I’ve been a bad girl.  I haven’t blogged in…in awhile.

Been busy with the new house/old house paradigm, still shuttling stuff to the new house while trying to get the old house ready for sale. 

I have two bundles of joy stuck to me like glue, too.

My spouse and I have argued about this recently; he’s angry that the move isn’t already done, that we’ve not already sold this old house.  He thinks I’m going to wave some magic wand and simply make 15 years accumulation of goods move from Point A to Point B – without any additional expenditure of money (as in hiring movers) or using a more appropriate vehicle other than a seven-year-old Honda CRV.  He’s been a little snotty about the kids, too…You wanted kids, remember?  You’ve got them.

He doesn’t seem to get it.  Back in the day when we were kids, we could simply run off to the park or to a friend’s house, take off without a care.  That world is long, long gone; kids are supposed to supervised every single minute of the day or somebody will be on the phone with the state filing a complaint about neglect.

That means I’ve become an entertainment director in the last two weeks since school ended.  The kids revolve around me like satellites, always within reach, never out of my gravitational pull – circling like angry cats, too.  They are constantly at each other’s throat, sick of seeing each other, but the headache of trying to arrange play dates with children whose parents work full-time is unbearable.  We’ve already done sleepovers, already been to the zoo, already been shopping, already been to a movie, you name it, we’ve done it.  They want to do more, but whatever they suggest requires the expenditure of more time or more money, neither of which I have in abundance.

And the contents of the house straggle over in smaller and smaller loads.  There’s only so much I can get in a Honda CRV carrying two passengers.

We had a talk about this, too.  My son is not accepting the new house as home.  As soon as we arrive at the new house with a load, he is already asking to “go home”.  We ARE home, we tell him…but it’s still not home because his upper bunk bed isn’t installed and there’s no cable television, only fuzzy antenna reception of the crappy local stations.

And no jungle gym in the back yard or a lawn to roll on or friends down the street or a park around the corner…

I had to draw a line in the sand.  This isn’t going to BE home until we make it a point of BEING at home.  As of July 1, we will live in the new house.  Period.  And all the stuff that isn’t essential to selling the old house must be moved to the new house by that time.  I will call and have the cable installed for that date.

And I will piss off my husband and spend money on getting a network patch panel installed and the telephone line and cable hooked up to the panel so that the house is fully wired, on or before July 1.  No more waiting for him to finish the drawings to get quotes from contractors and price materials for the deck as yet to installed so that we can get the final grade done and the landscaping in before the trenching is finished for the cable and telephone.  It’s simply going to be completed.  I’m going to spend money.

And I’ll remind him: You wanted us to move, remember?  You’ve got it.

Then maybe, just maybe, my little satellites will spin off into new orbits in their new home.  The gravitational pull of the competition-sized foosball table now in the new basement, pulled from under the weight of years of storage in the old basement, seems somewhat greater than the gravitational pull of my hips.

Imagine that…

8:26:16 PM    comment []