I need to make sure we’re all up to speed before I get to today’s post. Otherwise, we risk a lot of…”What’s that girl talking about now? Real estate? I didn’t even think she owned a house?” Which is true, I don’t own a house, but that’s not the point. The point is I sold real estate. Actually, Ben and I both did, and the damage to our collective brain has been surprisingly minimal. Although, from time to time I need to wipe away drool from Ben’s chin.
Her are the official CliffsNotes for today’s post: I spent five hardworking years crawling over hot coals, on my elbows and knees, also referred to as real estate sales. House data sheets in one hand, a cell phone in another hand, all while holding some client’s hand with the other. Yes, I know that equals three hands, so you can imagine the advantage an eight armed goddess would have selling real estate!
What I could have done with eight hands! I would have had enough hands to do all my real estate stuff plus jab out my eyeballs, my clients’ eyeballs and occasionally shove a hand down my throat, nudging along that wretched feeling. Like when I was three months pregnant, touring twelve plus homes on a ninety-five degree summer day, with some buyer who wasn’t “exactly sure” if they wanted a three bedroom, two full bath, or a three bedroom, two and a half bath. Because you know that third toilet could make ALL THE DIFFERENCE. Oh heck, lets just look at them ALL! And while we’re at it go ahead and throw in some condos!
Anyway, the other day I was watching one of those real estate shows on HGTV. The one with the happy real estate agent and the agreeable buyers. Where the buyers have three homes to chose from…and they like it. THEY LIKE IT. And they thank their agent…Thank you real estate professional for narrowing our choices down to three. We‘re simpletons and could also use your help determining which thumbs to stick up our asses. Seriously, people I take more jeans into the dressing room at the Gap.
So I decided if I ever sold real estate again I’d have a rule sheet for new clients. It would be laminated for easy clean-up of…oh I don’t know…blood, sweat and tears. It would go something like this:
I have been changing poopy diapers for almost four consecutive years now. Seven and a half, total, if you count the diaper duty years I spent with Lexi (hang tight, this isn’t going to be a poop post). I’m over the whole “Ew it’s a poopy diaper” thing and have become so desensitized I could probably change one while eating a hot, steaming plate of lasagna without so much a dry heave. However, one parental chore I cannot seem to become accustom to, in my almost twelve mom years, is playing the board game Chutes and Ladders with my children. Chutes and Ladders, or as I prefer to call it Chute (me-in-the-head) and Ladders, is the bane of my existence.
For any of you moms out there who aren’t as fortunate as I am to have a mother-in-law relieve you a couple times a week from your kids, my hat is off to you chicks. For those of you who stay at home full time without any help and regularly play Chutes-And-Ladders with your kids, I bow down to you. Playing back to back games of Chutes is what separates the men from the boys.
If you’re not familiar with Chutes (and if you’re not you should take opportunity and thank whoever it is you worship), it goes something like this:
We awoke last Sunday morning, without bread or juice in the house. Not cool, because if you know my kids, you know that their relationship with carbohydrates and sugary liquids is a deep, committed one. In order to avoid this sound, EEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH, the sound of no bread and juice, someone had to run out to the store for supplies. Of course I volunteered that someone to be me. I WAS NOT going to sit around with bread and juice deprived toddlers, clicking through cartoon channels, robotically repeating: Really, really, soon, every time one of them demanded to know When is Daaaaaddy going to be home?
Once at the grocery store I stared at noticed a woman wearing Green Bay Packer earrings. I’m not sure who had the initial idea to marry the two worlds of professional sports and jewelry together, but by golly, I’m betting their bank statement ends in a really positive number. Not only was there one Packer fashionista, but there were several others, all wearing some sort of Packer paraphernalia. And since it’s the morning, at the Pick-n-Save, I’m all what am I missing? Am I the ONLY one who still wears a version of her pajamas to the grocery store in the morning? Read the rest of this entry »
We were sitting around the table on Sunday afternoon eating a lunch of tomato soup and hummus pitas. Now how rockin’ does that make me sound? Like oh yeah we were sitting around eating hummus pitas and then we had colonics and really the kids just LOVE that shit. As if we do that kind of thing all the time. As if we don’t do what we really do, and that’s sit in front of the TV eating buttered noodles with parmesan cheese watching Americas Funniest Home Videos. Ben and I, our mouths full of pasta, debating if the guy in the video knew his buddy was going to hit him in the crotch with a bat or if it really was a surprise. Also, until further notice, when I say “we”, I’m including my Dad; since we’re staying with him for the next several months, now making us a family of six. So, I should tell you the “we” in this story doesn’t include my Dad eating anything “pita”. No, he ate jelly toast. RIGHT. IN. FRONT. OF. THE. GRANDCHILDREN. Who, as I already mentioned, were eating legumes.
