Tag Archives: moving

Survival of the Funnest

You may well be wondering “Hey, did you guys survive the bedbugs? Or have you been carried off by the invading swarm?”

Well, both, in a way.

We came through it. We walked Bloodsucker valley and lived to tell. We’re still moving around the city, and we’re not scratching persistent itchy bites. We pass through the nights unmolested. Ten years from now, I might be cautiously optimistic that the process has worked. But we also seem to have been carried off, replaced by new, stronger more bad-ass people. We were made new through bedbugs. And even the Fun Apartment was made new. Even though it’s pretty much still the same.

It was 26 days living with the bags. Twenty. Six. March of 2017 is now just a charred piece of paper on the family calendar.

It was only supposed to be 24 days, but the exterminator decided–twice!–to rearrange his schedule.

And perhaps I should thank him, because it was those extra two days that did it. Those were the days that showed me that things couldn’t be the old way anymore. I knew on those two days that we were–or at least I was–going to be different people at the end of those two days. Those were the days I said all the swear words.

Happily, at the end of those two days, Mr. Fun Apartment and I were different people still married to each other, so that’s a plus. And I was a new person who just did whatever felt good. And didn’t feel bad about feeling good. I dyed a pink streak in my hair. I threw out at least a third of our stuff, but decided that we really couldn’t live without a giant squid costume.


Eyeballs the size of dinner plates!

I went to a fancy party–on a Monday night–and drank ALL the champagne! I made cereal and called it dinner–to great applause! We started watching Looney Tunes! The Mr. bought some shorts! (Well, he’s got the legs for it.)


Push the Sky Away.

I got interested in a band* and then actually went to see them play–like an actual real person does! We went camping and ate ice cream sandwiches for lunch! At this point, I fully expect the boys to come home with tattoos. I’m cool with that, as long as they are anchors with the word “Mom” over them.

So now, apparently, I’m a person who says “Yes, why the hell not?” to almost any proposition I get. But I warn you to use your power over me wisely: I’m very susceptible to suggestion. Yes! The answer is yes! Unless you’re the PTA, in which case the answer is “Umm . . . maybe next year?”

So does all this newness mean that I’m ramping up for a big blog-name-changing announcement? No. Not yet.

But we’re asking ourselves a lot of questions that begin with “When?” and “Where?” I think we’re pretty set on “Who?” I’m afraid that “How?” will just have to sort itself out later. I’m too busy saying yes to things.

So, for my mom and the realtor she’s been secretly emailing, we’re not packing up yet. But we’re opening the lens wide. We’re putting on shoes, but no pants.

Why the hell not?


*One of the in-house music critics insists on referring to the band as Nick Cave and the Bad Nuts. Hey, I’m pretty sure Nick would say “Bring it on.”





Filed under Living Small, Not cool, Mommy, The outside world

Grandma Makes Her Move

It was bound to happen sooner or later. But when I was least expecting it, when my back was turned, I was unseated as the family member with the smallest home.  Over the course of mere hours — HOURS — Grandma swooped in to claim my title. After we packed what seemed to me to an almost obscene amount of throw pillows and pretend flowers, she is now cozily ensconced in an assisted living facility.

It was not without some family drama, but Now That’s All Over. I have to say, I could use some assistance in our living. That place looked pretty good to me. After all, we are totally cool with small spaces, and I wouldn’t mind the cafeteria with full meals cooked by someone else. There’s a library with large-print books, all of which seem to be shouting at you from a great distance away. And there’s bingo. I love bingo.

The boys were also very into the exciting new home for great grandma, because it has this terrifically thrilling feature: showers with benches.  

The Shower Scene.

The Shower Scene.

When I called yesterday to check in on how she’s digging her new digs, Grandma regaled me with tales from the day’s field trip. It sounded awesome, and everyone got ice cream cones. But apparently, it takes a really long time to load the bus.

Y’know, Grandma doesn’t even need all the assistance. Nobody has to help her get dressed or change channels for her. She just needs someone to pop in a few times a day and remind her of things. Really, who among us couldn’t use that? Oh, and the food — she can’t really see so preparing a meal that isn’t ice cream can be kind of tricky. This woman is 98, people — almost 99 — and she just needs reminders and somebody to cook for her. That’s pretty great. I only hope I’m still upright when I’m 98. Maybe they will have a room right next to Grandma. . . .

Hey, the door's always open!

Hey, the door’s always open!

Until then, we’d better stay here, because something tells me that the assisted living facility might notice all four of us racing around the place in wheelchairs and throwing tantrums when somebody else yells “Bingo!”(Me, probably.)

But a girl can dream.


Filed under Living Small, The outside world