Black Belt Mama

What's the what's the what's the scenario?

The agent who showed our home for the third time on Monday night has yet to make contact with our realtor.  Despite it being their third time here, and taking pictures galore, nothing, still.  My agent called today and he sounds as baffled and frustrated as we do.  So in the interest of keeping my sanity, I've come up with some possible scenarios:

1.  The buyers came and were disappointed by the brand new flooring in the kitchen and the new carpet.  Apparently they like the "rustic" look of faded linoleum and 16-year old worn pink carpet was just what they were looking for.  They also planned on making Lil C's blue ocean room into an in-house beach so they were disappointed to see it painted so neutral and non-ocean-like.  Because they must realize the work that we put into the place, they are trying to figure out a way they can ask us to retrieve the pink carpet from some landfill somewhere and put it back.  They're also trying to figure out how they can get us to repaint the ocean room. 

Scenario result: Mr. BBM and I will launch empty paint cans at them from afar and tell them to kiss it.

2.  The buyers are psychologists and/or have studied the psychology of buying a house.  They want our house badly but they are being careful not to appear too eager.  Instead they will wait and wait and wait to appear "neutral."  Their agent has asked our agent to call him if another offer might be forthcoming so they are going to just wait it out until that happens hoping we might drop our price and they might get our place for a steal (which it totally already is losers).

Scenario result:  This "psychology" is really starting to tick us off.  So much so, that any offer that's not full price and without contingencies will probably be scoffed at by the BBM family.  Psychology doesn't work on people like us.  In fact, no psychologist would even attempt to try to figure us out. We're just that weird. End result?  We will probably tell the buyers to kiss it.  Are you sensing a theme here?

3.  The buyers were on their way to the office to write up an offer when a gigantic T-rex came storming out of the forest and devoured them whole, agent and all.

Scenario result:  The BBM family will probably still talk badly about potential buyers because they should have written up an offer a long time ago, which would have helped them avoid the night of the dreaded T-rex.

4.  The buyers are working on getting a pre-approval and haven't had time to sit down and write up the offer because they are busy, busy people.

Scenario result: Waiting makes BBM's unhappy so we will probably counter offer 10K above asking, just for stressing us out.  Jerks.

5.  Like in "Lost", the buyers and their agent have been whisked away to some planet that looks like Earth and feels like Earth, but it's totally not.  Perhaps in that world, they've already made an offer and our alternate selves have accepted it and they're already moving in, so there's no need to come back to this Earth and go through the whole process.

Scenario result: Locke is totally going to take one of them out and the surviving one will come crawling back to this Earth to try to get our house. We'll be so sick of waiting that we'll probably tell them to kiss it anyway.

Why can't some other buyer come in and make us an offer we can't refuse?  I'm sick of dealing with these people and their lousy communication skills.  Please take the afternoon off from crossing everything for us.  At this point, I think it's more likely that a T-Rex will buy our house. 

No News is Good News?

No, not a question mark!  No news is good news.  Period. That's my mantra and I'm sticking to it. . .

Oh, who am I kidding? 

Today my stomach has been in knots for the entire day.  We've heard nothing yet.  Nothing.  These people are seriously killing me.  "Killing me softly with no word, killing my house hopes, with no word, killing me softly. . . make an of-of-of-offer."  Yes, I do believe I've lost it.  The cleaning chemical fumes, the stress of it all. . . I'd like to move into a new house at some point but I'll probably just need the crazy house by the time this all happens.  My family will need therapy too, from being yelled at one too many times for messing up my perfect vacuuming lines.

I know your muscles are all cramped up, but if you could just continue to keep crossing your arms, legs, eyes, eyelashes and private parts for luck, I'd really appreciate it.  If you do, I'll buy you a beer at Tequila Con this weekend. I'll need photographic proof of course, that you held up your end of the bargain (eyes, arms, legs and eyelashes only.  Please keep your private parts, well, um, private).  But yes, I'm going to Tequila Con to meet some real live bloggers and that is seriously the only thing that is getting me through this on-edge week.

No news is good news.  No news is good news.  No news is good news.

***To kill the waiting time, head over to The BBM Review to check out the latest reviews and find out how you could win an IPOD Nano!

Fingers, Toes, Arms and Legs

From our spy cove across the street and behind some forsythia bushes, we took note of the time, 6:02 p.m.  That's the time our potential buyers arrived at our house for the third time.  At 6:40 p.m. they finally emerged from the house, walked over to the garage, talked and then took pictures.  They took pictures of the garage.  Either they are going to make an offer or they are cataloging our items so they can steal them.  They stayed until approximately 6:50 p.m., 20 minutes past their scheduled showing time had ended.

I'm going with the first explanation, that an offer will be forthcoming.  Won't you join me in crossing your fingers, toes, arms and legs for luck?  I am on pins and needles.

All Appendages Crossed Fool

We had our third open house today, and I am now collapsed in a heap on the sofa.  I am exhausted, and I'm hoping that we'll soon have an offer.  We had four parties walk through today.  One person stayed for 45 minutes; and all of the people who came through "loved it."  Since our realtor is on vacation, he had another agent sit this open house.  It was nice to hear feedback from another person in the know.  She said that our house is gorgeous and that she thinks it will sell very soon.  She said that the real estate market has really been picking up over the past week or so and it looks like that trend will continue (at least in our area). 

Tomorrow night, we have a third showing.  The people coming through are the same ones who were here the first week we were on the market and after their second showing, they were going to "write it up" when someone in their family got very ill.  Now they're coming back.  They'll see fresh paint, new flooring, new carpet and a deck that looks brand new.  We are hoping that this week will be the week.  If it is, then we'll still be able to get into our new house before the school year starts in September.  If I wasn't so tired from all this cleaning and creating, I'd have every appendage crossed for luck.  It just has to happen and soon. 

There is always something that can be done around the house, so Mr. BBM and I made our own headboard yesterday.  It cost us less than $60 and I think it looks pretty fabulous.  We made it out of plywood, 1' foam padding, that batting stuff you buy in fabric stores and an on-sale curtain from Pier 1.  I think it was the final touch that our bedroom needed. 

Besides touch-ups with the vacuum and keeping things flowing (like laundry and dish washing), I am so done.  Martha needs a rest; I am one house seller who is seriously burnt out.

Because Miss Chris is a long-time reader and blogging buddy and she requested it, I had to take this picture before I sent back this hideous piece of jewelry.  Just call me "Mrs. T." 

I pity the fool who doesn't offer full price for my house!   

The Countdown Begins

I saw my surgeon yesterday and it was a good visit.  In six weeks I will see him again and he will order me my custom acl brace that I'll need to officially return to karate.  As soon as I have my brace and as soon as I feel ready, I can return.  The only limitations I will have are the ones I put on myself.  My surgeon recommended a few: no sparring for a while (quite a while), and find another way to bow to the shinza.  He said my kneecap will still feel "crunchy" for a while, possibly forever.  Right now, there is absolutely no way I can be on my knees at all.  I'm also very nervous about pivoting and kicking and will need to discuss these issues with my PT in the weeks to come.  I need to build up my confidence and I want to do that in the PT room under a watchful eye, not in the dojo.

I found out yesterday that my surgeon is a black belt in Shotokan karate.  He got his black belt when he was in college.  I didn't know I had a black belt for a surgeon, but knowing that made me feel really good about all the decisions that he has helped me to make.  He knows what it's all about and he understands the types of things I want to be able to do. 

We talked for a bit about how all the knee replacement people come and go and I'm still there, busting my butt in the PT room.  He said that the difference between them and me is that they have plateaued while I continue to improve.  That made me feel good too. 

I went to PT after my appointment and asked my PT about adding back into the routine the single leg press.  I'm now pressing 100 lbs with both legs and 25 on the single leg press.  The key to avoiding knee irritation with the leg press is to press with the heels, not the toes.  I was able to make it through three sets of the single leg press without any issues.  We also upped my weight on the leg extensions and on the pulley apparatus, where I get to walk away with the harness around my waist and then stand on my ACL leg for 5 seconds at a time. 

I am more determined than ever to build up this leg muscle and get back to the dojo training floor.  I will definitely need to start slow and my instructors will all need to know my limitations (because I am not tearing this ACL again and will not be doing anything I'm not completely comfortable doing); but I am counting down the days now until I can return.  I can't wait to put that gi back on.

The Chocolate Had to GO

This morning, Mr. BBM called me from work at around 10:30 a.m. and asked me what I was doing.  "I'm cleaning," I told him "What else would I be doing?"  We're preparing for yet another Open House.  "Oh yeah, well what have you done?" he asked me. 

He expected it to be a short phone call.

By 10:30 a.m. I had washed, dried, folded and put away two loads of laundry.  I also had all of the "showing" linens in the washer.  I had also dusted and picked up both of the girls' rooms, made all three beds, cleaned up two bathrooms, vacuumed, swept the front sidewalk twice (our tree is dropping all of its flowers and if I don't they all end up in our house), put away dishes in the dishwasher, loaded up the breakfast dishes, reorganized three cabinets in the kitchen and was starting to reorganize the forever multiplying mounds of toys.  I swear the stuffed animals and Barbie dolls are breeding.

It wasn't all bad though. In order to make more room in the cabinets, I ate my body weight in chocolate.  My chocolate stash that no one else knew about is now completely gone.  That's right, gone.  I'm not apologizing for it either.  I burnt those chocolates off by noon anyway.   

Children's Day

My sister always moans and groans when she hears my answer to the question, "What do you want for your birthday/Christmas?"  I always tell her the same thing:  "Get me an Ann Taylor Loft gift card."  I love Ann Taylor Loft.  Whatever size you are in real life, you're a size smaller in Ann Taylor's world.  It's a wonderful ego boosting thing.  Plus, their sleeves are long enough, their pants are long enough, and it's stylish but not hoochie-mama like most of the local mall is becoming.  Seriously, my mall is now catering to a median age of 14, and 14 is not what it used to be when I was a kid.  I shudder to think what it will be like when my girls are old enough to shop at some of those stores.  I think I'll take up sewing and hope that M.C. Hammer pants are still very much out.

My sister hates getting me the same old thing all the time, but that is what I truly appreciate.  Aside from the fact that I love that store, it's a store that doesn't contain a single item for children. This year, for my birthday, my sister gave me a gift card and jewelry catalog.  Her friend recently started selling Amway and convinced her it was a gift I would love.  I'm not much of a jewelry person.  I like it simple, and real (i.e. expensive), but it works because I really wear the jewelry I do have. 

It took me weeks to finally decide what the lesser of two evils would be in the catalog and I ordered my gift.  A few days later it arrived in the mail.  If I wear it, you can and will call me "Mr. T".  I'm not kidding; it really is that bad.  I know because Mr. BBM laughed so hard I thought he would die from lack of oxygen, and when he caught his breath he kept repeating, "I pity the fool who. . . [insert whatever]".  Next time, she can get me a Loft gift card; because now I have to call the number on the catalog (that I already threw away) and try to get them to send me the money.  Yeah, that's going to happen.

Another reason, I just want a Loft gift card. . . Tonight, I spent my Borders gift card (from my birthday) on Big I.  I also spent my entire mall gift certificate (Christmas present from my Grammom) on Big I. 

As we were checking out of the final store with colorful organizing baskets in hand for her closet, I jokingly told her that she owes me on Mother's Day. 

"Why is 'Mother's Day' a holiday?" Big I asked.

"Because every other day of the year is Children's Day" I told her. 

"Oh," she said.

I think she got it loud and clear.  So, to those out there who might decide to buy me a gift card.  Let me repeat it so it's clear: ANN TAYLOR LOFT.

If it kills you to do the same old thing, then change it up with Pier 1 or IKEA.  I beg of you though, no more Mr. T jewelry and no more gift cards to places that carry things I can buy for the girls. 

Just call me Miss Gulch

When one lives in an area where there are leash laws, why do some people find it so impossible to follow the laws?  Why are these people always the ones with the dangerous dogs?  Why do they have to live in my neighborhood? 

Reasons I Want to Move:

1.  Better/Bigger yard for the kids
2.  Extra bedroom for guests
3.  Want a house without so many steps
4.  Neighbor who leaves Christmas decorations up until April (Did I mention that she's Jewish?), and thinks that her deck is the dumpster
5.  Psycho neighbors in the back of me who still don't get it that they need to have their damn dog on a freaking leash.

Go ahead and call me Miss Gulch.  As far as I'm concerned, Dorothy should have had that dog on a leash too.

I am livid, people.  LIVID.  If you've been reading me for a while, you remember vividly (as do I) the day I was carjacked by a pit bull.  Long story short, a pit bull jumped in my van, wouldn't leave and had to be picked up by animal control.  The owners were cited and a few days after my little event, the pit bulls (as in plural; they had two) attacked someone and were subsequently put down. 

I was relieved that it was over.  I took no joy in knowing that two animals had been put down, but I was relieved that I didn't have to worry about the safety of my children anymore.  Now, the same stupid owners who had no concept of leash laws are at it again. 

Tonight I was out in my back yard watering my garden when a pit bull puppy came running into my yard.  I instantly knew it was a pit bull, dropped my hose and went into my house.  The dog came right up to my screen door, so I shut the main door and went bounding upstairs to spew my outrage at Mr. BBM.  I went out on my deck and there was the dog, digging in my freshly mulched garden with no owner in site.  I yelled at it to leave and went bounding up more stairs to report my findings.

Mr. BBM went outside and stood at the edge of our yard.  The pit bull puppy came right up to him and was actually very friendly.  Its owner came a few minutes later.  From Lil C's bedroom window, I hissed, "say something!" so he did.

"Dog get off its leash?" Mr. BBM inquired.

"No," its stupid owner said, "she plays with [other stupid dog that I also reported for being in my yard all the time] in his yard and ran away.

Mr. BBM then expressed his displeasure at her dog running around and told her that he preferred that she keep her dog on a leash since our girls are outside and will be afraid. (By "girls," I'm fairly certain he meant me.)

She mumbled something and walked home.  I watched her walk home so I was sure it was the same house and it most certainly is.  I was going to just stew about it.  The puppy had been nice enough to Mr. BBM.  The owner had eventually retrieved her (without an apology though).  Then I talked to my other neighbor who told me that the dog was up in our yards over the weekend too.  These are the same owners who raised two other animals that were violent.

The camel's back is broken.

I called the police officer I spoke to in the past.  I don't want this becoming an issue throughout the warm months.  I want to be able to be outside and not worry about some random dog coming up to us.  In case you haven't figured it out, I'm not exactly a dog person and I shouldn't have to worry about the possibility of being carjacked again or having my garden ruined by some dog and its irresponsible owner. 

I explained to the officer that I just wanted the name of the person again (I had thrown it away thinking the problem was over) so I could report the incident to the township which would send them a warning letter.  I told him that enough of my neighbors already think I'm Miss Gulch and I don't want to overreact but. . .

He cut me off.  Puppy or not, friendly or not, they are breaking the law.  He said he was going to personally call them and warn them to keep their dog on a leash from now on.  He told me if I see the dog off its leash again, to call them immediately.

An hour before the encounter with the new pit bull, my kids were playing on the patio in their sandbox.  I repeatedly came inside the house to grab them juice boxes, tissues and toys.  I had finally relaxed enough to feel comfortable doing so. 

Miss Gulch got a really bad wrap and was completely misunderstood; and I can NOT wait until I move. 

In Search of Art

Over the weekend, a friend of mine sent me a link to this article: "For Senior, abortion a medium for art, political discourse."  (Now there are all kinds of news stories saying it's "creative fiction."  For the record, the "artist" still says it's real.)  The short and not sweet version of it is basically this: some messed up chick inseminated herself multiple times over a 9 month period, then induced abortion, and took video and pictures of herself doing so in the name of art.  (You should know that she's referring to these multiple incidents as "miscarriages."  FYI to the art student, it's only a "miscarriage" if it's a natural occurrence.  It's called abortion when you do it to yourself and want it to happen.) That's right people; she's displaying everything from the videos to the blood.  She decided to run her body through multiple induced miscarriages/abortions to "spark conversation and debate on the relationship between art and the human body."  Here's some conversation for you on that.

I am absolutely aghast about this.  What professor approves such a reckless and disgusting project?  What kind of person thinks this is a good idea?  This is one project that carries the whole, "my mind, my body, my choice" thing a bit too far.  This type of "project" should not be an option or a choice.  It's just plain sick. 

This misguided and obviously in-need-of-help individual thought she was making art, when in fact she was starting human lives and disposing of them so that she could create what she deems to be "art."  What's next?  Let's shoot people and take pictures of the aftermath to spark conversation about violence? 

If she wants to do things to her own body, fine; but when she decided to use potential human lives as toys in her stupid little game, she crossed the line. I'd also like to know more about this so-called self insemination.  What does that mean exactly?  She had sex with random people?  She went to a fertility clinic and was inseminated there?  If that's the case, I'd like to know which idiots continued to inseminate this obviously disturbed woman.  When I think about all the people I know who desperately want to add to their family and can't, it makes me even more sick.  Recently there have been some seriously disturbing displays of art, but this little abortion project is the absolute worst. 

Another blogger recently posted a link to pictures of dead people that was also being called "art."  Readers of her blog posted hundreds of comments talking about the "beauty" of these pictures and stating that anyone who doesn't like them can't deal with their own mortality.  Maybe I'm guilty of that, because I thought the pictures were disturbing and anything but art.  But what I'd really like to know is this: when did "art" stop being Monet and Picasso and start becoming a must-push-the-limits toying with human lives and subsequent death?

If these displays are "art," then I can do without.  Paint brush anyone?

Taking out the Pink

On Friday, we had new carpet installed.  I am happy to report that the only pink that remains in this house is on our kitchen counter tops and in our girls' closets.  That is it.  The pink is officially dead.

I had this great post written up about my trip to "Staples" this weekend which is actually code language for the bar at Chili's, but then my computer ate it when it decided to reboot for miscellaneous stupid updates.  Thanks a lot Microsoft.

So, since my creative juices are in need of lunch, I bring you yet another BBMHGTV edition of "Before and After."  Now will someone please buy my house already!?!

Before:

After:

Before:

Before:

After:   

Before:

After:

Potential buyers should take note that if someone offers us asking price, we think we'll counter $5K above. 

***If you missed me on Blog Talk Radio, you can listen to the replay here.  Among our discussion topics: why I won't appear naked on my blog, 100 year old birthday parties, annoying twitter people and more.   

Talky Talky

Today, I will be a guest on Karl's Blog Talk Radio show.  If you would like to tune in and listen, you can go directly to the show here.  All you need is a computer with volume.  If you'd like to call in and ask some questions (remember, like I said, nothing too personal or annoying or else!) you can do so at this number: 646-716-9370.  There's also a live chat, so you can log in and ask questions that way too.  I hope you'll tune in and listen!

Houston, We Have Contact

It was a very temporary lull. 

Yesterday, with witnesses, my heel finally made contact with my butt.  It was a wonderful moment, one I will cherish for the rest of my life.  You may think I'm kidding, but I'm really not.  I told my PT that it was the day; I was determined to make it happen. I stretched and worked it out for about five minutes and then I gave my foot an extra tug and there it was.  I didn't just graze my butt either.  My heel made good contact.  There was applause and cheering (mostly my own) and it completely made my day. 

My heel and butt have not been in contact since October.  They are so happy to be reunited.  "Reunited and it feels so good. . . "

My PT also put me back on the leg extension torture contraption.  This time he limited my range of motion.  It went much better and I'm not even sore today.  I haven't felt this good in a very long time.

I celebrated with a trip to Pier One and Ann Taylor Loft.  I bought new pillows for my bed and I found the perfect pair of black pants.  Men may not appreciate finding the perfect pair of black pants, but for a woman it's pretty much the equivalent of finding a long lost relic.  I bought new pants, a top, flat shoes (since heels are still off limits) and some jewelry with my gift cards that have been burning a hole in my pocket since Christmas.  A new outfit for a new attitude.  I'm officially on the comeback part of this journey. 

After being totally bummed about HGTV, yesterday was a really nice change.  Last night, I checked my email and there was a note from the producer of "Summer Showdown."  In the email she said that out of thousands of entries, we were in the top 10.  Because they liked us so much, they are forwarding our video, application and information on to all other Pie Town Productions for consideration.  So, maybe I'll get my TV time anyway someday.

In the meantime, I'm going to enjoy my new carpet (being installed tomorrow), my new outfit and my brand new attitude.  The journey to Shodan and beyond feels like it's officially back on track.

***All is definitely not lost on the fame front.  On Sunday at 5 p.m., I'll be the guest on Karl's Blog Talk Radio show.  I have absolutely no clue what I'm going to talk about (suggestions on this front?  Put them below) and am super nervous; but if you've been dying to know what my voice sounds like, please tune in.  There's a live chat that takes place while I'm on air and you can even call in and ask questions.  Just don't put me on the spot about anything.  Remember, the blog is mightier than the sword and paybacks are a, well, you know. . .   

HGTVetoed

I am always on the look out for opportunities to get on TV.  I'm not interested in eating bugs Survivor-style and I certainly never wanted to be vying for the attention of one guy along with 24 other women.  That's desperate and not at all my style.  But getting on a makeover show like "What Not to Wear," or an HGTV room redo has been a dream for a long time. 

My family says I dress too nicely to get on WNTW.  I beg to differ, but no one's going to be nominating me.  There's just really no one else besides Lil C around me all day to see that I rarely exit pajamas until about 1 or 2 p.m.  Her camcorder skills are still sort of. . . developing.

So, when I saw an opportunity to get on an HGTV show this summer, I jumped at it.  The show is called "Summer Showdown" and I was ecstatic to see that you didn't have to live in LA or Chicago to apply.  The show is looking for the worst living room, bedroom, kitchen and backyard in America.  Then they have a designer showdown and you get your room completely made over. 

I submitted our bedroom, which boasts pink carpet, brown sponge-painted walls (neither of those my doing) and a blue bedspread.  My parents kept telling me we would never get picked because our room isn't that bad, but I knew it was and then some. 

I told them about how I've never had a headboard on my bed, unless you count the time that I bought a piece of fence for $10 at Home Depot and painted it and stuck it behind my bed.  I told them that my dressers are falling apart thanks to my Dad loading the drawers with hand weights and then trying to slide the dresser around by himself when we moved into this house.  I told them that everything I try to do to make the room better, only seems to make it worse.  I told them I would get over my fear of long flights and get on a plane to LA for the season finale in May.

Less than 24 hours after filling out the online application, I got a call from the producer of the show, confirming that my bedroom pretty much sucks.  She called my home phone; she called my cell phone and she emailed me at both of my email addresses.  She told me she was throwing our room into the final mix and that they were "really really interested in our room."  She asked me to make a video of the room and our family and submit it to their uploading website asap. 

Mr. BBM and I spent three nights making that video.  We planned it out, were creative as we could be, and made something that I think rivals my debut Carrie Underwood lip sync. We stayed up until 2 a.m. several nights in a row creating, editing and getting excited about it. 

When we uploaded the video, there was only one other video in the bedroom submissions folder.  Mr. BBM clicked on it and we watched our competition.  (I know, totally shouldn't have but we did anyway.)  We figured we had it in the bag. 

Last week, the producer emailed me and said they were still "up in the air" and that she would be in touch soon.  Last night, I got the bad news.  We didn't get picked.  I figured that if we did, our house would be as good as sold.  My realtor was excited too, waiting for word.  I also figured that even if they made my room so fantastic that I didn't want to leave it, I could still take any new furniture and accessories with me and then mimic the paint color and flooring in my new house.  I was so excited. 

So, the bad news is that I won't be appearing on HGTV.  The good news is that I guess I only have the second worst bedroom in America.  That is definitely a selling point. 

16 Weeks

I hit the 16 week post-op point last week.  It marked another change to the recovery regime.  My PT added leg extensions and they went fine while I was there.  It was later in the night that I started to hurt and I continued to hurt for the next two days. 

Back at PT on Friday, my PT said he's taking them out of the routine for now.  My knee cap is getting too irritated and I need to build up my quad more before adding them in again.  It took a good four days for my knee to stop hurting and being so stiff.  I'm just sick of set-backs like this.  A week earlier I was a degree from touching my butt and on Friday I couldn't even get close from being so sore.

I see my surgeon next Friday.  I had high hopes of getting my brace ordered and planning my triumphant return to karate.  I just don't know if that's going to happen yet.  While my Mom and Mr. BBM have remarked about how muscular my legs are getting, the left one still lags considerably behind.  Mr. BBM says there's not much of a difference but I think he's just being nice. 

Mark the calendar people.  It's time for another feeling sorry for myself session.  Let's hope it's the last one.

No Words

There are no words to describe what it felt like to paint "summer moon" over top of Big I's princess room and Lil C's ocean room this past weekend.  We made sure to get a photo shoot before we started painting so the girls would always remember their rooms.  O.k., it was probably more for me than for them. . .

When the shoot was finished, Big I seemed at ease with the transition.  Me on the other hand. . .

Then it was time for Lil C's shoot. 

Well, maybe there are a few words to describe it. . .

Can't read it?  "This Sucks" and "Buyers who don't like kids rooms can KISS MY. . ."

All you really need to know is this.  Big I now loves her room.  Lil C has told me to "take that paint off acause I miss my blue room."  You should also know that I sobbed as we painted Lil C's room; but Mr. BBM helped to make it all better with Nachos Belle Grande and some Miller Light.

("After" pictures to follow later this week after new carpet is installed and my emotions aren't so raw.)

Psycho Detection Skills Required

As I was taking a box out to the garage today, a man pulled up in front of our house, got out of his car and took a flier from our "for sale" sign.  As I walked back from the garage, the man stood in front of my house reading the flier.  When I got closer, he asked me if I was the owner of the home.  I said that I was.  He asked me a couple questions about our garage and parking spaces.  He asked me if he was parked in one of our spaces and I told him that he was in our neighbor's spot.

He then said, "So I should probably move my car up to the visitor parking area before you show me your house."  He stared at me waiting for a response.

After painting for 12 hours this weekend (more to come on this tomorrow), I was completely exhausted and probably lacking any form of poker face.  All I could think of as I stood there looking at this middle-aged single man who was by himself was, "It rubs the lotion on its skin or else it gets the hose again."

I quickly told him he should call his realtor or call the number on our sign and speak with our realtor so that he can make an appointment. 

"Oh," he said, "well, then I'll just take this" he said as he gestured at his flier.  He seemed a bit put-off by my very polite response.  I went inside, locked both the locks on my door and considered turning my security system on.   My realtor warned me about people like that, but I didn't ever really think I'd encounter one.

As I sit here many hours later, I find it interesting that we didn't later get a call from the showing center.  If he was in such a hurry to see our property today, then why didn't he make an appointment to come back?  Something tells me that my psycho killer detection skills were spot-on.

Before and After

I have no skin left on my knuckles.  I'm completely exhausted.  All I do is think about how I can restage, rework and get an offer by Monday when our contingency is up on our new house contract. So, do the changes that we've made make a difference?

Kitchen floor before.  We had a 16 year old floor that had faded and was stained in some areas:

 

Kitchen floor after.  We put in a new tile floor (peel and stick) in about five hours:

Living room before, which was completely set up to watch the TV on the opposite wall:

 

Living room after, which is now staged to focus attention on the marble gas fireplace.

Big I's room before, where a big full size loft bed blocked the window and made the room appear small:

Big I's room after replacing her loft bed with a twin sized day bed:

So, think I can have my own show now or what?

If you can't bring the heel to the butt. . .

I am just one finger away from having my heel touch my butt.  One finger.  That is it; and it seems like it's going to be impossible to get it to go just that teeny tiny little bit further. 

Today I told my PT I have a plan.  Instead of continuing to torture myself with painful flexion, I'm just going to start eating lots and lots of ice cream and potato chips.  If I can't get my heel to my skinny butt, then I'll bulk up the butt and bring it to my heel. 

My PT and another ACL recoveree thought it was pretty funny.  Personally, I think it's pretty smart.  Bigger buns are in these days anyway right?  The problem is that with all the biking, treadmilling, and leg pressing I'm doing, I'm tightening up and making getting that heel to touch that much harder. 

Bring on the mint chocolate chip and salt & vinegar potato chips.  I've got a plan and I'm prepared to use it.

Designed to Hurt

Last night Mr. BBM and I were up until after 2 a.m. putting in a new kitchen floor.  We started around 9 p.m., once the girls were fast asleep, and we're still not finished.  I ordered two books last week: "The Idiot's Guide to Staging a Home for a Quick Sale" and "Designed to Sell."  Five of our rooms got completely reworked in the form of new bedding, different curtain scenarios and rearrangement of furniture this weekend.  Then we got cocky and decided we could bang out a new floor in just a couple of hours.

Can I tell you how much I hate the person who built my current house?  I seriously think he must have failed geometry class and has no business being a builder.  Either that or he came to work seriously lit. There is not a wall in my house that is square.  We found out the hard way last night. 

Since I couldn't be on my hands and knees to painstakingly place each tile, I spent the night scooting around on my butt which has brought a whole host of aches and pains today.  I'm fairly certain I've pulled my butt muscle.  My back hurts every time I blink and the back of my thighs feel like they're under attack.  I also seriously broke a nail.  It's the kind of break that takes some of the skin along with it and looks like total crap for a good week or two. 

Mr. BBM isn't in much better shape.  His knees are swollen.  His back is aching from lifting up the refrigerator while I tried to quickly and carefully wiggle tiles into place (Note: quickly and carefully have no business being used in the same sentence).  Also note that I strongly suggested cutting the tiles since who looks under the fridge anyway, but Mr. BBM was in much too much of a determined and exhausted mood to be told he didn't have to act like the Incredible Hulk by lifting a refrigerator he had no business lifting all by himself.  He eventually saw the error of his ways and believe it or not, my idea to cut the tiles worked just fine and nobody had to break their back.  I did it while Mr. BBM sprawled out on the floor proclaiming he might be dying.

At 9:40 p.m. last night Mr. BBM said that we were going to have a ton of tiles leftover.  It was going that well.  Today, we have six tiles, and I am betting that we'll need about 20 just to get the stupid angle right where the kitchen floor meets the hardwood floors of the entranceway.  We'll have also created about 60 new ways to swear during that process.  Mr. BBM and I wrecked about six tiles last night trying to fit one into a single spot; and I have never heard Mr. BBM swear so much.  His swearing and the fact that he was wandering aimlessly around the kitchen with cut up tiles stuck to his pants made me so silly I could hardly breathe from laughing so hard.   

We're also getting a quote this week on new neutral carpeting to replace all of the pink carpet in each of the three bedrooms, hallway and stairs.  We figure that if it doesn't sell, we'll at least have new flooring.  New flooring we can live with; painting the girls' rooms when we might have to end up staying here anyway?  Not gonna happen.  We're standing firm on that.  Yes, that's my final answer Regis, Meredith and Mr. Realtor. 

We did however, remove Big I's full sized loft bed from her room this weekend and replaced it with a twin day bed on loan from my sister.  It's opened up the room so much and despite her original protests, I think Big I is fairly happy with her new digs. 

I read in one of my books that you should invest 1-3% of the asking price of your house in improvements and then you can plan to get it all back and then some.  By removing the objectionable pink carpet and old kitchen floor, we're hoping to do just that.  Of course, we should probably figure some chiropractor bills into that equation, and possibly a massage therapist. . .   

   

PT for Everyone!

I once had to take the girls with me to PT, but it was only for about 10 minutes.  Mr. BBM showed up and took them home before they had the chance to do any serious damage.  Since then, they've asked if they could go along with me from time to time.  It's like they think they serve ice cream there or something.  Yesterday, they had to go for the full almost two hours.  It was as if I brought live entertainment to the PT room. 

When we arrived, it was packed.  Spring must be surgery season.  Four tables were filled up leaving one for me.  Several people were also circuiting through their exercise routines.  I set the girls up on a low padded table that no one ever uses.  Mickey Mouse Park came out of Lil C's bag along with all of her Mickey Mouse Clubhouse characters.  Big I got to work on her homework. 

Lil C felt it necessary to unpack her entire entertainment bag so in no time at all the rather large table was littered with Dora diapers, Mickey characters and a random Teddy Graham or eight.  Like the angel that she is, Big I was quiet and completed her homework without making a peep.  Then there was Lil C. 

Always needing to be the center of attention, she started talking and loudly right away.  She had to confirm everything that was happening to Mommy's knee.  "You laying down now Mommy?";  "You putting heat on your knee Mommy?";  "You all done yet Mommy?" she asked me every 10 minutes or so.  The other patients smiled with amusement at her boisterous and talkative manner.  When my PT asked me if I wanted some reading material, I refused.  "I left it at home for a reason," I told him.  "She could turn into a little devil in no time at all."

Things got entertaining when Big I finished up her homework and got out her two new library books.  One of them was a dinosaur book.  Big I began turning the pages and showing the pictures to Lil C.  It was super quiet at the time so Lil C's very loud, "Oh Wow!  Look at the Dio-Whore" echoed around the room.  Everyone sort of stopped what they were doing and looked at her and then at me.

"Yes," I confirmed from the floor where I was doing some stretching, "she said 'dio-whore'.  That's what she calls them."  An eruption of laughter took hold of the room and even the poor guy fresh from surgery laughed until he almost cried.  Realizing she was a "hit," Lil C continued to talk about "dio-whores" for the next 15 minutes. 

Then she made friends.  One of my PT buddies came in with her older daughter and they made the mistake of engaging Lil C in conversation.  She spent the next hour talking to them loudly, telling them all about her Mickey guys, sharing the fact that she had burped with them, and even going so far as to make her Mickey characters use the one woman's head as a sliding board. 

She also played some April Fool's jokes which she learned like a pro from her sister earlier in the week and told several people "you have a bunch of bugs on your head."  She was a real hit.

With 15 minutes left in my routine, she decided she was bored and ready to go home.  She packed the important things up into her bag, leaving behind her diapers and random Teddy Grahams and dragged her filled up bag towards the door.

"I am going home," she announced with a pout on her face.  She spent the last 10 minutes of our visit to PT glaring at me as I walked backwards on the treadmill. When I was finally done, there was Teddy Graham carnage to be cleaned from the table, and two very bored kids. I highly doubt there will be much interest in accompanying me back to PT anytime soon.  It's certainly lost its allure for them.

It hasn't for me though.  I hit 154 degrees yesterday.  Only one more to go.