House Hunting, take two!
They say everything happens for a reason and I firmly held on to that belief when the house I wanted slipped through my fingers last winter. That reason is that I now have the opportunity to get an even better house in an even better school district for B. Also, this time seven year old B gets to house shop with me. I told Phyllis, the RE Agent, that if she thought *I* was picky, she is in for a real surprise. *snicker*
Since B learned we were going to shop for the new house together she had begun to compile a list of requirements that may just beat out last year's Wish List for Santa Claus! Apparently she agrees we should have wood and tile flooring only..."Cuz it's easier to clean up the cat puke that way. And you know how much Damien can puke cuz he's really fat!" She dislikes the idea of a split-floor plan lol. She wants to be able to run into my bedroom in a flash. Distance is unwelcome. It must be, above all, a non-scary and utterly MONSTER-FREE house. No houses with monsters will be given consideration. Not even if they come down on the price. Apparently they are guaranteed to migrate under her bed and she wants NO PART of it.
Beyond that, the only requirements are a tire swing...or a tree big enough for the immediate installation of a tire swing. This is non-negotiable. Also, the yard must be big enough for her to run fast and hard from one side to the other and must have a fence "So I don't get stoled."
*sigh* Nice to know at least PARTS of my life lessons get absorbed...somewhat...but despite her bastardization of 'don't talk to strangers', she did have an addendum..."and so I can have a swing and monkey bars, because I like monkey bars, and the fence is so no other kids play on them...unless they are nice to me and are my friends. But they have to ask."
"Me?" I ask archly, knowing how her mind works.
She scoffs. "No. ME! They're my monkey bars. They need my permission."
"Don't you think they ought to ask me, too? It's my yard. My house."
"But it's MY monkey bars," she argues in that I-am-destined-to-be-a-lawyer tone. "You're too grown up to play on them so they aren't yours. You'll be giving them to me to use." She tilts her head to judge me. "Besides, you hate to go outside."
This is true. Damn her. "Yes, but it's my property and I will be buying these things with my money." Do not ask me while I am compelled to reason logically with a 7 year old. It's a mother thing. "That makes them my monkey bars."
I get a narrow-eyed look. "But you are getting them FOR ME. Right?"
She has me there. I don't crave monkey bars...unless you count the value in quelling one more instance of "I'M BORED!"
"You and any other child who might visit," I stipulate. This utterly horrifies her. B is one of the most possessive kids ever, especially if a toy is brand new and she hasn't had the chance to play with it first. Probably a product of always having hand me downs...a situation I can empathize with as 1 of 5 kids. We almost never had exclusively new toys and never were we allowed to not set one apart as just ours. Sharing meant the toy would likely get shared to death. Someone was bound to fuck it up while it was out of your hands and making the rounds.
I watch her stop and search her mind, her eyes wide as she realizes yet another implication to my statement. "What other kids? You don't have any other kids but me! You're not allowed! The doctor said you can't have no babies in your belly." Smug satisfaction. That's her expression as she folds her arms over her chest. Because worse than sharing monkey bars is the idea of sharing...well...me. LOL! And apparently my explanation of the hysterectomy in January was interpreted very strangely...or conveniently...in her mind as guaranteed exclusivity as my one and only child EVER. I just hope she didn't think I was being forbidden from having kids and the doctor was punishing me! (how's that for perceptive and ironic interpretation though?)
"Well, Christopher might visit or Zoey..." The relief running through her makes her bony shoulders relax in a sag.
"Oh. Well they are too small for monkey bars. They might fall and get hurt."
I can't resist. I am cruel and evil and will go to parent hell. "...or Jarred might visit." (Uh oh...he's only one day older than she is. Now we're in trouble). "And Zoey and Christopher will grow up and get as big as you are eventually."
Obstinacy arrives with perfect timing and panache. "Then I'm taking them with me when I go back home to mommy!"
"Sweetie, monkey bars won't fit on a plane. And you are forgetting, they are MY monkey bars. They will stay here and be here for when you come visit."
And in enters craftiness. "But you can take them apart into pieces and pack them in a suitcase and then they'd fit."
"No. You can't. Once it's put together it stays together. But nothing is going to happen to them while you are gone, B. I promise. And if it did, I'd get them fixed."
Reassurance makes its demands, including a boo-boo face. "For me? Cuz you love me, right?"
"Of course, honey. Why do you think I am getting them for you in the first place?"
*SPRING!!* "AHA! See! You just said they are mine!"
The little sneak. She walked me right into that one. If anyone needs a lawyer, look her up in about 20 years. If she survives that long.
So I will be away all this week, but with Internet access, so you might suffer a blow by blow. I am sorry. But if I have to suffer the slings and arrows of the child, I instinctively duck and let it all fly right back to you all. Because I love you. Truly. LOL.
Wish me luck!