Greasy Locks

It's funny. When you become a mom, and not just a first time mom, you go in a series of ups and downs. Everyone has meltdowns, and then suddenly you've been able to organize a picnic at the park with the whole family in the sunshine. We're in the downturn right now. For instance, I've had greasy hair for three days. I haven't managed to take a shower until Jared gets home from work. And that's about 5:30pm. It never occurred to me, that since this is the internet, I should be using covert names for myself and my family. For this purpose, I'll be calling Jared a new name: Juarez. And the Rylee can be Cornucopia and Madison will be PurpleNurple. Jackson of course will be Sunshine and my new name will be DoomsDay. I like this name thing. So Juarez gets home from work and sees his greasy haired wife, DoomsDay, still in her bathrobe with a hopeful (and unclean) look that maybe she'll get to bathe. Who even cares about dinner. It's just a bath I want. So I finally get clean and now I understand that it all makes sense: No wonder I feel like my day begins when Juarez gets home. I don't bathe, eat, or breath until he walks in the door at 5:30. But then how on earth, during the summer months, do I manage to can millions of peaches, necturines, pears, and applesauce without the slightest inconvenience?
So the lady who owned our rental house (notice: owned is past tense) died recently. I wish her no disrespect, but "WHAAAA?" Yes, I got home from National Pancake Day at IHOP yesterday (each person got a free short stack of pancakes--which that's three pancakes each and I don't think it's that short) and found a message on my phone. *Twilight Zone Music* It was from Kathy Hummel, foreboding killer of a woman who's always gone to the greatest lengths to avoid my phone calls because she knows I actually care about taking care of a rental house. Anyway, so she'll tell her receptionist, she's not in yet, she just went to the bathroom, she's in a meeting, she went to lunch, she's gone for the day (2:oo anyone?). I'm really not kidding. She HATES to talk to me on the phone. But she had a great relationship with the last tenants who let their dog pee over the entire house, the bird poop all over one bathroom (his apparent "cage" for want of a better word), who painted the rooms atrocious colors, broke everything in sight, and never cleaned or disinfected a single doorknob (or bathtub). Renters like that love tenants they can just stick in a house and ignore. Anyway, I actually got a call from her (I'm having a terrible time with the italics--they kept italicizing the "call") on my phone! I almost had a heart attack and Jared asked why I wasn't calling her back. I replied, "Would you jump into the lion's cage if the lion gave you a wanton smile?" Oh here we go again. I didn't even press the italics button. And Juarez rolled his eyes. I called her, and she said, "The owner of the house died, she passed away in her sleep. We're going to be selling the house. We'll give you 30 days notice when we have a buyer." And I'm like, "oh, how kind of you." And so my mind is racing a thousand miles a minute trying to figure out if I have to be present when people come to see the house and if I actually care enough to have the house clean when people come and if I do have the house clean, if I'll have the guts to offer things for sale when they come by. Like, "Would you like to purchase the fridge with the house? You'll have to look in a junkyard for one this small because they don't make them anymore. And nothing bigger will fit because the builders didn't know fridges would get this big back then." Maybe I should tell them about how there was once mold in the wall. Would that just be scandalous? It's true. The owner once told me. They got it removed, but who knows if there's more. All the handles are messed up and every drawer opens with a chilling, "Creeechheeeeshshshsack." Apart from the apparent problems, I've enjoyed the space and lawn and deck. And it'll be sad to finally say Adios to this dwelling place. And where the heck are we going to live?? That'll be another blog...