Sleep Now In The Fire

Open house day 1: After a week of blue skies and sunshine, Saturday morning brings grey skies and snow. Not a huge amount - only a couple of centimetres - but we're West Coast folk; any amount of snow that actually sticks to the ground and doesn't melt immediately causes havoc and mayhem.

One couple shows up for the open house. Literally one couple shows up for the entire two hour open house. They're in the condo for under fifteen minutes. While they're there, our fireplace blows up. It's an electric fireplace so it wasn't as devastating as if, say, a gas fireplace exploded in our condo but it was still an unfortunate event. Our Realtor does her best to air out the smoke but we still come home to a condo that smells like an electrical fire.

Open house day 2: More snow! And also wind. Lots and lots of wind.

Sunday is marginally better because five couples show up to see the condo. The condo that still smells like an electrical fire. Unfortunately, our Realtor has to shut down for a bit while she deals with the police. Apparently her signs were creating some sort of traffic hazard due to the wind. Momentum is lost and our weekend of open houses fizzles to a close.

This weekend is the perfect example of why I don't want to move.

Breathe Through It Write A List Of Desires Make A Toast Make A Wish Slash Some Tires

Friday Faff: I Found My Card Reader Edition

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Shawn took this photo three weeks ago. I do not even remotely resemble the svelte lady now. Things are much rounder. Also, I'm more in focus in real life. Shawn does this thing where I'll ask him to take a photo of me and he'll take ONE photo of me. And my eyes will be closed. So I ask him to take another and he crouches down and points the camera up at me so the photo is basically just of my multiple chins. So I get a bit screechy and ask him to take 10 photos of me, please, it's a digital camera you can take a hundred photos and you're not wasting film or anything please can you just do it?! And this is what we end up with:

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Our condo has never been as clean as it currently is. It's kind of freaking me out.

Those tulips are usually a basket of random electronic hair wrangling devices. We have more than four towels. One can normally find approximately 54 hair elastics scattered on various surfaces throughout the room.

This is not my kitchen. Where are all the small appliances? Piles of bills and takeout menus? Where are the dirty dishes? It's like the Twilight Zone. (Funny story. I've never seen an episode of the Twilight Zone but I can totally do the Twilight Zone theme music. You know? Like you can totally do the Jaws thing even if you haven't seen the movie. Anyway. Whenever my mom tries to do the Twilight Zone theme music she ends up doing the Chicken Dance music. It is awesome.)

This is the bedroom taken from the other side of the room. Gorgeous turquoise accent wall, oh how I will miss you. The photo is not one of mine (but thanks for giving me that much credit, Alice!) It's a canvas print from Ikea. Shawn loves it. I'm kind of meh about it but I can't figure out if I don't like the photo or if I'm just a snob who doesn't want Ikea "art" hanging over her bed.

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My family dog, my 13-year old monsterpup, my Toby bear, spent last weekend in the emergency animal hospital. He's back at home with my parents but the diagnosis is grim: neurological problem, most likely a brain tumor.

He's the sweetest, most gentle dog I've ever met and I'm not ready for him to go. I took the monsterpups to my parents' house last night because my parents are rockstars and offered to take care of the pups until Sunday so the condo stays clean for our two open houses. Stella loves Toby. If she had to choose between me and Toby? Toby would win. And I'm the one with access to the food. It kind of breaks my heart that one day Toby won't be around for Stella to love on.

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Happy Friday, peeps! Think some happy condo-selling thoughts for us, please!

Cut His Teeth On Turquoise Harmonicas

Shawn and I spent all weekend carting our clutter and personal items and unnecessary furniture over to my parents' basement. We cleaned for hours. Our condo looks like a show suite. I kind of hate it.

Yesterday the photographer came through and photographed our condo for the listing. He did that thing that real estate photographers do, where they use a wide angle lens to make the rooms look bigger but really the rooms just look like they have slanty walls. Our listing went up last night. Our first open house is on Saturday. I really hate it.

The good thing about having a meticulous bedroom and a professionally shot photo of it, is that I can show you my beautiful turquoise accent wall! Here it is in all its glory:

I don't know the photographer's name but he took this photo and deserves the credit. Sorry, photographer.
*Updated! The photographer's name is Richard from rtomstudios.com*

We used C-I-L paint in Simcoe Lake on the accent wall and Veil on the remaining three walls. Shawn has already promised that we can recreate this room if we do end up selling our condo and buying a new one. And by "we" he means "he" - he just doesn't know it yet.

Baby Please Remember Me Once More

Having a 95-year old grandma who has just had a stroke is admittedly not ideal but it's not all bad. I mean, every time I see her I get to announce my pregnancy and every time it's like she is just finding out and she's giddy and excited. Until things get awkward and confusing because she thinks I'm my sister (sorry, Turtle - Gram thinks you're pregnant. Though if you give it a day, she'll forget.)

My grandma is tough-as-nails but she's also 95 years old. It's not fair of me to ask for just a little more time. Time for Gram to meet her first two great-grandbabies (my little sister is also pregnant and is also due in July.) Logically I know that my grandma's quality of life is diminishing and she's old and she's sick. But a small part of me wants her to hold on, just a little longer. She is my last remaining grandparent. I'm not ready for her to be gone, as selfish as that may be.

And So Today My World It Smiles

I can't tell you how much it helped me to spew my crazy on my blog and have love and support spewed back at me (side note: I'm really into the word "spew" right now. Because it so accurately -and satisfyingly- describes what toothpastes makes me do. Sorry.)

Last week was rough. Pregnancy hormones were messing with my head while I was dealing with my 95-year old grandma having a stroke (she's doing much better this week) and trying to accept that our "sit down chat" with the Realtor turned into "we need to get this place listed, stat" in the space of an hour. Shawn and the Realtor are both making big plans while I'm attempting to handcuff myself to my gorgeous turquoise accent wall. Looking back on last week, it's easy to see why I was so overwhelmed. Hindsight doesn't make things any easier when I'm stuck in the midst of a meltdown, but if I can try to remember that sometimes things suck and sometimes things rock, maybe I'll feel less desperate. I'm trying. Which is better than last week when I was just struggling.

The internet can be a nasty place sometimes. Thank you for being sweet to me.

Well I've Been Here Before Sat On The Floor In A Grey Grey Room

I have always been an emotional person. Whether my feelings are positive or negative, I feel them hard and strong and wholeheartedly. My mom says that I've always been this way; even as a small child, there was never any grey area with me. I love something or I hate something and though I may reverse my feelings and love something I hated the day before, in the moment I feel no half-way feelings.

Pregnancy hormones have amplified my emotions to a point that would be almost comical if it wasn't so devastating. I feel like I have no control. My anxiety, which once affected my daily life on a mild to moderate scale, has reached a new, terrifying level where yesterday a pile of dirty dishes brought on an actual chest-clenching, can't-breathe, shaky-hands panic attack. Last night I sobbed to Shawn that this is the hardest thing I have ever done and I honestly cannot see myself being able to do it for another five months. Which brought on a new wave of anxiety and desperation because whether I can or can't, I will be doing it for five more months.

I have never experienced lows like I have in the last few months. I scare myself sometimes and I know I'm scaring Shawn. I know on a good day he's annoyed and confused by my emotional highs and lows but on a bad day he's just as desperate as I am. I know that he's trying to understand. I know that he wants to make this as easy as possible for me. But still, I struggle. Every day is a struggle. And I don't know what to do.

I Gotta Move While The Streets Ahead Are Sunny

Shawn and I bought our condo three years ago. Three years ago it was just the two of us. Our 670 square foot, one bedroom + den condo was sufficient.

Now we are two and a half people and two monsterpups. In 24-ish weeks, we will be three people and two confused monsterpups. Our little condo in the sky is suddenly feeling very cramped.

I cannot think of anything I would rather do less right now than move. Keeping the condo spotless for showings and dealing with mortgage shenanigans and packing boxes are all high on my list of things to avoid.

We're meeting with our Realtor tonight, despite my bad attitude. We need to know what our options are. And really, a meeting isn't any sort of commitment. We don't have to list our condo. We don't have to look at potential homes. We can just have a nice chat about how screwed we are when the baby shows up (with all the related baby paraphernalia) and we have nowhere to put him/her. I can't wait.