Liner Notes 6/11

I spent most of the weekend separating my closet into "yes" "no" and "maybe" piles, which was a total waste of time because everything just ended up in "maybe". Because how could I possibly part with the hideous red and blue/totally stretched out skirt I wore the first time Hal and I went out together? How could I say goodbye to all those memories? THE MEMORIES!

But after many hours of deliberation re: the eyelet skirt and whether or not it would come back in style someday, something wild and foreign came over me. His name was Reality C. Heck and he was SMOOTH. He was smooth and fast-talking and he reminded me that our "new house" has tiny closets. And that there are a grand total of four of them. And they're tiny. TINY. Circa 1928 tiny with vintage charm and zero practicality for modern day excess. (One of the reasons I fell in love with the house is that very few things have been updated. Closets (complete with old Hollywood built-ins) included.

But they're very small closets.

Hold on, did I mention the closets are small?

So, yeah. Peace out eyelet skirt circa 1999. Peace out. 

helping me pack

Of course, to make things REALLY stressful and fun, we aren't positive we will actually be moving into said house. We only know that July 1st we will be moving. I do not want to go into particulars at this time for obvious reasons and although it's looking pretty certain that Esteban is all but ours, we have yet to "close". And so. We are still... open? I don't know anymore. The situation is not ideal. Limbo is not as fun as the bending-over-backwards-beneath-a-pole game suggests. 

SOS

There have been many tears and lots of yelling and dozens of hours spent perusing rentals "just in case" and also because it makes us feel like we're doing something constructive. You know, like flirting with all the wrong guys instead of waiting for the right one.

If he is indeed right.

Everyone who has been through this before (thanks for the pep talk, Erik) has told me that in the end, it will all be worth it.

To stick it out. 

To rent the house until the sale closes if we must. 

To move forward (full steam ahead!) on blind faith if we must. 

AKA, keep packing.

And sorting.

And breathing.

In through the nose, out through the mouth. In through the nose, out through the... oh look! A cute baby!

Hold on, another cute baby!

And what's that over there? A little girl hiding in her brother's old robot costume? 

The girls will be nine-months on Wednesday so they decided to spend the last week preparing for college.  Their army crawl is dunzo, replaced with an impressive and sturdy crawl that allows for upward stair climb. (Downward? Not so much. And both babies have the forehead bruises to prove it.) They're also standing. 

Bo rocked it first and then Revi who not only stood up but started walking the perimeter of her crib which is adorable and also petrifying.

The girl is clearly on a mission and the following images do little justice to her current state of "I'm going to walk before I turn seventeen-months old, sorry mom." (Archer and Fable walked at seventeen months. Both of them.) Yesterday girlfriend pulled up on my shirt, let go and tried to stand on her own. And then fell. Because, yeah, sister... you're not QUITE ready yet. STOP THE MADNESS!

But she doesn't care. She doesn't even care. 

"I don't care, mom. "I don't even care."

And while I'm boring you with milestone details, let's talk about food and how the girls are down to (sniff) three bottles a day ONLY. The rest of their meals are actual meals. Revi polished off an entire heirloom tomato yesterday, followed by an avocado (shared with Bo), a thing of blueberries, some noodles and approximately everything else that is edible in our fridge/cupboard including some leftover quinoa and a piece of raw corn. Even the mashed up stuff they are OVER. They want to feed themselves. So everything is a complete and utter mess. Two babies eating tomatos, followed by avocados followed by blueberries and quinoanoodlebroccolicheeries? Who wants to come over for dinner!

Between Baby Food-Fightville and the entire contents of all (six) of our closets on the floor, our house party is really going off these days. 

Which brings me back to packing. And the "maybe" pile that sits behind me, taunting me with memories.

Of the time my old roommate crashed my ex-boyfriend's car. I was wearing the white eyelet skirt that evening. I forgot about that night.

Until now.

Which, THANK GOD! That night was TERRIBLE. I want to forget it always and never think of it again!

Kind of like the first time Hal and I got together and how he was a complete asshole and I hated him. I did! I hated him! I wore that ugly skirt and realized that Hal was NOT the man for me. No way.

So why must I insist on hanging onto these things? Why am I so indecisive about everything? Why are there three things in the "no" pile and dozens in the "maybe"? 

Because sure, this stuff is full of memories. Everything is. But that doesn't make it worth something, right? That doesn't make it a "yes". 

And sure, getting rid of stuff is sad. Putting a decade worth of maybes in the no pile is terribly sad but more than that it's terribly necessary.

So. Consider this my moment of silence .... for the eyelet skirt and its cohorts and all of the many things I don't need anymore: _____________________________________________________________________ 

In the end, there are only a handful of true "yeses" in our house. And they are the same yeses regardless of where we end up and what we end up with. 

GGC