My house is mad at me

It would appear that my house does not want me to leave it. How else can I explain what I encountered last night? I went into my laundry room to do yet another load of laundry and found the cabinet that hangs above my washer and dryer had jumped off the wall and was lying on top of the washer and dryer! You know that cabinet--the one that holds the bleach, refill bottles of Windex and Fantastick, vacuum cleaner bags, and other laundry room essentials. It seems a little coincidental to me that, after being bolted to the wall just fine for at least the 12 and a half years that we have lived in this house (and probably many more years previous to that), it would just topple off the wall the night before our realtor had scheduled an open house. Don't you agree? I can't take this kind of stress. If this is what my house will do to show me how upset it is, what will my friends and family do?

Reason #5 Why I Will Never Have a Dog

Some combos are great. Peanut butter and jelly. Pomegranates and Martinis. Ti and Vo. They all bring a smile to your face, right? This weekend I "experienced" a combo that will wipe the smile right off your face. A combo so awful I can barely type the words. Must. Type. Through. The. Pain. Here it is: Uggs and dog poop. Yes, it's true. I can personally attest to the fact that that is a combo from hell. You always know the minute it happens, don't you? There's no mistaking that mushy feeling. Suffice it to say that this incident was like my own personal Fear Factor (surpassed only by the time I was waiting for a friend of mine in the vet's office and the door kept opening and more and more dogs came in to join me in the little tiny waiting room--but I digress). What did I do to upset the karma gods, I wondered, as I THOROUGHLY washed each and every little Ugg crevice on my boot? How could this happen to me in a house full of dog lovers? Someone else's house, that is. Someone else's front lawn, I mean. I guess it teaches me a good lesson or two. Stay on the pathway. Keep your head down and your boots held high. I'm going to take this whole incident as a learning experience.

You'd better sit down for this one.

I had to. Well, I don't know how to say this exactly, but I'm just going to go ahead and say it. We're moving. Yes, you heard that right. We're moving. I know--I still can't believe it myself. The possibility has been out there for the last couple of years, but you know how when you hear about something for a long time and it doesn't happen, you sort of don't believe it ever will? That's how this has been. Mr. Minivan has been telling me (and anyone who will listen to him) that this was in the future, and now the future seems to have arrived.

His business needs to relocate. We are headed west to the city of angels. La-La Land. Los Angeles. Which, I might add, is a fun place to visit--but to actually live there? Don't those people get bored by all that sun? Here in the Midwest we actually appreciate a nice day.

For the last few weeks I have been very busy getting rid of some of the crap in my house--I mean donating some of my gently used items to charity, and throwing out some less than gently used items. My garage is so clean you could eat off the floor. Well, not really. And my house is such a vision of cleanliness and organization that my children think they're in the wrong house. The "For Sale" sign is up on the front yard. I guess it's really happening. People I barely know are telling me they are going to miss me--my mailman and the dry cleaner. My cleaning lady of 13 years started crying the other day because she's upset I'm leaving. People I do know want to spend time with me--"let's go for coffee"--or in my case, a Diet Coke. I have now become a reason to throw a party. My parents are putting up a brave face and are trying to avoid the reality of all this by going on a Hawaiian cruise. It's very sad and very exciting all at the same time.