I am writing this post today from our old house, free of pesky furniture and bare necessities. Sitting cross-legged on the floor with a bucket for a table. The bucket is our table. The floor is our chair collection. On the flip side, we have like, seating for 45 now. Sometimes I peer up at Mike and say, 'here, take the good chair. It reclines. ' Then I scoot over to the floor to the left and crack up. Sometimes he laughs. Sometimes he raises an eyebrow and looks concerned/nervous. Since we're only here for a bit, about two weeks, we didn't want to go to the trouble of actually moving in. Moving in stinks. There is nothing about it that we like. We do like it marginally better than moving out though, which is another reason why not to move in: the moving out that would inevitably follow. So we sit on the floor and mime using a remote control to change the channel to the telly that is really just the wall opposite us. Then we complain that there is nothing on, just like when we actually have a telly. Then we go to bed, which looks a lot like our fancy seating for 45, where we spend the wee hours realizing Gianni talks in his sleep and is going to need psycho therapy because he is convinced we are going to move in the middle of the night somehow and apparently leave him behind, so he spends the night smacking us in the faces to reassure himself that we are still indeed, present and accounted for. If one of us gets up at night to use the toilet, he runs crying after us shouting, 'I wanna come too!' but then he gets confused as to whose house we are at and usually runs into a wall or something trying to find the bathroom. But he's fine. I'm sure of it. Sometimes he offers me the good chair and scoots over to the right and cracks up. So? One night, in my concern for his mental well-being, I was cuddling him to sleep and since I was the Oreo cream filling to his and Milo's chocolate cookie, I had my arm over top him. Sometimes he sings himself to sleep, songs like "You're My Cheeseburger" or "The Water Buffalo Song," so while I heard him gently murmuring things, I was busy daydreaming about the large furnished house I'd someday own and not listening. Murmur, murmur, went my boy. Finally, I strain to catch the words and realized he was saying over and over, 'Get off me, Mom. Mommy, you're too heavy...get off me, Mom...' It reminded me of the time Cora was that age and getting over an illness. She was laying on the couch (a real one) and watching The Wizard of Oz. I sat down on the floor by her and stroked her head and smooched her and told her she was going to be alright, etc etc, you know, mothering and all. She finally said weakly, 'Mommy, are you almost done making me feel better cuz I can't see the movie.' Kids. They'll be the death of me, I know it. And yet every time I go to the grocery store, some well meaning elderly gentleman tells me not to blink, because if I do, they'll grow up on me. So I blink, and blink...but they're still there.
Also adding to the night time soap opera-etics, is Milo, the gassiest cocker spaniel in the world. He too seems to be overly obsessed with the state of our address and spends every waking and sleeping moment glued to a pair of feet. While updating him for rabies and distemper, the vet asked how he was doing mentally and if he was a happy, contented doggy. 'Of course!' I cheerfully replied as I used all my super woman strength to remove him bodily from my pants, 'He's always like this...real affectionate like...completely normal...can you give me a hand just getting him off my head?' I barely got away with out making an appointment to see the pet therapist.
The girls on the other hand, thrive on the weird, and have had no trouble adjusting and readjusting to their parents lack of employment/housing/sanity. They were seriously irritated to find that their favorite tree in the backyard had been pruned by a zealot, but other than that bit of sorrow, they get along famously. They are thrilled beyond words to go on their first airplane ride to Indiana on the 28th of this month. I have not blogged about our impending employment, not wanting to jinx it as it is not completely 100% final, but the short story for those of you who haven't heard is that we are going to be full time parents. We're really excited and since we homeschool we are already used to people deciding that we're crazy/unstable/and not normal, so if that is your reaction, we live quite comfortably there. It's not the job for everyone and I'm sure we'll find out just how naive we are when we start, but you never know, it could fit us like a glove. I've never been to the mid-west. I've heard a rumor that it's flat. And has tornadoes. Wyoming was flat and had occasional tornadoes. Mostly antelope and wind though. Idaho is flat, 'cept for all the mountains.
In the meantime, I'm just going to pull up a chair - snort - and enjoy my napping child (he's napping naked and if there's anything cuter I cannot think of what it could be) and try to come up with a new name for the blog. I only ever named it what I did because it had to have a name, but I'm sure someone of you creative people could come up with something better. Give it your best shot! Leave me lotsa comments, cause I got very little to do. I plan to lounge in my imaginary posh purple chaise all night and there's nothing on the telly but white paint and I've seen that show, like a trillion times.
Oh, and if you'd like to contribute to the Williams' Family Get Thee Some Therapy Quick Fund, our children's/pet's sanity would thank you.