The Pink Slip on Hold

No, I'm not talking about intimate apparel. I'm referring to the American term for that little sheet of paper that is tucked under a door at one's place of employment when one loses a job. Yes, that kind of pink slip. All in one month's time we received word that John would be out of a job, baby caboose number nine arrived, and my sister and her little boy moved out after almost two years. I was an emotional basket case. Yet, it was all exciting at the same time. You know what the sad part is? All I could think of was, "WARMER WEATHER, HERE WE COME!!!" Then I started thinking about a few other trivial matters, like... selling a big house, sending the kids to a real school (lol), finding a conservative church within a 30 minute radius of our new home, you know, those little things. Then it hit me like a brick wall. Crap-oh-la. This IS a BIG deal. I shifted gears into my overwhelm mode and shut down. I continued life as usual.

It's hard to believe that almost half a year has passed since all that commotion. I keep busy. Not always by choice, but by circumstance.

We recently began the grueling task of getting the home in sell-able order. It seemed like an impossible task. I may just have to write a note and ask the realtor to give it to each prospective buyer the moment they walk through the foyer. It will read something like this:

Dear Potential Home Buyers,

Welcome to our home. Please remember, this is a real home and not Better Homes and Gardens. Real people live here - eleven total to name a few. We eat here, sleep here, school here, love here, play lots of musical instruments here and just live. It would be impossible for me to do my real job of caring for my family and keeping peace in the home if I were to spend EVERY waking minute preparing our home to look perfectly untouched for you. I can guarantee that I have missed cleaning a spot on a mirror or perhaps an entire mirror altogether, flushing a toilet or picking up a few toys. Hopefully, today it does not smell like burnt microwave popcorn in the kitchen. I apologize if it does. I, too, hate that smell. If you have the time, will you find it in your heart to fold a couple of loads of laundry before you leave and put them back in the basket? I will put them away later. Thank you! When we first moved in, I did manage to clean up the peanut butter and jelly that was stuck to the kitchen island floor trim. It was left there by the previous owner's children. When this was their home, they lived here, too. They also were real people. I was never able to retrieve the many pens and pencils from the vent in the dining area that their little ones left behind. It used to bother me, but now as I vacuum around the edges of the floor heater vent, I look at them all snug inside the wood grates and smile. If you are not interested in buying our home, at the very least, I hope that you walk away impressed by the fact that for a house filled with eleven people it is pretty damn clean and organized.

Signed,

The Woman of the household


So I began writing this last night while anticipating the pink slip today. It came and went. No pink slip. Only a white piece of paper inviting my nuclear engineer to glow a little longer. They want to keep the Knight hostage for at least another year and a half. Hmpf.  That's all I can say is hmpf. Yes, I am very thankful for now. He is still employed and we can buy underwear.

Meanwhile, I'll go drool at some lemon colored market umbrella's online to keep me smiling until Jack Frost moves out of town.