The Bleak House

how to take betterfamily vacationpicturesNo one told me selling a house would be so much fun.

The scraping wallpaper, the painting, the cursing the former owners for hanging the wallpaper. And also, the constant nagging question, “Why didn’t we make it how we wanted it while we were actually living in it?”

I’ve decided selling a house is a lot like waiting for the return of Christ. You just never know when the realtor’s going to knock on the door, or just open it, because isn’t it great that the keys are hanging in the lock box on the door knob?

A special thanks to my Tiny Human or strategically placing my (clean) underwear by the front door yesterday for such a visit.

It’s been such an exciting time, but now that the paint fumes have worn off, my brain is starting to work again–and it’s asking important questions such as (but not limited to) why am I not using this newspaper column to advertise my house?

(I’m on vacay, so this is a rerun from five years ago. I’m not selling a house. Actually, I am–if you’re interested–this one never did sell. Paying two mortgages is a lot of fun.)

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Salt + Paper = ? A Birthday Post.

Two years ago, I was forming a lifelong friendship with my anesthesiologist.

Okay… we haven’t spoken since that day, but I would still hug him if I could.

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A few hours later I stared at our Tiny Human in total disbelief that she was ours.

What did this mean for the future?

More importantly… would we ever sleep again?

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The answer was no.

We were quickly introduced to the magic of the witching hour. And sleeping in the car seat (her, not us).

We were so terrified that her head would fall forward and she’d cut off her windpipe that we took turns staying up just so we could watch her breathe. (The acid reflux was so bad she couldn’t sleep lying down.)

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We’ve come a long way in two years.

(If God chooses to give us another Tiny Human, we are prepared with all the gear we could ever want to survive the first four months, even with acid reflux.)

Hark! The Martin Family's Schemes!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

If Zoey never gets a sibling… we are prepared to help one Mama be very happy with all the gear she could want to survive the first four months.

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Either way, this face is more than enough to keep us delighted. She is our celebration. Our miracle. And the reason I am currently rail thin (from chasing after her busy little body).

Just so y’all know… if you dump salt on the solid cherry dining room table… and put a piece of paper on top of that salt and rub… it acts as sandpaper.

Don’t ask how I know that.

Happy 2nd Birthday, Beautiful, Daring, Adventerous Girl.

Mama’s Unstable

I threatened for six months, but no one believed me.

They just gave me that look–the one that says, She’s Unstable Again, But We All Know She’ll Balance Out Before She Does Something Dangerous.

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Then Dangerous just kind of happened. In the form of a 60 lb. yellow labrador retriever.

I dared to bring this giant puppy to live with a dog-hater… namely, me. (Hey, the toddler needed a friend, and a sibling is just not in the works.)

 I do impulsive things when I’m stressed. 

With the book about to release, and a baby who is completely redecorating my house (it only takes ONE red crayon, folks), I thought, Why Not? Why not do one more thing to send me closer to the edge?

 Here’s the part where I tell you how I really snapped when he came home, and how he drives me crazy, and how he chews on everything, and how I’m offering him to the next decent person who will give him a good home. But that’s all fiction.

Non-fiction? I got lucky. He is the only puppy in the world who doesn’t chew on furniture, comes when called, goes to bed when commanded, and sleeps at my feet when I need my space.

 Now if I could just get the dog to train the toddler, I might not be so unstable after all…

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Bekah Hamrick Martin is a writer who can be reached atwww.facebook.com/bekahhamrickmartin, unless she’s on her knees begging God for you to buy a copy of her book, The Bare Naked Truth (Zondervan, 2013).