underwear are boxers, so it looks like he has shorts on most of the time.
Oooo! Ooo!Ooo!Ooo! And? He is starting to sound out simple words! I know! The kid is so behind in talking, but he’s starting to read. What’s up with that? I mean, don’t get me wrong. He won’t be reading entire books any time soon, but I do think it’s time to pull out the basic phonics readers and start actually working with him.
Taking this train to a completely different track, I went outlet shopping at my favorite Old Lady Store over the holiday weekend. I got an outfit that I really love, and maybe someday I’ll take a picture of it, but the styling of the skirt is slightly June Cleaver-ish. Despite the fact that I love it, I just don’t feel fully accessorized without pearls and a mop.
Which reminds me . . . I had some kind of Bewitched marathon on the t.v. when I was painting my family room. I remember enjoying the reruns of that show as a kid. But now? Oh my. I got to see the very first episode of that show ever aired, and what can I say? Instead of sitting on that couch promising Darrin she’d be the best wife ever and stop using magic if only he’d keep her (after he gave a speech about how difficult it is to be the wife of an advertising executive – seriously?) Samantha should have turned him into a wart on a toad’s hind end and been done with it. Good grief.
And when he told her to hurry up with the dishes (without magic!) because he’d be waiting for her upstairs – wink, wink, nudge, nudge – she should have just wriggled her nose and shriveled up his . . . well, you know. WHY DIDN’T HE HELP HER WITH THE DISHES IF HE WANTED HER UPSTAIRS???? is what I’m saying.
In the last bit of randomness, the doorknobs in our house are falling off. Seriously. Most of the knobs on the interior doors (bedrooms, bathrooms, etc.) have, since we moved here, become rather lose. McH has had to reattach some. And the back door out to our wonderful screened-in patio? He is currently reattaching that one for the second time. It makes no sense. I mean, yes, we have five kids, and, yes, sometimes they hang on doors. But they don’t do it that much, and we’ve never had knobs falling off before.
My theory is this: from the first time we saw this house I said the only thing I really didn’t like about it is the interior door doorknobs. They are round and white with countrified looking flowers on them, and that just isn’t my style. Well, the wife of the guy who sold us this house apparently died a couple of years ago. This was her house, and I insulted her doorknobs.
I think she is haunting my doorknobs out of spite.
Actually, I apparently need to stop joking around about the haunted doorknobs (you all did get that that was a joke, right?) because Midge had a friend spend the night last week and proceeded to tell the poor girl that our house is haunted by the dead woman who used to live here. I swear, you would think she had practiced around a camp fire with flashlight uplighting. I won’t be surprised when that girl’s mom decides we are not the right kind of people.
Kids playing in the yard in their underwear, ghosts and haunted doorknobs, almost no furniture in the family room. What kind of freaks are we anyway?
At least they don’t know about the doll with the knife (who, quite honestly, I have not seen since we moved) (which is frightening – you know what they say, “Keep your friends close, keep your enemies closer).
And George, if you’re out there, Tewt the Newt will hopefully read some blogs soon.