La, la, la…. Just driving my car…
The movers did finally arrive on Wednesday to pack. Thursday was moving day. Thursday night was cleaning night for Amy… except we hit a little snag.
Apparently the moving company sent their B team. Which was unfortunate because we close today, so I didn’t have the option of making them come back to finish.
Once I was done cursing and came down from my panic attack, I begged my parents to bring over some boxes before their Rascal Flatts concert. I probably made them late, but in true Stearman fashion, they didn’t complain at me. Then I begged my in-laws to come over with their truck so we could store this stuff at their house. They didn’t complain at me either.
Our realtor sent me a text regarding our relocation experience: “I’ve never seen anything like this. I believe you’re being tested. Keep the faith.” He’s an old family friend and a good man. So I kept the faith and said that what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger. But then I paid for that because Kelly Clarkson was in my head the rest of the night. Hmpf.
We got everything moved, and I mopped my way out of the house for the last time.
And really wasn’t too upset to close the door behind me. It occurred to me later that maybe the move was supposed to be maddening instead of easy, so that I would feel mad rather than sad.
Things happen in a certain way for certain reasons, and this cluster eff of a move ensured me some closure. I’m done.
Dear “O” Family,
Welcome home! We sincerely hope that you are happy in your new house, and will enjoy many years there.
D, Amy, Junior and Bill
It is a very nice house, and one we feel lucky to have gotten our paws on but it. is. full. of. crap.
Full. Of crap.
Probably the correct word is antiques because it’s actually kind of nice crap, but literally crammed so full of it that based on the listing photos, we didn’t even want to look at it.
However, once we got in there we saw a great layout. High ceilings. Tons of light. More space than we’ll ever need. But hey, we’re Americans. (And I also sort of promised my parents that I won’t put them in a home now. Instead I’ll just stick them in the basement and throw biscuits down there sometimes.)
You can tell just from the outside that this house is entirely different than the one we are leaving. At first this was a point of consternation for me, but the more I think about the feel of the newbie, the more excited I become. It’s pretty vanilla inside, so we’ve got a nice blank slate to begin with. And while we’ll never make this one as rustic as the last – I kind of don’t want to, because it doesn’t fit her personality.
That doesn’t mean we can’t still bring our own feel and love of all things old. And you know what that means right? It means the birth of a new Pinterest board.
The appliances are white, and it’s just so dang bright in there that it seems wrong to do anything but a nice light kitchen, and I kind of dig the idea of butcher block counter tops. You don’t even recognize me right now, do you?
But with a little bit of primitive country charm, of course.
And I’d love to fill it with all kinds of new furniture and pieces. (D – I can feel you cringing from here.)
It makes my heart go pitter-pat.
Oh, and this guy.
HAH! Love him.
Remember that time that Kansas was under literal feet of snow when we were supposed to be moving out and I almost starved to death?
The saga continues.
So there I was, home alone, minding my own business because like a genius I’d already cancelled the satellite and didn’t have anything to do BUT mind my business when I heard the sound of footsteps on the front porch. I froze, half terrified it was a zombie, half hopeful it was Meals on Wheels.
I froze, because I knew I’d been spotted. See?
And reality was so much worse than zombies. It was a dude in a ski mask. Legit. Like that scene in Fargo.
But my momma raised a lady with manners, so like an idiot I answered the door. He was actually very nice and apologetic about his appearance.
Masked stranger/likely murderer: “I know I must look like a monster, but wanted to offer to plow your driveway.”
Me: “NO!” ~slams door, runs away and hides under covers~
Where was my trusty sidekick/protector? The people want to know.
Saturday was my poor husband’s birthday. Before admitting that I had neither a gift or a card for him, I feel it necessary to remind you that I’d been snowed in for DAYS, almost starved, had a near-murdered experience, and also suffered from boredom due to lack of HGTV.
Somehow none of those things stopped my mom (that shower-upper) from making him his favorite treat – a sour cream raisin pie.
Some of my favorite FB comments after sharing this picture: “Did your mom make him the sun?!”, ”Do sour cream raisin pies normally glow in the dark?”, “He must be older than he looks because that pie is on FIAH!”.
To thank them for celebrating his birthday so sweetly, we kicked them out of their bedroom and moved into it. Then D left for Texas for two weeks. ~le weep~
Junior is bunking with me for the duration and nap time in the transition has proved… tricky.
Don’t mind if I do…
The look of sweet victory.
D? Lack of birthday festivities on my part in no way reflect my feelings towards you. I still think you’re the bees knees and I’ve got some big impressive birthday plans in the cooker for when you get back – hopefully sans snow. Miss you and love you!
Wifey of the Year
You know how I said the movers were coming last week? And you guys were all really sweet with the well wishing? Well. The Blizzard of Oz hit and they postponed for Tuesday. When round two of snowmageddon is scheduled to hit. However, it’s only supposed to be another foot on top of the foot currently on the ground, so I’m not really worried.
Except that my pants are on fire because I’m completely worried! We close on Friday, y’alls! They want two days to pack, and one day to move. D is in Texas for two weeks, and I’m at a complete loss because since this is a company relocation, I have zero control over the rest. We’ve cleaned everything but the floors, so I need to get back up there one more time to make sure the place is shining for the new owners.
Which, by the way, I heard from and they are completely delightful! Hiiiiii, Mrs. “O”!
Jr. spent the night Wednesday night with my in-laws, because they usually get him at least one day a week. D went to work. Then it started to snow and my office closed. I was home all alone, and my boys were snowed in where they were. I’d already cancelled the satellite and we hadn’t gone grocery shopping because we didn’t want to move food. It got dire, friends. I was down to a little wine and half a box of girl scout cookies. I was about to gnaw my way through the snow to the nearest Chipotle.
But it was kind of nice to have a little time to say goodbye to the house.
I didn’t starve, and my boys eventually made their ways home. After working for 48 hours straight,
D came home and shoveled the driveway, made Junior a snowman, AND an igloo. Daddy of the year!
Bill also really enjoyed the snow day.
We did make our way over to my parents, but this post is already kind of long so I’ll tell the tales of their insufferable hospitality on another day.
Until then, wish us (and the movers, and the new home owners) luck!
It’s almost here. The movers are scheduled to arrive early Friday morning, smack in the middle of Snowmageddon 2013. Preparing for the move has been a non-event, since these goodly folks actually pack us too. (Which, by the way, I can’t even conjure up a job I’d hate more. I’d rather scoop elephant poop. I would rather assist Mike Rowe. I’d rather be a stage hand for Justin Bieber. – I take that one back.) I was feeling pretty smug about not moving myself until a conversation with my cousin. She’s married to a pilot in the Air Force, and they move a lot.
“Just wait till you have to watch three dudes packing up your UNDERWEAR!”
Huh. I had not considered that. Feeling less smug and more conscientious about the, ahem, granny in me.
Junior will hang with his grandparents for a big part of the actual move. He freaks when I strip his bed to wash it, so I sort of don’t think he’ll do great watching his things get packed. He took a bath in the big tub last night; likely his last as he leaves for the farm tonight.
My mom: “:( He looks like he knows.” 5 seconds after I took this picture, he climbed out of the tub and ran around the house naked screaming like a banshee, “Fast! I fast!”.
Speaking of my mom. She has just been insufferable lately. When I informed them that we’ve opted out of an extended-stay option to instead crash with them, she was all “You are welcome to stay as long as you need! You guys will take the master. No arguments.” No arguments? Then I don’t even get the chance to politely decline and garner a sympathetic “We insist.”
I told her that in lieu of rent, I plan to pay them in cilantro lime rice and pizza minus onions. (Because that’s kind of all I know how to cook.) She replied “Can’t wait to eat your emotionless pizza!” Then claimed she meant to type “onionless”. Still, I’d like to know what Freud thinks about that one.
I suggested she work on her attitude before embarking on the honor of giving us their bedroom for the second time in a year.
Parents, man. Can’t live with em, can’t stick em in a home yet.
So are you set to get any snow/ice/sleet in your neck of the woods? Last I saw was 10 – 14 inches here. My disaster preparedness plan involves a jumbo sized bottle of wine and some jerky. You do what you gotta do.
It’s my daddy’s birthday today, and I found just the right card.
“Lessons from dad: With you on my side, I learned that no dream was too big, no problem too tough, no anything too anything because you’ve given me the confidence to try everything.”
And it’s true. It’s actually become a bit of a joke between my brother and I because it’s a rare day that we don’t get a call or text from him just to say that he loves us, he’s proud of us, and he believes in us. That must be the ticket to good parenting because frankly, Tanner and I both kick butt at life.
Then he put this picture on my Facebook:
That is one of my mother’s famous sugar cookies. He told me to eat my heart out. It made me feel not quite so charitable towards him and now I’m considering not giving him his birthday gift that is actually not a gift certificate for once.
He might not even care about that, though, because he’s probably feeling like his real gift is the fact that our layover at their house shouldn’t be too long. Becauuuusseeee….
We bought a house!
The inspection is on Monday, and if everything goes well we close on March 28.
And you guys? I’m more excited about it than I thought I’d be! So please pray for a clean inspection.
Then leave my dad a nice birthday note because he actually does read all my nonsense.
So at least there’s that….
I’m a bit of a foodie. Which is really just a cutsie way of saying that I’m hungry and eat a lot. In fact, the board I have with the most pins is my delicious noms board, and it’s the only one serious enough to warrant a period in the title.
I’m mostly in charge of the menu planning because while D is actually a really good cook, he kind of doesn’t care if he eats or not. Think of it like this: I am a cow that grazes all day, and he is a snake that eats one lump of oatmeal and is set.
Anyway, I was hungry and made a pizza inspired by this pizza.
Top whatever dough tickles your fancy with mozzarella, shredded chicken (I grabbed one of those little rotisserie ones and it was good!), spinach, artichokes, sun-dried tomatoes, feta, and green onion.
Then don’t forget to forget to take a picture of the finished product.
The point of this exercise was mostly to milk you for more pizza recipes because I’m a lazy foodie and pizza is easy. Got a favorite? Please link below!