Diary of a Divorcee

Life's a journey.

It has its ups. Its downs. Its sharp turns. Its sudden screeching halts.

Okay, from the sounds of it, maybe life is more like a roller coaster...

One of those big, rickety, wooden ones.

The ones that are simultaneously terrifying and exhilarating and leave you with a slight nauseating headache and a giant grin on your face.

The ones where you're not sure if you loved it or hated it, but either way you need to find a place to sit down for a second, sip some lemonade, and reassess what the hell you were thinking getting in that line in the first place.

That description is pretty apropos for me lately.

While 2014 was a tough one, 2015 was one for the books... Probably the only book I'd support burning to ash.

2015 was the year my marriage crumbled into ruin.

I'm not going to go into the 'hows' and 'whys' and all the nitty gritty details, so go ahead and put away the popcorn. None of that matters, in the end. Mine is a story that has been played out by millions of people before me, and will be muddled through by millions in the years to come. It's nothing anomalous or noteworthy, with the exception of where it has brought me to within myself.

And that's what this post is about.

Everyone who has gone through a divorce has experienced this highly strange dichotomy: your experiences are both singular and universal, unique and commonplace. And it is in that swirling, consuming polarity that one finds their true self.

I've blogged before about living your truth, being your authentic self, and enjoying the journey. And I will admit that this past year, I've struggled hard core with taking my own advice. It became far too easy to get caught up in the daily grind, in the hustle and bustle of this new version of normal, in just trying to keep the ship afloat.

For months following the split, my sole focus was on survival. Just trying to get through each day. Keep my chin up, tick off the boxes on my mental To Do list, and keep my wits about me.

And I'll admit. It was hard as hell.

Some days I rocked it.

Others... well, I got rocked. Badly.

I lost a few friends. Gained a few more.

I thought I had it all figured out, and then found myself literally and metaphorically collapsed on the floor, utterly walloped by the latest curveball.

I felt strong. I felt broken. I was vulnerable, yet completely closed off.

I laughed until I cried. I cried myself to sleep.

I screamed into my pillow, wondering how the hell I wound up in this place, and questioning whether or not I'd ever feel okay again.

And slowly-- painfully slowly-- I started putting myself back together.

I have historically always been a guarded person. I have never trusted easily, so when I do finally let that wall down, I'm even more vulnerable because of it. I have been called Stoic Sarah more times than I can count, and it used to be something I wore with pride; a badge of honor, if you will.

After all, if you keep people away, they can't hurt you. That means you're strong, right?

I am a rock. I am an island.

Or so I thought.

But I am not a Simon & Garfunkel song (despite my adoration of their music!).

I am a human being. And contrary to my public persona, I am an emotional, vulnerable, breakable one at that. I put on a facade of strength. I smile despite hurting. I laugh even though I'm crying inside. I flip sarcasm and jaunty wit constantly, creating an airy, easygoing image. People assume I don't care, or that nothing fazes me, but my reality couldn't be farther from that. Especially this past year.

And therein lay my struggle.

How do I convey to those around me my personal truth? How do I let my wall down, knowing how badly I've been hurt and wanting more than anything to avoid ever feeling that way again? How can I be strong if I let myself show weakness? How can I let those around me know the turmoil swirling beneath the surface, behind my bright smile and sparkling eyes?

I didn't think I could. I didn't know how to balance that need for connection and emotional support with the compulsion for self-defense. I've never been good at letting people in. Those closest to me can attest to that. My emotional wall is arguably my biggest flaw.

But here's something I learned along the way...

You can be broken and whole. You can be strong and vulnerable. You can let your walls down while still feeling guarded and afraid. You can be brave in your fear. And you can let people in without it destroying you.

I've been blessed to welcome some incredible people into my life this year. People whose love, support, humor, and wisdom have helped me not only find my strength, but have helped me heal along the way.

There is no light without darkness. There are no rainbows without storms. And there is no roller coaster without the stomach-churning twists, drops, and halts.

I've struggled. I've hurt. I've been broken. But I still find myself thankful. Because I've learned. I've grown. And I'm stronger for it.

I'm excited to see what this next year holds, and I welcome it with a trepidatious but open heart.

So bring it on, 2016. And you better play nice!

Annus Horribilis

Latin for "horrible year".

Also, the title of a speech given by Queen Elizabeth in 1992. 

And while it's safe to say that Liz's year at that time was arguably far worse than mine has been of late, I'm still commandeering the phrase for my own purposes. So there.

As you can tell through a simple comparison of dates, it's been almost a full year since I've blogged. My personal life took a fairly distinct sideways turn. 

Or several, as it were. 

(I'll address those in further detail in subsequent posts.)

As I bobbed and weaved and tried to get my life back on track, I fell away from writing for awhile. Partially because I was so busy. Partially because I didn't have the mental or emotional wherewithal to give it its due diligence. 

As time progressed, I eventually worked my way back toward writing. A bit of freelance here and there (time and exhaustion permitting). A bit of my personal WIP, more recently. But it wasn't until this past week that I felt ready to get back to blogging.

Probably sounds weird, right?

But writing is such a personal endeavor. It is something you pour your heart and soul (and a lot of caffeine) into. And with where I was at mentally and emotionally, I wasn't ready (or, honestly, willing) to open those gates again. First, because I didn't want my WIP to be associated with this tough time for me, risking tainting it with bad memories and negative emotions. And second, because blogging is so personal, and I needed to process my own crap before attempting to jauntily parlay that into a series of posts that didn't sound like they were written by a hyper-emotional Crazy Cat Lady with a twitchy eye.

So, eleven months later, here I am, bitches! Back and better than ever! Let's do this!

Not in on the joke

So life has been... a little nutso lately. In some ways, good. In other ways... well, see above.

As I discussed on here in a few previous posts, life has apparently had a sense of humor lately. Unfortunately, no one let me in on the joke.

First, the broken dishwasher saga really and truly turned into a saga. We just had it fixed this week for the FIFTH time. Yes. In the past seven weeks, my brand new dishwasher has worked for a total of about four days. I spent Thanksgiving hand washing dishes because the super-awesome customer service at B&B Appliance couldn't be bothered. I get it, they're probably super annoyed at us by now. But maybe if you fixed it the first damn time. Or the second... Or the third...

It got to the point where this past week we got our home builder involved. We only bought our appliances from this store because she convinced us of their stellar customer service and quick response time. We made it clear that has been anything but our experience, and reiterated what has been going on. She promised us (and yes, we got it in writing) that if this last time didn't fix it once and for all, she'd personally buy us a new dishwasher.

So we'll see what happens.

On top of that, Little One is sick again. For one, he has a double ear infection AGAIN (second time in under a month, poor dude). But the bigger issue is his tonsils. He has had overly-swollen tonsils for two years now, and no doctor, neither here nor back in Washington, took it seriously. I've taken him in to be seen several times, and every single time I was told that since he wasn't running a fever and they weren't impacting his ability to eat, breathe, or speak, they were fine for now.

Well, both ear infections he's had occurred without a fever. So clearly that's not necessarily a telling factor in my child's wellness.

And last week his tonsils suddenly poofed up so big that they were touching and he was talking like he had cotton shoved in his mouth. And he started snoring like a logger. And the right tonsil has this nasty vein running across it (I swear, it's like they're starting their own colony or something).

Finally, the doctor is taking me seriously.

Right now Little One is on uber-antibiotics to deal with the ear infection and to hopefully clear up whatever made his tonsils turn into monsters. Otherwise, it's looking like surgery. But, of course, we will have to make a separate appointment with a Ear, Nose, & Throat specialist. And because Wyoming has refused to acknowledge the Affordable Care Act, our insurance company is being... well, less than ideal.

So we're dealing with that.

There's really no stress like that of having a sick child. Especially when you're afraid he will stop breathing in his sleep.

In terms of work, my freelance writing has started taking off, though as they say, be careful what you wish for!

Two weeks ago I was hired to ghostwrite a two-part supernatural romance series. You know, fallen angels, ancient pacts, lost souls, the usual love story!

It's been a blast writing it so far. Much more fun than those medical articles I was doing for the difficult web clients. Who, by the way, pretty much fell into radio silence when I got sick last month.

(Did I forget to mention? I spent the first two weeks of November so sick with the flu that I couldn't get out of bed. It was the sickest I've been in years, and it was awful. Hubs got it after me, so he can attest that I wasn't just being a baby; it really was terrible.)

Anyway, so I haven't worked with those clients in awhile, and to be honest, I don't miss it. Writing this romance story has been so much less stressful, and has allowed be to exercise my creativity, rather than regurgitating dry medical data.

Well, this week I was invited to submit a proposal for another romance series, this one four parts. I was hesitant (hell, I'm still hesitant!) because the style of writing is much different than I'm used to, and the time frame is quite short. However, taking Tina Fey's advice, I went for it.

My proposal was accepted, and now it looks like I'll be ghostwriting two novel series! The first book of the current series is due by the end of January. The entirety of the second series (all four books) are due by the first week of February.

Suffice it to say I'm losing my mind a little bit. But in a good way. Mostly.

Finally, the biggest things we're dealing with right now is this little gem. Go ahead and take a sec to read it, I'll wait...

*twiddles thumbs*

*tries whistling*

*remembers can't whistle*

Oh you're back! So yeah, basically, powers beyond our control have essentially screwed us over. Like, big time.

After taking several days to process, we decided our plan of action was to try and sell our house before the drilling starts, because once it starts, the odds of someone wanting to buy right here drop significantly, to say the least.

If the house sells, we will rent a house in town for now, until we figure out where we are going to end up. Living in Cheyenne was never a long-term plan. It was only supposed to be for two or three years, and then we were going to find Hubs a new, fancy-schmancy job back in our beloved Seattle. However, his job here is really good, so it may keep us here longer than expected. Or not. We have no clue.

What we do know is that if we don't sell our house now, we will for sure be stuck here for several more years, until the drilling is done and property values increase enough to give us our value back.

If the house doesn't sell in the next month or so, we've accepted the fact that this means we're sticking it out here much longer than planned, and we'll just make the best of it at that point. We'll finish the basement, landscape the yard beautifully, develop the land more, build outbuildings, and basically make our 40 acres so damn desirable that the pump jacks won't deter buyers.

So besides spending my weekend working feverishly on my writing projects, finishing decorating for Christmas, attending my daughter's choir concert, and baking cookies, Hubs and I will be frantically getting our house ready to show. It went on the market last Thursday, and we have the photographer and countless local agents coming out on Tuesday to see the property. Gotta make it snazzy before then!

Because, you know, no pressure.

Like I said, life has a sense of humor. It'd just be nice to be in on the joke.

Intravenous caffeine use needs to be an option

Because Thursday.

Is this a real thing?
Please tell me it's a real thing!

When things go sideways: The vacation from hell

Crow Creek, Curt Gowdy State Park, 5/30/14

Robert Frost once said that the road less traveled makes all the difference…

Well no offense to ol' Bob, but in this case, the difference made by the road less traveled wasn't fun. In fact, it plain old sucked!

My family and I went on vacation last week; a road trip up to Washington to visit family and friends. The week leading into our trip, we pretty much had our plans laid out. We knew what days we would be driving through which states; we knew which days we would be seeing specific friends and family members; we had everything arranged and had set our expectations accordingly.

And then life happened. Griswold Family style.

At first, the hiccups were minor. Friday morning we had planned to leave by noon, but my oldest son ended up with a horrendous nosebleed that took over an hour to stop. I sat with him in the bathroom, changing out the tissues and reassuring him that he wasn't bleeding to death (something that genuinely freaked him out, poor dude). So that prolonged the packing process, and we ended up leaving shortly after 1:00- not bad by any means!

We stopped for a quick lunch and then hopped on I-80 West, hoping to make it at least to Ogden, Utah, if not farther.

For the first leg of our drive, we ended up making excellent time, and by the time we hit Ogden (around 9:00 that night) we were feeling pretty pumped and decided to keep on going to Twin Falls, Idaho. We fed the kids a quick dinner and had them get ready for bed, that way when we finally stopped for the night, it would make bedtime much quicker and easier. We got back on the road, and about 30 minutes later, as we're cruising along nicely up I-84, chatting about how great the drive had been thus far and how we would be able to make it to Seattle a day earlier than we'd thought… BANG!!!

Husband and I both looked at each other in shock, and he pulled the Suburban and trailer over to the side of the freeway. The sound we'd heard made us both think we'd blown a tire, so we hopped out and starting checking for a flat.

Nothing.

All the tires on the Suburban and trailer were fine.

But smoke was pouring out of the engine compartment….

Husband popped the hood open, and we fanned the smoke away and used the flashlight on my phone to look inside.

Carnage.

Ruin.

Badness of epic proportions.

Now, I may not be an automotive expert… but my spidey senses told me that seeing big chunks of metal and oil sprayed everywhere inside the engine compartment is… not a good thing!

We immediately called State Farm, whom our insurance is through, because we have their roadside assistance coverage. After being rerouted multiple times, with no one bothering to make a note of our call and forcing us to start from scratch four different times, we were finally told that they could dispatch a tow truck for the Suburban and two passengers, but that we would have to call a taxi for the rest of us (I guess they wanted us to pick favorites?!?) and pay out of pocket for both the taxi and the separate tow for the trailer.

They also were "unable to locate" the MAJOR FREEWAY upon which we were stranded.

Um…. so how are you assisting me on the roadside then? When I have three young children stranded in a broken vehicle on the side of a very busy freeway late at night?!? And when I gave you my exact mile marker location, and the cities both north and south of me?!?

Needless to say, we quickly became utterly disgusted by their version of "roadside assistance". I also quickly learned that these claims of "agents available 24/7" is… complete BS. Though our agent's office voicemail said they were available 24 hours a day, she didn't call us back until regular business hours the following day.

This whole debacle is something we will be discussing in person with her this week; while we have been loyal State Farm customers for well over a decade, we will likely be looking for a new insurance company without some serious ass-kissing and reparations on our agent's part. Because damn.

So during Husband's third attempt to get any sort of useful help from State Farm, I went ahead and called AAA. The woman I spoke with was able to find our exact location, find and dispatch a tow truck that was big enough to tow both the Suburban and trailer AND all five of us (no picking favorites!), and she expedited it because of the obvious safety issue of us sitting on the side of the freeway.

Finally, a competent human being and a company that gave a crap!

We got towed the 10 minutes south to Brigham City, Utah to a Chevy dealership that the tow driver just happened to work at. We spent the night in the trailer in the dealership parking lot, listening to the service department's radio station being played through the outside speakers… not exactly conducive to a restful night, but at least we were safe.

The next day, we got the initial assessment on the Suburban's engine. We had blown at least three pistons, which had shattered the oil pan and caused other shrapnel-style damage. It would take at least a week to repair, at a starting cost of $7000…

Not only did we not have $7000 just sitting in our pockets, but that also didn't include the cost of a rental vehicle (something State Farm also wouldn't cover) to tow the trailer back to Cheyenne, and then the gas to drive all the way back to Brigham in a week to pick up our newly rebuilt Suburban.

We were completely screwed, and spent half the day just trying to wrap our heads around what the hell to do next.

(And I may have cried a lot. Like, a lot. Like, probably embarrassed myself in public but was too distraught and stressed to even care.)

While we were wandering around the parking lot of the dealership trying to get a handle on the situation, a salesman came out and said that he assumed we were over at the service department, but wondered if there was anything he could help us with. When we told him we were the Suburban, he gave us a look of pity I've never experienced before! We joked that we had a great trade in for him, with perhaps a bit of engine trouble…

The sales guy showed us their used trucks, and we found one we liked. It was a blue diesel GMC Sierra 2500 quad-cab. While I've never had the desire to own a truck, like, ever, it was beefy enough to tow our trailer and could handle anything Wyoming had to throw at it (no more getting stuck in snow drifts!)

The sales guy let us take it for a test drive, and Husband was pretty impressed with it. I wasn't quite as sold, as I was (and still am) fairly attached to my Suburban, and was quite honestly struggling to cope with the events of the previous 14 hours. After driving around Brigham for a bit, we went back to the dealership and Husband went inside to discuss the actual realistic-ness of trading in our dead Suburban for the truck.

In truth, I did not expect them to accept it, and knew we were wasting our time. The sales guy let us take the truck and go to lunch, and said he'd see what he would work out. I wasn't holding my breath.

As we were sitting there eating, not 20 minutes later, sales dude called back and said he'd worked it out!

He said that what they'd do is give us just under Kelly Blue Book on the trade, and put a used engine in the Suburban, making it plausible for them to sell it and make it worth their while. We lost all the equity we had built up in the Suburban, and would essentially be starting from scratch with the truck. But we were pretty much stuck at that point, and this was our best option.

He then told us what the payment on the truck would be, and my stomach flipped so hard I almost puked. We would be tripling our car payment.

Yes. Tripling. As in, three times as much. As in, ouchies to my budget.

After discussing it over the rest of our lunch, Husband and I decided to go for it, because it was the only way (and the cheapest way in the short run) to get us out of Utah. And this meant we could still continue with our vacation, which we had accepted was otherwise totally done-sies.

We got all the paperwork sorted, hooked up the trailer to the truck, and headed back on our way to Washington. Husband was immediately impressed with how well the truck pulled the trailer- no more bucketing in the wind or when being passed by other big vehicles, no struggling to go up even minor hills. It seemed like everything was back on track, and though I was still quite stressed over the looming loan payment, I was starting to shake it off and let Future Sarah deal with it.

We were about 15 miles past where we had broken down the night before, and suddenly the truck lost all power…

The fuel filter indicator, which had just read 100%, suddenly read 0%, and we weren't able to go over 30 mph. Husband immediately called the dealership, and the sales guy was stunned. He told us to come back and they'd take a look at it.

We slowly crawled back to the dealership, where they unhooked the trailer (again) and pulled the truck into the service bay. The same guy who had given us the tow the night before ended up being the one who swapped out our fuel filter (thanks again Juan!) After that, everything looked peachy keen, so Husband and the sales guy hooked the trailer back up (again) and took it for a test run, to make sure nothing bigger was wrong. They went up this steep hill behind the dealership, and everything was looking great until they got about 3/4 of the way up.

The truck lost power again.

Sales guy was baffled, since the dealership prides itself on selling quality used vehicles. He called the owners of the dealership to tell them what had happened, and the owners were there to meet them when they slowly crawled back into the parking lot. Several profuse apologies later (and a near stressed-induced cardiac event on my part), the owners presented us with two options.

Option A: they would do a straight swap of the blue truck for a red one. Same model, one year older, less miles, and one of the owners had just used it on his family vacation to Yellowstone, towing a similar trailer as ours, so they knew it was reliable.

Option B: borrow the red truck for the week and continue on our vacation, while they figured out what was wrong with the blue truck, fixed it up all pretty like, and had it waiting for us when we came back through the following weekend.

Husband and I discussed the options, and I was initially leaning toward doing the swap. However, while the interior of the red truck was nicer, it had fewer features and a little less interior space than the blue truck. It was also a short bed, as opposed to the long bed of the blue truck (something I didn't really care about, but it mattered to Husband). We finally decided to just borrow the red one and fix the blue one.

We unhooked and re-hooked the trailer (AGAIN) and were finally, finally on our way. We made it to Boise that night, and then after sitting in awful Sunday traffic on I-90 in Washington, finally made it to my mom's house Sunday night. A full day after we had been expecting, but at least we made it.

Of course, the unexpected delays associated with our Suburban's catastrophic engine failure shook up our entire week's visitation schedule, so we had to make some last minute adjustments. Some people were… displeased… with our limited time frames, but quite frankly, by that point I had no patience for it. We drove 1200 miles and went through two vehicles; I think you can handle driving 20 minutes to meet us for dinner and survive not eating exactly at your predetermined usual dinner time. Suffice it to say, we found out who some of our true friends are (and are not) this week!

We also got a call on Monday afternoon from the sales guy back in Utah, to tell us what they had found on the blue truck. The injector bank went out. Now, as stated above, I'm not exactly an automotive expert, so to me, that pretty much means nothing. They could have said the phalanges were broken for all I know!

Husband explained that, basically, what happened on the Suburban's gas engine is what happened on the truck's diesel engine (only less catastrophically so). The engine was kaput!

Because of course.

Because Utah hates us.

So they ended up replacing the injector bank (and the phalanges, probably), and we have a warranty on the engine so that we don't have to deal with this again any time soon (fingers crossed, knock on wood).

The rest of our vacation had a bit of a pall over it, though we tried to make the best of it, despite some friend drama and a few minor irritations (because seriously, I fought this hard to make this vacation even happen in the first place, but yeah, let's make it all about not inconveniencing you) and some serious homesickness for Western Washington and my boo-thang Kym.

We left Seattle Saturday morning, with the intention of getting all the way to Brigham that night so we could swap vehicles for our truck and get back on the road first thing Sunday. We only got as far as Mountain Home, Idaho, because it took us 7 hours to even get out of Washington.

7 hours!

I don't even know how that is possible. It was like all travel slowed to a crawl.

Sunday we made better time, and got to Brigham shortly after noon. However, as we were coming back down I-84, about 10 miles or so north of the exit for the dealership? THE RED TRUCK LOST POWER!!! Same effing thing that happened to the blue truck. In the exact same spot as where our Suburban blew.

I swear, Utah hates us. I mean, I know things happen in threes, but come on!

(We did see a lot of other truck and trailers pulled over on the freeway, also having issues, so maybe Utah just hates road-trippers in general?)

After swapping back to our blue truck, the rest of the drive home was relatively uneventful, though still wracked with stress. I spent the entire rest of the drive just waiting for something else to go wrong, because the precedent was set. Our truck has a few quirks on it that we need to get checked out, like weak air conditioning, engine fans that aren't terribly effective, and the door handles have some issues. Plus, it's not my Suburban, and I loved my Suburban.

So now, I have a massive loan payment on a truck that, at the moment, I loathe (though I'm sure my emotions have as much to do with that as the quirks and stress).

This week, we have the joy of dealing with digging out, both in terms of unpacking and settling back into being home, as well as dealing with the financial and logistical fallout of this week. Our insurance agent will be having a meeting with us, which will be non-fun for her. We need to refinance the truck through a local bank so we can get a better deal on the interest rate (and hopefully ease the burden on my budget). And I will be looking into new paid writing opportunities, since Yahoo decided to shut down its contributor side… meanie heads.

So that road less traveled?

I have a gypsy spirit, I'm all for the road less traveled. I mean, hell, I moved to Wyoming of all places, just to experience something new!

But when I'm on a road trip with a predetermined destination, and limited time frame and financial leeway? I'd like to stay on the intended road, and not have any mechanical issues along the way, thank you very much.

It's how I roll

You're welcome.

Highs and Lows

So this weekend was… a bit of a roller coaster. To say the least.

Things started off really great. Friday morning, my insurance agent called to tell me that I had to stop by her office that day and sign my new life insurance policy. I asked her what she meant by "new", and she said that the results of my health screening had come back, and my numbers were so good that my insurance premium dropped dramatically. Enough so to warrant it being considered a "new" policy!

Apparently I am considered "premier preferred", which isn't very common. Meaning I'm crazy healthy, which made me feel pretty good. (Better than just being crazy, I guess!)

So yeah, that glass of Pepsi and handful of jellybeans I had for dessert last night? Not feeling guilty about it! Boom!

Then after hanging up with my insurance agent, I got another phone call. I don't usually answer numbers I don't recognize, because I'm sick of those damned robo-calls. You know the ones.

"Hi! This is Andrea from cardholder services!"

*grumblegrumble*

But this number was from Seattle, so I took the risk and answered it. It was a travel company in Tukwila, calling to inform me that the drawing I had entered at the Women's Show back in March had been that morning.

And I won!

Three day, two night, all expenses paid trip to San Francisco, baby!

Of course, there is always a catch. In this case, I have to sit through a 90-minute presentation (or rather, sales pitch) on this travel company's timeshare program.

But I've sat through those before. Got me and Hubs a free beachside steak dinner last time we were in Hawaii. If I can sit through a predictable sales pitch for a free beach dinner for two, I sure as hell will sit through one for a free trip to San Fran!

You want to show me how great your timeshare program is by sending me on a trip to prove it? Go for it! Twist my arm.

Haight-Ashbury, here I come!

And yes, I will be sure to wear some flowers in my hair.

Going to San Francisco is bucket list material for me. For one, because it is just a beautiful city with amazing culture, history, arts, etc. It has this vibe that it just really unique, and I totally dig it. 

And for two, because I am *somewhat* obsessed with the counterculture movement of the 1960s. Summer of love, baby! It was such an incredibly special piece of history, and not something that could ever be duplicated. I've always felt a connection to that period of time, even though I was born a couple of decades too late to experience it. I'm a hippie at heart, dammit!

So after finding out about the trip, I was naturally quite pumped, which resulted in my best workout I've had in… well, probably ever. My giddiness gave me the energy to just keep going, way past my usual goal. Feel the burn, baby!

Then, after my kick ass workout, I went upstairs to get ready, and a miracle happened. My eyeliner came out perfectly even. Winged perfection.

As any girl understands, this is effing miraculous in epic proportions. Because they're never even. Never. It's like one of the lesser known laws of physics or something.

Then, to top it all off, I realized I am officially halfway through my last quarter of school before I get my Bachelor's degree. Hallelujah! 

So yeah, suffice it to say, my Friday started out pretty awesome.

And then… it all went to hell in a hand basket.

I've already rehashed this multiple times over the course of the last few days, both explaining it to people asking what the hell happened, as well as just running it through my brain on repeat. It mentally exhausts me, so I'm not going to go into full details here. 

The reader's digest version is this:

I received a nasty text out of the blue from a member of my family. Apparently, this individual felt, I don't know, pissed off, or threatened, or disproportionately bothered in some way by the fact that I dared to called my grandpa.

Inorite?!?

How. Dare. I.

So I received the text in response to having made this otherwise completely benign phone call.

The text caught me off guard, because for one, I have not spoken to this person in months, so they were pretty much the last person I expected to hear from. And for two, the level of vitriol made me sick to my stomach. Like, hurtful, unnecessary, disgusting, appallingly immature kind of behavior.

But unfortunately, this isn't anything new for this person. It's just how she rolls. Which is a huge factor in why we haven't spoken in so long. I don't feel compelled to put myself in a position where I will be treated like that. It is my job to protect myself and my family from people whom I feel are negative, and potentially dangerous, influences; that was something that everyone seemed to understand and be on board with.

But recently I had begun hearing whispers to the contrary. This toxic person had managed to infect others. She had continued her habit of lying and manipulating those around her in order to get them to feel sorry for her, when she was the one causing the damage to begin with. She shows others this carefully constructed fabrication of her life in order to maintain this myth, this house of cards illusion, that everything is just peachy keen. When it's not. 

I saw through the lies, I saw through the manipulations, I chose to not drink the koolaid; I saw the reality of the situation, which is why I'm on the outs. She felt threatened that I didn't buy into her story. And now she is actively turning whomever she can against me, playing the victim, pulling the strings, all because her life is falling apart and she needs the distraction. She's trying to start a full-fledged family war; sides are being chosen, bunkers are being built. All because she can't take an honest look at her life and realize the one commonality to all the crap she is going through. Herself. 

But the kicker is the reason I pulled back from her to begin with has been proven right time and again. When the dust settles, the bodies are retrieved, and the wounds are cleaned, she will have a trail of destruction behind her, whereas I will not. I have not once treated her in the same manner that she has treated me. I have not behaved in the same abhorrent way. And she will have to face that some day. She has hurt me more deeply than words could ever adequately express, but her behavior will end up hurting herself worse. It's never pleasant witnessing someone in the throes of self-destruction, but I have to keep reminding myself that she is not my problem. It'll all come out in the wash.

I've been repeating the Serenity Prayer to myself over and over the last few days. I'm not particularly religious… like… at all. But I grew up with the Serenity Prayer, and I feel it is something that applies in all aspects of life.

Serenity. Courage. Wisdom.

What more do you need?

To make up for my lousy Friday afternoon, Hubs and I went to our friends' house for dinner (where I had elk for the first time in… oh… 20 years?)  They also kept the lavender cosmos coming, which was good.

Saturday we ran some errands, and in the process I discovered this cute little kitchen store in downtown Cheyenne. It had some pretty nifty stuff (that you can't find anywhere else in this hick town), so I left there with a few goody bags in tow!

Then Sunday we took the kids to the circus. They had a blast, and my daughter ran into some friends from school, resulting in suddenly being surrounded by a gaggle of 9 year old girls. Something my older son was fairly displeased by!

All in all, my weekend turned around, and ended on a high note. Ain't nobody gonna keep me down!

*sassy snaps*

Something wicked this way comes...

I mean school, of course.

Winter quarter is officially upon me. Like an elephant sitting on my chest.

It's gonna be hell, ladies and and gents. Utter hell!

My sociology class should be fine. It's the same instructor I had for last quarter's sociology class (who was awesome), only this is a much lower level class. So easy peasy there.

My econ class I'm still unsure of, because we don't have any papers this quarter (hallelujah), but we have "homework assignments" every other week. Now, in classes past, such "homework assignments" ranged anywhere from "no biggie" to pulling my hair out "are you kidding me?!?", depending on the class. So that's the big unknown. But I've tended to like econ classes in the past, so fingers crossed!

My psychology class?

Oh. Dear. God.

My instructor is already an utter nightmare, and the class has barely even started yet. Her instructions for how she wants us to do the discussion questions and class responses? So unbelievably specific. Like, word count, exact time frame, number of sources cited, etc.

Her introduction to the class was like 10 paragraphs long. Most teachers'? Two or three. At most.

The typical class requires you to have submitted your discussion question answers by Wednesday at midnight, then responded to the specified number of other students' answers by Sunday at midnight. You can respond to other students at any point during the week as long as you fulfill the set requirements.

Not so in this class. We are NOT ALLOWED to respond to other students before Wednesday afternoon, but we have to have our initial three responses done by Thursday at noon. Then, and only then, can we proceed with "further discussion". And we are not allowed to end a conversation. Out of things to say? Too bad! Keep it going! And we have to respond to any question she opens up to the class in another student's discussion thread. And we have to include sources to support all of our opinions. And on and on and on.

Suffice it to say, I regret taking psychology already. I thought it would be an interesting class. Not a tedious OCD-fest.

I keep reminding myself that this is only temporary. That it's a means to an end- my degree. That I only have two quarters left before I am done with school forever.

Like my grandma always says, "This, too, shall pass".

I just don't know yet if my sanity will pass with it!

So just a heads up, my blogging may dry up in the coming ten weeks as I try to keep up with my insane school demands.

And that sound you hear?

That's just me having a mental and emotional breakdown along the way.

Pay no attention to the crazy lady sitting in the corner rocking back and forth, muttering to herself and weeping silently. She's just the fool who decided to take on an extra course load!

Creep

So the last few days have left me with a sort of perpetual headache. And no amount of caffeine or Advil or fruitless attempts at sleep have helped.

I think I've hit a wall.

You know, that point when your brain just decides that you've put it through too much and it peaces out in a blaze of glory?

Yeah.

I swear, I actually heard something break in there.

So first of all, the house is coming along beautifully. It is getting closer and closer to being done; our docs are in underwriting right now; I have moving boxes stacked against the wall ready to be packed.

My soon-to-be entryway!!!

In theory, this should all be super exciting, right?

Except for some reason it has me losing my mind.

I think because we're so close to being done and ready to move in that I'm more worried than ever about something- anything- going wrong.

I haven't slept well in several days. Probably has something to do with the headache.

On top of that, fall quarter officially starts on Monday. The portal opened today, and in theory I can start working on my readings and whatnot and get a jump on things.

Except that I got an e-mail from my advisor on Wednesday informing me that one of my classes had been cancelled.

You know, a class that I registered for a month and a half ago. A class for which I've had the book sitting on my coffee table for a month. A class that started in five days. And they freaking cancelled it!

Needless to say, that put me in a bit of a tailspin.

I had to find a new class immediately- a lower level elective that wasn't already full- or risk throwing off my graduation schedule. Not an easy feat FIVE DAYS BEFORE THE QUARTER STARTS.

Bye bye Philosophy, hello International Studies...

Then I had to track down the book for said new class. And, of course, it was backordered through the bookstore.

Cue the breaking sound in my brain.

So after a bit of a mental collapse, and a few Gilmore Girls episodes and some tea to soothe myself, I finally found the required textbook through Amazon. And for even cheaper than the school's bookstore!

God bless Amazon!

It should theoretically be here Tuesday, so I'll only be a little behind in that class.

I also got the other textbook shipped back to the bookstore for my refund, just under the cutoff date.

Le sigh.

Then today I went into the portal to start getting myself situated- assignment schedules and syllabi and whatnot- and my required reading schedule for my Sociology class? Has two textbooks.

I only have one.

The course resource guide only has the one listed. Three days before classes even start and I'm already confused, stressed, and slightly overwhelmed. Great.

Needless to say, I've been listening to a lot of Nirvana lately, and I've had Radiohead's "Creep" stuck in my head for days.

Apparently stressed Sarah relies on Alt Rock for sanity.

What's not soothing about that?

A lesson in futility... and bribery

Potty training.

It's probably the bane of every parent's existence.

It's a stressful, exhausting period of time when every trip to the store, red light, traffic jam, or busy restroom is cause for a mild panic attack.

And there is no "magic formula" because every kid is different.

Some master it in a couple of weeks. Others make you feel like you'll be sending them to school in diapers.

With my oldest, he never had a pee accident (besides aiming issues), but the logistics of choosing between standing to pee and sitting to poop resulted in a few... unpleasant surprises.

With my daughter, she never had a poop accident, because the thought horrified her. However, she would wait until the very last possible second before heading to the potty, and several pee accidents resulted.

With my youngest... well, we're still working at it. Things were going so well a few months ago. And then... I don't know. He lost interest. He'll ask to use the potty immediately after going in his diaper. No matter how many times I ask him if he needs to go, or have him sit and try, he just... won't. All diaper, all the time.

Le sigh.

Because there's nothing like futility.

So what have I decided to do? Well I'm going to take a page out of the Bad Parenting Manual and resort to bribery.

Yes, that's right folks. I need something to act as an incentive, something to ignite his interest in potty training.

And that something is M&Ms.

Step aside, ma'am, we'll take it from here

One for a successful pee. Two for a successful poop. (Get it, get it?!?)

Because I'm sick of diapers. He's almost three-and-a-half. I want the diapers to go away. And I'm going to find whatever way works to make that happen.

Parent Of The Year, over here.

Hey, it could be worse!

(That picture never fails to crack me up)

Accomplishing things is exhausting

Oy vey.

Hi internets! I'm back!

This week has been... well, just as tiring and stressful as I'd expected.

BUT!!!!!

We got so much house stuff done yesterday, and it looks like we are on track on be done and close on time! Two months and counting...

(Fingers crossed)

We did our framing walk through yesterday, and picked out where all of our electrical outlets, phone and cable jacks, light switches, light fixtures, propane hookups, etc will go. It was... productive, though slightly frustrating.

But not as frustrating as the rest of the afternoon went.

After the framing walk through, we went with the builders to the cabinet place to pick out our cabinets and counter tops, and that's when things went a bit pear shaped.

As with every home builder, ours obviously have a profit margin built into the cost of everything, and they therefore want you to stick within a certain budget so as to not compromise that profit. However, our builders' budget for certain things is incredibly unrealistic (we're pretty sure they just pulled numbers out of their butts without basing them on realistic, current prices).

On top of that, they are really pushy about their tastes (and it just so happens that their preferences in cabinets, carpet, flooring, and so forth, are also what they get the best deals on, and therefore make the most money on).

However, their tastes are so not my tastes, and we've gone a few rounds in the process of making that clear. The cabinets and flooring they kept pushing on me are blonde oak. As in, totally 1994.

She was pushing for something like these...

Ick.

I prefer darker, more updated wood, thank you very much.

We also preferred the shaker style cabinet doors over their preference for the arched, raised panel doors. It's a far more modern, updated look, and will make our kitchen up-to-date for much longer.

We chose these, only a bit darker...

So after going around and around on that, they finally backed off, and we ordered the doors we wanted, which made me happy. However, they won't include the hardware- the drawer pulls and door handles.

Really?!?

So we will have to do that on our own later on. Which is dumb. But whatevs.

The irony of the cabinet door kerfuffle?

The cabinet guy came in when we were just finishing up discussing it all, and the builders mentioned to him they need to order some cabinets for another house they're building, and he recommended the doors we had just ordered!

And his reasoning?

Because they're a more updated, modern look and more desirable to buyers!

So that little piece of vindication was nice.

After that I had to pick up the kids from school, so The Husband went with one of the builders to Lowe's to start picking out tile and fixtures and whatnot, and after collecting the younglings I met up with them.

After much debate (and more forcing of opinions), we finally chose tile for the laundry room, both bathroom floors, and our shower. We also gave her our choices for the wood flooring and countertops, and then had to go through the process of picking out a new carpet choice because apparently the cost of the padding was supposed to also be included in the carpet allowance (despite me having asked and her reassuring me that they do the padding separately and the whole allowance just goes to carpet)(grumblegrumble).

This was the point where the builder had to go, and I was perfectly okay with that because I was feeling quite frazzled by the carpet snafu. If I'm paying this much for a house, I'm sure as hell not going to settle for cheap ass carpet that's all thin and scraggly and will wear out within a month.

And that was looking like what was going to happen, until the most lovely Lowe's employee ever came to our rescue.

She took into account our builder's contractor discount, she found a carpet that is nice and thick and was on sale at the moment and that had the color we wanted, and she finagled the numbers around until both the squishy carpet and the pad were exactly within budget.

Suffice it to say, she saved me from a mental breakdown!

Thank you Bridgette at the Cheyenne Lowe's. You're my hero!

After that whole saga was dealt with, it was then off to pick out our lighting and fixtures package. The fixtures were easy peasy. Oil rubbed bronze, slightly victorian look. Donesies!

Bathroom fixtures

Bathroom faucets

Kitchen faucet

Sensing a theme yet?

And it only continued once we moved onto the lighting fixtures. Two 60" ceiling fans, five dome lights, two bathroom light bars, two sconces, two hanging light fixtures, two hanging bar lights, and five exterior lights later, we had a definite (though originally unintended) theme. 

Modern, clean, updated, though also classic. Oil rubbed bronze with warm glass. And the sconces have the leaded glass with the pop of color, that will compliment our front door, as well as the lamp I keep in the entry way.

I only hope that when all is said and done, it actually looks good. Because your brain can only handle so many decisions in a four hour period. After that it turns into spaghetti.

And I don't know if spaghetti has been known for it's design choices...

Seriously?!?

So I've been having... well... a rough day, today.

To say the least.

You know those days when things go pear-shaped the second your foot hits the floor?

Well take three or four of those, roll them into one 12-hour period, and you've got my day.

First, I'm sick. I have some lovely flu-y bug, I didn't sleep a wink last night, and I feel like utter crap.

Second, there is a potential for our mortgage to not make it through underwriting. Turns out we have one last remaining medical debt on our credit. This medical debt isn't huge, it is over 7 years old, and we didn't know it was there until just recently. So you'd think that, when we made the effort to call and get the debt cleared up, the holders of the account would be willing to work with us, right?

Nope.

Not only do they flat out refuse to deal with us, nor can they even prove the debt is ours, but they even threatened to add other debts to our account that don't show up on our credit.

Let me reiterate.

They cannot prove the debt is ours. And they threatened to stick us with more debt. Debt that isn't on our credit and doesn't even trace back to us in the first place.

Oh yeah, and they refuse to do anything in writing, so even if we paid all of it off today, they wouldn't give us written confirmation we had done so. We'd have to take their word for it.

Not only is that shady, I'm not even sure how legal it is.

Needless to say, I'm looking into it and seeing what our rights are, because my gut tells me something isn't right about this.

On top of this, while I was sitting here this morning Google-ing consumer rights and whatnot, the groundskeepers of our apartment complex were mowing the lawn outside our apartment. I heard the grinding of the lawnmower hitting something, and the next thing I know, the window of my sunroom shattered into a bazillion pieces.

Like, full on exploded.

Clearly it scared the living bejeezus out of me, leaving me really shaken up.

Turns out a hunk of concrete about 5 inches long and 4 inches thick was catapulted through the window by the blades of the lawnmower.

And the dude didn't even stop!!! He just kept truckin' along, either unaware or unconcerned about what it was he had just ran over.

I immediately called the apartment complex office and told them what happened, and they sent the maintenance guys out to help clean up the mess. They are apparently also going to rip into the supervisor of the landscaping company they hire.

The bigger issue, though, is that my children had just asked to play the XBOX, which is located directly in front of the window that was shattered. Had I not told them to wait until after lunch, they would have gotten seriously injured, or possibly worse. It's not something I can really think too deeply on, or I get all shaky again.

So I spent all afternoon cleaning up shards of glass from the shelves that were in front of the window. Shelves that contained the kitchen stuff that doesn't actually fit into the pathetically small kitchen in this apartment. So I had to send every mixing bowl, casserole dish, measuring cup, and so forth, through the dishwasher for a good rinse to clear off the sand-like glass particles. I then had to gingerly sort through the boxes of books and spare bedding that also managed to have glass land in them.

Oh the joys of an apartment that is too small to actually unpack everything into.

All I wanted to do today was lay on the couch, watch trashy reality TV, and drink tea. Suffice it to say, that didn't work out.

Navigating the parent trap

My last post shared an article about that moment when you see your kids as they are; when you realize where you are in life, and you have that singular, acute moment of parental and personal clarity.

The thing that article didn't mention, though, is that this happens far more frequently. These little moments are not a once-per-decade occurrence. Hell, I have them a couple times a week, at least!

It's true, most of your parenting time consists of something akin to herding cats. You're running around in circles, trying to keep the peace; reminding the youngest one to keep their hands to themselves and use their words and not their fists; reminding the oldest one to speak kindly and stop bossing the others around like they're minions; and keeping the middle one from using her pillow as a weapon when her brothers piss her off for the zillionth time today.

In short, daily life is chaos. It's hectic. It's challenging. And some days you feel like an utter failure and want nothing more than to crawl back in bed, curl up in a ball under the blankets, and imagine yourself on a sandy beach sipping a very strong tropical cocktail (or three).

But in between those moments of Are-You-Freaking-Kidding-Me-What-Made-You-Think-Climbing-The-Refridgerater-Was-A-Good-Idea, there are moments of joy, beauty, and utter parental pride.

And yes, that occasional clarity where you see your children as individuals with unique personalities and relatable stages in life (as opposed to vindictive hell spawns seeking to make you crazy one "quit touching my Legos" argument at a time).

I have three children- Bug, Sweet Pea, and Monkey.

(Not their real names, obviously. I'm a hippie, yes, but not quite to that level!)

Bug is my oldest. In terms of personality, he is the most like me. He's very sensitive and academic. He loves to read, he has an insatiable appetite for knowledge, and dreams of being an architect or engineer when he grows up. He loves nature and being outdoors. He has a very high intellect, and he knows it, which makes for confidence and success in the advanced classes, as well as an insufferable know-it-all tendency (we're working on that). Lately, it's like he has suddenly become this childlike grown-up. I find myself being able to relate to him on a more mature level. We can have full conversations about geology or recycling or global warming or the sneaky intentions of marketing. Certain things he says, as well as certain actions and characteristics, floor me on a regular basis because they make him seem so grown up. At times he is all child. Other moments, total teenager. It's weird and heartbreaking and fun and emotionally trying all at the same time.

Oh yeah, and he started puberty. And that's been a real hoot...

Sweet Pea is my middle child. She was born premature, but is now the picture of health and vitality, though I still worry sometimes. She loves animals (like, straight up Little Miss Dr. Doolittle). She is funny, goofy, a show-off, and very artistic. She loves to draw and craft and create. She possesses a sheer joy for life that I admire and hope she holds on to as she grows up. She is athletic (she gets that from her daddy!) and confident in her physical abilities, but is also very timid and sensitive. She is wicked smart but still questions her academic abilities. We are working to build her up in that manner, but she still compares herself to her brother and has a hard time understanding that he is older and therefore farther along in school. She dreams of being a paleontologist and a veterinarian, simultaneously. She is also sassy as all hell. And beautiful. Daddy is going to need to invest in a shotgun as she approaches middle school! She is still young, yet I occasionally see glimpses of who she will be when she is older. Certain things she says and does are so teen-like that it freaks me out. She and I are also the most different in terms of personality, so I know that we will have our mother-daughter struggles as she gets older. I dread her teen years...

Monkey is my baby. Only he's not a baby anymore. It feels like he is growing up too quickly- I think he's trying to catch up to his older siblings. He is all boy- rambunctious, wild, physical. He loves to run and jump and climb and yell and tumble and explore. He has no fear, which of course instills fear in me! He looks the most like me, to an eerie degree. I can't yet tell whose personality he takes after the most, but he is very sweet and loving and kind. He loves animals just as much as his sister. He is intelligent and sensitive, but also adventurous and a little crazy. I think he'll be the one to end up spending a night or two in jail! But for something silly, like streaking through a football game, or tagging a building with an invite to prom, or some other impulsive dare-type stunt. He's also a ladies man already. I'm already working on my best glowering stare for the hordes of chicks he'll bring home that I will inevitably disapprove of.

Like any parent, I have my fears for my children. Besides the obvious fears of illness, injury, and outside threats, I also have individualized concerns for each of them. For my oldest, I worry about his social interactions. It's not easy being the smartest kid in the class, and I worry about him being picked on, teased, or bullied. For my daughter, I worry because she is very pretty, and also has the makings of the "popular girl". Girls are cruel, and I know firsthand just how murky and twisty Girl World is. I hope my sensitive baby girl doesn't get crushed by that world. For my youngest, I worry for his safety, as he is still very young. I also worry because he is so impulsive and outgoing- I don't want him getting hurt, getting in trouble, or getting into the wrong crowd.

My children can be mentally and emotionally trying, but they are also my greatest source of joy. Their spontaneous creativity, their joie de vivre, their genuine and unconditional love- they are amazing. I'm proud to be their mommy. And like any parent, I just hope I don't screw them up too badly!

Any parent can relate to this...

The Sweet Spot of parenting. That place where your children are big and little all at the same time. Big enough to participate in the daily goings on of life, but little enough to still want you around!

It's wonderful, and fleeting, and frustrating, and sad, and full of joy and laughter and fun.

Hold on while you can, it doesn't last long!

Greetings from the other side... of the Rockies

Hey hey! I'm back from the abyss.

And by abyss, I mean the internet-less world of moving.

Man has it been crazy lately. Like, mind-bogglingly so. I find it hard to believe that we left Washington only a week and a half ago, it feels like longer (and shorter all at the same time).

So here I am, in a new state, in a new time zone, in a sort of temporary limbo whilst I await our house being built.

The OCD organizational side of me? Not loving it.

The hippie, gypsy, free-spirited side of me? Going with the flow, man.

Cause really? That's all I can do right now.

I'm a little bitter, because the apartment we're renting until our house is done doesn't allow satellite dishes to be put up, so we had to suspend our DIRECTV service for a few months and go with Comcast.

And to be clear: I. Hate. Comcast.

Why, you ask? Because they suck. Exhibit A? The fact that our DVR doesn't work. At all. I can't record anything. I can't pause, rewind, etc. I can't enter in any favorites. Nothing. I get an error message saying that the DVR function is disabled and to call customer service.

And when we called to figure out what was going on, the stupid customer service rep said it was just because we weren't pressing the buttons on the remote hard enough.

Let me repeat.

Our DVR isn't functional, everything we try to do is met with an error message, and we were told it was because we weren't pressing buttons hard enough.

Special kind of stupid, I tell ya.

So after several more phone calls, we finally have a tech coming out on Thursday. I guess my reality TV escapism will have to wait...

Otherwise known as the Real Housewives of somewhere or other

Peace-ing out

Tonight is my last night in my first house. Tomorrow is my last day living in Washington.

(At least, for the foreseeable future)

Goodbye Snohomish. I heart you.

Goodbye Lake Roesiger. You've been lovely and you will be sorely missed!!!

This area of Western Washington is a gem and will always hold a special place in my soul...

Homeless on the range?!?

Hey hey!

So I know I fell off the blogging bandwagon lately. I've been a little busy. You know, that whole preparing to move multiple states (and a timezone) away. It tends to be a bit time consuming.

But I'm back bitches!

So this past weekend we were down in Cheyenne, getting the lay of the land and trying to accomplish certain pre-moving goals. Like establishing a place to live. You know, crazy stuff like that.

Suffice it to say, it didn't go as planned.

First of all, if someone is offering full price to buy your house... take the freaking offer. Don't play hardball just because you can. Shit like that pisses me off. We encountered that when we were buying a home up here too. Builders decide "hey, there's interest in my houses, let's try to squeeze every last penny from them!"

No dice, bro. Unlike some homebuyers, I'm more than okay with walking away if you decide to be a wanker. Mama don't play like that.

So we found a property we liked and we made an offer on it. 3,000 square feet, three bedrooms, two baths, with a full, unfinished basement (that will eventually give us five bedrooms and three baths) on 35.5 acres! For a good price!

The catch?

The house isn't built yet, so we'd have to rent a place for about four months in the meantime. Le sigh.

But for my dream home? Sure, I can deal.

We made an offer- full price, just asking for closing costs. The builders decided to play hardball, and countered. We were unimpressed. After mulling it over, we countered their counter-offer, and made it clear that we were more than willing to walk away.

Because is the house perfect? Yes. Is it worth being put over a barrel for? Nope.

So after waiting until the last possible second before we had to leave Cheyenne on Monday, the builders finally got back to us- they had accepted our offer! So we are under contract. Check one thing off the To Do list.

Did I register my kids for school down there? Nope. Because I was too busy running around trying to scramble and find a place to rent. And that took up an unimaginable amount of time.

Did we leave Cheyenne with a short-term rental lined up? Nope!

*facepalm*

*heavy sigh*

*long drag of a cigarette even though I don't smoke*

Sad Keanu understands

So here's the thing with Cheyenne.

It's a military town. At any given time there are hundreds, perhaps thousands of military personnel in town- all needing a place to live. And many, if not most, of them rent. On top of that, most of the available (and decent) rental houses won't do a short-term lease, and we only need a place to rent for about four months while our house is being built.

*grumblegrumble*

So we turned to townhouses and apartments.

I totally struck out on townhouses. No one called me back. Not a single one. Jerkfaces.

And apartments? Well, all but one of the nice complexes in Cheyenne are low-income, so we make way too much to even be considered. And they're all full anyway.

And the non-income-restricted places? Well there is only one nice, newer complex in town. And it's booked out months in advance. Everywhere else? Run down, outdated... and full.

We did finally get a call back from one complex shortly before we were leaving town on Monday. We went to check out the unit that was becoming available, and... well... there's no way in hell I would allow my children to live there. To put it mildly. It had a very distinct rape-y vibe about it, and I'm pretty sure we would have gotten an infection of some sort from the carpets. We bailed about as quickly and politely as humanly possible!!!

So we left town Monday afternoon totally defeated and dejected and anxious and stressed. Yes, we found a house for our family, yay! But we lacked a place to live until then... un-yay.

Monday night after we got home I went into OCD mode. I google'd every rental option imaginable in the Cheyenne area, and then branched out to the surrounding areas as well. I did find a cute little house in Cheyenne that was available, but the owners were assholes, and after several conversations with them I chose to walk away. You can only take so many times of someone reiterating that they are looking to benefit themselves and not to help you out before you want to tell them to fuck off!

So after numerous phone calls, e-mails, and mini-panic attacks, I am pleased to announce we finally have a short-term rental lined up for when we get down there. It's a cute two-bedroom (plus a sunroom) apartment that'll suffice until our house is done. Not my ideal situation to be back in apartment mode, but whatever. It's temporary.

The first catch? Because we're doing a non-conventional lease, we're paying more per month. To be paying this much for a two-bedroom apartment boggles my mind, but I'm letting it go.

The second catch? It's in Fort Collins.

As in Colorado.

As in 40 miles from Cheyenne!!!

Looks like we're commuting for a while.

*sigh*