Saturday, July 31, 2010

Talking Trash

The fingernails are gone, but the feeling that I'm camping still lingers.
It is the rainiest summer Houston has seen since the early 1900s. Which is basically the long way of saying that it rains EVERY. SINGLE. DAY.
But I'm always one for counting their blessings, and so I shall.

Thank you God. Thank you for creating gymnastics camp. This provides me a brief respite from the continual squabbles and bickering that plague my everyday existence.

Thank you for Texas neighbors. In our short time here, someone has already baked us a cake. Our next door neighbors could not be friendlier. (almost too friendly, but that's a story for another time).

Thank you for Big Trash Day. Oh yes- I've missed this one. Once a month, you can put ANYTHING- really anything, out to the curb, and the trash folks take it away. (Unless people driving by don't scavenge it first). This Monday, my curb will look like Sarah Cynthia Syliva Stout finally did take her garbage out.

Thank you for Central Market. For those not in the know, Central Market is like a merging of Whole Foods, Trader Joes and Bristol Farms- but only better. It says something when the entire damn family wants to go grocery shopping. Yesterday, my kids sampled imported salami shaped like a flower, something called Cowboy Cookies and freshly squeezed orange juice. Walking into the doors of Central Market was like saying hello to an old friend- an old friend that likes to make me fat.


Friday, July 23, 2010

Temporary Fix

I wanted to take a picture of my current situation, but I can't find the camera.
It's somewhere here- somewhere behind the 300 boxes (not an exaggeration) littering our small rental house.

We are renting a house in Texas, until our house in California sells. Actually, we decided to rent even when we thought we had sold our house, but that's neither here nor there. It will give us time to get our bearings- relearn the neighborhoods, get a lay of the land, so to speak.

Except the lay of the land is dirty. Renting a house is dirty business. Yesterday, I cleaned someone else's fingernails out of a drawer. SOMEONE THAT IS NOT RELATED TO ME. I think I will have nightmares about this for the rest of my life.

In other news, our stuff arrived on the day they said it would. I have been married 14 years, and out of those 14, I've moved 7 times. That's an average of one move every two years. This is the first time my stuff has arrived on time.

The moving truck showed up two days ago- at 8am. It was a balmy 76 degrees- with a big Texas blue sky, littered with fluffy, white clouds. Off in the distance, you could see a few grey clouds- but really nothing to speak of. I thought to myself, "Hey! This isn't so bad! Where's the humidity?"

They started to bring the stuff in. It's fun seeing your stuff come off the truck. You exclaim as you recognize each piece- it's almost like Christmas morning-but instead of wrapping paper, your stuff is entrenched in awkward blue moving blankets. I had a great crew- one guy used to play the drums for the Temptations. Another guy, named DJ, could lift a mattress like it was piece of paper.

After lunch, we started to lose our steam. By "we", I mean the crew- because yours truly was parked in a lawn chair- ticking off box numbers as they paraded by. The air started to get thicker, the grey clouds began to outnumber the white ones. I suddenly got nervous. It was going to rain- pour, judging by the looks of things. My kitchen and bedroom had boxes stacked to the ceiling. My house began to look more like a storage facility, and I could only imagine the work ahead of me.

I don't mind moving, I really don't. I mean, I don't "enjoy" it- but I do get a high out of the organizing that takes place as you prepare. The sorting of the junk drawers- the cleaning of the closets. It's the same with laundry. I don't mind doing laundry. I love emptying the hamper- throwing them in, starting a load. But I absolutely detest putting laundry away. Almost as much as I hate unpacking a box. Any box. And now, I've got 300 of them, staring me down.

So, forgive the lack of pictures. Once I find the camera, I'm hopeful the amount of boxes will be less than a hundred, and that our current digs will resemble more of a cozy, temporary place to rest our heads- instead of one of those pods people use to store their stuff. Because right now, it's Chez Storage Facility.

Thursday, July 15, 2010

Scenes From A Move

My house was packed.
The truck was loaded.
Everything was fine, until I realize that the 2 cases of wine that I lovingly, painstakingly collected had mistakenly been loaded on the truck. The truck that is driving through the country's hottest inferno.

I've now got 2 cases of vinegar that will make excellent salad dressing.


We're at the furniture store, trying out different mattresses.
We didn't ship our old set- it is 12 years old and harder than a plywood shelf.
We've never tried a tempurpedic before. The saleswoman keeps talking about how great the "memory" foam is.
My husband pipes up: "Just my luck- it's memory will be so great it will say 'Hello fatty. I remember you. You gained some weight.''

I've got 12 packs of gum in my purse- hopeful distractions during the long roadtrip ahead. Today, I gave my 4 year old a piece, and she chews it for a moment and then immediately hands it back. "Gum is too chewy, Mom." she says. Alrighty. Must find new distraction.

I am currently crashing at my mother-in-law's house. She's got the volume of the television on the highest possible setting, and keeps a running commentary of her favorite shows. (America's Got Talent & So You Think You Can Dance). Please- if you don't hear from me soon, it's because my head exploded and I shuffled off to Buffalo to the nearest loony bin.

Tuesday, July 6, 2010

Weather Girl

Every summer, we go to Laguna Beach. We ride the trolley, we hit the beach- we go to the art festivals. With one week until we pull up the wheels and take off, we decided to go to the Sawdust Festival.

My kids love the Sawdust. They really enjoy the pottery station- where you pay $15, and a college student helps your kid throw some clay on the wheel, and make a vase. Yesterday, after waiting an hour and a half, my 4 year old got to make a bowl, and have her picture taken for the local paper.

All in all, a great day. Until we headed home. Suddenly, and without warning, I got a migraine. I'm relatively new to the migraine club. My doctor recently gifted me six tablets to try out at the onset of a headache, and of course, yours truly wasn't carrying any. I couldn't figure out the trigger. I hadn't eaten chocolate- no red wine. My sleep was "ok". No excessive amount (or lack thereof) of caffeine. Stress, ok- but that's become de rigueur given the last couple of months.

The pain started in the back of my head, and slowly made its way over my right eye. It sat there, throbbing- while my husband anxiously made his way through summer traffic. I clutched the car's miniscule trash container- just in case I decided to heave up my Sawdust lunch.

This morning, with the ghost of a headache still rattling around my battered skull, I opened my eyes to rain. RAIN. In Southern California. In July. There's the trigger. God only knows what's going to happen when I hang my hat in hurricane alley.