Monday, February 24, 2014


You know how every time you turn around, it's some kind of memorial or awareness month, like Black History month or Heart Health month or...Eat More Chocolate...season. (Wait, that's not a real thing? Then what the heck have I been doing...since December? Oops, my bad...) Anyway, given the way that this particular page of the calendar has been proceeding, I hereby propose that February be decreed: Whiplash Month. I mean, we've had seemingly endless days and weeks of frigid, gray, snow-and-icy...blahness...that locked both brain and body in a deep freeze and trapped all of us mercilessly inside. And then all of a sudden this past weekend we were gifted with a meteorological boon: a glorious respite of sunshine and balmy temperatures, the kind of interlude when the boys--who rarely miss a meal for any reason if they can help it--keep playing outside right through lunch because they don't want to miss a minute of the beautiful, hospitable outdoors.

Meanwhile, chronological time had appeared to be d-r-a-g-g-i-n-g when our region was held captive by the Polar Vortex, and in self-defense we sort of slid into a modified Hibernation Mode. (You know, like the bears: hiding in a cave--um, "bedroom"--sleeping a lot, waking up to stretch, growl and toss back some food once in a while....or maybe that's just me...) And then, whoooaaaa--the clock just suddenly jackrabbited forward...and it's practically the end of February? I mean, I know it's a short month, and all, but Holy Time Warp, Batman, how did those past three weeks just...vanish into thin air? (And more importantly, can we get an extension on the Eat More Chocolate...quarter?)

And speaking of holding patterns: the Big Move...a plan that's been at a standstill for approximately E-V-E-R. La la la, twiddling thumbs, whistling...waiting. But hold on--we finally have some action...or at least the promise of some eventual...major events...or something. Husband and I have a meeting set for next Friday with the Real Estate Agent to sign the necessary stack of paperwork and get this show on the road (or rather "on the market"). First, though, I had the all-important consultation with (drum roll), the "Stager". This is the woman who would come in to our home, cast a critical eye around the space, and make suggestions as to how we could best present it to potential buyers. I have to admit, I found myself feeling a bit antsy before her arrival...wandering through the rooms, tidying, noticing flaws I'd become so accustomed to that I'd forgotten that they existed, obsessing over what she was going to say. What if she HATED EVERYTHING? (Excuse me, I'm getting too emotional...I'd better go get some calm-down-chocolate...Memo to Me: I might need an intervention to recover from embracing the Eat More

Well, I shouldn't have worked myself into a tizzy (yeah, pretty much the Story of My Life...), because all she really recommended were some minor alterations. You know, the obvious stuff like "put away some of the personal photos" (Absolutely. Done.) and "clear the kitchen counters a bit so they look as large as possible" (Of course. On it.) and "move this chair and ottoman to the other side of the room so there's an open pathway and it gives the illusion of more room" (Wow! That's totally better! Why didn't I ever think of that? Oh, I mean: not a problem.) and finally, "clean off the pack-rat's--I mean 'Riley's' desk so there's less clutter to distract the eyes". (Um...yeah....about that...we'll work on it and do our best, and that's all I can give ya...)

Not only was it a relief, but it ended up being kind of fun, because after school, Derek got enthused about helping me complete some of the things on the list (especially when I relayed her comment that nothing needed to change in his bedroom because "it looks like a teenager lives there"...and that was completely fine with her...) We flitted about the house, shifting a table out of the corner, opening the ping-pong table to highlight the basement as a "recreational space", clearing the refrigerator of magnets and comics and school certificates and Orioles collector cups and...other random items that were all-the-heck-over-it somehow.

Okay, so that's entirely enough organizing and rearranging and de...junking for one day. I feel quite pleased with what we accomplished. I feel so good, in fact, that I just might celebrate...if I can remember where I safely stored the chocolate...

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