Dear hypothetical diary,
I must start off by saying that I’m looking forward to getting all of my frustrations out on paper in a very private way. This just feels so secretive… as if no one will see my thoughts.
A lot has changed since I wrote in your pages back in the 6th grade. I should probably upgrade diaries considering the fact that this one is covered in dusty pink fuzz and contains entries I can no longer relate to. The last entry I wrote was about how I truly thought that I could pass as Ginger Spice from the Spice Girls. We looked so much alike since I was twelve and not British.
I know that you’ve been watching me as you lay on my bedside table. You’ve seen what’s been going on, hoping that I would make note of the chaos in your blank, lined pages. So here I am, here to make note.
Let’s start at two weeks ago when Mike came to me and asked if I wanted to go look at a house that was for sale. (Mike is my husband, diary. He’s kind of old and great.)
He asks me this question often since he is always skimming through homes for sale as we lay in bed at night. I have ALWAYS said no, until this time.
This time when he asked me I jumped at the opportunity. I hadn’t left the house in three days and I just wanted out. I would have done anything, I just needed to be outside of my home.
“YES.” I replied.
“Let’s see this house!” And off we went.
Two days later, I was still thinking about this house.
I had fallen in love.
Fast forward to this week- we’ve made an offer on the lovely house, and we are getting pictures taken of our current home tomorrow. Pictures that we will use when we list our home.
This is all so crazy.
Why? WHY is this crazy you ask, diary?
Because we just spent a year of our lives building the house we are living in less than two years ago.
The craziest part- the new house is older than I am. We are potentially moving from a brand new house into a home that is in need of some work. It’s in need of some TLC (meaning paint, new fixtures, new lighting, new carpet, and all new showers).
I think Mike and I have become mentally ill, and that’s putting it lightly.
Apparently, dealing with a 1-year-old and a 2-year-old isn’t enough chaos for us at the moment. Also, I’m a mom-blogger now, which is some serious business and takes up all of my free time. If I’m not well-rested and not able to produce ridiculous parenting lists/posts, then my blog just may blow up. Which would be, dare I say, tragic (for me anyways).
So today…. Today was particularly hard.
The kids. Why can’t they just play with their toys? I should add- why can’t they play with their toys the way the toys should be played with.
The minute I try to clear away the pile of random crap that has been cluttering up my laundry room for the past four months, Von tries to make a racetrack out of his sister’s face. Sister cries, because big toy cars to the face don’t feel good, and the pile just ends up looking worse than it did before.
Unloading the dishwasher is impossible to do with two kids under the age of three. They both are so obsessed with said dishwasher that they will literally sit in front of it and watch me unload it until one of them can’t hold back any longer and hurls their entire body into it.
Then I raise my voice at them, which never feels amazing. So there the dishes sit, taunting me.
Cleaning a bathroom is also damn-near impossible. They want to be in the toilet (1-year-old) or running the bath water (2-year-old). Both are problematic when I’m just trying to clean a mirror. Both can be very messy.
I turn my back to switch over a load of laundry and come back to my closet to find that all of my clothes that were hanging from the bottom bar are now on the floor.
At this point, since both children are now mobile but still can’t be left alone unsupervised, I feel like I have baby twins.
So how the heck do I do this diary? How do I get an entire house sell-ready when cleaning one room means that another is being destroyed beyond belief by the two baby terrorists?
In fact, how do I get anything done with two toddlers?
I’ll be back tomorrow, and I’m going to need answers.
Consult me, diary.
On a positive note, we did go to Target, and we only had one fight over who was going to hold the pork tenderloin.
That’s a win in my book.
– Until the next time this Redhead rambles in a hypothetical diary.
This felt good. I might do this again soon.
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