It snowed yesterday. But on our side of town, it didn’t stick. At all. Not even on the grass. The ground was too wet and warm, so there was zero accumulation. So I didn’t take a single picture. Which is fine because that is one less scrapbook page for me not to complete two years from now.
Speaking of scrapbooking…
(Please wipe the drool off your chin. That’s just gross.)
Maybe when this room is all done and we’re moved in, I might actually get some work done.
If I can ever quit wasting so much time with this:
(Sorry for the further humiliation, Holly. It was just too good not to share.)
(And, by the way, internet friends, Holly kicked my tail in the next two games.)
(But I’m coming back.)
The point is, I need to get myself in gear and cut back on the idle. I’m sure I can be really productive if I just put my phone down and turn off the computer.
Let’s get back to the snow.
(‘Cause that’s what I do – change the subject when the conviction enters the conversation.)
So it was snowing, which can only mean one thing when you walk into Target:
Normally, this would be highly annoying. But when Meghan and I walked past the women’s section in Target last week and saw all the string bikinis, I stopped her as a huge grin spread over my face, and I whispered, “We’re gonna have a pool!”
I can’t wait for summer.
Michael and I have met with three different pool companies, told them what we’d like, and then met with each of them again to see their drawings and proposals. Company #1 was way too pretentious…and expensive. Company #2 was exactly what
we I wanted, though a little over our budget. Company #3 was somewhere in between – the design was closer to #1, but price was closer to #3.
We asked #2 to do some tweeking, and we met with them again last weekend. The design and price were brought down, and I was 100% happy with it. Let’s go! Wooo-hooo!
Michael? He’s a processor. He needs to process.
We interrupt our regularly scheduled programming for a little story break…
Seven years ago, Michael was finishing his fellowship at the University of Iowa. I had just had surgery on both feet, we were wrapping up contract negotiations, getting ready to sell our house, buy a house, and make another baby. It was a little bit stressful. So in March, we flew down to Texas to find a house. The first day, we walked through a gazillion and seven houses. The second day, we narrowed it down to three preowned homes with the additional option of a brand-new neighborhood and a brand-new house with one particular floor plan that we loved. The third day, we decided on the new neighborhood and the new house. One house of this floor plan was already completed. One house was in framing and had a media room. One house was in framing and did not have the media room.
When we came back on Day 3, the completed house had just sold. (Which was fine because it had this really funky wallpaper.) We decided we wanted the house with the media room. Wham, bam, there ya go, decision made, where do I sign.
But no. Michael needed to process. He didn’t want to jump. So we left to pick up our kids, who were hanging out with my awesome friend, Randi, and her kids. While we were driving, Michael verbally processed, and I patiently listened. We got our kids and headed back to the sales office to sign the contract.
We got lost.
We arrived at the sales office about an hour after we told our realtor we would be there. “Oh, I’m so sorry!” I told her as we got out of the car. “We’re an hour late!”
“No,” she replied, “you’re 30 minutes late. There’s a couple in there right now signing papers for your house.”
After a very heated, pointed discussion in the lovely child’s bedroom of the model house that was the sales office, Michael & I signed the contract for the media room-less House #3.
(Which really worked out fine. We spent 6 wonderful years in that house, and we were very happy, and it was beautiful. But that’s not the point.)
Now back to our regularly scheduled program.
Here we were, 7 years later, same song, second verse (except that the pool wasn’t going to be sold out from under us.) I was ready to go, and Michael needed to process. We had this discussion before we walked into the office. I’m taking my cues from you, I said. If you’re not ready, I’ll follow you out the door. During the meeting, however, it was clear that I was ready to, ahem, dive in, so he felt pressured to go ahead because, after all, his life goal is to make me happy. We ended up signing the contract before we left that morning because, as the sales guy reminded us, in Texas you can rescind a contract up to three days after signing it. which pacified Michael long enough for the ink to dry.
He spent the next six hours blurting out random comments at random times as his brain wrapped around the decision.
“Company #3 had more seating space.”
“This part will be more expensive than Company #3.”
“I really liked this about Company #3.”
Finally, around 6:00, following yet another thunderstorm-on-my-parade comment, I had had enough and pointedly requested a cease-and-desist of the verbal processing. If you need to process, fine. But let me enjoy the excitement of having OUR VERY OWN SWIMMING POOL THAT IS GORGEOUS AND FUN AND PERFECT without your Mr. Frowny Pants comments. Come talk to me when you can be excited.
We haven’t talked much about it. Yet. I’m still waiting.
(I’ll bet if I go buy a string bikini at Target and model it for him, then he’ll be excited.)
(Did I really just say that out loud?)
(This blog post has been rated PG for mild adult situations.)
Stay warm, friends. Summer’s coming.