Here We Go!!!

The New Checklist

Sudafed - check

Thermometer - check

Tissues - check, check, triple check

Clothes shoved into a basket in the corner of the closet instead of put away - check

Top Chef and a comfy couch - check

A pre-warned husband that his wife may snot all over him tomorrow - check


And, I lost a shoe in the move. And now have no shoes to go with my smokin' hot dress.

Enough is enough already!!!



(And really, don't anyone worry. I'm not going anywhere any time soon. I'm plenty capable of posting while showering my husband with attention. Or, making him think I am.)

May I Pee Myself Now?

Car window chalk - check

Posterboard - check

Markers - check

Adorable baby girl dress and sandals - check

Smoking hot mommy dress and heels - check

Meat thawed in fridge - check

Clean sheets, fresh towels, comfy clothes - check

Birth control - check
(hey, he's gotta start with this one first before we work on that second one)

Nervous energy, lack of bladder control, loss of appetite - check



Gah! I have no idea how I'm going to make it all the way though tomorrow and the next morning without exploding!

It's about damn time I started getting excited about this.

I Did Promise Pictures

She has finally gotten settled after the 2 days of driving, two nights in hotels, being passed like a hot potato from grandparent to grandparent, teething some molars, and being in a strange new house. Her room is absolutely huge and the daily goal seems to be to cover the entire surface of the floor with toys. Clearly she has enough toys when that is possible.

Now, as for the house . . . real pictures are just going to have to wait, as I've been a tad bit busy dealing with the fact that it's an absolute shithole. Hindsight is 20/20 and I am kicking my own ass about being too freaking cheap to come down here and check it out before hand. Of course, I probably would have never seen the most major of the problems then anyways.

So far, a few things have been resolved. There are no more spiders, and I've only maimed an occasional roach. I now have hot water, heat and air conditioning. We installed a screen for the sliding door and got a few temporary window screens, so I can open the place up. The leaking washer hook-up has been replaced. The ripped and torn and lint spewing dryer vent pipe has been replaced. And it's become an overall clean place to stay. However . . .

There is a huge ass leak in the wall behind the kitchen, mold in the kitchen cabinets, and a puddle under the carpet in the spare room, which used to be the garage.

That's a bit of an issue.

We found the mold and leak through a bit of a process. I went to go clean my bottom shelves and lo and behold, they were bending and disintegrating at the slightest touch. We decided to rip them out and stick some plywood in there so that they were at least a little bit usable. Turns out, there was a surprise underneath there.

Before

During

After clean up

Appetizing, isn't it?

All of my kitchen stuff is still in boxes, as I obviously have no where to put it. That, and I have a little nagging voice in the back of my head telling me this is bad, really bad, and we're going to have to get the heck outta here and move to a non mold infested place.

Is it bad that I just ate an entire chocolate bunny today, which I was saving for the husband?

And Here I Sit

A cat-hiding rule breaker in a completely dark and quiet room. The only light is from the computer, and the only sound is the snoring baby . . . and the keyboard . . . and the dumbass meowing cats . . . and the fucking crickets . . . and the trucks roaring by on the highway.

Here I sit, in a Holiday Inn. After two days of driving and wanting to throw my stepmother out the window. Two days of listening to endless nagging about just taking the kid out of her car seat to feed her, and about just turning her car seat around because her feet touch the seat back (if I have to explain about internal decapitation one more time . . .).

In the past two days I have dealt with:
~Being expected to drive all night with the kid and then be coherant enough to take care of her the next day.
~Truckers. Obnoxious truckers driving side-by-side at 50 miles an hour for 40 miles.
~Parental units. You want mine? Take them. They're all yours. I'll throw in the father-in-law as a freebie.
~Extracting three cats from their hiding spots under the hotel bed you thought they couldn't get under. Only accomplished by literally removing the mattress and bedsprings.
~A nursing strike. You want pain? Try having your kid go from nursing 7 times a day to 2.
~Milk. Exploding. Everywhere. (Since the child wouldn't nurse, we had to do the sippy. After setting a container of the frozen stuff on the dash to thaw during lunch, we came back to find puddles of milk everywhere. Thank God I had it far enough away from the vents.)
~General loosing of my mind. I'll thank all involved parties for this one.
~The House. This one gets a post of it's own, preferably accompanied by pictures. I'll give you a teaser though . . . hundreds of dead spiders, live roaches, 20+ year old appliances, ceiling so dirty you could write your name on it (if you could reach it), and a surprise diagnosis of having gas heat instead of electric. Which, of course, needs to be serviced and hooked up properly. And, of course, isn't going to happen in any timely matter.

Hence, the hotel.

I'll be back after some harsh words with the rental company, an appointment with a steam cleaner, and a few hard drinks.

If Anyone Needs Me

I'll be in the nearest mental institution.

See you all in 800 miles.

The Box Is Waiting

I was accused yesterday by the husband of being a pack rat. He elaborated to say that, no, I am just a pack rat for boxes. Which I fully admit, and have no shame. You know why?

Because my nearly new, absolutely perfect, dearly beloved iMac will be riding in style in it's original box. And I will be a hell of a lot calmer about sticking it underneath 5 tons of cat and kid stuff in the back of my car.

So, in the box it goes. Tomorrow.

I've got butterflies kick-boxing me in my stomach lately.

Tomorrow, E, the cats, and I will head off to my mom's for a few days. The trailer is getting loaded on Saturday, and the wagon train is kicking off on Wednesday.

Here come the Yankees!!

So, being that all my pictures are on this computer, and I'll be slumming it on my mother's HP after this . . . I give you E's Easter pictures. Or, at least, the four I felt like editing.

Stand Back, I Am Not A Professional

At one point during this week, I thought it would be fun to photograph my progress in boxing up our life again. Show everyone the mass confusion and jungle gym free-for-all in my living room.

But somewhere along the way, I packed the camera charger.

Bugger.

Instead, I'll just rant about how much stuff we have. Good lord, do we have a lot of crap. I remember moving in to our apartment in Texas (three moves ago) and having one of M's friends marvel at how many boxes there were.

That was nothing.

Add in the three bedroom house we had to fill, and then a kid. No wonder I can't see across the room anymore. Thankfully though, it seems to be an even split between me and the husband for contribution. Gone are the days when all of his worldly possessions fit into one Rubbermaid tote. (Thank you, Army)

I am making things a little more fun this time though. Instead of neatly labeling every box and trying to keep things together, it's all randomness. I was sorting out sections of light, medium, heavy and holy shit heavy earlier and saw I hadn't labeled anything I packed yesterday. So, it will be like a giant treasure hunt in the new house, opening every box to find one thing.

Though, that could make unpacking go a lot quicker.

11 Months Old

For once I'm hitting the monthly milestone on the right day. The kid is 11 months old. Climbing everything - couches, chairs, boxes, baby gates, over dogs, bathtub sides, toilets, window sills. It won't be long before I find her swinging from the chandelier. She is growing into a little replica of her daddy, constant chatter, snuggle bum, and a lover of all things involving uncontrollable laughter. She says "neigh" for horses, "meow" for cats and just laughs at the dogs. I'm waiting for the day when she actually tells me off when I take away the paper she has shoved in her mouth, instead of screaming "BAH BAH BAH!" at me. (We all know she really means "Hey! Stupid $%*#@! Gimme my %$#@%*% paper back!!")

If You Don't Have Stairs

Make your own!

This is what happens and makes one realize that it's no longer safe to go pee by yourself.

This Is A New One

Four moves in three years, and I've learned a lot of valuable tidbits of information along the way. Such as:

~If something is painted blue, it will rub on your couch in the one spot that isn't covered.
~Fishtanks break. Especially when the elevator door closes on them.
~Nothing ever goes back together again the same way. That desk will always wobble and that chair will always creak.
~Sleeper sofas are a bitch to get up and down three flights of stairs.
~Never, ever throw away a box. Otherwise you'll be wishing you still had what that table/microwave/sewing machine came in.
~Flirt with the box boys at the grocery store and those egg boxes are all yours.
~Putting the screws to every unassembled piece of furniture in one bag is a really, really bad idea.
~Rubbermaid totes are not meant to be filled with textbooks. Nor are they meant to be so full even duct tape won't hold.
~Do not pack the toilet paper. Last thing in, first thing out.
~9 months pregnant really is a great time to move. Telling other people where to put those boxes is a lot more fun than carrying them.
~It's never to early to start packing. Heck, why unpack? Keep half your stuff in boxes, ready to go!

But, the most valuable thing I learned while packing today? Do not try to pack up an 11 month old's room while they are with you. Book in the box, book out of the box. Dress in the box, dress out of the box. Stuffies in the box, screaming tantrum from the child. More toys in the box, absolutely livid child. Child in the box, much more fun.

It doesn't help that she's still in the stage where gnawing off chunks of the cardboard is appealing. I got bit more times than I could count, while fishing out soggy bits and pieces.

Wordless Wednesday - Which One of These Things is Not Like the Other?

It Always Ends The Same Way

There's no fooling this kid. She knows where she belongs - playing on a pile of sand, not snow. Forget this cold crap!

We spent the weekend at grandma's again (trying to fill up the guilt-o-meter for when I move away. Again.) and from Saturday morning to early Sunday morning, we got 24 inches of snow. It was gorgeous . . . for about 5 minutes. That crap was heavy as all get out, and I about busted my ass trying to shovel out my car this morning. I settled for digging a path to get in it and then dropping it into 4-wheel to get over the snow bank in front of it.

Everything was shut down, of course. Even the Pancake Breakfast at the local high school. That, my friends, is disappointment. Digging yourself out of a snowbound house, warming the car up, braving the roads, and finding the parking lot absolutely deserted. Obviously, we aren't the sharpest tools in the shed, not realizing that if most of the churches in the area were canceling services, that a measly pancake breakfast wasn't going to happen.

So, we went over to my grandma's, where I busted my ass again digging a path to her door. There are two lazy, good for nothing (grown men) cousins that live within a mile and we're the ones that have to dig her out. Lazy asses.

Eventually we made it back to my mom's house and I figured that this was an event that should not be missed by the child. We bundled her up and tossed her out in the cold for some pictures.

Fantabulous

10 1/2 months later and we've got our first fever.

I'm such a loving and caring mommy that I just couldn't help but pass on the sickness to the child. Poor thing is miserable and has already been up four times since I put her to bed.

It's gonna be a fun night.

You Know It's Above 40

There's a yearly phenomenon that occurs here in Northern Ohio. It commonly affects high school and college students. Common sense stands no chance. As soon as the temperature hits 40 . . .

They forget to put their pants on.


Yesterday, it hit 56 degrees. Spring! Spring! Spring! Despite the inability to go more than 2 minutes without sniffling and feeling like my head was going to explode, I took the kid out for a walk at the Metroparks. As I strolled along, I was lapped by scantily clad girls sporting fake n' bake legs and asses I would have even been jealous of 10 years ago.

Bitter, party of one, your table is ready.

Is it wrong to hope that those freshman 15 hit hard?

Anyways, I got over myself and came to terms with the perma-jiggle going on with my own rear end. (Not running anymore is killing me. But given the fact that I feel 90, clutching my aching back, it's clear that I haven't healed nearly enough, even after four months.) I huffed and puffed and hauled the stroller up the gigantic hill, stopped to give the kid some freedom and a biscuit, and then headed back to the car. I was almost there, and had put my camera away already. And then. I saw her.

**Accept my sincerest apologies for not have a picture of this chick. But, I was too busy double-taking and scratching my head to dig it out fast enough.**

Bouncy blond ponytail. Orange glow tan. Lime green sports bra. White belly tank. Sparkling clean running shoes. And . . . wait for it . . . men's briefs. That's right. Men's briefs. So skin tight that the front opening was gaping. Thank God she was wearing underwear.

It was just wrong on so many levels.

"Hey! Put your pants back on!"

Pass the Tissues, Please

If anyone needs to find me, I'll be on the floor of my room, wrapped around my humidifier, amongst a field of Kleenex.

Tonight, in a fever induced haze, I did something extremely rare. I cleaned out the catch-all drawer of the kitchen. Among the five million batteries, pens, screws and keys to all the past places we've lived, I stumbled across the most excellent discovery of all time. Vick's drops for a humidifier. Absolutely awesome. My room is like a menthol rain forest right now.

Oddly enough, I've never seen these things before, can't find them on the internet anywhere, and am convinced this will be a one-time experience. Which is a shame, because I can already feel the snot starting to flow.

Hallelujah, I can breathe again!

Eh? What'd You Say?

Please tell me the screaming and screeching phase doesn't last long.

What?

What was that?

Speak up, I can't hear you!

Seriously, I'm surprised the husband's ear drums didn't shatter tonight when we were on the phone and E decided to climb up me and shriek right next to it every five seconds. My head is pounding and my ears are still ringing. I'm coming down with something involving a fever, chills and a sore throat, so the patience level was non-existent by the time the kid was deposited in her lid-less cage for the night. Thankfully, it's the weekend and there are five unsuspecting grandparents to pawn her off on.

Although, this is an excellent payback for the drum set next door. In fact, we hung out on that side of the apartment most of the day.

Dear Bicor VX1005

I hate you.

Yes, hate is a strong word, but I feel you truly deserve it. You are a sorry excuse for a sewing machine, dropping stitches, breaking needles, jamming the bobbin and switching tension when ever you want. It is completely unacceptable to cause me to stop and fix something every six inches, and to turn a two hour project into five.

In case my point was not made clear by the repeated obscenities and banging on the table, you're on very thin ice here. If it hadn't been one in the morning and ten degrees outside, you can be sure that the dumpster would be your new home. And dumpsters are very lonely, cold places.

I expect that we'll have a better relationship tonight. Otherwise . . . well, it's sayonara. Because I have 20 yards of fabric that aren't going to sew themselves.

That Moment of Wild Panic

Catching up on my Google Reader this morning, I did my usual quick skim, half-attention catch up. As I scrolled down through the latest post by Ask And Ye Shall Receive, my name jumped out. (Actually, it was more like it reached through the monitor and smacked me upside the head.)

So, I backed that page up and started really reading, while the little commentary played in my head.

"Oh, shit!

I'm not ready for this.

Crap, this is gonna hurt.

Where was my A-game?

Oh, what A-game? I never had any A-game.

Snark! There's no snark! They'll hate it!

Oh.

Wait.

Shit! She doesn't hate it!"

Thank you Calamity, for not tearing me apart. And for acknowledging something very near and dear to my heart - punctuation. (A red pen and some time alone with a piece of writing is what I call a hot date).

Final rating:

To read the full review, go here: Baby Mix Me A Drink

Don't Think, It Might Hurt

It's crunch time. The southbound wagon train leaves in one month. So, I think it's perfectly justifiable that I have been slightly panicky about finding somewhere to live for the past few months. The rental market in the low country is brutal, unless you have your very own magic money tree and can rent one of the brand new luxury homes popping up everywhere. We don't. The only thing the foliage around here produces is a mess for me to clean up.

I found an adorable little house in a perfect location for a price so low that it's probably built on haunted burial grounds or something. Nothing we can't live with. I'm cheap, so four walls, all the major appliances and new carpet is about all it takes to sell me on something. I got a little giddy when I saw the double basin sink in the kitchen, though.

After almost a week of waiting to find out if our application had been approved or not, I started nagging the rental company. Turns out, it wasn't a case of southern style business practices and they were actually on top of things. It was my current apartment manager that was holding everything up. So, I marched myself down there through 10 inches of fresh snow and a raging blizzard. (Okay, so it wasn't quite raging, and the path was pure slush, but still).

Me: "Hi, my name is Jayna and there is a rental company in Georgia that has been contacting you about a referral for us."

Clueless Chick #1: "Uh-huh."

Me: "I need to know the status on that, as it's very important that it be sent back as soon as possible."

Clueless Chick #2: "Dee (actual apartment manager) just got back from vacation last week."

Me: "Uh-huh. So?"

Clueless Chick #1: "She's very busy. It might take a while for her to get caught up on everything that has piled up." (She gestures to a stack of filing boxes, which has only one thing in it. Suspiciously, it looks like a referral form.)

Me: "Uh-huh. So, how long do you think it's going to take, as she's already had it a week now."

Clueless Chick #2: "Maybe another couple of weeks."

Me, trying not to laugh: "Weeks? It's seriously going to take weeks to fill out one sheet of paper and fax it?"

Clueless Chick #2: "Well, she's really behind. You should have asked for this a lot farther in advance. It always takes a long time. It's not our fault you didn't plan ahead."

Me: " . . . "

*crickets*

*death stare*

*flaming daggers*

Dee (walking into the office): "Hey Jayna! How's that adorable baby? Oh! I sent your referral this morning, did you want a copy of it?"

*sound of heels clacking as Clueless #1 and #2 scatter*