it's all good....

for the first time in justin's school career, there were no tears on the first day. The only waterworks we saw was the pouring rain that threatened to ruin any chance of good bus stop pictures. No more jitters. Like, WHATEVER mom. It's not a big deal. Put the camera away already. There was much eyerolling at the bus stop when I whipped out my camera. Because GAWD....you're so embarrassing mom! I guess that means you won't kiss me good bye then? He's a grown up. No need for the kiss and hugs and definitely no need for the ol' good luck on your first day sweetie!!

Geez mom....

a year of nonsense...

so i just realized i've been at this blog thing for a year now. Happy Blog-iversary to me :) Most of what I have written over the last year is boring, ho-hum, just life in general stuff. I'm still glad I've kept it up regardless of how many times I've written something truly yawn inducing. I never keep up with the real-life journaling thing, for some reason this is easier to me. I can still go back and look at, and laugh at some of the stuff my family has done over the last year. Things I may have forgotten about already. In the end it's good to get a comment now and then about something I write that says "hey...yeah...me too!" Or have Matt come home from work and tell me he laughed at whatever I wrote that day. So I'll keep on sharing the ho-hum. At least for now!

trading spaces challenged.....

there are people in this world who should be blocked from having TLC or DIY networks on their TVs. The woman who is the former owner of this house, Nimrod*, was a lover of these channels. I don't know that for a fact, but as we delve deeper into living in this house day-to-day, it is the only rational explanation for the things we find. I think she spent her days watching episodes of Trading Spaces on the DVR and thinking to herself, "hey, I can do THAT! I'm going to try it right now!" I wish I could've shouted at her then. "NOOOO! STOP!" The designers on Trading Spaces are DESIGNERS. Not stay at home moms who are bored, but have a spare paint roller in the basement and money to burn on the Home Depot credit card. She was a huge fan of 'decorative' painting styles. She talked at our closing last year about being so sad to leave all of her hard work in tastefully painted rooms behind. I wish I could've gift wrapped her warped sense of painting style and sent it Priority Mail to her new home. Because for a year I have been looking at the walls and cursing them. Knowing what a huge pain in the ass it was going to be to try to fix what Nimrod had done. Every wall needing new paint has to be primed. Why? Because she favors HIGH GLOSS ENAMEL. Favors it, but doesn't think to prime between the layers and layers of different colors of high gloss on the walls. End result? Peeling chunks of paints in fabulous shades of neon pink, urine yellow, and army green. And that's just Hannah's room. Her room is the worst so we're starting there. Why anyone puts high gloss on their walls is beyond me. Maybe she wanted to be able to see her reflection when she walked in the room and couldn't afford a mirror. I'm not sure.
Just add it to the list of reasons why I can't look them in the face anymore when they come and visit their friends in the old 'hood. I wave and quickly walk in the house to avoid eye contact. I fear should I ever be forced to speak to either of the former owners, I'll start spewing venom. In reality I just want to tell her that she is neither Hildi, Doug, Or Laurie, and that Frank would cry if he could see what she's done to the walls of this house. Because the next walls I will tackle involve CRACKLE FINISH. Seriously. It's on the walls. Isn't crackle finish for furniture only? Or is that just what I've heard? I think I want to invite Frank over just so I can see him roll his eyes. And then he can personally tell her that she should child lock TLC on her cable box.

*Not her real name. I wanted to protect her true identity so that the 3 people who read this blog don't know the asshat's real name.

so this is normal...

you just have to laugh. When someone calls you to chat and starts talking about how psycho her kids have been lately. So you pepper her stories with some of your own psycho kid babble. And then you both share an Oprah style lightbulb moment. Wait...so it's normal? The stuff my psycho kids are doing is NORMAL? Hmmm.... I'll save that thought for later when I'm ready to list Hannah on e-bay.

at least she's honest...

hannah just came trooping into the house with another girl from her collection of 5 year old friends. Not the same one from the other day. A different one whom I've discussed before (see: "hate to say I told ya so") (Oh how I wish I knew how to link to previous posts). This is the one from her collection who makes me twitch the most when I see her heading in the direction of my home. She's a little too Eddie Haskell for my taste. Did I just age myself or what?
Anyway, as they were coming through the door I told Hannah that whichever portion of the house that they should choose to destroy today, she should keep somewhere in the forefront of her brain that it would have to be cleaned up when they were done. She looked at her little friend and asked if she would help her clean it up and her friend looked right at her and said no. And then walked upstairs.
All I can say to Hannah is, "don't say she didn't warn you"

christmas in august...

i know you're all on the edge of your seats wondering if hannah cleaned up her messes yesterday. She did. As soon as her friend left, I pointed her in the direction of the basement. There was MUCH foot stomping, teeth gnashing, and groaning about how completely unfair her life was. I told her she was right, it was unfair, but such is life. I know. My compassion overwhelms. I stood at the top of the stairs and listened for what I knew was coming next. The flopping of her (clearly) abused self on the floor and commencing of waterworks. It took a few minutes for it to take full bloom, but when it did, I stood at the top of the stairs and informed her that she wasn't coming up until the basement looked like it did when she went down. If that meant she needed to continue crying for several hours and then get it done, so be it. I can wait it out. I got the standard comeback, " I just can't DOOOO it. It's too much for me all by myself!" I stifled a smile (I know, again, I lack compassion) and told her that if it felt like too much she should think about that next time she has a friend over and they decide to get every single toy out. I also told her that I wasn't budging on the original plan of not letting her leave until it was finished. Then because it's the kind of mom I am, I reminded her that she also had a bedroom to clean up and if she wanted to be able to leave the house again this week, she had better get on it.
There was more grumbling. But 1/2 hr later she staggered up the stairs (she's all about the drama) and said I could look. I did my inspection and gave her a few more things to do before it was done. She finished those things and then to my surprise came up the stairs smiling and PROUD of herself for getting it done. Then she went off to tackle her bedroom. She also managed to get it presentable again. Without turning on the tears for full-effect again. I was astounded. It worked. With a little screaming (from me and her) and a little perseverance, I got her to clean up after herself.
It's a Christmas miracle. God bless us, every one.

help me with this one...

why are 5 year old girls so much more dangerous than 5 year old boys? Or is it just MY particular 5 year old girl? I don't think so. Now knowing my fair share of 5 year old girls, I find them all to be similar in temperament. Meaning bratty, selfish, know-it-all, etc. Or is it just mine? Really, be honest. I spent the better part of the morning cleaning up after my little darling whirlwind. She spent the night with a friend so she was gone this morning. Meaning I can clean up her mess without her destroying it in my wake. It lasted a total of 10 minutes after she entered our residence. 10 solid minutes. I walked into her room a mere few minutes after she came home and her room looked like world war III. Again. I also spent an hour putting the basement back together this morning. She and her friend completely. trashed. it. It looks like it hasn't been cleaned in months and I just. did. it. this. morning. ***sighing heavily***
My experience with my boys is similar, but decidedly different. They can trash a room in 5 minutes flat also, but if you ask them to pick it up, they will. Without the hormonal outbursts so common with their sister. I told her that she was responsible for basement clean up. I know that it won't get done without tears. I don't know how to fix this issue. Same with her room.
I have these apparent choices...
1. continue to clean it up. I then run the risk of ending up cleaning her nasty bedroom well into her teen years (example: my mother)
2. make her clean up her disaster. I then run the risk of having to listen to her screeching about the unfairness of life in general. At the top of her lungs. This is especially problematic because I also run the risk of the neighbors calling child services because she is OBVIOUSLY being abused.
3. take all of her toys away. I tried this and it NEVER WORKS. I just removed all of her Barbies a few weeks ago because I was tired of vacuuming their shoes and having to pick their little blonde selves up. When she found out I thought the screeching would ensue. Nope. She just shrugged her shoulders and played with something else. Yes, she is spoiled. Yes, she has too many toys.
4. Let her live in her own filth like a pig and hope she grows out of it. Close the door if we have guests.

Not sure which of these options is most viable. All have their own merits and all have obvious set backs as well.
Maybe I'll just sell her to the gypsies for a nickel.