Today our house is for sale. You know, the house we’ve
trashed lived and loved in for the last 10 years. I’m promising myself I won’t cry.
Now what I’d really like to be doing is laying on the couch and nursing this cold: “Don’t mind me! I’m just a prop–this is what it would be like if you bought this house and got sick. See how cozy I am? Hey, you wanna do me a solid and take this baby so I can catch about 20 minutes, yo?”
Don’t worry; I’ve hit all surfaces and handles with bleach wipes and Clorox spray, and I’ve germ-xed my hands about a thousand times, so that no one contracts my Ebola, which could possibly hinder any decision to give me money for the place I live.
We wouldn’t want that.
Side note: my house is clean and staged and amazing. We moved out some big bulky non-essential furniture and shifted some of the little things, and the place feels ginormous and calming and homey if I do say so myself. It really is perfect for a family of four or an older retired couple who digs golfing, because FREE GOLFING one block over. And also golf cart paths that we mainly used for family walks and bike rides. And lakes for fishing. And gates for keeping the weirdies out. My house be in a culdesac! My hooligan children play in the street just like I did when I was their age!
I mean, granted, my mom told me to get out of the house in the morning and don’t come back unless it was time for lunch or dinner; and I’m pretty sure I roamed my entire neighborhood unattended and unloved; but I survived and enjoyed every last minute of not getting kidnapped. Good stuff.
Caleb has mostly been working working working out at the farmhouse. I stopped by to see him yesterday cause I didn’t want to wait til 2 a.m.
Boy was I impressed:
Look y’all! Trim! I for one am gloriously entranced by the man in the hoodie–who is trying to explain stuff about stuff to me but I am distracted because of all the attractiveness that radiates from him.
Valentine’s Day is upon us and people I know are pinterestin’ it up with their kids’ hand-crafted cards and boxes. Here’s how much Merrick gives a crap:
$2.48 at Walmart and not a single minute was wasted; he had those suckers tagged and bagged last night in a record-breaking 10 minutes. Whereas Mia poured her very soul into individual heartfelt messages, written in her very best penmanship, carrying all the joy and goodwill of mankind on 30-ish easily-ripped pictures of puppy dogs.
And because I’m totes lazy, here’s a link to a post I wrote in honor of Valentine’s Day, many moons ago:
Now if you’ll excuse me, those Valentine m&ms aren’t gonna buy themselves.