Feelings, Nothing More than.....oh, Whatever....

Holy Moly, what an emotional week.

I would suggest not moving while PMS-ing.  It would probably be way easier.  It would most likely eliminate the overwhelming desire to ram your vehicle into the vehicle in front of you over and over and over.  And then backing up into the one behind you a time or two and then laughing as you speed away.  To be clear, I did not do this, not even once, but I really, really had to talk myself out of it.  More than once. 

I was all *smarty pants* about labelling the boxes and stuff...but you know after a while, you just get fed up with packing and labelling and making sure you've taped the box correctly, and you just start throwing things in boxes and slapping tape everywhere, thinking, "Oh, I'll totally remember what's in this one."  And then you realize you've got a trabillion boxes that all look the same.  Then, it's 11pm in the new house and you're going through every single effing box trying to find a tampon.  Just one.  But no, you couldn't be bothered to label that box.  You couldn't even be bothered to have packed the tampons with other bathroom things, because that would have been way too simple.  I'm half tempted to just keep everything in boxes and buy new.  Budget be damned.  Next time I move, I'm hiring a moving company, a cleaning crew, going on a cruise and returning when it's over.  Of course, moving is stressful but that was really just one tiny part of an all round emotional week.

For instance, I got really emotional when I went to pick up my son from his father's with a few boxes in the back seat that Q had to rest his feet on.  I guess my ex is trying to win the father of the year award, because he totally freaked out that I was putting my child in an unsafe situation.  I'm not sure if he was more concerned that Q would get a paper cut or a muscle cramp but the man made me take all the boxes out of the car in the pouring rain and repack them.  Oh I was furious.  Livid.  First of all, suggesting that I would put my son in a situation that would compromise his well being totally set me off, but to suggest it in front of my son, well...I saw red.  Nothing is more important to me than my son's safety, but just as important is my son's confidence that he is safe in my care.  I am happy to report that we got the whole way home without one paper cut, so woot woot for me, right?

Also emotional - a sad story that I'm sure happens much too often, hitting much too close to home.  Before the spring break, Q brought home a letter from the principle saying that a family in his school had been in a horrific car accident that had taken the life of the mother, injured the father, and both daughters were fighting for their lives.  This in itself was horrible, but really they were words on a page.  This past Tuesday, the two little girls - one in kindergarten, one in grade 2 - returned to school, both in wheel chairs.  Their father escorting them on crutches.  It just absolutely broke my heart.  I just wanted to scoop the whole family up and give them a great big hug.  It brought home how fragile we all are, and just how finite life really is.

Third emotional wreck moment was the Royal Wedding.  I know lots of people who think it's ridiculous - all the pomp and circumstance over two people getting married, but I disagree.  First of all, what little girl hasn't dreamed of growing up and marrying a Prince?  So when Princess Catherine married Prince William, really a little part of all us *little girls* were standing up there right along with her.  Secondly, my heart just broke that Princess Diana wasn't there to see her Wills all grown up.  I really do think she'd be proud of the man he's become, and he really truly looks as though he's madly in love with his bride.  We all remember, I'm sure, the sullen little boys following their mother's casket and to see them grown and happy and handsome really just made a mother's heart happy. 

Living in the uber-multicultural Canada, it's so fascinating to see so many different cultures and all the traditions that are represented.  Watching the Royal Wedding made me feel part of a culture rich with history and tradition of its own, and there's nothing wrong with that (I am half brit, ya know).  I still remember where I was when Princess Di married Prince Charles (in a motel on a family vacation on our way *back home* to Ontario) and getting goose bumps when she walked down the aisle.  I was only four.  That's probably one of my first memories. 

So, an emotional wreck kind of a week.  I've been blessed with a little boy who is growing way to fast, whom I love so, so much.  Sometimes I feel like my heart might burst with love for him.  I said to him the other day (as I always do...)

Me: Do you know how much I love you?

Q usually responds, "How much, Mommy?"  and I say, "More than you'll ever know" but this day, he said

Q:  Ya...

Me: How much?

Q:  Too much...

Ah...you say tomato, I say tomatoe...

The Bedroom

I am obsessed with decorating.  I figure if we're going to be living somewhere for at least two years (fingers crossed...but I do have the signed lease to prove it) we should really make it ours.  No flesh pink in the family room, no yield sign yellow in the kitchen. 

Right now, I am obsessing over my bedroom.  I want pale and pastel, pinks and browns.  I want a dressing table.

Like this...

I love the vintage look of this one.  I'm having so much fun visiting second hand stores for furniture I can restore.  Unfortunately, Q is not having as much fun.  I think he probably had different plans for his spring break...

Loving the punch of colour on the left, by the dressing table, not to mention the frames above the bed.

I heart wallpaper.  I just wish it wasn't so tedious to put up.  Doesn't this look fabulous?

I can't wait to get started.  This is going to be the longest month ever.

Here We Go. Again.

So, we're moving.

Again.

I could make a career out of moving.  I move on average once a year. 

Not entirely by choice, mind you. 

Our landlords have decided to sell the house.  When we moved in, this obviously was not the plan.  We  said we were not moving, ever.  We were so super excited to move into a house, with a garage and a backyard and a dishwasher.  And the house has been good to us.  Our landlords had just married (each other) when we moved in, and I think this was a little bit of a *plan B* in case one of them needed/wanted an out.  With that in mind, the fact that they're selling their plan B is testament to the strength of their relationship and we absolutely cannot fault them for that. 

Truth be told, we had started looking before we knew they were going to sell.  There is a tenant downstairs who is less than like-able.  I think she is evil personified.  In early November, just after she had moved in she invited some guy over who he had just met and he slipped her some drug/she willingly took it and then freaked out/passed out with her five year old daughter sleeping in the next room.  Long story short, we had cops banging on our door at two in the morning asking us to look after her daughter so that child services didn't have to remove her from the home.  So, you think she'd be a little grateful, but no.  She calls our landlord every other day to complain about our noise, the soot in her fireplace ("It's so dirty"), her light bulbs ("They shouldn't be burning out after three months of living here").  There are men dropping by at all hours of the day/night, with her daughter sleeping soundly in the next room.  She and her daughter have screaming matches that last an hour.  She swears at her daughter, like...she drops the f-bomb all the time, when she's talking to her sweet, innocent little girl.  I could go on forever, but I've wasted enough time on her already.  But she makes it near unbearable to live here.

We've been looking.  We decided on a townhouse because the utilities will be less and we won't have to shovel the snow or mow the lawn.  I've decided those are man jobs.  Naturally, without a man...we need to live somewhere where they have *people* who do that kind of stuff.  Some place with a living room and a family room so that we (mom and me) can have our own space, if we need it.  Some place with more than one bathroom, because we can live together just fine, but we do not share our bathrooms - nah, I'm just kidding, it makes things easier when we don't have to share a sink.  A garage, storage. 

We found it!!

We move May 1, 2011.  We've found an awesome townhouse with everything we want, including an extra bathroom (3!!!!), a fenced in backyard, 10 minutes from Q's school (and his dad...meh.), and a garage with a sign...

No nosy neighbours, no annoying tenants, no shared laundry and a princess parking only sign...in pink.  Well, I think it's just meant to be.

I cannot decide what I'm more excited about..the cleaning, the packing, the moving or the painting. 

"Me Do Myself"

My mom says I've been saying this since I was two, "Me do myself".  At bedtime, I also used to say, "No bbd!  No bbd!"  Wasn't I just the cutest thing ever?  Q, when he was three, and getting into trouble - would start to cry and say, "Mommy, you hurt my fault!"  Ahhhh, it is true - kids do say the darndest things!

Anyways, back to me.  I like to do things myself.  I'm a take charge kinda person.  It's really what's got me through a lot of tough times.  It's what got me through leaving my ex with $300.00 in my pocket.  It's what enables me to put furniture together with tools from the dollar store.  It's what I rely on when I have to fix the toliet without calling a plumber.  I like that things are done my way, on my time.   I like to do things myself (I know I've said this twice now, but it bears repeating.)

However...

Q and I have been living on our own for three years now.  I kinda thought that by now I would have married some rich, handsome man and spending my days getting manicures and picking up the kids from school.  But we all know that hasn't happened...yet.  And it's getting lonely.  Q is a great conversationalist when it comes to hockey and hot wheels and webkinz, and don't even get him started on Pokemon.  But he's sort of lacking in the adult conversation skills.  I can't even remember the last time he asked me about my day.

All this to say I am moving in with my mom.  I haven't lived with my mom since I was 17.   Of course, our relationship has evolved some in the past 15 years, so I'd like to think I'm not so much moving in with my mom, but moreso my equal.  We've found a wonderful house, with two fireplaces, a double garage, a huge backyard.  It's got enough room that we'll have our own space.  It's got a huge master suite with a jacuzzi tub large enough for 5!  (Not that I would ever, ever share it with 4 other people...I'm just saying...)  We can have pets!  A cat!  A dog!  A zoo!!!!!

I'm so excited about this move.  I'm excited for the companionship.  I'm excited for the change.  I'm excited for the home cooked meals every day, someone to do my laundry and clean up after me (hahahaha......just kidding, mom....really....)

I'm not so excited about packing.  Ugh, and then the moving of the furniture and boxes and blech.

Any volunteers?

Hello??

Is this thing on???