About this time four years ago I was lying on the couch with a perforated eardrum, blood and gross liquid seeping from my ear. My oldest daughter, 13 years old at the time, was off at youth camp, my husband had just left for Italy for two weeks, and my perforated eardrum and I were left home alone with two toddlers, ages 4 and 2, and a house to pack, paint and put on the market.
About this time three years ago, we had just begun heated negotiations for a bank-owned property. I had threatened to move back to Nebraska with the kids if my husband didn’t get me out of the 1100 square foot “luxury” apartment that had no playground equipment, no kiddie pool, no garage, and an intimate balcony view of the neighbors – the town’s cemetery (the kids became very adept pointing out impending funerals. “Look mom, someone died. The blue tent is up”). After looking at 53+ houses (I honestly stopped counting after 53), I was at the end of my patience, which usually translates into “I am loosing all ability to think rationally, so appease me in any way possible so I don’t erupt like Mount Vesuvius burning asunder everything within a 9 mile radius.”
The last two years, life has returned to normal (at least our normal). G attended youth camp, the kids and I planned a few stay-cations of sorts, and my husband, no surprise here, worked.
Just when things start rolling smoothly once again, life throws a little chaos our way. G and I returned home her Freshman college orientation (where we heard stories of bad decisions being made) just in time to wash clothes, repack and leave for youth camp (where we will witness bad decisions being made all around us). Since G and I will be gone for a week, the kids are staying with our wonderful friend, Mlopez. My husband, no surprise, is working. I can guarantee bad decisions will be made by one, or all, of the Mandl clan in the next week, but I can’t guarantee any of them will be funny… at least not for a week or so.