I anticipated a few days of R and R after the walk. The walk was 3 times the length of anything I have walked since before my diagnosis and the reality of that sunk in late Monday night. The aches, the pains, the whining and complaining. And as fate would have it, all of my bitching was timed precisely for when Steve’s Man Cold kicked in.
Needless to say, it’s been ugly here lately.
To back up, we realized about two months or so ago, that Grace was miserable with our current daycare situation where she goes every day but Thursday to keep our full time spot because if and when a potential flare up left me unable to care for her we would not have had to seek out an alternative.
Well due to her misery, we have officially downgraded to part time. She is now home Tuesdays and Thursdays. And since she’s beginning school in September which I’m hoping by then I’ll be back to work, we really don’t need a full time spot any longer. I’m feeling fairly well and an every other day situation is a really good happy medium for all of us.
And yesterday was our first Tuesday and we had an awesome day planned that involved a fresh fruit breakfast, a picnic lunch and flower shopping at the garden center followed by an afternoon of soaking in the sunny day planting our new floral acquisitions.
En route to the garden center my phone rang. And yes, to all my Mountie friends, I did pull over and took the call. On the other end was Steve telling me that our realtor had called and requested a showing for 7:30pm. The time of that call was 11:00am. Crap.
A failed attempt was made to have the people reschedule for the morning so that I wouldn’t have to be so rushed and we settled on 7pm so that at the very least Grace had a better chance of going to bed closer to her regular bedtime. A difference of a half an hour is a huge difference to Grace as far as sleep goes and really not that much different as far as time to get everything done.
Two weeks ago we had come home from Ontario and then the following weekend (last weekend) had the walk. In other words, the house was far less than show ready.
I’ll leave out the details for the cursing and swearing for your imagination.
Grace and I sped off to the garden center, raced around picking up what we needed and stopped for a few minutes to talk to a lady with two Boxer’s about whether they would be suitable dogs for us. We downgraded our picnic to a dining room table lunch and slathered on the sunscreen and bug spray and flew out the door to get planting so that we could fly back inside the house to get cleaning. Steve was taking time off work to come home to get the lawn in order and the trimming done.
At 6pm we still weren’t ready, my back was in agony from planting and there was no longer time to cook dinner.
Grace and I had showered off the greasy sun and bug shields required to wear constantly when you live in the woods in the summer and all that was left was to get dressed, hair done and downstairs so that Steve could do the final vacuuming in the bedrooms.
Well, when I’m rushing my hands don’t work well. They don’t work together. They drop things. They burn themselves on the still hot flat iron as I wound the cord to shove the thing in the drawer out of sight.
Tears. Lots of them. It friggin’ hurt.
And off we went for supper.
But not before we received the call from the Realtor telling us the people were running 20 mins late.
Again, I’ll save the swearing for your imagination.
I’m so done with this. It was 9pm before Grace was in bed last night. Her regular bed time is 7:30, and trust me, she needs that much sleep.
Anyone who has sold a house knows the disruptions that come with showings and the manipulation one feels to make your house more available, more marketable, is just something that comes with the territory.
And we get it.
However, I also feel a tremendous amount of guilt.
For it is me that we are moving. It is me that can no longer deal with these stairs and the future is a deep, dark, black hole and who knows how much worse my legs will get and do we really want to wait for that and then have to sell the house? No.
But I love my house. And I get furious and really swear-y when we get a last minute showing and our world flips upside down and then I want to throw in the towel and call the whole thing off.
Then I remember who’s doing this for whom and that I should just shut up.
They don’t want to move either.
Grace is done with putting all her toys away all the time for one never knows when the call will come for a showing. She’s done with leaving the house in her jammies for the 7pm showings. She’s done with ‘tense’ mummy and ‘silent’ daddy.
Steve would love to spend some much needed time in the garage doing garage type stuff, but the mess is too big of a deterrent.
No one can relax. No one can breathe. And it’s getting to be too much.
And the fear that we have joined the ranks of the Unsellables looms over our head. Two price drops, a landscaping allowance for the back yard woods and 3 months on the market. What would you think?
I know our house is not deserving of this reputation but my fears are now heightened by the fact that some new, unknown, unannounced, developing is going on right beside us.
Added to the stress of our own house not selling is the fact that all appropriate bungalows on the market in our area have sold.
But, as the days go on, and warm up and my garden begins to flourish and the lilacs are setting up to have their best year yet, I can still smile.
This yard, this home was built by two people who never intended on having children. And now two have become three, and we’re all in this together. The lilacs that took years to blossom, and blossomed last year for the first time as I was leaving the hospital, have doubled in blossoms this year.
It’s painful to know that someone else will get them as they approach their best years. But for now, they’re still mine. They’re still ours and we still have time to enjoy them.
Because, no family knows better, that tomorrow can always be worse and as long as today is ok, go ahead and smile.