So it’s 4.15 in the morning.  What am I doing blogging?  Well, the idiots across the main road from us woke me up.  Yes.  I have become one of those people who hates those confounded youths - having parties on Saturday nights.  Seriously, it was 3.20 in the morning and these people are literally across the street from Mike and I.  Not in our neighborhood, mind you, but all the way across the main road.  I could hear the bass from the music pumping and a bunch of loud drunk women yelling at each other in the driveway.  My stomach was killing me anyway - too much excitement/fear/stress from the day - so I got up, tried to soothe myself with a chapter of a book, went to the guest room, tried to sleep, wondered if Arden could hear the party as clearly as I could, and ended up down here, on the computer.

There’s something about the dead of night that I like.  Knowing the girls are both sleeping and warm makes me happy.  The house is quiet and I sometimes think I should skip sleep all together - I could get so much stuff DONE at 4 in the morning! 

We looked at another house in a neighborhood we like in the our area.  The house was great - both Mike and I were hard pressed to find anything about the house we didn’t like.  We were hoping we could have a day or two to make an offer, but no such luck.  As we were enjoying our dinner with Eileen and Bill sans children at Three Monkeys, my phone rang.  It was Tim, telling us there was another offer coming in on the house.  I was able to quell my panic by drinking another Fuzzy Navel as fast as possible. After dinner we parted with the Pilcs and headed to Tim and Sara’s to write up a contract.  It took a while, but it’s done and submitted.  Tim was faxing it as we left - 11 pm last night.  Now the waiting game begins.  I think guys really like the whole game of negotiating.  Tim and Mike were into it, discussing all the different possibilities.  I just want the damn house - I don’t want to play games. I told Sara that I wish the real estate world would adopt the Carmax philosophy.  You tell us what you want to sell the house for, we decide if we want to pay that much - and voila, done deal.  Of course the game is fun when you are the seller in Richmond. It ain’t fun when you’re the buyer. 

So Sunday (I guess that means today, huh?) we’ll be getting our own house ready to go on the market.  Monday Tim and Sara are coming to help determine how to make the house look as good as it possibly can and dad will come and help me do the things I can’t do on my own, like spread mulch.  Unfortunately Mike can’t take a day off next week due to his schedule, but we have kept the house in good shape and we aren’t too far away from being able to list it.  Please keep your fingers crossed that they either accept or counter our offer instead of just taking the other one and telling us to go pound salt.  And hopefully the new house won’t have big ole rednecks who party and fight until all hours of the night. 

We have managed to avoid the stomach flu that ravaged Judi’s daycare, Jennifer’s family, and half of preschool.  Last night we met with a complete ass of a realtor in a neighborhood in River Downs.  That in itself was interesting. I should have known something was wrong with Lily when she continuously told us that her “tongue was hot”.  Hmmmm.  We wanted to find out if we could afford to build in this particular neighborhood - and more specifically, build a house that didn’t look like a shoebox made of brick.  Tim showed up a few minutes late and this other realtor, who brokers the deals for the builders, was a complete wacko.  He was a big fat redneck with a chip on his shoulder about the fact that we already had a realtor.  He spent a lot of time hacking up his left lung and telling us who lived in what house and what they did for a living.  Talk about snotty.  Tim showed up at some point during the tour from hell only to be told by this broker that he was “lucky” he showed up when he did because every minute the broker spent with us without Tim affected his commission. WHATEVER.  Lily and Arden rode behind us in my car with Grammy and Grampa.  Eventually we stopped and Lily told Grammy she wanted out of the car.  As soon as she got out, she barfed up a bunch of cheese crackers all over Grammy’s coat, my shirt and pants, and the edge of Mike’s jacket.  YUMMY. 

I was convinced she had contracted this gross virus but she felt great after puking, wanted to eat more crackers, and couldn’t wait to get to dinner so she could wolf down a bunch of pancakes.  She was fine last night and this morning and thankfully Arden is too.  I do have to say, however, that I find it entirely amusing that my mother has been barfed on 3-4 times.  And the girls have only barfed a combined 5 to 6 times total in their lifespan.  How is it that Grammy always is on the receiving end of that?!?!  One particularly memorable time was when Lily honked on Grammy as we sat in the waiting room of her pediatrician.  Soup and hot dogs.  Ewww.  I think their carpet is still stained. 

Regarding the house, we mercifully found out that we couldn’t afford to build in the neighborhood unless we bought a really crappy lot.  I was actually happy about it because that meant Tim, and us, wouldn’t have to deal with Boss Hogg and his emphysema.  I think he got on my nerves initially during our first phone call - he spent 5 minutes bad-mouthing Oak Park and telling me how ridiculous the neighborhood was.  Anytime a salesperson tries to sell me by badmouthing someone else, I get a feeling like I need to run, and run fast.  So onward to other alternatives.  We are still waiting on the final price for the home in Oak Park.  In the meantime, another house that looks like it has potential came on the market in our desired area. I will hopefully get a chance to see it tomorrow.  Tim has been the picture of patience and good, unemotional advice, and Mike and I both really appreciate everything he has done for us. Eventually he will get paid.  In the meantime, I have a list as long as my arm of things to do on our current house.  I think Mike and I are going to take a day off next week and try to knock it all out when we are free from the girls.  If anyone wants to come over and help, we’ll feed you. 

I got some notes from Lily’s teacher today - for the first time ever, she asked for seconds at snack time.  They were eating apple muffins, which was perplexing to Lily because there were “no apples in dese muffins”.  She liked them anyway.  She also told Mrs. Bryce that she didn’t know the Spanish word for “blue” (and she totally does, because the train in Dora is called Azul, and she knows what that means), but that another word for blue is “turquoise”.  She was so proud of herself for her big word.  Kind of like when she learned “anemone” and told everyone about it. 

Arden continues to go through a weird phase of having temper tantrums and screeches whenever life doesn’t go her way, and that’s often.  Tonight I removed a rubber band from her mouth (she’d pulled it out of Lily’s hair and was eating it).  That was enough to send her face-down on the carpet, kicking and screaming like I had just put hot toothpicks under her fingernails.  The drama factor in this house is huge!!!

Dateline:  Tuesday, April 4th, 9.05 AM
Reporter:  Jennifer Lynn Yeager

I was informed this morning by Jennifer that Arden is a bad girl.  Cute, but bad.  When Jennifer dropped Sophia off this morning at Judi’s, she put her in the exersaucer so she could give Judi the low-down on the house of stomach viruses.  Arden delightedly walked over to Sophia, sneezed DIRECTLY into her face, giggled, and ran away.  Ugh!  I had to reassure Jennifer that Arden has allergies, like her mother - but still, how gross!  She did it to me last night at Cavanna.  I was standing with two big bags of food and Arden in the other arm when she looked at me with a loving expression.  As I leaned in for a kiss, she let loose a huge sneeze. I was sprayed with slobber.  Everyone behind me in line either gasped with horror or laughed with delight.  I guess you’re never too young to learn to COVER YOUR MOUTH!!!

Jennifer was also really annoyed (she used another word, but I’ll keep it clean) that the reason Sophia along with the rest of the Yeagers got so sick was from another family who use Judi for daycare.  Their child was throwing up, but they said it was just because he was carsick.  They took him to Judi’s and then stayed home because THEY felt sick to their stomachs!!! They obviously knew he was sick. Judi let them have it full force.  One thing I love about Judi - she doesn’t mince words and she tells it like it is.  She told them that they had gotten Sophia sick - the one child in there other than Arden that can’t afford to lose any weight - and she then infected her entire family, as well as losing weight.  I can totally relate to Jennifer’s frustration in that sense.  Every pound I’m able to get on Lily and Arden takes a lot of work.  When they lose 1 or 2 pounds due to illness, it’s devastating - it takes a long time to get back to where they were.  So I’m glad Judi told them off.  Perhaps they’ll think twice about sending a kid in sick again.  One of things I like about Judi’s is that because it’s so small, you can’t hide a sick child from everyone else.  In big daycare settings you can dope up your kid on Tylenol and pretend you didn’t know they had a fever.  At Judi’s, you can’t get away with it . . . and because of that, other than mild colds, there is very little sickness that goes around there. 

The weekend is over.  Today I was almost glad to be back at work, in the hopes that I would be billable. So far, not so much.  I had a bunch of pro bono work to do. Am I allowed to call it that or do you have to be a lawyer? 

Friday, Suite C bowled at an AIGA event.  Phil won an award for the website so it’s my pleasure to post a link to it.  It was a lot of fun.  I felt entirely unhip because everyone there (except for the Suite C folk) were about 22 and wearing funky hats and very tight jeans (including the boys).  The fact that Tori and Nate had to explain what an Emo was last summer is an indication of how far out of it I am.  According to Jenn, I now have a patented bowling move she calls the “scamper”.  Everytime Phil bowled we all screamed “THE LEG!” because he has this very smooth leg-jutting move he does, a la Saturday Night Fever.  Phil may be white, but he’s got some soul underneath.  I didn’t get home until 11.30 pm (gasp!!!).  Jennifer came home to a vomiting Sophia, who in turn made her parents sick as well.  You gotta love those viruses. 

Saturday we ran errands with the girls, looked at another neighborhood we couldn’t afford, and played outside.  Yesterday I went to a baby shower for Helen, which was a lot of fun - and I met some nice new people.  Helen looks like I always wanted to when I was pregnant.  Tall and baby all in the front.  Her neighbor hosted the party.  She had a huge chocolate lab named Dixie who kept licking the cupcakes when she thought no one was looking.  Quite funny. 

Yesterday I got some difficult news that a family member had fallen off the wagon after 5 years of sobriety.  Addiction is a difficult subject, especially discussed in a public forum such as this one. I actually have thought many times about starting a separate blog, but decided against it.  I figure I’m honest about what’s going on in my life and as long as I don’t break someone else’s confidentiality or secrets, I’m okay.  Anyway, the news was disheartening, but not the end of the world.  Relapses happen.  I’ve had my own struggles with addictions - though mine have been more in the eating disoder arena.  I can’t tell how many times I actually stopped and then ended up starting again.  It took a long time to finally come to grips with it and find other ways to deal with the issues inside myself that caused me to do the things I did.  Recovery is an interesting term.  I’m not sure there is ever a perfect form of recovery.  Recovery is more of a process than a destination.  I hope that my family member is able to forgive themselves for this and move quickly beyond the guilt and shame that inevitably follows a slip. 

I remember one of my mentors telling me that addicitions were always in a back bedroom in your brain, doing pull-ups and lifting weights while you were in recovery.  She told me that one day, you’d have a moment where you felt like you couldn’t help yourself, and that very burly addiction, ripped up from years in that back room pumping iron, would come roaring out. Her point was that you had to be vigilant and prepared, as well as having a set of tools to deal with the stress or unpleasantness of daily life.  Those tools would be the only thing to get you through a weak moment. 

In talking with Sara about this, she had some interesting points to make.  She also pointed out that there are varying degrees of “sobriety”.  Living a clean and sober life, in AA terms, means no drugs or alcohol - of any kind.  I don’t know if that means anti-depressants or other kinds of drugs that provide the same type of numbing effects as alcohol.  This really brought home the fact that most addictions simply are an extension of the real problem.  In other words, if you are able to stop drinking, but don’t solve the root problem of what caused you to turn to alcohol in the first place, another addiction will take the place of drug of choice.  Part of my frustration with this family member has been the focus only on stopping the drinking, but not addressing any of the other issues.  When you love someone, you want them to be content with their life.  It’s hard to love someone when they are absolutely miserable, with or without the drugs or alcohol.  Sara also helped remind me that sometimes removing yourself from an unhealthy situation is the only way to continue loving someone who is sick.  It’s so true.  I have no control over anyone else or their choices, and if I am unable to be involved without getting entirely wrapped up in their problems, I have to remove myself.  I’ve had plenty of experience with addicts in varying forms, including myself, so I have developed knee-jerk reactions to these situations.  I spent a lot of time this weekend thinking about this particular one and formulating how I can be a support without becoming more entangled in it than I already am. 

On an entirely different note,  Jennifer, Sara and I are all competing against ourselves in the Suite C Weight Loss Challenge.  You can read about it on the Suite C blog, but the basic facts are that we each set goals for ourselves. Mine is to lose 18 pounds by June 1. If we don’t meet our goals, a picture of the offender in a bathing suit will be posted on the public blog.  In my case, it will be posted here AND on Suite C, which is potentially the most horrifying possibility I’ve ever thought of.  Jennifer has her own goals and Sara is trying to fit into her favorite pair of pants.  So far I’ve lost 7 pounds (over the past 3 1/2 weeks).  I’ve even managed to stay away from Girl Scout cookies.  Ahhh, the power of fear. 

“Flim Flam” sounds like a word my mother would have used when she really wanted to cuss, but felt that she couldn’t.  To this day, I burst out laughing whenever she slips up and shouts “SHIT!”  She’s such a purist.  Now that she’s older, she tends to slip up more, which really cracks me up.  Anyway, my mother’s pristine mouth is not the subject of this post.

Flim Flam is another word for indecision.  I have always prided, and sometimes chided, myself for my decisive personality. It drives Jennifer nuts - she is always saying, “Yeah, another ‘Just get it done’ moment brought to you by Cristina.”  I’m always busting on her for spending 3 years trying to decide to whether to buy Breyers or Yoplait yogurt.  Jennifer is a muller.  She needs her thoughts to ferment in the bubbling chasm of her brain.  My thoughts make me crazy.  The sooner I say yes, no, or “Just get it done!”, the happier I am. 

This caused me a lot of problems in my youth.  Sometimes getting it done was more important than what I was actually doing.  I made lots of mistakes by hurrying.  One thing I rarely felt was regret, however.  My gut instinct has served me well through the years. 

So you can imagine my chagrin when I realized I was not just visiting, but LIVING in the land of Flim Flam.  I could not, for the life of me, figure out what I wanted to do with the whole house thing.  I wasn’t even thinking about what Mike would want, because I was too confused about what I wanted.  I’m not used to being confused about what I want, and it was really freaking me out. 

The latest challenge was in determining whether to seriously look at Founders Bridge versus Oak Park.  FB would enable us to build a much bigger house for a similar amount of money.  It was even a house that I liked - and it wasn’t a big colonial block with windows, either.  However, FB is snooty, expensive, and probably full of retiring golfers.  We would be living in the “Slums of Founders Bridge”.  And the whole point of moving from our current neighborhood was to rid myself of the clique-y, cul-de-sac-forced socializing, stay-at-home-mothers-with-attitude brigade who seem to remind me, on a daily basis, of what a crappy mother I am.  I don’t need any help in that department. 

But, big is better, right?  After several conversations, a few less than pleasant, with people who felt that I was an idiot, and needed to point out that the house we might build is the same size as our current house, I began to doubt myself.  And I went to visit the land of Flim Flam.  I’ve been living there a few weeks now, and I’ve finally moved out.

Turns out that the slums of Founders Bridge is across the Powhatan county line.  The rest of the community is built within Chesterfield county.  Problem solved.  We can’t move there.  I’m not a big fan of the Powhatan schools, and I also have such a mental hang-up about Powhatan due to working with 20+ people who lived there, all of whom were either wife-beaters, alcoholics, or porn addicts, that the thought of writing “Powhatan, Virginia” on my envelopes about gave me a cardiac arrest.  I can already hear my mother’s voice telling me how much Powhatan has changed and I’m sure it has.  But all I can think when I hear the word “Powhatan” is “Get me the hell out of here.” 

So, if the builder can meet our price, looks like we might go for Oak Park after all.  And we can try to survive in our little tiny drawf-sized home with our two children.  It might be difficult, but I’m willing to give it a shot.  Frankly, I’m just glad to get my personality back again.