Too good to be true

Our lawyer just informed us that we are not out of attorney review. Instead, we are in the midst of watching the deal disintegrate around us. Our real estate agent was perhaps hoping if she spoke the words, they would magically come true. I am familiar with that feeling, heck, every time I offer up a green bean to A, I commit the same offense. But somehow, announcing that green beans are yummy and telling someone they are through attorney review on the piece of real estate that just.won’t.sell. seem to be of different magnitudes. Not that I am bitter or anything.

I’m going to crawl into a small hole and hibernate until this is all over. We are officially on school vacation for a week plus, I might just stay in my pajamas until school resumes. Because there is something very, very comforting about living in one’s pajamas. In fact, I think I am going to go find them. Right now.

Late Breaking News

We are officially out of attorney review on the old house, and the closing is set for the end of April. I’m just going to dance myself a little jig over here. Don’t mind me.

Thanks to all for all the support during the house drama. I would claim that I will now be an upbeat and cheerful blogger, however, I would be lying. But at least I’ll have one less thing to whine about, right? And just maybe if I’m not constantly in a semi-panic state, I’ll have more time to ponder the wonders of the universe. Like how some people manage to be on time to school every. single. morning. With all members of their household dressed in weather appropriate clothing.

The Diary of a Phone Chain

8:15 pm: Huh, it is actually snowing a little. Yeah! I don’t have to clean for playgroup in the morning. I can curl up and work on my knitting instead of mopping the kitchen floor.

10:07 pm: Wait, if there isn’t school, how will I know?

10:08 pm: Phone chain! I remember now, there is a phone chain!

10:09 pm: Where is the phone chain?

10:15 pm: Ah, the phone chain. Who do I have to call?

10:16 pm: Who IS that person? Is her child actually in C’s class? Where is the class list?

10:18 pm: Ah ha! The class list. Huh. This is the class list from last year.

10:20 pm: Ah ha! The real class list. Why was I looking for this? Right! Who’s mom am I calling? Now where did I put the phone chain?

10:21 pm: There is the phone chain…I should really file this stuff somehow…huh. I thought her name was Jane. Man, I hope I haven’t called her Jane to her face. Why did I think her name was Jane?

10:22 pm: It doesn’t seem to be snowing that much. I bet we will have school. I guess I should go to bed.

10:23 pm: I should bring the phone chain upstairs just in case.

10:25 pm: Where is the upstairs phone? Oh God, in A’s room.

10:26 pm: Phew! Phone and phone chain on my bedside table. I didn’t even wake A up.

10:28 pm: Damn, I missed the weather. Oh well. Clearly, there will be school. Just look at it outside. Barely any snow.

1:17 am: Have to pee. Is there much snow yet? Nope. I guess I need to dig out the juice boxes for the party in the morning. Gee, I hope I have enough. Gah, I never mopped the floor for playgroup.

5:28 am: “Mommy! I had a nightmare that the Valentine’s party was canceled because of the snow!” “Don’t worry, look out the window, no snow. Go back to sleep.”

5:53am: Is that the phone? Where is the phone? Why is it ringing? Who is calling at this hour? “Hello? Really? But there is no snow! Ice, huh? OK. Bye.”

5:53 am “MOMMMMYYYYYY! BUT WHAT ABOUT THE PARTY?????”

5:55 am: Wait, I’m the coordinator? What does that mean? Am I supposed to call everyone under me? It says I have to call everyone under me. But the woman who called me said to just call the next person on the list. Why is this so complicated? It’s a freaking preschool phone chain. What happened to waking up and watching the news?

5:57am: “Hi, this is Chichimama from preschool. Yes, I know it is early, but they told me to call. OK, bye.”

5:58 am: Crap. I didn’t say anything about calling the next person on the list. And the list says I am supposed to call everyone, so I should really call the next person.

5:59 am: Well, I’m not calling anyone else this early. I’ll go back to bed an call at a more respectable hour.

6:03 am: I can’t sleep. What if I oversleep and someone heads off to school and gets into an accident and it is all my fault? I should get out of bed and start calling.

6:05 am: But is is only 6:05 am. No one on that list is up at this hour. Even my kids are still sleeping.

6:11 am: I am never going to be able to sleep unless I call. I’m just going to call. I was called before 6 am, this is so not my fault.

6:15 am: “Hi, this is Chichimama from preschool. Yes, I know it is early, but they told me to call. OK, bye.”

6:16 am: Damn it, I forgot to tell her to call the next person on the list. I’ll just keep calling.

6:17 am: “Hi, this is Chichimama from preschool. Yes, I know it is early, but they told me to call. OK, bye.”

6:18 am: “Hi, this is Chichimama from preschool. Yes, I know it is early, but they told me to call. OK, bye.”

6:19 am: “Hi, this is Chichimama from preschool. Yes, I know it is early, but they told me to call. OK, bye.”

6:20 am: I should really mention to someone at school that they could start the phone tree at a more respectable hour. “Hi, this is Chichimama from preschool. Yes, I know it is early, but they told me to call. OK, bye.”

6:21 am: Phew. All calls made. NOW I can go to sleep.

6:22 am: “MOMMY! MOMMY! BUT WHAT ABOUT MY PARTY?????”

6:28 am: Next year, I have to remember to put my name at the VERY LAST SLOT on the list.

Underachiever

Nothing makes me feel like an underachiever like reading an email from my alma mater about a graduate who accomplishes something important and meaningful while I am wiping yogurt streaks left by little fingers off of my computer.

I think there should be an alumni award for the most impressive waste of an education. I could be a contender I tell you.

In case you wondered why my drivel has dried up over the last few days

I present to you, the finished bunting.


It’s a little reminiscent of an unfortunate bridesmaids dress (which was thankfully never worn), or a certain McDonald’s character, but it is done.


Done, done, done (just don’t look too closely at how the zipper is sewn in, OK?). I hope Baby C2 wears it at least once. In fact, I hope it fits Baby C2 by the time it makes it to Texas, the child is growing like a weed.


Some (grammatically incorrect) lessons that were learned during this knitting project…

  • Much like on a wall in your living room, colors that look good in small swatches take on their own life when knit into a large item of clothing.
  • If I ever do a zipper again, I’m buying a sewing machine.
  • Picking up stitches is not nearly as difficult as it sounds.
  • When sewing something together, double check that you have pinned it together correctly BEFORE sewing around the whole piece.
  • Stockinette is a really boring stitch when done for long periods of time.
  • When knitting in boring stockinette stitch, never, ever pick a pattern that dictates increases and decreases by row number instead of inches.

My next few projects are hush hush, so don’t be looking for any knitting updates over the next few weeks. But once the surprises have been sprung, I’ll post pics.

There is something so wrong about this

So I haven’t blogged about this, not wanting to jinx anything, but we finally had an offer on the old house. The inspection is this afternoon. I went over this morning to turn the heat up and low and behold, the pipes, they were frozen. Solid. I called Lovely Friend in a panic (and I mean a full-fledged, hysterical “OH MY GOD. I’M GOING TO HAVE A NERVOUS BREAKDOWN RIGHT. NOW” panic. And, because she is so much calmer and, well, saner than I, she came over armed with heat guns and fans and portable heaters, and most importantly, snacks for the kids.

And as I paced around the kitchen querying her on exactly which anti-anxiety medications she might have lying around her house, she went about setting up the heaters and fans and heat guns and, bless her heart, got them unfrozen. I wish I could be that kind of calm person, instead of the kind that runs around with her head cut off in the middle of a crisis. I always thought I handled crisis well, but I have been proven wrong time and time again this year. So if you have a crisis, don’t call me. Unless of course you want Lovely Friend’s number.

I think I will bring her wine. And perhaps knit her some new mittens. Seriously, how do you thank someone for saving your real estate deal? I somehow think that wine and mittens are not quite enough.

Oh, and the part that is so wrong? It is now almost 10 degrees warmer at the house in which we do not live than it is here. Wrong. Just wrong.

The magic number

Apparently, 70 is the temperature that my house should be at today to keep me warm. And I did in fact set it that high for half and hour or so until the fear of sky-high energy bills scared me into turning it back down to 64. But the half hour was blissful. Unfortunately, I discovered that it should have kept it warmer for a bit longer as the sandwich bread we are in desperate need of for tomorrow has decided not to rise.

I have also discovered that the downstairs powder room is about five degrees warmer than the rest of the house because it is so small, and because for some odd reason the air blasts out of the vent in there more more forcefully than in the rest of the house. So I spent much of the day knitting in the bathroom, and will be rising my bread in there from now on. I know, it is an exciting, exciting life I lead.

Cold

I am cold. I cannot get warm. I am wearing long johns, fleece pants, a turtleneck and a fleece sweatshirt. Wool socks and down slippers. I have even broken my cardinal rule of energy (and money) conservation and turned the heat up to 67. Unheard of in this house. But do I feel any warmer? No, no I do not. Even the cats have spent the day following the sun from one spot to another, and have now buried themselves in the middle of our bed, snuggled under pillows.

The arctic chill without any snow to make it all pretty? Not fun. Not fun at all. I am off to join the cats in their search for warmth under the covers in the bedroom. Come find me if I haven’t emerged by spring.

It’s a small world

Today, I totally forgot about the birthday party of a classmate of C’s until 20 minutes after it had started. Stupidly, I mentioned this oversight to C, and somehow found us racing over to the local gymnastics studio with no socks and jackets on in 20 degree weather in order to make it “in time for the cake!” We screeched into the party, C flung himself into the fray of 25 five year olds playing some bastardized version of statue, and A burst into tears as she realized she was going to spend the next 45 minutes watching her brother and his friends have fun.

All of a sudden, a piece of paper appeared in front of my eyes. I looked up, and there was the knitting pattern I had been begging the internet to help me locate. Before me stood the woman in the funky scarf, who was almost jumping for joy.

“I got home and realized that the pattern was at Berroco, not Bernat!” she exclaimed. “So I printed it out and have been carrying it around in my bag hoping I would see you! And I did!”

It is a small, small world. And now I have a reason to finish that bunting for Baby C2.

Overheard from the disgruntaled

A: (muttering under her breath after a sibling battle over TtFTE) “When I am da mommy, I am going to give you time outs C. Yes I am. Long, long time outs. I can’t wait to be da mommy and give you time outs.”

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