Enter the flu again

OK, now, this is getting ridiculous. I have a tremendous list of things to do, and I ask you, do the words ‘get flu bug again’ appear anywhere on this list?

No. No, they do not.

So would somebody kindly tell my guts to knock it off, already? Because I am a very, very busy woman. I have errands to run, dammit. I don’t have time to be shackled to the bathroom yet again…

**sigh**

You know, for the last few years my husband and I have been talking about moving. And yet, typical of us, after talking the thing to death and then whacking the subject with a stick a few times for good measure, when we decide to do it – it’s *snap* just like that.

We go from ‘discussion’ to ‘action’ in what seems like the blink of an eye. And it always disconcerts me, even though I was there for all that discussion. Even though I know there was a rational line of thinking followed by the roughing together of a plan…it always feels like we just woke up one morning and said, “Hey, I’ve got an idea!”

And then some massive change…just happens.

So after discussing wanting to move and putting together a Ways and Means committee and discussing it ad nauseum with friends, family and random strangers at bus stops – WHAM!

Moving boxes all over the house, MY YARN STASH IN BOXES! {sob sob}, storage sheds, paint, spackle, carpet samples, and what are we going to do about those falling apart bath fixtures in the master bathroom?!

And of course, when the going gets tough, I start saying, “Hey, I’ve got an idea. How about we just call the whole thing off?”

It is not one of my more charming traits, people.

But of course, there have been a few other things tossed into the ring in the meantime. Current market conditions, for example, which are…in a word…bad. There are so many houses for sale up and down the street it defies description. We are reaping what has been sown on the real estate boom out here; a lot of people are in a world of hurt thanks to their 125% loan to value adjustable rate mortgages. Which now equate to anywhere from 130% to 150% loan to value, which not even the subbest of sub-prime lenders will even consider refinancing for them.

There may be changes coming in both our jobs. Mine may be going bye-bye; in spite of having The Perfect Setup to do so, we are just not able to balance the work/family thing. From homework to getting their teeth brushed, the Denizens are becoming like little wild creatures being raised by wolves.

Also, dinner has gotten later and later and stranger and stranger as time has marched on; any time my boss calls me directly it means nobody eats for two days. The children have learned to gnaw open boxes of Goldfish crackers to survive.

And my husband’s client may be changing. Which is not a bad thing in and of itself, but is exactly the sort of thing which makes house shopping a pain in the butt. “Hey, you work in South San Francisco, let’s look close to there!”

But wait! NOW my client is going to be in…Roseville! Or perhaps Santa Clara! Hey, how about Los Angeles? Or Petaluma!

ARGH.

But you know what? It’s OK. If we list and then don’t sell because the market’s bad, hey. We will have gotten a lot of the irritating nonsense that has plagued us for years, the corroded bath fixtures and holes in the wall we've never gotten around to patching, out of the way and there you are. Fixed up Den, and we can just sit tight and wait for the market to stabilize. (The yarn stash, though, COMES HOME.)

If we do sell, then we’ll look for a place that suits us. Someplace with beauty, and culture, interesting things to do both as a family and as individuals. Someplace with a music scene and a little freakin’ artistry. Someplace with better schools (our elementary, specifically, is pretty darned good – but middle and high schools are a nightmare out here). Someplace where my garden can be in peril from deer would be nice – we don’t even have squirrels here at the Den.

It’s funny, it’s such a little thing…but the utter lack of wildlife is extremely depressing to me. It makes for a very…sterile…environment. Add in all the natural beauty of a parking lot and the intense smog and you’ve got yourself a humdinger of a place to raise your kids, huh?

Which reminds me: The Yarn Harlot wrote of her crappy house, to include a description of what it looked like when they bought it. This, I suspect, is what we’re going to end up having to buy in order to get into any of the neighborhoods we’re interested in. Undeterred, I am insisting that I will simply love restoring said Unique Fixer Upper Opportunity and that it will be worth it in exchange for being able to look out my kitchen window and see deer calmly chewing up all my spinach…