Uncommon Misconception

Signs You Live in the Middle of Nowhere

1. Veterinary care is ten times more accessible than human medical care.

2.  Directions to your home involve any of the following:
a. watching your tripmeter for specific mile markers
b. descriptions of metal gates, the signs they bear, and/or lock combinations
c. admonitions that "if you see ____________, you've gone too far."

3. Number of times you've googled a creepie crawlie to check for venomous status exceeds two times in one week.  (Yeah, I'm looking at you, you creepy bastard!)

I'm sure more telltale signs will become apparent as we go...

Part 2: Because I Couldn't Make This Stuff Up if I Tried

When we last left our heroine, she was licking her wounds but determined that things would look up...

Monday, Todd and I dropped the kids off once again and hit the deck, working as hard as we could to meet our 5:45 move-out time.  I asked around to see if anyone had noticed whoever it was that had hauled off our stuff, but no one had.  We took trip after trip to Goodwill and our storage unit, patched, painted, sweated, and generally looked forward to getting it all done.

Late that night, after Todd made one final trip, we sat at home and gave each other a weary toast.  It was hard and it had sucked, but it was over.

Tuesday morning, we awoke to find a giant puddle of water in our living room under the a/c unit. (Sidenote: anyone know why it's "a/c" and not "a.c." or "AC"?  What's up with the slash?)  Out here, we have no central a/c.  Each room has it's own unit.  We soaked up the mess with towels and Todd set about evaluating the unit while I hopped in the shower.

The water pressure in the shower was seriously impaired.  I had noticed our overall water pressure declining but we'd chalked it up to sediment accumulating in the lines.  The sink, washer, and toilets weren't faring well either and we just assumed the well was churing up more sediment than usual.  With water simply falling out of the shower head, it took forever to wash and rinse, dancing around to catch what I could.

I jumped out and took Caroline and Hannah to the pediatricians to double-check Caroline's double-ear infection, since her sleep patterns hadn't improved. I felt hammered and slightly delirioius from serious sleep deprivation.  While in the office, Todd called to inform me that we had no water.  None at all.

Great.  Day One in new house with all hope of retreat cut off: Down one a/c unit and all water.

The peditrician gave us our first bit of good news in forever when she announced Caroline's ears totally clear - miraculous considering it had only been one week.  But that, I'm afraid, is where the good news stopped.

Todd and I scrambled to find a plumber, but when that failed, began looking for hotels.  The water came and went for the rest of the day - never more than just a trickle, though, and we decided the problem was more likely well-related than a plumbing issue.

Todd had to go to work and I sat at home trying to keep the girls happy without running water or the benefit of a/c in our main living/kitchen/dining area.  We decided there was enough water to attempt making it through the night - which was a good thing, since there was a golf tournament in town and nary a hotel room for the taking.

Wednesday seemed like it was going to be better.  We had managed to get the a/c unit limping along enough to mitigate the heat, though not entirely up to par, without leaking a couple of gallons onto our floor. (Sidenote: linoleum may not be the most attractive flooring option, but it does clean up like a dream.)

The water pressure had resumed enough to make teeth-brushing and toilet flushing possible.  Todd headed out early to work and dropped Hannah off at Mrs. Barbara's on the way, so it was just Caroline and me.  I called around and found a well company who was available to come out and evaluate our situation.

By mid-afternoon, I decided we had enough water flow to try a small load of laundry.  I started it while Caroline was napping and then worked in my office for a while.  When I came back into the living room about a half hour later, the whole dining area and kitchen were flooded.  Yep, flooded.

I scrambled to get boxes of photo albums and keepsakes out of the puddles and up onto dry ground, barely saving our wedding pictures.  While I grabbed every spare towel in the house and began sopping up the mess, I dawned on me that the drain pipe must have pulled loose from the back of the washing machine.  So while we didn't have enough water for anyone other than Todd to bathe, we did have enough to flood my dining room and kitchen.

It's a good thing the floor in that room has more dips and dives than an amusement park roller coaster - it makes for convenient pooling.  And besides, if it hadn't flooded, I never would have known how much mouse crap was under my washer and dryer!

The well company came out and pronounced the well, which we share with our neighbors, old and rusted.  The pump and pipes and wiring all had to be replaced to the tune of about $3400.  Fortunately for us, my dad agreed to split the cost with our neighbor. 

That evening was Mom's Night Out, which I was clearly looking forward to, given all that had happened.  By the time the washing machine flooded, I just laughed because really, what else can you do?

And here's when you'll start to say, "Oh, c'mon, Julia, surely this is the end of the post."  And it should be.  But it isn't.  On the way to Mom's Night, Todd's car had some sort of short in the electrical system.  I couldn't adjust the seat and every time I tried the door locks would start clicking and the flashers would, well, flash.  Given my short stature when seated, this was a real problem.  I looked like a four-year-old who had hijacked mom's car.  By the time I got there my back was nearly spasming and my neck was tight from stretching and straining.

On the ride home, it functioned just fine, letting me adjust the seat.  Which was a good thing because it's one hell of a winding road home and I was not looking forward to handling it from a gangster-ly backseat stance.  But when I pulled up to our gate and put the car in park, the interior lights and radio went out.  Then, when I parked in front of our house and turned of the engine, the lights refused to turn off.  I had to wake Todd at 12:30 at night to go do something about it.  The following morning he had to ride to work with his head up against the headliner like he was in a clown car because once again the seat adjusters wouldn't work.

As I type, the well is being repaired.  We'll take Todd's car in to be evaluated soon.  And - oh yeah - Jake, one our dogs, has heartworm.  $600 right there.

I should start taking bets on what's set to go wrong next.  At least I could make a little money for my pain.

That's it.  I think.

Once I Complained That I Had No Shoes, Until SOMEONE STOLE MY SHIT!

We all knew this move was going to be hard.  I was prepared for hard.  But, once again, I was expecting hard in all the wrong ways.

Friday seemed like it was going to be the worst for me.  I was scrambling to pack as much as I could while my toddler was at preschool and my ear-infected baby was in the care of my new caregiver.  But it was the day I knew would come: the day Todd would begin throwing random crap in boxes indiscriminately and muttering, "Well sort it out later.  Just get it off the floors for the carpet cleaners."  But I am too wise for this - I know there will be no "later".

It was also the day I had to sort through all of our attic stuff, including boxes that held the sum total of my elementary, junior high, high school, and college memorabilia.  I came across post cards from my grandma, my Sally-Jesse Rafael-esque glasses from fourth grade, track medals, newspaper quotes, and paperwork from a Duke University program that had me take the SATs in 7th grade.

I packed all of my formal china, crystal stemware, and silver - stuff that I've actually used on numerous occasions, hosting Thanksgiving dinners and Valentine's Day tea parties.  I even found an old newspaper clipping stuck between two saucers from my grandma's "Annette" china patter that proclaimed the $7.95 per place setting sale price when she originally bought the pieces - I'm guessing in the sixties.

Then I gave away more of my possessions than I ever imagined I would.  I had hoped that more friends would be able to take stuff until our eventual return, but schedules didn't mesh and their cabinets were already full, so after cajoling them into taking as much as they could, we took truck-loads of things to Goodwill.  Truck. Loads.

So I cried.  Because even though it's just stuff, it was my stuff.  Stuff I had plans for.  Stuff I had memories of.  Mine.  And Ours.

I went home, licked my wounds, and decided that the worst was likely over.

(You're laughing now, aren't you.  Because you know what happens when one is foolish enough to think the worst is over.)

Saturday and Sunday I had to stay home with the girls while Todd cleaned, did household maintenance, and all of the yard work.  Sunday, he set aside all of our baby equipment, including an exersaucer, jumperoo, bumbo seat, high chair, bouncy chair, and an entire collection of Avent bottles, nipples, and pumping equipment - all to go to my friend and her two-month-old.  Her husband was going to come by and pick it up.  Todd set it in front of our garage, right up against the house under the awning, and left to come home.

I went up later that night after putting the girls down to get as much packing as I could done because Monday was the absolute last day before we handed over the keys to our tenants.  I started to work, doors open, garage lit up, radio playing, making trips up and down the stairs to my open-doored car.  J, my friends husband showed up at about ten.  He asked where the stuff was and I told him it should be on the side of the house.  He looked and couldn't find it.  I looked and couldn't find it.  I called Todd and he said, "It's right there.  Right in front of the garage."  J and I were standing in front of the garage.  It was all gone.

I hindsight, I think I actually saw the truck with my highchair in it going down the street as I pulled in.  But I had no idea that Todd had left the stuff in front of the house, not on the side out of sight.  And I had absolutley no reason to suspect that someone would take it during daylight in full view of everyone, including golfers, walkers, and our neighbors.

But they had.  I asked J to stay long enough to help me get a few more cabin-bound boxes in my car.  I suddenly felt very vulnerable (as a smart person would have from the get go) with the doors unlocked and all by myself.  Once I got in the car to leave I started sobbing.

Was it just stuff?  Yes.  Was I most likely through with it all?  Yes.  Did that matter?  No.  It was my babies' stuff.  The bright-blue high chair that served as the backdrop for so many messy-infant pictures that are seared into my memory.  The jumperoo that Hannah loved so much she looked like she was auditioning for an episode of Hee-haw meets Riverdance.  The bumbo seat where I fed each of them their first solid foods.  And if I was to be done with all those items, it should have been my call - not some jackass off the street who was bold enough to walk the 35 feet from the street up to our house and take multiple loads of not-his-stuff to his truck. 

I was furious.  It was too much.  On top of the stress of moving, the emotional havoc of leaving a house that was filled with so many memories, of packing up the few that remained, of giving away so very many posessions, of leaving my sick baby with someone else, of hearing my stressed-out toddler sing half-loops of preschool songs in such an annoying and incessant way that I began to ponder googling "tourettic fits" - I just had to loose it for a while and be upset.

My best friend and my mom did a pretty good job of pulling me out of it.  And they assured me, as anyone would, that things had to get better from here.  One more day and we'd be done and able to move forward.

Right?

(You know the answer.  Part 2 tomorrow.)

Settling In

We're getting into the swing of things out here.  The furniture is in place, the kitchen is functional, the immediate yard is cleared, walls are adorned, laundry is hypothetically washable.  The kids really seem to like it out here.  Yesterday, while Caroline napped, Hannah and I went on a walk down to the creek and looked at minnows and old pecan shells.  Not too shabby.

The biggest thorn in our side right now is getting the old house ready for the new tenants.  There are three primary tasks left: 1) sort and store clothes, 2) pack up and store kitchen stuff, and 3) move all furniture, boxes, and totes to storage facilities - one close to the old house for stuff we won't need and another close to the cabin for the stuff we'll need to access.  Oh wait: 4) Have the house cleaned top to bottom.

We have one week.

Then, we can re-focus our efforts here, where we'll be preparing for Caroline's first birthday party!  How that happened, I have no idea.  Last I looked up, I was big as a whale and attempting to celebrate my 30th birthday.  The time does fly.

I hope you had a great holiday weekend, if you live in the states.  We did.  Our friends had their annual party and the kids had a blast.  I'll upload some pictures shortly.

Alive and...

When I called my mom last night after the worst of the move was over, she said she was glad to know we were alive and kicking.  I told her that I thought it was not so much "kicking" as "twitching" or perhaps plain 'ol muscle spasm.

The move actually went better than expected.  I am very much impressed by how well our furniture suits this house.  It looks like an entirely different place.  When I brought Hannah and Caroline home from my friends house (where they had stayed most of the day), Hannah ran around the whole house screaming with glee and saying "I LOVE my new house!" and informing me of each and every item that had miraculously relocated itself here.  She even told me the new cabin is "in her heart."

So I'm feeling quite good about this whole move.  Much more to be done though, as we still have a TON of packing and storing and cleaning left to do at the old house.  Not to mention the finishing touches here.  I'll post some pictures of it all soon.

Dark Side of the Moon

Tomorrow is Day One of operation country livin'.  It's the day we attempt to transfer our internet connection, telephone lines, and television service.  Which means something is pretty much guaranteed to go awry.  Theoretically, I could have internet connection by mid-afternoon.  But realistically, I may not be able to reach out and touch you all until later.  How much later, well, who can say.

It's really weird seeing my home devolve as things disappear into boxes.  I've got two weeks after the big part of the move to prepare for part two: which involves packing Everything That Is Left into well-marked boxes and transferring it to storage.

Please, please wish me luck. 

Nary a Peep

Filed under "Fortuitous":

As of this week, the chickens (including roosters, praise be) seem to be entirely gone.

Two more days.

T-Minus Six

grin, originally uploaded by uncommonjulia.

The big move begins on Friday.  Thus far, Caroline remains unphased.  She's my new mentor.

Hannah and I seem to be on the same page.  Namely, "let's get this done!"  Except that implies that I'm actually taking steps toward making that happen, which really, not so much.

The problem is that we're downsizing to the point that the only things we're taking with us are things we need and actively use.  And as such, they can't be put away in boxes until almost the last minute.

At least that's my story.

(More adorable pictures of Caroline on flickr.  If you're a "friend", there are even more.  Also, big shout out to Pioneer Woman for her awesome tutorials, including the most recent on burning and dodging.)

Don't Mind Me... Just Flipping Out a Bit is All.

Today was most definitely a Monday.  And someone somewhere who has a sick sense of humor decided to throw me not one, but two additional balls to juggle.  And I gotta say, I'm running short a few arms.  So I'm gonna bitch for a minute.  Because, as I understand it, that's the basic premise behind blogging.

1. Apparently, my pastor is gone.  I don't know if she left the church voluntarily or under some sort of pressure.  I do know that there had been lots of tension (over what, I honestly could never figure out), and she had considered leaving before.  But now, she's gone.  There's no trace of  her on the church's Web site and I got an e-mail today about painting the new parsonage (which I didn't know we had) to welcome the new pastor(s) (whom I've never heard of).

Obviously, I haven't been able to attend service is a couple of months.  Caroline's naps and Todd's open houses have conspired against me.  I'm disturbed that she's gone and even more disturbed that I don't know why.  I really felt like I had found a home there, and now, I don't know.

I guess the whole thing just leaves a bad taste in my mouth.  I used to feel like it was a place of acceptance, but now it feels like a place where they run folks off for disagreeing.

I understand, though, that it was likely a moot point for the next few years anyway, since the cabin is too far away to continue going there.

Still.  Gah.

2.  This is the real zinger.

I went to pick up Hannah this afternoon from Mrs. Barbara's Academy of Stay Out of Our Hair.  I love, love, love Mrs. Barbara.  She's run a daycare that really functions as more of a preschool out of her house for something like 16 years now.  She loves Hannah and treats her like a true individual.  She's flexible, kind, patient, and affordable.   We're willing to drive a lengthy commute to let Hannah continue going there after the move.

Today, when I picked her up, Mrs. Barbara waited for another parent to leave and then told me she needed to talk.  Again, that sick feeling rose up in my belly.  For a second I thought she was going to say Hannah had done something terrible and wouldn't be allowed back.  I quickly dismissed the thought, but got even more worried when she prefaced her comments by saying she'd waited to talk to me because of all the stress we've been under.

The short of it is this: She's closing the school.  At the end of August.  I have two months to move Hannah and then find her another caregiver. 

I cried.  Even though I completely understand her motivation.  They're selling their home and moving in with her Mother-in-law to help her renovate the family home and take care of her.  She's been doing daycare for a long time and though she loves it, she's tired and needs a break.

What I need is some wine. 

Gah!  And gah!  And GAHHHHHHH!

Insert Knife, Turn Counter-Clockwises

Last night, clients-turned-friends of ours came to take what was left of our furniture (the stuff we can't fit into the cabin, that is) and took it home with them to use and store until we move back.  Hannah was quite the trooper, but was we watched them take the final straps to tie everything down in the trailer I noticed her walking slowly down the length of it, stroking and patting the sofa and a chair back.

I asked her if she was okay, and she replied yes, but wanted to be picked up. I obliged and she tucked her head into my neck and whispered, "But mama, our furniture is in my heart."

Instead of crying myself and urging our friends to kindly return the heavy, unnecessary furniture to its proper location, I reassured her that we would get to see this stuff again when we moved back and that we would have more than enough to fill up our home when we move in a few weeks.  But man.  On the inside?  Not so much with the strength.