Right now....

there is an interesting snapshot of America in my future home.Yes, they are still working on the new house.  And what an interesting "they" indeed.

This morning I walked into my future home to check on the progress. I was greeted by...

2 shirtless men
1 mullet
Several piercings
A plethora of tattoos depicting scantily clad women
1 cockeye
A plumber's crack or two
Lots and lots of cigarettes

I am not making any of this up.  I didn't even have to exaggerate.  God love them, they're working hard, and I'll give them some serious credit--they're polite as can be.

The move-in date has been moved to at least Monday, which probably means more like next Wednesday.  Does anybody out there know if there is a patron saint of carpenters and painters?  I need to put in a prayer or two.   Lizbeth and Laura, I know Marilyn would know the answer to this question. 

Turn out lights, the party's over...

We have officially been out of our house for 8 days.  I spent the last few hours sweeping and mopping, and I really felt like I was holding it together...until I walked by Sam's empty room. The walls were still baby blue, but there were no toys, no books, no crib.  I had a small personal crisis, but I managed to pull myself together.  We turned off the lights, locked it up, and walked away from our sweet home.

It has been a truly chaotic couple of weeks with no end in sight.  I have been told by my husband that I better be happy in this new house because we will live there until we die.  Right now, I can't disagree.

Speaking of the new house, we're not in it right now.  Our new casa needs quite a bit of love and tenderness before we can actually live there.  We are painting every inch of it, changing out some light fixtures, and replacing a ceiling.  The paint alone is a pretty big job, but there is no way I'm living with puke peach paint.  And I mean peach.  Did I mention the country blue paisley wallpaper?  No offense if you're into that kind of thing, but it's just not me, so we're getting rid of it. 

While we are waiting on the new place to be habitable, we are bunking with my in-laws.  They have graciously taken in 2 adults, a 23-month-old, and a stinky Boston Terrier.  

The first few nights no one slept.  Sam's crib is in their guest room, and sleep doesn't really happen when a soon-to-be-2-year-old rolls over and sees his parents in the same room.  He ended up in bed with us several times, which resulted in my getting kicked all night long and Anthony ending up on the couch.  We finally retreated to the extra bedroom, which means that we are sleeping in separate twin beds a la June and Ward Cleaver.  Let's just hope I don't start turning black and white and vacuuming with pearls on.  

Why you should never move...

1.  Because you will put on a Curious George DVD in an attempt to occupy your child long enough to pack some things.  Said child will somehow find a Sharpie that was accidentally left around and decide to decorate your quilt that your deceased grandmother made for you.  And the Sharpie Company isn't kidding when they advertise that whole permanent thing.

2. Because no matter how much you pack, your things still seem to multiply like mogwais who have gotten wet and/or eaten after midnight.

3.  Because after your child marks up your quilt, he will then decide to get into your jewelry and lose one of your diamond earrings...the ones you wore on your wedding day that you planned to pass on to a daughter or granddaughter. Yes, those.

4.  Because your husband will be required to go out of town for work the week of the move.  He won't be back until the day you sign the closing papers.  This means you watch an almost 2-year-old while packing up the rest of the things.  It's not pretty.  Not at all. 

If you're like me, you're reading this and thinking, "Well, if she has so much to do, why is she blogging?"  The answer is---I have no idea.  I have been informed that we will probably live in the new house until we die thereby avoiding all this hassle a 2nd time.  Let's hope we're happy there. 

In all seriousness, we're incredibly fortunate and really excited.  I'm just a touch overwhelmed, and I needed to whine a little.  Wah.

Chaos reigns supreme...

at our house right now.  We move in a week--that's right, a week.  I have boxes stacked up in every corner of our home, and it's driving me insane.  The really fun aspect of this is that we won't even be able to truly move into the new casa because we're having some work done as soon as the ink on our contract is dry.  We will be bunking with my lovely in-laws in the meantime.  (And I'm not being sarcastic, they actually are lovely people.)  The next few weeks should be interesting, that's for sure. 

Patience is not a virtue that I was blessed with, and I'm dying to start arranging furniture, hanging pictures, dressing windows, you name it.   And I'm really tired of finding that I need something only to realize that it's already packed up in a box somewhere.

Sam, of course, is somehow blissfully unaware of the stress in our home right now.  As long as the world continues to revolve around him, he's fine.  It is supposed to revolve around him, right?

I'm alive...

It's not that I don't have a million pictures--I do.  I probably have too many since my blogging has been put on the backburner.  We just have a TON going on right now--trips to the zoo, warm afternoons spent outside, my older brother came to visit, and Easter.  And did I mention we're moving?  My house is in a perpetual state of chaos right now. I have boxes coming out of my ears, and no matter how much I pack, it doesn't seem to make a dent.  Highly frustrating. 

And before I go on, I apologize for any typos...I'm usually a total grammar snob, and it makes me crazy to see errors 3 days later.  However, my eyes are giving me fits.  I don't know what's going on, but I'm having a horrible time seeing things up close.  My peepers are already in terrible shape--my prescription is
-5.75.  Yes, seriously...but they appear to be getting worse. Hooray. 

Anywho...Now that Mother Nature has decided to grace us with spring, we have been taking full advantage.  Sam had a fun-filled trip to the zoo a few weekends ago, and he was full-throttle the entire time.  He'd look at one exhibit for a minute, then turn and ask to see, "Mo, mo, animals," and proceed to take off in his version of a sprint.  It was hilarious.  I don't know why he has to say "mo" (more) twice.  I guess he loves being redundant. 

Checking out the monkeys

We were lucky to be there when they were feeding Casper, the giraffe.  Sam was able to get up close and personal.  Really close.

Overall it was a really good day.  They've opened up the new tiger exhibit, and I think they've done a good job considering the very limited financial resources they have. 

I'm not sure if I've mentioned it before, but Sam has a Carrie Bradshawesque fascination with shoes.  He wants them on at all times, and he's not afraid to try on his father's or his mother's kicks.   When his Uncle Brent came to visit, he thought he'd walk a mile in his boots.  It didn't work out so well for him.  The boots came past his knees, so there wasn't a whole lot of walking going on.

                                              

To wrap things up, we had a pretty full Easter week--3 egg hunts total.  (I can't tell you the number of plastic eggs that are now in the recycling bin.)  Sam was a bit tentative at the first egghunt, but once he found out there was "chocit" inside, he was an egg-finding-maniac.  He definitely (and unfortunately) has his parents' penchant for sweets. 

                                             

Figuring it all out

                               

                                           

            Chowing down on his Easter cookie.  Don't even think about trying to take it from him.

                                           

My view on the ride home.  And no, I didn't take a picture while driving.  

                                            

2nd egghunt.  Same outfit.  You can only wear bunnies for so long, so you've got to get it in when you can. 

                                           

Trying to open the egg.

                            

His loot

                                              

                            

Easter Sunday.  He wouldn't smile...probably because I had him in knee socks.

                            

3rd egghunt at the church

                            

Loving on his great-grandmother

Toilet trouble...

I thought I could take 10 minutes to check my e-mail, facebook, etc.  without incident.  I am stupid.  Very, very, stupid. 

In the time it took me to sit down and get on the internet, Sam had gotten a cup off the bar, taken it to the back, opened a door that he's not supposed to open, dipped the cup in the toilet water, and, well, he drank it.  Disgusting. If you see us today, you may want to refrain from kissing my child.

The good news is I cleaned the toilets yesterday. 

Home again, home again, jiggity jig...

Yes, we finally made it home.  I have never been so happy to set foot on familiar soil.  Of course, the Memphis Airport greeted our 10:40 p.m. flight by taking over an hour to get our luggage off the plane.  Sweet, sweet, people--they really know how to serve.

Do you ever take vacations only to get home and feel like you need a vacation after your vacation?  That's how we felt.  We were tired, our clothes were dirty, and our house was filthy.  It was not a fun way to kick off the week.  I can't complain too much, though.  We had a great time, and I've held off from posting pictures because my brother was supposed to be sending me all of the pictures that he took.  He hasn't.  (That's right, Blake--I'm calling you out.)  My camera is a huge Canon Rebel, (which I love)  but its size isn't conducive to taking pictures while skiing.  Or attempting to ski.  Or falling down--a lot. 

Our first day in Aspen, we were pretty tired since Sam had kept us up the night before with his illness.  We also got slapped in the face with some serious altitude.  An elevation of 7,890 feet takes some serious adjustment.  Walking up 6 steps makes you feel like your heart will jump out of your chest.  Anyway, we did take a gondola to the top of Aspen Mountain and have some drinks, so that was a beautiful and yummy way to kick off our trip. 

The lifts to Aspen Mountain.

Top of the mountain.

On our second day, we ate a delicious breakfast of oatmeal pancakes--yummers.  The rest of the day we took advantage of Aspen's awesome, clean, FREE public transit, and tooled around town.  

I honestly don't remember where this is, but it's pretty, isn't it?

My brother and me.  I know, I know...why is he so tall and I'm so short?  I've asked myself that question many, many times. 

Blake and Anthony

The Frozen Marshmallow and Anthony

And on the third day, God said, "Let the land produce vegetation."  Kidding--wrong third day.

On our third day, I "learned" how to ski.  This consisted of falling down--over and over and over again.  My brother is primarily a snowboarder, so he helped the best he could, but I was on my rear the majority of the day.  I managed to get off the ski lift properly the first time but immediately fell down.  Here's what people don't tell you about learning to ski---it's really, really, hard to get up once you fall.  At least it was for me.  And the snow on the bunny slopes was pretty darn packed, so I have a couple of really nice bruises.  I thought my entire backside was going to be 9 shades of purple, but it wasn't as bad as I had predicted. 

I did have a small panic attack getting off the lift the 4th go round because my ski got tangled in Anthony's.  I did what any sensible person would do...when Anthony got off, I just stayed on.  They had to stop the lift to get me off.  At that point, I just didn't care that I looked like a complete idiot.  I laughed at myself a lot that day--a whole lot. 

By my last few runs down the bunny slopes, I had gotten the hang of it enough to stay upright.  Given, I made myself go as slowly as possible.  I wasn't bending my knees and flying down hills; I was just trying to remain on my feet.  It was a victory in my book. 

We stayed at a great condo in Snowmass Friday night, and skied there on Saturday.  Luckily, Blake's girlfriend is a fabulous skier, and she was there to coach me through that day.  Bless her heart--she's used to going much, much, faster on much harder slopes, but she stuck by me throughout the day.  I don't think I thanked her enough for her patience with me. 

I had a lot of fun on Saturday.  Mind you, I still fell down on the ski path, off the ski path, in trees, you name it.  My crew convinced me I was ready for a "green,"  and I decided to go for it.  I made it okay except for one hill where I got a little out of control and couldn't stop.  Everybody was waiting for me, and I just kept going--I truly ate it in a major way.  Head first, snow in my mouth, you name it. 

We hung out at the bar at the bottom of the mountain to watch the Dawgs beat Vandy, and it was a great way to cap off a fun day.  All in all, it was super fun, and I would definitely like to go again. 

But I don't think I'll fly into Aspen Airport.  Unless it's summer.