gypsy living

Regarding the post title: ne-eh-eh-eh-ever one to exaggerate over here. So, it's not entirely or even a little bit accurate but I'm not sure there is sum of money large enough to let a stranger see the state of the inside of our minivan right now because as it serves as our occasional and temporary daytime home away from home ... it's bad. Real bad. And someone (name rhymes with Julia) took a pen to the outside of said mobile home and left her signature monsters-meant-to-be-humans-but-they-look-like-monsters drawings on some lucky doors. I think the poor Odyssey might've aged nine years this past week. It'll live. I hope.

Anyway. We are heading into week two of the house being on the market (we had an offer a few days in but it fell through ... cue all the Caspers yelling, "boo!" but better now than days/hours/minutes before closing, I think) and it turns out that keeping your house in pristine-ish condition and being ready to vacate at the ring of the cellular isn't quite as bad as I thought. Say que ever-the-pessimist-slash-realist Grace?!

I mean. Getting jolted awake from a nap on Friday afternoon with the news that there would be a showing in fifteen minutes (many, many panicked curses) and having the potential buyers actually show up 12 minutes later and greeting them as I ran out the door with two half asleep/half crying children while carrying their shoes AND my own with my hair styled in a very Medusa-esque fashion ... wasn't that fattest barrel of laughs BUT it trumps winter + cabin fever + winter. It trumps it forever.

As fortuity would have it, Simon worked an extra special call over the weekend (24 on/24 off/24 back on) and we had a bevy of showings (a positive problem) but with a little bit of nap time finagling and quite a bit of last minute baby wiping down the bathrooms (and kitchen and and AND) we made it work with the help of a soft hospital landing (or as Julia puts it to Sebastian, "sometimes Daddy lives at home and sometimes he lives at his work, you got that?") ...

Harmony Outside the Home: A Portrait

The kids enjoyed breathtaking views of the parking lot ...

someone yank me away from the phone photo editing apps ... now.

Phoebe practiced her not-walking ...

"Oh, you want me to move one of my feet one single shuffle forward?!

"LOLOLOLOL"

"Never."

"Ever."

And the Labor + Delivery waiting rooms always look so lonely so we remedied that tragedy ...

Phoebe spotted that trachea-sized apple sauce pouch lid that fell out of my purse and is still yapping about how cruel I was for not letting her at least see how long it would take before it got lodged in her throat.

Just call me Deville for short.
 

After exhausting almost every "fun" kid-friendly attraction the hospital had to offer Simon kept saying we should open one of the doors to one of the parenting classes going on and chuck all the kids inside for a little firsthand learning experience for the pupils and after FiNaLLLLLy going home and putting everyone to bed to the tune of 6:52pm I'm wondering why I didn't go along with his genius plan.

I do have to say that the kids have been resilient little soldiers putting up with screwy nap schedules and occasionally missed naps and a super fun mom that may or may not have a bit of a calf over something ridiculous like 1/6th of a sock sticking out of a drawer (I hate me too).

And so with a purse full of emergency Dum-dums, three half empty (or are they full? something to ponder ... ) packs of wipes, and four pairs of  'juuuuust in case' changes of pants for the kids ... we march onward to another predictably unpredictable week.

Left, left.
Left, right, left.