Of Packing, Bombs, Getting the Keys and Moving

So we've been doing a lot of this lately:






Which is the reason I haven't been commenting on blogs as much as usual.

I haven't forgotten about y'all, though.

Believe me, I'd rather be blogging. It's just that some days it's kind of like an archaeological dig trying to unearth the computer from beneath the piles of stuff lying around.

My living room has shrunk to a 10x10 patch of carpeting, with stuff stacked up all around.

The packing seems like a never-ending job.

Which is probably because Judah is going along behind me unpacking everything I've already packed.

Because, you know, he just loves to 'help' his mama.




Plus I've packed up most of his stuff (including his toys) and he's been feeling a bit cooped up.

That's okay, though...he's reliving his early childhood by playing around in all the old baby stuff that's turned up again.





And laying claim to new 'toys' he's found around the house.



Then we got the call that Escrow was delayed a day. The bank that owned the home seems to delight in keeping everyone on pins and needles and stretching things out to the last possible minute.

I'm soooo tired of not having the things I need and use from day to day at my disposal, and was beginning to lose patience.


My to-do lists for both houses have been rather long. These are just the top pages.




Shopping for appliances, switching over utilities and forwarding our mail to our new address, keeping track of paint chips and carpet and flooring estimates has been...challenging, to say the least.

Like spinning plates. Lots and lots of plates.


I'm kinda dizzy from it all, really.

Trying to get help lined up when the closing date wasn't set in stone was just plain crazy. We've had to reschedule things with all our help twice already.

I was not too happy with the delays.

Then we received the joyous news...we should have the keys tomorrow! WOOOO HOO!!

That made me very happy.



Though the past couple of weeks have been hectic enough with all the cleaning and packing in order to move...now the real work begins as we swing into action to get all the painting and flooring replaced in the house before we can move in.

It's probably going to result in us needing to sleep over at my MIL's house for the first couple of days of October, as there will still be paint fumes for a while. But that's okay, because everything is getting a fresh new coat and is going to look FAB when it's done.

Due to our closing date on the house falling so close to the end of the month, our back-up plan was to move all the boxes of stuff into the new garage so that we could get out of our rental on time.

But before we could do that, something had to be done about the year or two's worth of spider-webbage in the long-vacant garage.

There was something in that garage that was making really, really strong, thick webs. Webs that looked and felt like super sticky dental floss.

On the final walk-through with our agent Todd last evening, he got some of the stuff stuck on his sunglasses. Stuck!

*shudders*

All I knew was that I wanted whatever it was that made that web hunted down and killed. Pronto.

I'm kind of arachniphobic that way.

Jeff suggested bug-bombing it, and went to the store for one.

Jericho became fascinated with this new thread of conversation, and asked several questions.

"You have to bomb the new house?" Jericho asked, aghast.

"Yep. Lots of black widows in the garage," I said absently, strapping tape on and then marking the twelve hundredth box.

Later, he came up and asked me, "So what does the bomb do, exactly?"

"Well, you set it off and it gets rid of all the bugs," I replied.

Still later, Jericho came into the room where I was and asked, "Won't a bomb hurt the house?"

"Oh, I suppose it leaves a little chemical residue inside the garage, but if it kills all the bugs we can deal with that."

"Do you have to light it?"

"Light it?" I asked distractedly. "No! You just...set it off."

"So it's like a grenade?"

"No!" I said for what felt like the umpteenth time. "It's just a can of stuff that when you set it off it sprays stuff up in the air and the vapor or gas or whatever is inside goes throughout the room, into all the nooks and crannies, and kills all the bugs."

"Ohhh." This seemed to satisfy him, and he wandered away mulling that over.

Later, Jeff brought home a box of Raid foggers. Wherever he'd stopped to get them, they only sold them in bulk.

"I got the bug bomb" he called to me, no doubt knowing I'd want to check that off my 'list'.

"You got the bombs?" Jericho asked, rushing over to him as excited as he gets knowing they're going to go get fireworks for the 4th of July.

Jeff not having been there for the previous portions of this continued conversation looked at him oddly as he set the box on the counter. "Uh, yeah. I got the bug bombs."

"I want to set it off!" Jericho said excitedly.

Jeff looked askance at him. "Okaaaaaay..."

I walked into the room just in time to witness this little exhange and laughed. "Is that what all these questions have been about?" I asked. "Son, they're not that kind of bomb."


I felt the maternal need to dispell whatever notions he'd been conjuring up in his head.


Like this:




And this:



And this:



Jericho grinned a bit sheepishly and snatched up the box of foggers.

"See..." I said, pointing to the picture on the box. "It's a little like a can of hairspray...except that stuff sprays out the top, and the button doesn't turn off once you depress it. You just put it in the garage, push the button and run out and close the door so the fumes kill everything in that room."

"Please, can I help set it off?" he asked, his eyes pleading with his dad.

"Yes," Jeff replied. "It's not a big deal. Really."

I think Jeff may have been aiming that comment at me.

"Just so you don't breathe any of that junk in" I retorted and went back to my cleaning detail.

I guess maybe we would have saved ourselves a lot of miscommunication had we just said "foggers" from the get-go.

On second thought, we would have missed out on a whole lotta laughs.

Still...there's just something about Jericho's expression makes me a tad nervous.






Now please excuse me while I go hide all the matches in my house.

Strange Things Heard In Frumpville Lately

Our son Jericho insisted that I blog about the following:

These very words sprang forth from someone's mouth last Saturday morning around 10 am or so, directed at Jericho:

"Get dressed, take out the trash and GET YOUR BROTHER A PICKLE!"

And was met with uproarious laughter on Jericho's part.

We won't, ahem, mention any names, but will say in that persons defense that Jericho had been told a number of times to get his brother a pickle and hadn't yet done it.

When someone is busily chopping potatoes and peppers for a big country-style, Saturday morning breakfast, all while trying to keep the eggs from burning, mixing juice, and trying to get to the ringing phone... and can't get a pickle for the little boy herthemselves and said boy is hungry and keeps asking (for unknown reasons) for a pickle, and so the parent asks big brother to do it for them...they'd better hop to it!

:: :: :: ::

In preparing for our move, among other items on a long list of 'to-do's' we've been spackling all the holes left in the walls from nails for pictures and other decorations in the home we've been renting.

I've been going through things with a fine tooth comb and cleaning like mad.

The first Christmas we were in this house, I'd hung some large twist-in hooks on a wide archway above the kitchen counter/bar that separates the kitchen from the dining area to accomodate some lighted Christmas garland I'd hung there, and left the hooks up year round.

At the end of a particularly long day of packing and scrubbing, Jericho was asked to climb up on the counter and dab some of the spackle into the holes on the underside of the archway, then wipe off the excess with a wet rag.

He got up there and took an inordinate amount of time to do the task, rolling the stuff into a ball and pushing it into the holes.

So long that he couldn't remember what he'd been told to do with the rag.

"Wipe the excess away" his parent repeated.

A minute later, after sufficiently filling the last hole, he asked again, "What was I supposed to do with the rag again?"

His parent's ire was growing. "Wipe the excess away!"

And because the task had been taking so long the parent snapped and added, "And while you're up there...wash that soup off the ceiling!"

At which point Jericho began laughing so hard he nearly fell off the counter.

"Man, you come up with some doozies" he said to his parent after finally regaining his composure.

Lesson learned from that soup on the ceiling?

Never ask a child to rinse off the dishes without first explaining how the strength of the stream of water issuing forth from the faucet will, with direct proportion dictate the strength of the water that will burst forth from the sprayer.

Because said child will spray it full bore into a crock-put with leftover minestrone, a tidal wave will ensue splashing tomatoey soup clear up to the ceiling and every wall within a 10 foot radius making a huge mess to have to clean up later.

Not that I, ahem, would know anything about how all that happened, but, you know, I've, uh, heard about it.

:: :: :: ::

It was "pick on mom" night recently in the Frump household.

Not intentionally, mind you, but rather one of those odd happenstances where several things are said one right after another in a short period of time that leave you feeling a little...well, picked on.

It probably doesn't help that I have very observant children.

They don't miss a thing.

The other evening, after having been packing and hefting boxes around all day long with facial masque on (to clear up the horrible stress-related breakout that I'd been afflicted with) I passed a mirror which reminded me it was on my face and finally got a chance to wash it off.

I meandered into the dinner table sans makeup.

"Mommy, you have owieths all over yo faith!" Judah said the moment he saw me, looking very concerned. As in, "Do you need a band-aid?" concerned.

Hmmph. "How nice of you to draw everyone's attention to it," I muttered as I dished up everyone's bowls of stew, suddenly feeling grumpy in addition to frumpy.

Later that same evening, Judah was backtalking me after being told not to do something. I got after him severely for it. "...And don't talk to your mama that way again, do you understand me?" I stated firmly.

"Yesth sthir, mama."

Sir?!

(Real confidence booster, that.)

He wasn't through with his observations however.

Still later, while dusting the tops of my kitchen cabinets, I must have had a distasteful expression on my face from the dust falling down from the ledge and Judah looked up, "Mama? Are you da montoe?" (It's not the first time he's asked me this particular question, either. *sigh*)

So all in one night I was hideous, manly and monsterish.

Thanks a lot, kid.

Late that night while trying to relax sore muscles on a heating pad lying in my bed reading, Judah came in to snuggle for a bit before daddy carried him to bed.

Just as he was dozing off, I turned towards him and saw that drowsy, almost-asleep adorably innocent look on his face and kissed him. "Love you sweetie boy" I said softly.

My words startled him awake just long enough to murmur, "Yeow bootifo, mama" before giving in to the heaviness of his eyelids.

And all was forgiven in that heartbeat.

How to Wash the Dog

How to Wash the Dog

Step 1

Recruit little brother for wash and rinse duty.

Equip with hose and running water.



Step 2

Gather your supplies.

And the reluctant and uncooperative mongrel family dog.



Step 3

Wet dog.

Lather her well with doggie shampoo using special scrubbing mitt.





The dog will tolerate appreciate and enjoy all the attention you lavish on her during this step.

Step 4

Rinse.



You may need to hold the dog tightly during this step, as she isn't wild about having water sprayed on her.

Especially by that short kid who gets a little drunk with power while holding the hose.





What have I done to deserve this?



Step 5

Do NOT repeat.

Step 6

Lavish the dog-washing children with praise for a job well done.



Compliment them on their initiative in seeing the need and volunteering to meet that need.

This way it will come as no surprise that next time this need arises, the local 'experts' will once again be called forth to dog-washing duty...all the while thinking it was their idea.

My Baby Boy is Three!

Judah recently began attending his very first "cwass" on Wednesday nights.

That's when we attend Awana Club at our church.

He's a big "Cubbie" now.



We weren't sure how he'd do in a formal classroom setting, as he tends to be really wild a bit rambunctious. This was something of a trial run.

The woman who ran the program last year used to joke that she didn't know how she was going to handle it whenever Jericho and her twin grandsons both entered her class. Together, they are a force to be reckoned with.

Surprisingly, he did just fine. As in "We'd love to have him come back" fine.

When I peeked in the door to check on him that first night, I witnessed the chaos nothing out of the ordinary.

Every kid in that class was crowded into the tiny circus tent set up in that room, with my son dramatically hanging out the window.

Nope, nothing unusual at all. Par for the course.

Though I had my doubts, his teacher assured me when I picked him up that he'd done a great job.

In fact, she said that he did so well following the rules that he even got to take the coveted "Cubbie Bear" home for the week on his first night there.



That was huge.

Tantamount to being the one in elementary school that gets to take home the classroom pet for the Holidays...except better. No smelly cages to clean, no critters to feed and water and no worries about rodents reptiles or arachnids inadvertently getting loose in the house (which, with a child like Judah would be a valid concern).

He responded well to the classroom setting. While in class he gets to eat snacks, play games, learn about Jesus, do crafts, play and make friends.

Apparently, he'd followed instructions, was quiet when he was supposed to be and responsive when it was appropriate.

That first night, he met me at the classroom door and held up his worksheet. In a sober, all-important tone he said, "I did all my home-irk, mama." Then he beamed, knowing I would be so proud of him.

And I was.

This past Wednesday evening, however, was his third week of Awana.

And he reached a milestone.

His very first class party.



Because our baby boy turned 3 that day. **sniff, sniff**

When I peeked in on him, he was playing with clay calm as you please.





I actually stood there a bit mournful, wondering what had happened to my baby, because in his place was this mature, quiet child."

Now I want my son to grow up and do well in school and all...to outgrow the hyperactivity and follow the rules. But in spite of all the extra work his antics often cause me...it's him. It's part of who he is, rambunctiousness and all.

Really, I guess I just wasn't prepared to see the quiet, compliant child sitting at that table.

I asked one of his leaders, "Did they already have the cupcakes?"

"Yes. They all just came down off their sugar high a few minutes ago. It was a real zoo in here for a while."

"Oh, sorry." I chuckled, feeling oddly relieved.

Now that sounded more like the kid I was familiar with, lol.

Bullies at the Lunch Table, Love Notes and Laundry

So at school one day recently, our son was eating his lunch and talking with his friends, when a not-so-very-nice boy down at the end started talkin' smack.

He was trying to find whatever he could do to belittle others at the table to try and make himself look big, bad and tough.

The boy elbowed his friend and points to Jericho's lunch bag. "Ha ha...look at that! It's a love note from his mommy!" They started laughing.

My son, just learning to 'hold his own' among kids like that, was quick with a comeback. "Yeah? So what?" He paused for effect. "I think you're just jealous 'cuz I have a mom that loves me!"

(I'm pretty sure there was a little bobble-headed body language and some puffing out of the chest involved here, too.)

The boy and his friend fell silent at those words, the truth having apparently met the mark.

(Probably not the kindest retort on the part of my son, I'll admit, and it's not something we'd normally endorse, but sometimes the bully-types need to know not everyone is going to knuckle under when they taunt.)

The boys got up and left, and haven't bothered my son since.

The above was the story that accompanied our discovery of these in the laundry pile.

Folded up lunch sacks.

"Why do you have all these lunch bags in your pockets?" my husband asked.

Jericho got a sheepish look on his face. "I was saving them."

"You don't have to bring them home with you. That's why we give you paper sacks for your lunches...so you can just toss it all at school."

"I know," he said, "but those ones had special notes from mom on them."

Awwwwww.

After I sufficiently made over him for that one (and took a picture of the lunch bags he'd saved), he asked the inevitable, "Let me guess...you're going to blog about it."

And of course I did.

Roller Coaster Ride and Blessings (Part 6)

That 'little' problem I mentioned in Part 5?

Not so little.

That evening I had a humdinger of an asthma attack.

Obnoxious affliction, that. Totally cramps my style.

In our first two visits to the house I'd not noticed any breathing difficulties.

If I had, I probably would have ignored them and denied that it had anything at all to do with the house in any way, because I really, really wanted that house.

We were going to have Christmas there, remember? And then there was the lovely neighborhood and that fabulous view!

However, we had not taken our visits to this home lightly. In between times, we'd been praying about it together and on our own, seeking guidance and assurance that this was indeed 'the one' intended for us.

Early on in our marriage, Jeff and I had learned the value of being in 100% agreement on decisions in our lives. We acted on decisions only when we both felt at peace.

In sensing my excitement with that new house (and having seen my disappointment with the others), and thinking this house to be a pretty good prospect himself, Jeff had ignored a niggling in the back of his mind.

He kept trying to shake it, chalking it up to 'cold feet' about our first major purchase. But it was more than that.

Something more along the lines of a person arriving at the conclusion on the day before their wedding that the one they were about to commit to for life was the wrong person for them, and that they couldn't go through with it but weren't quite sure how to break the news.

That evening (which was the same day as our infamous laundromat trip) we were standing around waiting for our laundry to dry when I realized that I was having trouble getting a good, deep breath. The air felt really close. I actually had to go stand outside the laundromat to get fresh air.

My mind flickered back to a moment in the back yard of that house earlier when Judah and I had been watching the trains. I'd smelled some exhaust, but because it was breezy I thought that most of it would have dissipated sufficiently to not bother me.

I was wrong. It may not have bothered me right then, but I was sure feeling the effects of it now.
I was miserable.

In discussing it on the way home, we theorized that the exhaust and diesel fumes from the trains passing by were carried up that beautiful little bluff on gusts of wind where they backed up against the house. He'd noticed the fumes earlier, too, but hadn't thought about it affecting me this way.

I was a tad annoyed. He seemed so...relieved. As though this was an 'out' he'd been looking for.

Jeff became very sober and asked, "You do know what this means, don't you?"

I knew what he meant all right.

In my excitement about the house, however, I tried to ignore that unpleasant little detail. "Maybe it was just the humidity in the laundromat" I argued. "Maybe something else had triggered it. There's no way to really know for sure."

He gave me "the look". "Just give what I've said some thought."

Late that night, my aching lungs confirmed that Jeff was right. Fumes and exhaust are my triggers with asthma.

What would be the fun of living in a beautiful home with that gorgeous view and that darling little 'future' gazebo if I couldn't even enjoy it? If we couldn't even have the windows open in the summer to enjoy the nice desert breeze? If I couldn't garden or play with the kids out back?

Deep in my heart, I knew it wasn't meant to be.

In the end, after much prayer and further discussion long into the night, we took this incident to be Divine guidance, and withdrew our offer the following morning.

Our agent, Todd, was very understanding.

We were back to square one.

:: :: :: ::

Todd continued to send us new listings via e-mail.

A few days later, I went through the latest batch, and wonder of wonders...the house with the walk-in pantry was back on the market!

I called Todd to double check. He called the listing agent who confirmed that it was, but that there were already 4 other offers on the table.

We went to see it again, and put in our offer that evening. We went higher than the listing price, but were still in a very comfortable and affordable range.

Though difficult, we refused to get all excited and start making plans this time around.

Our agent called us back again the next day and said that he had learned there were now 10 offers on the table besides ours.

This time, our outlook was totally different. Rather than worry and fret, we had come full circle to the point where we said, "If it is meant to be, there could be 100 other offers, and ours would still be the one accepted."

While we waited, Todd again sent us more listings, and we spent a couple of evenings driving hither and yon across town to preview them.

Late Friday night, I e-mailed Todd, asking if he could meet us at the first of the homes we were interested in sometime the following afternoon.

As usual, he called us first thing Saturday morning.

I was just about to ask him when he could meet up with us when he asked, "Are you guys still interested in that house with the walk-in pantry?"

"Well, yeah..." I said rather flippantly.

And suddenly it dawned on me why he'd been asking.

"WHY?! DIDYOUHEARBACKFROMTHEM?!" I screeched.

"Yes" he chuckled. "Your offer has been accepted!"

"EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE" I squealed, yelling to Jeff who was in the kitchen. "We've been accepted!" Out of 10 other offers, ours had been the one to pass muster.

And there was much rejoicing in the Frump household that day.

This time we both had complete peace about everything.

After our long, exhaustive search, we knew without a doubt that this was the house that the Lord had intended for us.



A before photo of the Frump's new home.

**More before and afters coming soon!**

Roller Coaster Ride and Blessings (Part 5)

In that last leg of our roller coaster journey, the first home we had fallen in love with sold...to someone else.

To say that I was disappointed would be understating things, but given a little time to talk things through with those close to me, I soon recovered.

Just like when you're young and have a crush that only lasts until the next one comes along...my love for that house was eventually replaced by my love for another.

In my continued search through the listings, I found a newer 4 bedroom, 2 bath one story ranch home. It was very similar to that other lovely home in the country, just less square footage. And at far less a price.
We met our agent at the property and instantly fell in love with it.

It was completely fenced and cross fenced, with a dog run.

The inside was pristine. It didn't appear to need any work at all, just new paint colors and our preferred type of flooring. And the pantry...I loved the pantry.

It had been on the market for some time and the price was about $50,000 less than we had anticipated needing to pay for a home that nice.

While looking around the house, our agent received a call back from the listing agent...a deal was pending. Someone else's offer had already been accepted.

Bummer. "Well, it must not have been the one for us then," I remember saying, though longing to find another home with a walk-in pantry like that one.

We searched the listings yet again, and amazingly found another home in that same price range roughly the same size. On 2 acres in the country west of our home.

It was about this same time, we noticed that home prices had really begun to drop.

And we'd begun hearing bad things about the mortgage lending company we'd gone through, and so we changed over to another one.

We went to see that house on 2 acres, hearts filled with hope.

It was also a 4 bedroom, 2 bath, but there was no fencing and there was lots of desert brush around the home.

I cringed thinking of our little Judah wandering off and getting lost out there somewhere among the rattlesnakes and coyotes down near the railroad tracks.

While looking through this house with our agent, I noticed that everything inside appeared to be covered with a film of grease...much like what you'd find in the kitchen of someone accustomed to deep-frying all their food.

Except this was all over the linoleum floor, and appeared to have dog hair stuck to it.

It was disgusting. As in the-flooring-would-need-to-all-be-ripped-out disgusting.

They'd left a bunch of stuff in the house, too. Framed family pictures and a vaccum, long dead potted plants, a white plastic lawn chair, a beer can in the windowsill.

Strange. From the listing, it had been vacant for some time, so surely they would have had time to return for the rest of their belongings.

The mystery deepened, and beckoned me down the hallway. I looked through the bedrooms. Same story. Other junk left behind.

Divorce? Death? A homeless person living in the home until they were chased out?

Puzzled, I came back out to the living room to find Jeff and our agent engrossed in conversation, and glanced over just in time to see Judah upending the old beer can that had previously been sitting on the window sill.

"NOOOoooooOOOooo!"

Ever have one of those frantic slo-mo moments trying to get to your kid? That was me just then.

He spat out whatever was in his mouth and dropped the can, which rattled with grit.

It wasn't liquid, whatever was in that can.

We all stood there aghast, completely repulsed by having witnessed such an appalling thing.

None more than Judah, who was clawing at his tongue disgust on his face. "Ith icky" he said, and did a full-body shudder.

I grabbed him up, took him out to the car and rinsed out his mouth with hot water from a half-used bottle in the car. Blech!

I still recoil (and gag) thinking about it.

I didn't even want to know what was in that can. All I wanted to do was get out of that miserable place.

What would possess the kid to do such a thing? He had just barely left a Spongebob sippy cup full of cold juice in the car. One word about being thirsty, and we could have gotten that for him!

Had it come to this? The poor kid was feeling so 'deprived' that he had to resort to drinking out of abandoned beer cans in filthy vacant homes? Ack!

Needless to say, that house was scratched off our list of possibilities.

Oddly, rather than feel discouragement at the state of things (which didn't look very encouraging at the time), it felt like a certain momentum had begun...like we were closing in on 'the one'. That we were at long last nearing the end of our house hunt.

We just sensed that the Lord had it all under control.

He certainly knew we were exhausted after so much time spent looking.

The very next day I found a listing that had just come on the market...






(Bet you thought I was going to leave you hanging again, huh?)

Well, I'm not. Because this was the house that made us forget the wonderful ranch house in the country completely.



This house had, in our opinion, the best of both worlds.

The front yard faced a street in a beautiful neighborhood that has managed to keep it's property values up in spite of market fluctuations.

The back yard backed up to undeveloped desert 'greenspace' (which, in the desert is actually brown), which had a fabulous view of the mountains, and the clouds that come rolling over those mountains.

The house was on almost an acre and a quarter, and had a lot of potential. The back yard extended out quite a ways, and was situated at the top of a sloping bluff that led down into the desert.

Down below were some train tracks.

Now I know this would be a deal-breaker for most folks, but the way the bluff was situated, the noise of the trains reflected off the walls through that desert canyon, and made it sound way off in the distance.

We know this because we visited that house three times that weekend, and stood both inside and out of the house while trains were passing by, and the sound was not obtrusive at all.

These are the same trains we hear from the house we're currently living in, and we've grown quite used to the sound.

Did I mention that view?

Don't laugh, my Pacific Northwest peeps...in the desert we take what we can get. (It looks a little better in person).



It was the same view which, if a person was to buy a new home about 1 mile further west would cost about $250,000 more than the price of this one.

We talked about how it would be nice to have a Gazebo out there on that bluff...a place where we could sit in the evenings and watch the trains down below go by.

I know this is some bad photoshopping, but we envisioned it looking a little something like this, except with some landscaping around it.



With perimeter fencing to keep Judah from rolling down the hill.

Judah looooved the trains. "Thomas!" he yelled, and waved like mad each time one passed.



"Are we gonna wive at da Thomas house, mama?" he began asking after our first visit.

"Maybe," we replied, not knowing for sure, but our interest rapildy growing.

Jericho, sensing our interest, staked out his bedroom upstairs.

This home was beautiful inside.







Well, with the exception of the parquet wood-look ceramic tile in the formal living and dining rooms, and the odd, 70's throwback tile in the kitchen and other rooms.

Guess whoever installed that must have thought they found a real bargain, "The look of Parquet with the durability of tile!"

Not pretty.

Too bad they had to bring it up the walls and put dark grout between the tiles.

Oy, it was going to be a lot of work to get all that out...but for the price of the home, it just might be worth it.

Dare we dream?

Too late. I already was.

There was a perfect place near the staircase which would be ideal for a really tall Christmas tree. See, right there to the right?



I couldn't get the decorating possibilities out of my head, and was already planning out the big family Christmas gathering in our new home.

"It's perfect!" I said.

Jeff liked it a lot, too, and agreed that it was a great deal and could be made into a real showpiece...one that could make us a good profit when the market turned around.

His only misgiving was the amount of work we'd have to do to the place before we moved in. That wretched tile was all over the downstairs.

However, we knew that we needed to jump on this opportunity quickly or someone else would, and so, after dragging our agent out there for a third visit, we finally made an offer.

There was just one problem...