Lucky number 13? Let's certainly hope so.

Yesterday, while signing and dating a "your contract fell through again, you suckers" form I realized it was our 13th anniversary.  And then I sent Andy a text to remind him.  

It doesn't get much more romantic than that.  

Or so I thought.

And then, late last night as I was leaving my statistics class (AKA the death of me) I got the most wonderful surprise - my sweet family sitting in the lobby of the Applied Behavioral Studies Hall with all these goodies:

 According to my kids it's not a celebration without some "tiny little baby organs."  

And then I realized it doesn't get much better than this: My sweet husband taking care of our children so I can pursue a dream.  He makes lunches, and signs homework folders, and feeds and bathes and tucks-in our babies without a single complaint.  And he finds Starburst Jelly Beans when its not even Easter season and loads up the kids at 9:00 at night and tracks down my building and waits outside my classroom door and lets my children give me a home-made anniversary card.

Now that's romantic.

And then there were two...

...contracts that fell through on the day of closing.  This time we actually got to go to closing and sign the papers first.  There is nothing like a little salt in the wound.

So the adorable house on Meadow Lane is for sale for a third time.  {insert pithy or sarcastic comment here, I don't have the mental energy}

I tried a new strategy on the husband this time and it totally worked.  The second we got the bad news I immediately called dibs on the meltdown.  I put my hand up and was all, "Don't even think about it.  I get to have the complete breakdown this time and you get to be the glass-half-full cheerleader.  The meltdown is mine, all mine!!!"  And then I immediately burst into tears, ran to the bedroom, curled up in my bed and took a nap.

And that's how it's done ladies.

Now I don't think that he is going to allow me to act like this again, so for the sake of my marriage, someone {with good credit and enough money} puh-lease buy this house.

A dream come true and a nightmare all rolled into one

I haven't exactly come to terms with my feelings about my master bathroom.  It's equally mortifying and awesome.  Kind of like a Vegas hotel room that you got for cheap on Expedia.  

 I'm pretty sure I don't have to tell you to notice the rounded vanity - how could you not.

And want to know a secret:  Not one of those drawers actually opens and there is no electrical outlet.  Form over function was apparently the theme of this design.  And by form, I don't necessarily mean good form.  

This is the most humbling bathroom I have ever been in.  At any given moment you can see yourself from 15 different angles.  Showers are quick, that's all I'm sayin'.

 

I'm honestly a little disappointed that the bathtub isn't in the shape of a giant champagne glass.  However, the carpeted stair almost makes up for it.

 I can't complain about the storage in the obnoxious room.  Behind every giant mirror there is a giant closet.  It's a give and take situation.

 This is mine...all mine:

Ya know, this bathroom has helped me to channel my inner Hugh Hefner and just live it up.  

 I think I'll take a bubble bath, put on my full-length velour robe and pour myself some brandy.

A party only a Mia could love

Mia likes to be in charge.  Of everything.  And in the ultimate display of Type A characteristics she controlled her own birthday party by presenting the attendees with gifts she had painstakingly made for them (Thank you, Mom and Ahmo for indulging her).

She couldn't have cared less about all her presents sitting there on the hearth.  She likes to get her attention in other ways.

She made a quilt for Henson:

 "Adore me.  I made you a present on my birthday."

She invented this darling little felt racetrack rug for Simon complete with little cars and traffic signs that velcro to it:

 A beaded wooden necklace for Sesa:

 And she did enjoy her new bike (for exactly 30 seconds) from Yaya and DD.

She decided to have her small group friends over for a tie-dye party (AKA my worst nightmare).

And again, in true Type A fashion, she spent the first half of it crying in frustration because her t-shirt did not turn out like the one on You Tube.

After threatening her within an inch of her life, she pulled herself together.

Overall I think she was pleased with her day.  

This hug pretty much sums it up.  

"Thank you for submitting to my every demand on this special day.  You're a real friend."

"Just because it's your birthday, kid."

Pretend you don't see all that dead stuff...

and the rotting stuff, and the other dead stuff, and more rotting stuff. 

And then you will know why I bought this house.  Those two little kids can run, play, hide, hit baseballs, and have backyard campouts.
Totally worth it.

Happy Birthday, Sweet Girl

Today Mia is eight.  

Her ears are now pierced, she attempts to fix her own hair, and her teeth are huge.

 She is the most wonderful eight-year-old girl I have ever met.

 She's complicated, bossy, sensitive, nurturing, and inherently creative.

She's her Father in drag.

 And I wouldn't have her any other way.

Happy 8th birthday, Mia.  

Your party isn't planned, I haven't gotten to the store to get you a present yet, and your birthday outfit isn't ironed.  

And yet you love me anyway.  

I'm so blessed to be your frazzled Mommy.

Summer Lashley and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day

So yesterday was the day we were supposed to close on our adorable house on Meadow Lane.  Keep in mind it's been under contract for over a month now (i.e. off the market, sold, we can be excited about our move because the huge burden/nightmare of having two mortgages is off of us).

Here I am snapping pics of the kids last night in their rooms at the adorable house on Meadow Lane.  Trying to savor those last moments in this house before another sweet family made it their own.  

Here I am in my nostalgic and blissfully naive state as I watched my child make his sweet sleep sounds on his last night in the adorable house on Meadow Lane.  

And then on Monday we moved.  And sweet Mia immediately went to organizing her new room and asking for turquoise and purple stripes on the walls.

I immediately bit my tongue and eeked out a, "We'll see," while physically restraining myself from rearranging those shelves.

And then on Tuesday I was blissfully unaware that my house was a disaster because I spent the entire day organizing my pantry.

I had dreamed of having a pantry all my adult life and I finally had it.

So what if there is a giant fake palm tree in my entry covered in 6 inches of dust?

And so what if they left a ginormous weight machine that takes up half of the garage and takes an army to move less than a centimeter?

I have a pantry, darnet, and I'm not going to let any part of this quirky, spider-ridden house get me down.

Not even the built-in wet bar with a giant hole where an ice maker used to be.  No siree bob.  I'm happy.

And then Wednesday came.  The day we were supposed to close on the adorable house on Meadow Lane.  And I wasn't even sad anymore.  The pantry had quite a healing effect on me.

And then we got a phone call, "I'm sorry but the people that were buying your house TODAY didn't get the loan."

Translation:  "You've had your house off the market for a month and now you have to start all over.  And it has no furniture in it.  And it's coming into winter and no one likes to move in the winter.  And you still own it so you still have to pay for it.  And basically, you're screwed, have a nice day."

So, anyone want to buy an adorable house on Meadow Lane?  It's already had inspections.  The repairs are done.  And the owners are desperate.