I know my posts have taken on a singular (possibly boring and redundant) theme lately, but that’s only because every waking and non-waking thought seems to be about our (fingers still crossed) impending move.
But, life doesn’t stop just because you are selling your house. I’m still a mom, with three crazy kids, who continue to give me fodder for my blogging life. Case in point, house hunting (ok, so it is still all about the house).
For the most part, I have been trying to use the time when my children are all in morning camp to go see houses, but at some point, my husband and I need to see those houses, together, which means a family outing.
Here’s a small sampling of how things have been going:
House 1: Like all parenting gurus will advise, you should set your expectations for whatever you’re doing, before you do it. I did this, in what I thought, was a very clear and concise way. I said something like, you need to walk quietly through the houses, remember that we are in someone else’s house, which means we do not touch anything, and finally, you need to be respectful of adults and not interrupt when we are talking to the realtor.
Pretty simple, right.
I thought so, but somehow something got horribly lost in translation. When I said walk, they clearly heard run, when I said don’t touch anything, this obviously didn’t pertain to their bodies touching the floor, as in “Mom, I got dog hair all over me from rolling down the stairs,” or pertain to doorbells, which everyone amused themselves by ringing over and over and over again.
I’m also thinking I should have been more clear in the respect department, because somehow Second Son did not see continuously turning off the lights, while we all stood in a dark basement, causing his siblings to scream in fear, as an act of disrespect.
And of course, we couldn’t leave house number one without someone having to use the bathroom. Thankfully, number one.
Embarrassing doesn’t even begin to explain how I felt.
House #2: This time, we take iPods along. If the older two want to sit in a car, with no car keys in sight, lest this post be even more embarrassing, I say, have fun. However, all does not go as plan. As we are standing outside, admiring the beautiful pool, with the owner, who insists on following us around the house, generously spilling out of her bikini clad top and towel wrapped bottom (and not in a good way), my husband thinks he sees the slider open, followed by one of our boys poking their head out. He makes this remark very casually and goes back to admiring the pool. By the time I look, whoever it is, is gone. I sense trouble and go in search of them.
I find them at the end of the driveway, shoeless, looking in both directions down the street. “What are you doing?” I ask.
“Oh, we thought we had the wrong house.”
So, just to clarify, my children will walk into a house that they are unsure we are even in, see a middle aged woman in a bikini, say nothing to her, walk outside, and then what? Go door to door, walking into any door that is open to find their parents?
“Do you want to come in and see the house?” I ask. The only logical assumption I can make for as why they are looking for us.
“No. [Second Son] threw pee on me!” First Son, proclaimed.
As it turns out, Second Son, who again, never has to pee, had to pee, again, but this time, instead of using the bathroom in the house, he decided to pee in a water bottle, and then dump it out the half opened window that happened to be right next to First Son.
I’m not even going to attempt to explain this or our ensuing conversation.
House #3: What, there’s more? Of course there is. In house number three, Second Son came to me and told me he had to poop. Yes, poop. When my husband got wind of this, he said “Hold it!”
Apparently, First Son, who again opted to sit in the car and play iPod, did not get the message. He walked into the house, found me and said, “I have to poop,” on his way into the bathroom. Seriously?
House #4: Did you know a hallway that overlooks a den with a cathedral ceiling is a great place to drop a water bottle from, and apparently, a great source of amusement?
At this point, everyone has lost their iPod and every toy they have ever owned. Even Little Lady is involved in the shenanigans. I have given over to the fact that my realtor is under no illusion we are a calm, well-mannered family, especially after she humorously says, “There’s nothing fake about this family,” and so have no problem threatening everyone, dragging them out on the back deck and telling them they are not to come inside until I tell them to.
No skin off their back. Within ten seconds, the kids next door appear in their way too close back yard and Second Son, who seems immune to any threat, pokes his head in and says, “Can we go over to our friend’s house?
When I point out that we don’t know the people, next door, nor does he, he throws some sort of fit, shuts the door and says, “Come on, let’s go.”
Thankfully, First Son intervenes and tells them that “our mom said we can’t come over.”
I’m not sure when they thought they got an invitation.
Incidentally, this house, which was wedged as tightly as possible, between two houses, with no backyard and in arms reach of their neighbors, is their favorite. They’ve asked several times if we can buy the house, next to “our friend’s house.”
House #5: Chase the cat.
House#6: Second Son, “I’m thirsty!” First Son, “I’m thirsty!” Little Lady, “I’m thirsty!” Well, of course they are thirsty. We have now learned that even if we leave immediately following a meal, everyone will be hungry by the time we make it to the house we are to see. We have forgotten water, though, so in an effort to shut everyone up I take an old water bottle and plastic cup, that we just happen to have in the car, and fill it with ice cold tap water.
This causes three children to compete for two vessels, gulping down water furiously, in an attempt to dehydrate one another.
It’s been interesting, to say the least.
This week, when I went back to see those two houses, I went alone. My husband is just going to have to take my word for it!
Have a good weekend.