'Twas the Week Before Christmas....

Christmas is here.

Don't fool yourself - that it's only the 25th, because honey, we spend an entire MONTH preparing for this, so in my opinion, it's all part of Christmas.

So with boxes slowly melting away and Christmas decorations being pulled from their storage, we have a house that is an interesting blend of "Art Reno" and "Martha Stewart's Christmas Nightmare". Every candle I have been given that says "Christmas" is in the large front window, and in the 10 seconds I dash through that room, they call to me, begging for organization, thought, design.

Sure, later.

I have six squares done which is approximately, one...two...three....SIX more than I planned to make. So thumbs up for me! I don't, however, have all the wrapping done. At this point, the dining room has paid for itself as a storage facility for wrapping paper, bows, tape and every present I've bought this year. You have no idea the amount of satisfaction I get in pulling the door closed and walking away from that disaster.

As mentioned previously, I side stepped Christmas cards by issuing Thanksgiving/Halloween/Christmas greetings before we moved. My logic was to provide those near and dear with our new address and be able to relax in the weeks leading up to the "Blessed Day."

While those I have received do have the new address on them, I have vowed that whoever does NOT send me a card this year will NOT receive them from me in the future. Harsh? Yes. Un-Christian? Most likely. Rewarding as all Hell? Definitely. After 17 years of buying, scribing and paying postage for cards, I can say I've done my due diligence for those who have enjoyed and not reciprocated. YOU ARE CUT OFF!

The Big Guy and I have decided to take a year off gifting each other. Basically, the house is a gift enough, aside from the fact that the new TV is my gift to the family. We don't need more and we're trying to share this concept with the boys.

Fortunately, I've heard comments such as "When can I wrap Second Born Son's present Mom?" and "Mom! I have a couple of ideas for Christmas for First Born Son!" They get the idea of giving and we've already told them that in the grand scheme of things, they will not see a lot of presents under the tree this year. Ironically, it hasn't fazed them in the slightest - they are more excited about going to church Christmas Eve!

Which tells me we are heading in the right direction with this parenting thing. Cue the Angel Choir!

SH!# They Don't Tell You About Moving

The move may be over, the fallout is still everso evident.

With the priority being to set up the boys rooms, I can honestly say, I haven't been in their rooms, other than to drop off laundry, for two weeks.

Has it really been two weeks????

Sadly yes, and I actually have figured out where the squeak is in the hallway and how to avoid stepping on it early in the morning when head to the bathroom.

No more boxes have been emptied the boys bedrooms because they need their shelves screwed to the walls to display the neverending assortment of trophies, medals and other "essential" display items.

Every trip to the garage is a return route with another box. How did we get so many freakin' BOOKS?

With each box marked KITCHEN I feel like a kid at Christmas. Will THIS be the box that has the dish drying rack???? NO, APPARENTLY NOT.

I also cannot find the HD Box for the fibre hook up. So I have a kick-ass TV which has poorer quality than a computer monitor. Niiiiice. I have actually taken the time to sit on the new sofa, if for no other reason than to make sure it's as comfy as I remember it being in the show room. The Big Guy has fallen asleep on it already - so it's officially been christened.

If terrorists burst into my home and took an appliance hostage - it had better be the microwave, because when my new dishwasher comes in the door, it will become the most prized posession (ahead of some of the individuals for that matter) because hand washing dishes is just about killing me. Aside from the time it takes, my hands have suffered enough with the brutal weather chapping them. My dreams of being a hand model have been dashed. That being said, it would be CONSIDERABLY easier if SOMEONE WOULD FIND THE FREAKN' DISH DRYING RACK!!! HAVE YOU EVEN LOOKED????

I love the concept of finding a place for something, then someone else (you can guess who) comes along and doesn't think it's a logical place for that item, and then relocates it - without sharing with the original individual where it has been relocated to. There are also the random calls at work or on the cell to ask where such-in-such is now being stored. Good Times.

Sparky the Wonder Dog is actually starting to relax - THANKS BE TO GOD. For days he would go out the front door, do his "business" 10 feet from the door and high-tail it back to the stoop and whimper to be let back in. Pretty lame for a big strapping mutt, not to mention the front lawn was giving an unusual aroma to the front entrance when the wind hit certain angles.

We even tried to get him out to the back lawn to explore the 2.5 acres we bought for this very purpose. Within seconds of hitting the deck, he was instantly around to the front entrance again, fearful that we might have forgotten he was out there.

This weekend marks the first official event at Casa on the Hill. Second Born Son's birthday is coming up and we'll celebrate with family this weekend. Here's hoping we don't have to use boxes to seat everyone around the table!

Can you have more than one Wedding of the Century? Just askin'....

I'm a Royalty fanatic - particularly British Royalty. Loved Princess Diana, to the point that a friend and I even went to Toronto to see her collection of dresses when the exhibit was on tour.

So for years I've been waiting for an engagement announcement from Prince William and his long-time accessory - Kate Middleton. You can imagine my annoyance when I discovered in bits in pieces of radio new broadcasts during my move two weeks ago, that he had indeed popped the question.

I didn't have my fibre hooked up yet - I was without TV or computer. Yup - it was ugly.

So my first few days back in the loop saw me scouring for any and all information on the engagement. It wasn't hard to find! Along with the details of the announcement were every Tom, Dick & Harry's take on what they wore and specifically, THE RING.

Let's face it - we girls know it's all about the ring. Even if you aren't a huge jewellry fan - the ring is what tells the world the status of your relationship. The style of the ring tells more about the personalities of the couple, and to some people, the size indicates their affluence.

Kate got Diana's ring. (In case you've been in a cave for the past 30 years - it's a beautiful Sapphire surrounded by diamonds.)

Suddenly, all the experts in the world start spouting off about how the ring is cursed - "Look, Diana wore it - had a miserable marriage that fell apart and then she DIED!" "The ring is a bad omen - will Kate have to worry about a Camilla in her marriage?" "What does Diana's ring mean to Kate and why would William give it to her?"

STOP THE PRESSES PEOPLE
1. A ring is not capable of controlling fate. It was pretty much determined inanimate objects didn't have mystical powers around 400 years ago.
2. Yes, Diana made the ring famous, but she also took it off once she was divorced. It was left to her sons at the time of her death, for them to share and whichever son decided to propose first would have the option of using the ring. William asked Harry and he agreed that Kate should get the ring.
3. William has wonderful memories of his mother. He is a very thoughtful individual - remember this is the man who as a young boy would tuck tissue under the bathroom door for his distraught mother. Suffice it to say - anything he does, he does with purpose.
4. The fact that he gave Kate THE RING says more about the man he has become. While some would thing he's living in the past, I would suggest he's ready to shape the future. If he was tied to the sad mystique of the ring, he would never have given to the woman he wants to be his wife and future queen. It's because he loves the ring, his mother and the memories of his childhood, that he wants to bring these elements together in his future. I'm sure the rest of the Royal Family wasn't thrilled to have THE RING take centre stage - but again - William is proving he is his own man. Brava!
5. Call me crazy, but I'm fairly certain if Kate was opposed to wearing THE RING, she wouldn't be. Any woman with half a brain realizes this is a beautiful piece of jewelry. Kate can give it a happier ending and eventually, it will be known as Kate's Ring.
6. A couple who have been together for eight years (save for one brief break) has nothing in a couple who met and married within 18 months. Prince Charles spent his entire youth dating every eligible (and some ineligible) woman between London and Vancouver in hopes of finding someone willing to put up with his oddities AND the burden of becoming a Queen of England. I must admit - it's ironic how the rules have changed - Lady Di had to prove she was a virgin before her wedding, and yet Kate has basically been living with William for over two years. I'm pretty sure it's not so he doesn't have to worry about late night post date transportation....

Inevitably, there have been comparisons to Diana, and I love the fact that Prince William led the charge by pointing out the ring means his mother could be a part of his engagement experience. Again, as much as the Royal Family would prefer to leave mention of Diana's name to a tacky fountain in a park, her son is bringing it front and centre; as any son would do during such a joyous occasion as a wedding.

I look forward to buying MANY magazines, taking in any TV programs dedicated to the April nuptials and perhaps even picking up a book or two after the fact. I still have the book I bought in 1981 when Diana & Charles were married, back when it was called the Wedding of the Century.

Perhaps the second time is the charm?

A Letter To Our House

While normally I would have a thoughtful tribute for Remembrance Day, I can say with confidence that I don't have the brain matter to do that right now.

With the remaining brain cells I have left, I can only focus on one thing. We move tomorrow. There is only one thing I could write about today....

A Letter To Our House
Dear Little House,
I must admit, when I first met you, it was not love at first sight. But I'm sure you thought the same of me. I didn't bring much to the table and you must have cringed when you heard some of the ideas I was developing.

With your little green roof and your orange brick, you looked like a big peach sitting without benefit of shade on the quiet little street. The back patio was made coarsely from masonry material and therefore chipping away. The single little tree on the south side of the back yard could have snapped off in a strong wind.

But your were OUR first home. You are the home where I learned how to be a wife and eventually a mother. We became a family here with you. You tolerated our dogs and friends with kids as crazy as ours and with every transformation we put you through, you seemed to get better with age.

We planted trees to give you some privacy and shade; designed gardens to enhance your features and eventually, threw on an addition that allowed us to stay with your 8 years longer than we would have otherwise. We made you a little cottage home.

The Big Guy and I have looked at houses almost from the time we moved in to you. You never gave us a moment's grief and yet we spent 17 years looking for something else. If the sale never happened, we would have been fine to stay with you. We would have continued to make improvements, and reinvent you. But this is where we part.

Thank you for being our shelter. Thank you for being the frame for some of my fondest memories - and some of the more difficult ones. I will never forget the feeling I had when we brought Second Born Son home from the hospital in a brutal snow storm. "We are HOME!" I will never forget the indigation both boys had when a neighbor's party left evidence on your front lawn. I was so proud of how they felt - frustration, anger, indignation. They know we took care of you, and they learned how to value their things by taking care of you too.

After tomorrow, I won't come by even regularly - I don't believe in looking back like that, but when I drive by, I will wonder if the mural is still in First Born Son's room, if your new owners love the bench in the back hall as much as I did, if they can appreciate the back yard for what it was and is now?

I hope and pray they live as happy a life there as we have had, and that they come to love you as much as we do.

May your eaves always drain downhill,

Sarah

"The boxes are stressing me out!"

I like Sunday evening dinner. It's a nice end to the weekend, gives us a chance to connect as a family and gives me much needed leftovers to kick off the week.

Second Born Son was going to miss Sunday evening dinner. He was happily kidnapped after his hockey game by a fellow player's family. A mis-read of the clock meant the "hour to two" visit was only going to be 20 minutes, unless, that is, he could accompany his friend to his sister's hockey game.

I did pause. I do like Sunday evening dinner. But then I realized, sometimes, you just have to mix it up. I agreed that he could go.

"Thank you," said the friend's mom. "He said he would like to stay. He said "The boxes are stressing me out!"

She laughed. So did I, except I knew he really felt that way. All week he's been like a little clock, but instead of winding down, he's tightening up. He's picking fights, being moody and more than a little cheeky. For the first time in many months, he's been sent to his room for a time-out. Did I mention he's three weeks away from being 10? Thanks an entirely seperate entry.

First Born Son is coping in his own way. He's become very clingy. Lots of hugs - all the time. This wouldn't be such a stretch, except for the fact that he's come off a year where he would pull away from you if you even suggested a hug.

With the last four days ahead of us, moving has been real, and at the same time, surreal. I can't imagine living anywhere else, yet I can't stop imagining what it will be like in a new home.

Where home used to be a place we could relax and find refuge, it has now become a place where we can't catch our breath or find our space. our personal items are being removed. We are losing our hold on this home.

So yes, SBS missed Sunday dinner. But it's ok, it's what he needed to do. Sometimes, you just do what gets you through.

Mixing Business with Pleasure

As she speaks I'm scolding myself for allowing my eyes to drift around the room.

What will that wall look like in Spanish Moss? Would the TV work where she has hers, or should I get some wiring put in at the other end?

It's surreal that I'm here at all - a moment of bravery/stupidity and suddenly I'm in the door of the "new" house with the "old" owner. What started out as a simple business discussion quickly became a social call, and I wasn't minding in the least.

While it was easy for me to envision what the floor would look like without the shag carpet, it was much more difficult for me to imagine her husband supervising the construction of the house. Mostly because I've never met him. She tells me the stories that made this house her home; how her husband made a statement with a load of poor quality lumber; how he chose a rounded arch to make their entrance unique. He sounds like a man after my own heart. She stops herself to show me a feature of the windows, top of the line in their day - and are still in great condition.

The longer I'm there, the less I feel like positioning my furniture in my mind and more like I'm being given a great opportunity that I should appreciate.

We chat about the auction sale the weekend before and although she's interested to know that some things did go to "good" owners, you can tell it pains her to talk too much about the life she had being sold off. We laugh over the fact that I bought a desk that belonged to her husband.

"Had I known, we could have just left it here for you!" she smiles.

Personal posessions not needed or wanted went to the highest bidder. The accordions her husband treasured hadn't been around as long as I thought. He bought two of them second hand and only one was new. He taught himself how to play at the age of 60. I'm admiring the two of them more and more. He would sit on the front porch and serenade the neighbor, because he actually could play well.

She speaks of her daughters and how helpful they have been. The packing and cleaning and organizing they have done to help her in her transition from their family home to a modest two bedroom apartment. She would move closer to them, if it weren't for the fact that he's still in town and in a nursing home. He counts on her visits and looks forward to seeing her. Their 56-year marriage is tested by Alzheimers but she's willing to be near him as long as she can.

I'm stunned when she tells me her age - turning 82 in December. She doesn't look it, until we stand to seek out another feature of the house. Her hip and knee have tightened up, making walking difficult. In spite of my protests to return to the couch, she insists on showing me all of the thermostats, as well as the quality cleaning job she has done on the Rec room. Was there ever any doubt?

From time to time we talk about what The Big Guy and I plan to do with the house - mostly redecorating. She apologizes for the dated appearance but we agree it would be pointless to go to the expense of painting only to sell and have someone change it to suit their tastes. I gauge her reaction to things and carefully redirect the conversation to her when I see there's a saddness to her. It can only be expected, but after her generosity, I don't want to be thoughtless of her feelings.

She then tells me how the kitchen is one of the warmest rooms of the house, thanks to the oven and the southern exposure with a large window and sliding glass doors. While she is warm blooded, she would often seek refuge in the cooler living room to the north. I find myself daydreaming about baking on a Sunday afternoon, sunlight flooding the kitchen and it's warmth keeping me toasty as well. In my current kitchen, I get sun only late in the day through one window that faces West.

At some point we discussed the business - the purpose of my visit, and while she never offers me a refreshment, it was obvious she was not keen for our time to end, following me down the stairs and out the door. She shared more stories about the house and the flower beds. By now it's dark out and for the first time I see the view of the town with the lights on. My house on the hill has a beautiful view during the day, but it never occurred to me how lovely it would be at night.

Before I leave I extend an invitiation.

"Things are going to be crazy the next couple of weeks, so I'll say this now. If you would ever like to come back to the house, and see what we've done, you are welcome to do so. I know you might not want to, and I would totally understand that."

Her face lights up and while there is still a sadness to it, I can see she is considering it. If she never comes, I wouldn't blame her. You can't ever really go back. I don't know that I would have any great desire to see in our old home again.

The next day, I'm packing with my Mother and she's commenting on the various attributes of the little house we are leaving. How much we've improved the property and put ourselves in to it.

"You'll miss your oak cupboards," she says, removing pots from a lower cupboard.

"No, I don't think I will," I reply, instead thinking of the sunlight kitchen, the house with a history and a home with a view.

Treading water, but just barely....

This one is for Susan - who said "What's going on with the blog?" and to which I responded - "I HAVEN'T HAD TIME!" and for that I'm truly sorry....

The only way to do this right is to catch everyone up on the past two months which honestly seems like the blink of an eye, when I look back on it. Forgive me if break this up, because at some point, you'll want to sleep or eat or at least use the plumbing.

Mid August, the fam goes on holidays. We need to get away from the stress of the house selling and we decide to do something equally stressful - buy hockey equipment. On the way home to another ball game, one of the boys decides we should go camping. Sure, great idea, we can pitch the tent in the back yard...

"NO MOM - we mean REAL camping!" It was like Surround Sound. So, with a game ahead of me, the camping gear packed away and The Big Guy ready to book a site at a nearby campground, I realize, we should maybe let our realtor know we will be away from civilization for 48 hours. Make a mental note to call in the morning - as I will be up to midnight shopping (thank GOD for 24 hour grocery stores)and packing clothes.

Naturally, I forget to call said realtor in the morning, but instead he calls US! There's another offer on the second house we bid on and now we have to fish or cut bait. We know we want this house BAD, so we put the offer in and hope for the best. The Realtor says we should have an answer by the end of the day.

So by 10 a.m. we are off for our camping adventure - all the while laughing about what we might do with the house if we get it.

"You really shouldn't do that you know," pipes up Second Born Son.

"Do what?" I ask

"Get your hopes up, you'll only be disappointed if it doesn't work out." he replies.

I'm gobsmacked. We just got schooled by the 9 year old.

We set up our site, discuss our plan for the day and eat lunch. After some splash time in the river, we head out for a walk about the park. It's a 45 minute hike and we are on the way back to our site when we look across the valley and see a car remarkably familiar heading down the remote lane to our little campsite. It's the realtor's car.

The Big Guy and I look at each other - not a good sign - it's only been two hours and why would he come all the way here unless it was bad news? We are disappointed and the walk seems much longer as we find our way back to the little tent by the river. WRONG - it's GREAT news - we got the house, he brought the paperwork for us to finalize the deal and initial some minor changes. The camping adventure goes from fun to depressing to FREAKIN' AWESOME. The down side is - we won't move until Nov. 12 - and oh ya, we have to sell our house.

Now my sister had a philosophy. She said the offer on the first house didn't go through with our conditional sale because she feels we were buying the wrong house. So within 10 days of putting an offer on the second house, we have not one, but THREE offers on our little house. It's a whirlwind as we sit with offers around us and The Big Guy is in his glory because, yes people, THIS is what a Bidding War is all about.

In the end the deal is done, we are moving and just when we think there is SOOOO much time, it's back to school, hockey tryouts and just dealing with every day life.

...and it's two months later!