I wanted to post an update on my mom and what is going on in case anyone was wondering. The last week has been terrible. I found an apartment for my mom here, which is good, and it is a great apartment. Much bigger than expected for the price, and not even ten minutes away. However the movers will take a week to get her stuff transported so she will be sleeping in our living room with our macaw on an air bed. Our macaw has a huge cage, the smallest size down from a double, and the living room is a small formal, so it will be cramped. I wish we could provide something better for her but thankfully it is only a week. She has been stressed beyond belief getting everything arranged, and there have been a few snags with insurance, movers, etc, but it seems like everything is on track for her to come in Tuesday.
So her test results from biopsy came back and cancer is not estrogen fed, meaning whether she will need chemo is up in the air. We aren't thrilled by this. My grandmother (her mom) had ovarian and could not handle chemo. She died at 64. My uncle has a rare kidney form that has been in his bones years, also cannot handle chemo.
My dr. wanted to send me for genetic counseling, but while my insurance will pay for the visit, they will not pay for the blood work, so it will be pointless. I would need another person to have breast cancer to qualify. In the words of my husband, "What, does everyone have to keel over?"
On another note, I went to my neurologist for a follow up on my migraine medication. My husband and I had argued the night before because he doesn't like when it gets raised and wanted me to ask about long term effects. So I did, and neuro said it was really just kidney stones. So I said I have those anyway, and he freaked! He looked through my forms and saw where I clearly circled it. Turns out I never should have taken the medication. He said I would probably be fine since I have been taking it for two years, and haven't had a stone sine '05,but I had to sign a release and cut out tea and soda, drink nothing but water now, and avoid things with vitamin c.
In addition, my cell phone "updated" so naturally it is all messed up, and my computer randomly crashed so now I have no computer (I am typing all this on my tablet), my youngest has a behavior psych appointment (finally) mondsy morning which is good, but horrible timing, I have tons of beddi get to wash for my mom, and I have to somehow keep the house clean until my mom sees it for the first time Tuesday.
I think that's it.

A New Flavor

So it has been a while since I posted.  Quite a while.  Which doesn't actually matter to anyone since no one reads my blog.  I don't care, it's really just for me anyway.  To start, let me warn anyone who stumbles upon my blog that there will be a new flavor to my posts.

Since it has been a while I should write a quick update.  We actually did get relocated to Florida.  So the sweater was pointless.

I have spent the last week with my head spinning.  I've been on the phone, looking at apartments, hearing about doctor's appointments, giving moving advice, and more, all while trying to manage three kids and a home.  My husband had two appointments, a small in-office surgical procedure, and an MRI.  We think he's fine, but we will find out for sure next week if his PVNS has returned.  However we are trying to get my mom down here as soon as possible.  It looks like she will be here in a week and a half.  Why the rush?  She needs to be nearby so I can help take care of her, and she needs medical treatment as soon as possible.  My mom found out four days ago that she has breast cancer.

My husbands parents are coming to visit next weekend.  We haven't seen them since February so they would like to see us.  It will be nice to see them, and I'm glad we aren't going there; it's not easy with the kids and pets right now.  It is also fourth of July week.  Luckily the fourth lands on a Wednesday, so that means no OT for my son, which will give me a break (I kind of feel guilty about that, but I need the extra time).  My husband is taking off Wednesday through Friday and I was looking forward to five days of relaxation with him, but that ended up getting filled with three doctor appointments and preparing his parents coming.  Did I mention we also have to pick up the keys to my mom's new apartment and try to find a bed for her and have it delivered?  Oh well.  Maybe we will get a vacation next year.

Now I have about half a million...no, make that half a million and one things to do to get ready for the visit, and the bad part is that they have to be done on specific days.  I hate that.  I can't get things done ahead of time and then relax!  I mean, really, why can't a house full of three kids, two dogs, and two birds say clean for five days?  Where is that rule written?  But, apparently, there is some secret rule book that kids, dogs, and parrots share, and it dictates that mommies everywhere must tidy, sweep, mop, vacuum, and clean kitchens and bathrooms the day their parents-in-law visit.  Ah, well, such is life.

I also decided about two weeks ago that I am making berry jam filled cupcakes for the fourth, and as those who know me know, when I get an idea in my head, it is like a train.  Unstoppable.  So despite my week, I am, today, making the strawberry and raspberry jam filling and baking those sweet cake cupcakes with vanilla buttercream frosting on Tuesday.

Right this moment I am just sitting on my freshly swept, newly-tiled-but-yet-to-be-grouted porch, sipping a diet sprite while I write this blot post.  I am trying to take a small break from my life.  What I really want to do is go out to my studio and melt the heck out of many rods of beautifully colored glass, but alas, my studio is gone, left behind many states and months ago.  Instead I am going to look forward to a smaller yet hopefully just as effective little corner in the garage that will someday be my own, and a time when my oldest will be more challenged in school, my younger two will be more manageable, my husband will be out of pain, and my mom will be cancer free, and everyone can live happily.

 Now back to reality.  I have cleaning to do.

Not So Warm and Cozy

I decided to make a sweater. It makes perfect sense, since it is, after all, 90+ degrees out right now. In my defense, however, it is getting down to the 60's at night and I am nearly always very cold by nature. So when I started waking up cold in the morning, and my husband applied for a relocation to Ohio, I decided it was high time to don that trusty crochet hook.

Unfortunately that trusty crochet hook deceived me. If you read about my yarn fiasco in a previous blog post, then you know this sweater was already off to a fuzzy start. Once I finally had the yarn I needed, I printed out the pattern. I knew I would have to modify it a little since it was too long for me. But shortening it isn't a big deal. I also didn't want a hood, but that was added after the sweater was finished. Again, nothing I couldn't handle.

I made my starting chain. Then came the actual pattern stitch. Why in the world they made the pattern the way they did was simply beyond me. I could think of at least two other methods to make it much easier to work up. I made a few inches, took it out, made a few inches, took it out...again and again until I finally got it the way they wanted. Then I realized I needed a bigger crochet hook to get it the size they wanted - it was going to be small. That was ok with me, though - I am a very small person and I did not want this sweater to be nearly as oversized as they did.

When I finally got the hang of the way they wanted me to do the pattern stitch, I was able to quite easily make the back. It took me about two days. Even though it was a complete aggravation, it did look pretty good. The yarn was nice.

Then I started on the front. Same problem, only worse! I had to take the front out almost 10 times before I got it going correctly. It was so frustrating! I managed to get a few inches done when my mom, with her years of crocheting experience, came over. I showed her my sweater project. She held up the completed back portion and crushed all my hopes and dreams by uttering three little words. "It's too small."

It was. Just barely, but enough. An inch or so more and it would have fit me. I turned it this way and that trying to make it work. I looked at her pleadingly. If only she could change her mind! I looked back at the partly completed sweater and tried to make it fit me. Her only response to my shenanigans was, "No, don't stretch it."

I was utterly defeated. I had to admit it. My mom was sympathetic.

"I had to take out that hat three times before I got it right," She told me.

I looked at her through my eyelashes, resentful. "That was this big." I held up my hands in a circle, fingers touching.

"Well," she said, defensively, "I've had to take out many a sweater and start over! Come on, now, you just have to take it out and start over!"

Helpful as always, my mother gave me a few more pointers and before she left I was in possession of a rather large and, amazingly, perfectly round ball of yarn that I never could have wound myself. I decided I didn't like that pattern nearly as much as I thought I did and decided to scrap the whole idea after all. Instead I found another that I like better and have started on it. Would you believe it? It is the same darn stitch, done the same darn way. Only this time, I am doing it how I want, and it is working out much better. What's more, so far, it even fits (but I must admit I have only done 1").

After all this, we will probably get relocated to Florida.

The Socks Go Marching

Laundry: one of my most dreaded chores, and the one I do most often. It was the center of my day Monday.

It used to be that I did laundry slowly throughout the week; bringing down all the dirty clothes, leaving them in a pile in the kitchen, and slowly transforming them into a pile of clean clothes in a basket that would eventually be again transformed into a pile of dirty clothes, rarely hung or folded until my frustration would spill over to my ever loving and considerate husband and he would help me put it all away. However, with our house being on the market, that is no longer an option. Now the clothes must all be neatly away where they belong. Ugh!

The washing and drying isn't so bad, really. You stick a bunch of stuff in the washer, wait for it to finish, stick it in the dryer, and wait for that to finish. Big deal. It's the after part that I don't like. All the separating, folding, matching, hanging. I don't mind the folding that much. It's mostly Chad's t-shirts and a few other things. It used to be that hanging was the worst part. Somewhere along the way, however, I came to realize it is the socks.

My socks are first. In the winter I have thick, warm socks that I wear to bed, and these are unique. Each pair is different so they are very easy to match. The rest of my socks are white. They have different cuffs so they match very easily, too. Or maybe it is just that I wear them, so I recognize them.

Chad's socks are next. For some inexplicable reason his socks look different inside out than they do when flipped the right way. This means he inevitably ends up with many unmatched socks left over in the basket. As if this weren't bad enough, he has socks that look almost exactly the same, but not quite. The pattern might be just a little off, or there might be a little difference in color, as if one sock got washed a few extra times. Depending on my mood, I will sometimes look around to make sure no one is watching, then shrug, and put those together. What the heck? It's not like he'll notice.

On to the kids' socks. My son's socks are the first of those. His are by far the easiest. They have their own texture, and are either boy colors or have some kind of boy theme, like trucks, or sports, or cars, or trains. For some reason he has the same "slightly off color" issue my husband has. It must be a guy thing.

Now the nightmare begins. It is time for the girls' socks. Here we have a multitude of sizes, colors, patterns, and themes. Seven years worth of socks have accumulated in this pile. The only sizes I have been able to weed out are the infant ones. There are patterns and colors that are so similar it will make your head spin to look at them. I try to start with the really obvious ones, like the Hello Kitty Pony themes, or the colors that by the Grace of God we only have one pair of, and work my way to the harder ones.

After a considerable amount of time, suffering, sweat, and frustration, I am finally finished and collapsed next to this tower of socks. I think about my oldest daughter sitting blissfully in her classroom. She likes to match socks. Maybe next time I will save them for her. I could add it to the daily schedule: homework, guitar lesson, match socks. I'll have to consider that.

Yarn Thief

Sunday was a calm day. I finally got to torch again (I'm a glass artist). It was the first time since June. I had surgery on my ankle to fix a ligament and some cartilage damage, and after that I was in a cast for six weeks. After the cast was off I was in a boot for another six; I still have a few days left. It made torching a little bit tough. So, Sunday was my first time out in quite a while. It was great to get away and have some time to myself. I made a set of 20 beads and a matching focal. Then we went back to A.C. Moore's for more yarn, and hung out around the house.

Right before dinner I pulled out one of the two skeins of yarn I had purchased and noticed the label was loose around one of them. That's pretty weird because normally they're so tight it's hard to get them to slide off. Out came my trusty kitchen scale and on went the yarn. Sure enough, instead of the generous 10.5oz it was supposed to weigh, the entire skein weighed a measly 7oz. Someone must have purchased the skein, used some, and returned it. By this time nothing shocked me.

Since I had purchased the last two skeins of that color, I had to call the store, ask if I could exchange it, and see if they had any more in stock. I explained the situation to two different employees, then hummed along to the lovely hold music while I waited ever so patiently (now do you really believe that?) until it was confirmed that there were four more skeins in stock, and the employee generously offered to hold one for me.

Chad went there right away to switch it out for me and, naturally, purchased another in the same color. Afterwards I found myself reflecting on the events of the past three days. Do normal people have lives like this? I didn't know. I had no basis for comparison.

Let Me Out!

Saturday started out uneventful. Chad took the dog to the vet for his shots, came home, then got groceries. After that we went to Sam's and A.C. Moore's so I could get some yarn. Chad had applied for a promotion in Cleveland so I ended up with an urge to make sweaters.

After lunch our doorbell rang. That is never a good sign. I was the first one there with Chad right behind me. I opened the front door and tried to open the storm door but a thirty-something guy with blonde hair and blue eyes, wearing clothes that made him look like he would be at home at a private school, was barring the door with his palm. His arm was outstretched and his foot planted, so I couldn't open the storm door. As I glanced down at his hand, two lines of thought raced simultaneously through my mind. One, the more (I suppose) more logical one, was a mental tally of the exits in the house and how we could escape this madman's attack. The second was the (insane?) urge to shoulder the door open and punch the bastard in the face.

My attacker released the door, I opened it, and foolishly stepped out. He innocently mentioned that we had our home for sale (as if I didn't know!). Amazing how putting your house on the market brings out all the wierdos. I took a quick look at his car. It was a huge black shiny thing, kind of like a Hummer. Chad told me later it was a Toyota something or other, the name having letters and numbers that sounded like it should be a name for a Ford truck. Maybe car people know what that means. All I know is it was big and black with lots of chrome, and looked like it drank a lot of gas. It made me wonder why he was looking at our house.

Attacker guy asked me if I had info about our house, and Chad quickly produced a booklet. I began telling him about our house and he told me he was looking for something for his mother-in-law. She wanted to be close by and he lived in the neighborhood behind ours. Again, I had to wonder about his choice of house when considering his vehicle and clothing. He got around to saying he had been holding the door shut because when people open their doors, dogs jump out. That made me curious about how often he went to strange people's houses. I reassured him I always keep my dogs back. I guess he was worried about his spotless, preppy clothes. He went on about the house; asked some questions and I gave some answers, and then he asked if he could keep the booklet. I wondered what else he thought it was for, but just told him graciously that he could, and he left.

All this naturally occurred at the precise moment when Chad and I were discussing whether or not to withdraw our offer from the short sale down the street. We'd signed the realtor and the offer nearly three weeks prior. During those three weeks we'd produced $500 earnest money, had our realtor try on multiple occasions to bully us into giving her the first 5 digits of both our social security numbers, and waited in vain for updates on our offer submission, but the listing agent (our realtor's partner) had still not even managed to submit our offer to the bank. We could just imagine how long it would take to close. We'd had enough. Our agent was supposed to work for us, not against us. We emailed her and told her to withdraw our offer. Now let's see when we get our money back.

The Germans Are Coming

Our house is on the market again. Yes, I said again. How many times is this now? I don't know, I've lost count. On the market, off the market, on the market again. This time it's staying on until it sells.

We always end up taking it off the market mainly because showings are just such a hassle. You get the request, confirm it, then race around like a maniac making the house as spotless as possible. That's not easy with three young kids. Then you have to leave your house for a certain amount of time. Again, not easy with three young kids. We have required that this time be limited to one hour. You wouldn't believe how many realtors still try to schedule showings that span two hours. Honestly! It takes anywhere from two to 20 minutes for someone to look at a house. Why in the world do you need a two hour time frame? We've had many realtors tell us that even if buyers are looking at multiple houses, it is still very easy to estimate showing time and limit it to one hour.

So anyway, on to my story. Friday morning I woke up to an email request for a showing later that afternoon. I confirmed the showing. During the day I cleaned upstairs, which is easy because the kids aren't allowed up there during the day. I did as much as I could downstairs and then waited until closer to the showing time. About an hour beforehand my husband (who will now be referred to as Chad) decided to cut the grass.

So there I was, 15 minutes before show time, trying to do all the last minute cleaning, when all of a sudden the doorbell rings. What the heck? I opened the door to find the agent and her client standing there, informing me that she knew they were a little bit early, and asking to come in anyway! I managed to collect myself enough to tell her we needed a few more minutes, so she said they would just look around the back. I then told myself to smile and pulled my mouth into something that I hope did not make her think I was baring my teeth to attack.

After I closed the door, the frenzy began! I tried calling Chad but he was bouncing away on his mower, blissfully unaware. I sent him the message "THEY ARE HERE" and hoped he would feel it vibrate. Then I raced around, barking orders at the kids while I staged the house. After a few minutes Chad came in, having seen the visitors, and we flew out of the house. The were unlocking the front door as we pulled out of the driveway.

I set the timer on my phone (how long a potential buyer spends in the house is a good indication of whether or not they like it) and we pulled around the neighborhood within view of the door. We were immediately confused to see the realtor and client walking around the side of our house; it had only been about a minute. Chad asked if I thought they'd had trouble getting in and the moment the words left his lips my phone rang. It was the showing service, confirming his suspicions.

We drove back and let the realtor in. Apparently our lock box was no longer working for no apparent reason. I started the timer again and we drove back to our previous location. The moment we parked the realtor and client were already walking out. She didn't even have time to get upstairs. At least it was still early enough for the kids' dinner to be on time.

After the kids ate their very complicated dinner of Pizza Rolls, we had gone over their daily check marks, and it was finally time to bring them up to bed, the day became strange. Westen, my Chinese Crested Personal Alarm System, started barking out the window. Chad looked out and said slowly, "Uh, there are some people walking around the yard."

Sure enough, there were. A woman, a dude, and a little kid, about 2-3. Not just walking up the driveway, but literally walking all around our yard - the front, the left side, the right side. Slowly. Looking at the house, the roof, the yard itself. Huh. I just stood there looking. Then the woman started heading for the front door at the same time Chad did. He walked out and I heard him greet these strange new people who invade people's yards.

Apparently they drove a couple hours just to see our house. The woman was German and a Type I diabetic with an insulin pump and the dude was originally from New England. He was a 47-year-old detention officer. Yeah, we learned a lot about them... Chad showed them around outside and finally I just brought the kids up to get their jammies. The second I did that, of course, Chad asked if it would be ok if they came in so they could look around. I reluctantly agreed just as my three-year-old ran naked from bedroom to bedroom.

After I managed to wrangle my youngest into her Dora jammies the visitors were allowed in. They looked around downstairs with Chad while I stayed upstairs with the kids. Chad informed me later that the wife asked if the built in paper towel holder was staying with the house. They loved our tile floors. They thought the downstairs bedroom was huge and were shocked when they finally make it upstairs. We have a cape cod so the upstairs bedrooms are bigger than the master on the main floor. She was extremely excited about the closets. They lived in a house built in 1917. It didn't have any closets. She flushed the toilet. She asked me if it had two settings and I found myself cornered into a conversation about why some people don't like low-flow toilets. She asked if they could move in next week. I watched as they gazed up at the rotating ceiling fans in amazement. The only thing they didn't like was our electric stove. She wanted a smooth cook top and thought our standard burners were ancient. I had to wonder if it was all their idea of a sick joke.

They finally left, two hours after they arrived. It was the longest, strangest showing in history. Before they left they told us that they were paying off their credit card next week, and as soon as that happened they would get their approval letter. Once that happened they would buy our house. Then they got in their car and drove off. I bet we never hear from them again.

My mother-in-law asked jokingly asked if they were scoping out our house. I was totally paranoid about that for a while. My own mom asked if they were ghosts. The worst part is that the whole thing was so incredibly bizarre that I actually had to think about it.