The Twins vs. The House Showing

It started off a normal Tuesday. I knew there was a chance of a showing the house, because my realtor was working on scheduling someone interested. I dropped off my son at preschool and took the twins home. I picked up a few things but spent most of the time, playing with my girls. Terrified of arriving late, I readied the girls and loaded them in the car. I pulled into the carpool lane and received the email: Showing at 3:30. In four hours.

I was actually thrilled I had four hours to get ready. That's plenty of time. Ha!

By the time I picked up my son, pulled into the drive, and made lunch, it was noon. Okay, three hours. I could do this. Kids in rooms for quiet time. I went into Turbo cleaning mode.

There was a lot more picking up to do (did I mention my twins are dumpers? They dump everything. Clean it back up again, dump it, and run.). There were dishes to do, cake crumbs to sweep up, and counters to wipe down. Every few minutes, I ran by the twins room...just to check. Ella (pretty much done potty-training) went pee in her potty, so I took care of it and went back to work. Made my son's bed and my bed, packed some of our shower stuff and other toiletries, and checked on the girls. Still good. It was time to tackle the basement.

Thankfully, the basement is pretty easy. Swept the carpet, threw the toys in the toy chest, and swept up cobwebs in the laundry room. My son even helped me put things away. All I had left was to vacuum the upstairs carpet, and it was 2:30. I was so close.

Anyone else hear a warning bell, like Genie on Aladdin? "Warning, warning."

When I stepped into the kitchen, I smelled it. Poop. "No," I gasped. I left the vacuum in the kitchen and booked it to the twins' room. Sure enough. Both girls were naked. Both of their hands bearing proof of my fear.

My reaction was not godly nor calm. I'm fairly sure if we'd had a dog, it would've been whimpering from my shrill high-pitched shrieking. Addy burst into tears, and I didn't blame her. Ella had left handprints down her back and in her hair. "Ella, no! Look what you did to Sissy. Icky! No!"

Ella faced me, her eyebrows raised in surprise (yeah, right!), and she stated calmly, "Sorry, Mommy!" Well, sorry didn't cut it. I just left her there while I tended her sobbing sister, afraid to see the damage done. The smell was bad enough. I didn't know what to do. I didn't have time to give them both baths, scrub down their room, wash the bathtub, and get out of dodge in an hour. Instead, I settled for standing over the sink, and in 20 minutes, I had both girls clean, dressed, and loaded in the van with their brother to watch Aladdin.

Too chicken to tackle the room, I vacuumed the carpet and made sure everything else in the house was perfect. Then I surveyed the wreckage. Too my astonishment, it wasn't so horrible. Having cleaned up the twins left me with little to clean up. I snatched up Lysol wipes and scrubbed down the plastic bed frames and little potty (which contained most of the mess). Then I frantically ripped off the old bedding and remade the beds (thankfully, I saved that for last).

Everything was perfect...except the smell. That's when I remembered a can of air freshener beneath the kitchen sink. I started in the twins' room and ran throughout the upstairs, spraying the sweet scent of Apple Cinnamon. When I finished, I walked through the upstairs one more time to make sure I got out all the smell. I hopped in the car and took off to join my mom at my sister's house. It was 3:07 p.m. I made it!

Needless to say, if all the showings are that exciting, this may be a really long stage of life.

But at least it made a good story to share with you.

What's your craziest house showing you had?

House For Sale

It's official. Our house is on the market.

Kids playing in the snow with the For Sale sign in the background.

And I can tell you it's been a process getting our house ready to sell. Lots of packing. Lots of decluttering. Lots of projects.

Our house is small--a perfect starter home. I adored it. Real wood floors. Bright kitchen with yellow countertops (I'm in love with yellow and white kitchens) overlooking the dining room. And a basement with great storage and a finished space for playing or movies. It was perfect. Until I had twins. 

Going from one to three children was ridiculously crazy. You expect your toys and baby stuff to multiply when you go from one to two children. But when you go from one to three children...your house explodes with double everything. I thought once we got out of the baby phase, we could donate our baby stuff (yeah, we're done having kids) and go back to the perfect fit in our cute house. 

Nope! The older the kids get, the more toys, clothes, and miscellaneous knick-knacks we accumulate. I started sorting and bagging baby clothes and toys, lovingly unloading them on friends and families, but it didn't help. With each new birthday and Christmas, I unpacked more and more random objects. I began to think I was crazy. Other people have multiple kids with the same amount of crap--er, blessings, so what was I doing wrong? My mom had the answer. "Your house is too small."

I tried to argue. I had the perfect home in a picture-perfect neighborhood, a mere walk from the park and Dairy Queen (and Kroger). My neighbors are awesome and adore my children (seriously, one of the older ladies in our neighborhood still brings the kids suckers from the bank and drops them in our mailbox). We have a spacious attic and plenty of storage in the basement. What more could I need?

It wasn't until I started looking at other houses closer to our church I realized it. My family was growing and needed more space. The kids needed their own bathroom, bigger closets, and their own play space. I fought it for a long time, clinging to my first home, and now that we've fixed it all up, it's even harder to say goodbye, because it looks so good! 

So why move? My son is five years old now and starting kindergarten in the fall. Having my background in teaching, I am a bit particular in what school I want my son to attend. I also want to be closer to my church (where I work once a week at our drop-in daycare) and to my parents' farm. So after many hours painting, changing electrical sockets, sorting and packing, and scrubbing my hands raw, our house is officially on the market...and has been for over a week. We've had two showings so far, and each time, I'm overwhelmed with anxiety (can I get the house clean and kids packed in time?) and sadness. I'll miss this house and chapter of our lives.

Coming next...the reality of house showings and twin three-year-olds potty-training. Yeah, you can see where this is going. Sigh...

Loss

I'm 31 years old, and yesterday, I just celebrated a long-time friend turning 31 as well. I love being in my 30s. I've really settled into the woman I am and stopped judging myself for not living up to the worldly norm. After having 3 children (2 of which were twins), I chose to accept my body would never be the same as it was in high school or college. What I didn't expect was my husband loving it all the more, but I digress.

When you're 31, life takes a new turn. You feel alive and excited for the blessings you have--a roof over your head, a steady job, real relationships with people you can trust (so less drama). The last thing you expect to experience is loss. Death. Of another person in their 30s. A friend.

For my Facebook friends, you already know this. A dear friend of my husband's passed away the first Friday of 2015. Dan Trick was a friendly and accepting guy. One of the first times I met him was at a CR (Celebrate Recovery) dinner. I shuffle in with a stroller carrying my twin 2yos and a 4yo at my elbow. I scan the room for an empty table, where we won't bother anyone. But Dan waves us over to his table, calling out to my husband to join their table. My face turns red I'm sure, but I sit down and avoid eye contact. (I'm still working on accepting children as messy, loud, loving creatures and not giving shame/embarrassment a foothold) Dan immediately engages me in conversation, asking about the twins and sharing stories my husband has shared with him. I am amazed how wonderful this guy is. It's not everyday my crazy family/life is accepted and welcomed (I mean when they ate that night, they made a mess). Dan didn't care. Every Monday night after, I looked forward to shaking his hand and getting a sympathetic smile from him.

And now...I won't. I didn't know Dan well. I wasn't nearly as close to him as my husband was. My husband received a Facebook message from Dan the night before he died. His family even asked my husband to conduct the memorial service (his first). But I still miss Dan. I still have moments where I'm close to tears. Loss...death...in your 30s is hard. You think you finally have the life thing figured out--family, career, bills, and other responsibilities--and then you fly into a brick wall. It hurts (it breaks things), but you eventually begin the healing process and vow to keep a better eye out.

What I'm left with now isn't a reminder to hold my loved ones close and enjoy each moment I have with them (though I do), because to be honest, I was already doing that. I'm aware of first impressions. I usually have horrible first impressions of people, but I'm working on it. Dan's impact on me was based on a first impression. He cut through my issues and accepted me as I am. That's what I'm taking away from his life. I want to be that way. I want to love and accept people beyond their issues. Life is hard. It hurts. But I want to be a star in a dark sky and bring light to the hurting and lost. Maybe even a smile to someone who's having a rough time.

Loss is hard at any age.

It's what you take away from it that can change you for the better. And bring light to our dark world.