I Think Someone Wrote A Song About It

I'm sure a song exists for every emotion known to man. Disappointment is a human emotion and I'm sure some country crooner crooned about the loss of a house because of rotting floor joists. Probably after his wife left him, his dog died and his truck got repossessed. Such is the world of home buying. You win some, you lose a lot, and you keep moving forward.
You may have guessed by now that we probably won't be getting our almost home. The inspector found a lot of problems. Not least of which is the floor joists with severe water damage. That would cost big bucks to fix. Money we don't have. And the sellers opted out of doing any repairs in the contract.
Now its moving on time I suppose. Time to stop decorating the living room in my head, or gazing at paint chips longingly. Our time will come I know. God keeps turning us in new directions. His plans are always better than our own, and disappointment will create new opportunities. And as soon as I get my face out of this pint of ice cream I'll be able to see those opportunities with a little more clarity.

Why I Love Our New (Almost) Home

A List by Susanna Hearn

1. We'll have plenty of before and after pictures. Take for instance the "front" of the house. Kind of boring and mismatched now, but with new shutters, an arbor, a well-placed window box, a cute front door that doesn't open into the laundry room (don't know, so don't ask) and new vinyl siding it could be like a picture from a magazine (or not, but one can dream).

2. We have a great view of the river and a yoga studio from the front yard, so I'll have a constant reminder that I need to exercise. I don't think I'll take classes there. I wouldn't have any excuse not to go.

3. We have a lovely view of Dillsboro from the FENCED-IN BACKYARD! Need I say more?

4. We have a rotting, decrepit garage/workshop filled with graffiti, empty cans, and a rusty telescope (perhaps for better viewing of the yoga studio), which we can disassemble with sledge hammers and other manly tools.

5. Once again: WE HAVE A FENCED-IN BACKYARD! And also a patio, whose stairs serve as a human death trap, or a convenient place to break a leg. Look alive, people!

The End

Can I Trade You Three Cats for a Dog?

I know I've been a slacker on the posting front of late. I won't waste time with excuses, but maybe I can make up for it with a brief summary of the past few months. Here goes- we moved out of our one bedroom cabin and into my parents home in early December. Most of our things are in storage, including our Christmas decorations which I had to remove after having them up only a week *weeping.*
We were looking at houses in Franklin at the time, made an offer on a house that was countered and decided not to counter in return. We then began looking at homes in Sylva, made an offer on a 3 bedroom ranch in Dillsboro which was accepted without counter. The exciting part is our offer was $24,000 less than the asking price, and well within our affordability range. Hopefully, we'll be closing on the house by January 30th. God be praised! (because it's not easy moving back home with a husband, a baby, and five cats).
Speaking of cats I saw a REALLY CUTE puppy dog over the weekend and I was wondering if anybody was in need of three adorable cats, so I can have a doggy. I mean they're no trouble at all, just hairy, pukey, rambunctious, violent, and annoying. I'm sure someone could put them to good use as dog food or fur coats (I jest, of course). I do want a cute doggie, though. We're going to have a lovely, FLAT, fenced in backyard, and wouldn't a sweet, non-feline pup just complete our idyllic family picture. I think my husband would let me, except I can't picture taking care of five cats and a dog. Oh well, maybe some of the cats will get lost in the move. I can accidentally pack them in the box we're shipping to Timbuktu. The box with no return address, and a few air holes poked in it. I guess the yowling at the post office would probably give me away. I'll post pictures of the house soon, so keep on checking back.

It's Just Not Me

The other day I was clicking through some other mom blogs just for the fun of it. I couldn't help but be shamed by the crafty, organized mothers out there who make their own cloth diapers while wrangling, you know, twenty small children. I, to say the least, am not that organized. Sometimes, when I see something misshapen and green crawling out of the refrigerator, I wonder if I will ever be able to catch up on my daily household chores. The ones where I actually wash the dishes instead of watching them slowly solidify into a crusty mound in the sink. Good thing my hubby does dishes (God bless him)!

It's shameful because I only have one child, who is most definitely not high-maintenance. In fact, she can entertain herself quite well when the need arises. It's just that I have a hopeless aversion to dish washing, toilet bowl scrubbing and vacuuming. I do them (every blue moon or so); I just don't like to. Same goes for being all crafty and making my own baby clothes or hand carving my daughter's crib from a tree cut out of our own backyard. It's just not me.

Lest you think that I am the laziest person that ever walked the planet, I do enjoy scrapbooking and recording my daughter's milestones in a handy little book my mom gave me. Which reminds me I need to write about her seven month milestones before she hits eight months. Could get confusing after that. One day my daughter will be able to look back and say, "My mama may have let the dishes pile up and the toilet turn green, but she didn't forget when my first tooth came in, or what day I was born on!"

First and only page of CiCi's scrapbook. It takes awhile for ideas to germinate. In this case 3 or 4 months.

Incredibly, adorable baby blankie made by my MIL for CiCi. I love her and hate her at the same time. Note the rings attached to the ribbons around the edge of the blanket. Too cute! And CiCi loves it!

The Great Naptime Conundrum

To nap, or not to nap? That is the baby's question. The mommy's question is: to take Excedrin Migraine, or to take Extra Strength Advil? Once upon a time, in a happy animated land far away, the baby went down for a nap and slept like a little angel. Now our naptime routine goes something like this:

Baby begins rubbing eyes and whining. Generally, a miss crabby pants.

Mommy determines that Baby is ready for nap. Mommy puts crabby pants, I mean Baby, in crib and tucks in with sweet kisses.

Mommy leaves room. Advanced screaming begins. Mommy waits. Advanced screaming continues. Mommy returns to retuck Baby and display peace offering (see Pacifier).

Mommy leaves room. Baby opens Gates of Hell. Mommy waits. Baby sobs (see pathetic).

Baby becomes quiet. Mommy sighs with relief. Ten minutes pass in somber rejoicing.

Baby unleashes the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse. Mommy waits. Baby continues after short lull for pathetic sobbing. Mommy ponders "Scene of Mommy Warrior Returning to Rescue Baby from Terrible Naptime Horror"

Doors begin to rattle. Mommy gives up because Excedrin has worn off and Baby is apopleptic (may burst blood vessel if allowed to continue). Upon seeing Mommy, Baby appears like innocent, non-verbally abusive infant.

Mommy pops more Excedrin.

Lil' Orphant Emory

We have five cats. This may not seem like a big deal, but up until Saturday evening we only had four. And we were definitely not planning on having anymore. I mean we have a baby and a one bedroom house. Four cats are too many as it is! Never mind all that though, because we have five cats.

I will never again suggest to my husband that we go driving around town for the fun of it. It only leads to trouble I tell you. Trouble and five cats! How can one see a tiny kitten in the middle of the road and not stop? You can't see any houses in sight and the kitten is as scrawny and bedraggled as they come. You just stop in the middle of the road, get out of the car, and take that kitten home with you. Then you spend two days (make that three days) giving that kitten bath after bath with baby shampoo and a flea comb so you can pick off the one trillion fleas that are crawling all over it. You also have to schedule an appointment with the vet because the kitten has worms and ear mites. A walking parasitic infection is what it is.

Now she is family and we've named her already. She lives in our bathroom. Our one and only bathroom, which I miss having all to myself. Oh, well. We're looking for a bigger place anyway. We'll just have to factor in space for two adults, one baby, and FIVE CATS. Welcome to the family little Emory.

Messes, Milestones, and Mud Wrestling

CiCi is three months old. It seems like just yesterday she was the size of a peanut in my belly and making me nauseous all day long. Now she's relatively the size of one of my cats and talking gibberish to her red Lamaze elephant. How time has flown. Though I still seem to be stuck in a rut. I wear either a pair of very tattered jogging pants everyday, or, if I want to look nominally human, a pair of hated maternity pants. It's not that I can't wear my prepregnancy jeans, it's just that they're too tight on the belly to be comfortable right now. Maybe soon, I'll be dancing around a bonfire in the backyard whilst tossing maternity pants into the flames with abandon. Sounds like a plan for the Fourth of July!

The house is also in a rut as it has not seen the right end of a vacuum cleaner, dust rag, or broom for quite some time. When I have free time I'm often thinking of either taking a nap, taking a chunk out of the endless mound of laundry or eating some breakfast, which is actually lunch, because I don't get to eat till afternoon. The house is slowly being overrun with furballs. I'm thinking I should start collecting them and making sweaters for the winter. If I don't soon, CiCi will be old enough to start collecting them, and I don't think you can give hairball medication to a baby.

During some of my free time, spent not cleaning my house I've been reading the occasional parenting blog. It's fun to read about the trials and tribulations of other parents. The only problem I find is that parents, mothers in particular, are very competitive. There's the breastfeeding v. bottle feeding argument, the spanking v. time-out argument, and the homeschooling v. public schooling argument. To name a very few. I'm sure this will become a reality TV show soon. I picture women in their late twenties to mid-thirties wearing bikinis and aprons throwing themselves at each other in a giant mud pit while screaming, "I breastfed little Johnny for three years!" and "I never raise my voice at my children even when I'm menstruating!" I'm sure it would be a popular show and get a wide viewing audience what with the mud wrestling and bikinis. Maybe I should pitch it to a major network...