Tuesday, April 8, 2008

things I need to tell my therapist, part 1

This week has been an especially trying one for Bryan and me. Last Friday, we actually for real not even in a dream closed on our new house. And we made it from beginning to end without a realtor. Don’t get me wrong - it was nice to save the money that it would have cost to use a realtor, but it also would have been nice to have not dealt with the sellers directly. By the time the closing finally happened, she had developed such a passionate contempt for us that we had to sign all of the papers in separate rooms. We had, it seems, asked for her to do unreasonable things such as: fix the garage door so that it actually goes up and down and (gasp!) that she have both toilets in the house be in working order. I know - the nerve of us! But really, separate rooms to sign the papers? Are we in middle school?

Then, 35 minutes before the closing, the lady handling the paperwork end of it all called me to tell me that I needed to bring a cashier’s check for almost $6,000. Okay. Except that our bank is in another state. I was just relieved that she didn’t need something that would be HARD FOR ME TO GET AT THE LAST MINUTE like one of my kidneys or Wesley’s baby toe in a jar.

So we closed on Friday but the house didn’t have power or water until Monday. On Monday and Tuesday we cleaned like mad beasts. Tuesday was our anniversary so Bryan and I were planning to have dinner. We stopped at the new house so I could show Bryan what we had gotten done while he was at work. It was then that we first heard the mysterious gurgling sound in one of the bathrooms. Ten minutes later we were both in the other bathroom, pantlegs rolled up, frantically trying to mop up the water that was pouring from the toilet. It was our most romantic anniversary yet.

Stay tuned for the next episode....

Tuesday, April 1, 2008

it could happen to you, too

In our town, there is a place called the Dugout where you can drive thru and get drinks or a gallon of milk or a tasty deep fried meal. A few days ago, it was unusually nice out (meaning that the wind was a calm 30 miles per hour instead of the normal 60 mph) and so the line at the Dugout was long. I didn’t mind though, as at this point in my life it seems that time is the one thing I have an abundance of.

So there I was, six months pregnant, very windblown, and driving my mom’s old silver Buick when I saw the car in front of me. It was a red convertible with the top down, full of cute little teenage girls. They all had cute hair and trendy sunglasses and tight little shirts that flattered their tiny little high school bodies. And at that moment, reality slapped me in the face - I AM NOT COOL ANYMORE.

I quickly dug through my purse in a panic to see if there was anything that could help me - lip gloss, sunglasses, anything. Unfortunately, all I came up with was countless gum wrappers, a pacifier, three peanut butter crackers, and a lint-covered prenatal vitamin. I looked down to see that my shirt was tight, too, but instead of being flattering, it looked like I was trying to shoplift a basketball and some dishtowels. I adjusted the gigantic elastic waistband on my maternity pants and gave up.

But it left me wondering - how did this happen? I USED to be cool, at least I think I was. It didn’t happen overnight which is probably why I didn’t notice. I didn’t go to bed "cool" one night and wake up the next morning wearing maternity clothes, a retainer, and with "crockpot" at the top of my birthday list. No sir, it was more like a slow leak in a tire that has now gone completely flat.

The problem is I’m not ready to be UNcool. I don’t want to wear tapered leg jeans or Rockport shoes . For crying out loud, I’m only 30! I need to regain a tiny shred of cool in order to retain my sanity. But how?

Is this what a midlife crisis feels like? Because I’m suddenly tempted to buy a motorcycle and change my name to Cinnamon. Or at least take "crockpot" off my birthday list...