Teetering on the brink of insanity

Okay.

Spent another day in Puyallup, when it actually hit me:

There is no way in HELL the house is going to be move-in ready in two weeks.

My incredibly optimistic mood of last week completely faded as I looked around at all the junk, dust, ugly appliances scattered about, even uglier light fixtures strewn across my kitchen counter, and potholes in the as-yet-unfinished floors. So, in complete desperation, I picked a fight with my husband, who has done nothing but work his ass off for the past two months on this place. I just...can't...believe....how ugly it still is.

Here's part of the problem: in my mind, on my agenda, I would be spending this upcoming week driving loads of boxes and (small) pieces of furniture to Puyallup, where I would lovingly unload and unpack them in my somewhat-ugly, but properly floored-and-painted house. I AM SUPPOSED TO BE ORGANIZING MY KITCHEN RIGHT NOW, PEOPLE! I CAN NOT DO THAT WITH EMPTY SODA BOTTLES AND A FREAKING 1960'S WALL SCONCE LITTERING MY COUNTERTOPS!

It was in this state of near-meltdown that my mother-in-law and her husband walked in and found me. Bryan was at Home Depot (likely to escape my wrath) and I had just finished wailing on the phone to my mother about why, why, WHY my husband always feels he has to move me in to a house with "potential". (Which, in case you hadn't already guessed, is code for "hovel, that can be righted again after two years worth of intensive labor, during which time you will contemplate divorce on at least four occasions".)

Anyway. MIL Heather and Alex walk in, assess the situation, and Heather proceeds to grab me by the shoulders in a very shake-some-sense-in-to-you fashion, look me square in the eye, and tell me it's time to re-evaluate my priorities here. In fact, I believe what she actually said was, "let's not be getting spoiled here! You can't have everything done all at once!".

Yes. Well. Clearly you don't read my blog.

AS MENTIONED PREVIOUSLY, I am perfectly okay with a set amount of ugliness upon move-in day. The degree of ugliness had been bargained for previously (I had to trade the replacement of the lavender toilet and tub for removal of all wood paneling, new kitchen floors for...nothing...and removal of the hideous master-bedroom vanity for new kitchen counter-tops, which, as it turns out, we won't even be able to afford before we get there anyway.)

So, in my present state of freaking out, I was in no frame of mind to ponder the fact that a woman who wants proper flooring installed in her house before moving in might not, in fact, be spoiled. After all, Bryan and I are 30 years old. We're trying to put our days of living in trashy dumps BEHIND us, not continue forth with living in close proximity to stained, 40-year-old linoleum. And besides, anyone who knows Heather knows this is simply her style. And she was willing to concede that perhaps I was under a wee bit of emotional stress at the moment, what with trying to pack up the Vancouver house, keep tabs on Zoey, say goodbye to my fabulous friends, and start all over again back in Puyallup. That, and she was obviously there to work, so I had to give her considerable leeway.

In no time, she and Alex and I had the downstairs bathroom cleared out and a huge "going to the dump" pile started in the garage. Heather pointed out that, with a little bleach and a toothbrush, the linoleum that was the bone of contention to start with my clean up just fine. This, however, did not go with my plan. And since all other aspects of my plan have gone to hell in a handbasket, that fucking linoleum was coming up if it was the last thing I did all day.

Turns out it was, and talk about stress relief--there is nothing like ripping up and tearing out anything to burn off some steam.

While Alex worked at getting the toilet and utility sink out of the room, I ripped and tore to my heart's content. It was fabulous. And now, the room is ready for Rikki and I to storm in next weekend and lay new tile. This activity has, of course, been on The Agenda for weeks now. And really? My laundry room is a sacred space. I have been dreaming of the day when I will move in to a house with an actual laundry ROOM, not some hole in the basement wall or hastily-made space 10 steps away from the stove in my kitchen. (We have lived in some real shit-holes in the past 9 years, believe me.)

Lesson learned: don't mess with My Plan.