A place to hang the dishes.

I have been looking at a house.

We went twice this weekend.

Daughter loves said house. Has declared it the "NEW MOMMY HOUSE" despite the fact that it is not "lellow" like the last Mommy House.

There is enough room for all four of us (Daughter, Boyfriend, and Boyfriend's Son should he choose to spend any amount of time with us which we are all hoping that he will choose to do.)

Its pretty 80's which isn't a major complement in this town. It needs some work, but some of the big upgrades have been done...the kitchen is very stainless and steely.

Dear, sweet, compassionate Boyfriend who has never in his life bought so much as a decent car, has pretty much signed on to buying this place having only seen a steady stream of photos in an effort to keep me moderately sane. Things have not been going very well in the Current Living Situation/Sanity Department. Not very well at all.

In September, Daughter and I relocated back here. Since that time I have been staying at my parents' house and she has been splitting her time between her Dad's House and here. I think (hope?) that it is challenging for people who have a positive, well-boundaried relationship with their children's grandparents to reside in the same place. We do not have such a relationship and it is more or less hell. Mostly for me. Daughter likes it here, but even she has been asking more and more and more and more about When! there will be! a New. Mommy. House?

There was an incident this past week that really put the last nail in the coffin (pulled the last nail out of the coffin?) of my ability to stay here. It involved my sister and her husband and a bunch of people hiding from me the fact that they were coming for a ten day long visit. Which was difficult. My relationship with those two people was more or less sacrificed on the alter of my divorce and I'm ok with that. We don't like each other. We don't see the world even REMOTELY similarly and we can not find a common, civil ground, but so long as I am staying in this house with my child I feel that I have a right to know who else will be here so that I can judge whether or not I need to make alternative plans for my child and I to maximize our time together and to minimize emotion! and stress! that she may be subjected to if there are people in the house who refuse to look at/speak to/acknowledge the presence of her mother in a room (just for example).

I feel like I was intentionally deceived and that I have no reason to trust my parents. Period. For the last time. So, despite the fact that Boyfriend isn't here yet (will be at the end of April) and that shopping for a house would be a new, interesting thing for him, we have decided that we need to get out of this environment and into something else as quickly as possible.

Hence the house hunting. Please send good karma our way. We really need a break in the weather and a light at the end of the tunnel. At least I do. I need something in my life to tell me that I can hold my shit together. That my long, three year adventure of living in boxes while attempting to raise a well adjusted child will soon be coming to an end. That at long last we can look at each other and say that we are moved into a life with a set course and a real path to follow. (And also a place to hang all my beautiful pots and pans that have been wasting away in storage for months and months and months and months and months and months and months...

BALTO! *UPDATE! EDITION

We are all sorts of a twitter around here. No good reason. Boyfriend is hanging Christmas lights on a tree in the front yard. I think this has something to do with it. . . also, it is snowing and Boyfriend got the day off on account of it being Veteran's Day and he works for the government at all. I'm halfway surprised he doesn't get the whole week off since we all know how much Sarah LURVES herself some military.

Right now I am thinking about how absurd it would be for me to call this a 'job'. No matter how much I would like to transform this little blog (god, I have always REALLY hated that word) into a paying gig, I currently find myself on a borrowed computer, sitting on a stool at my parents' kitchen table while my child and my father watch BALTO and I get ready to figure out once again what the hell to make everyone for dinner. (I'm feeling like the leftover lasagna and a Cesar salad...did I mention the SNOW?) At any rate, to say that I'm 'working' right at this moment seems a fairly ridiculous thing to claim.

Here is what I did today and got paid equally poorly for:

2:30am Wake up.

4:00am Wake up, finish argument with Boyfriend. More or less resolve argument. More or less.

5:00am Still awake. Make up with Boyfriend.

6:30am Daughter awake...everyone awake.

7:30am Get Daughter dressed for school, get Father ready to leave for work, get as much damn coffee down my throat as is humanly possibly while every fiber of my being begs to go back to bed.

8:00am Explain one last time to Boyfriend how to get to Father's office (via the espresso bar). Boyfriend does not understand exactly. Also does not loose my car so everyone arrives at coffee and office in tact.

8:15am Explain to Boyfriend how to get from Father's office to Daughter's Pre-School. Boyfriend does not understand exactly and raises his voice. I drive off. He does not get lost.

8:30am Drop Daughter at school. Am again amazed that The Glorious Pre-School Teacher is so together and calm and awake at 8:30am.

8:50am Arrive at Service Center. Deposit Father's truck for service (leaking wiper fluid, no functional horn, needs oil change).

9:something-10something am Eat breakfast downtown with Boyfriend. Realize that Father's credit card is missing. Fret and argue a bit about this. Run into my favorite congressional candidate of all time. Am so sad that he he is loosing and that it will take another month before anyone knows anything that I donate another fifty bucks to his campaign when I arrive home later in the day.

10:45am Talk to Father who has missing credit card (which is his in the first place). Drive back to Father's Office. Get card. Boyfriend is introduced all over office as "Our Daughter's Friend". Awesome.

11:00am get car washed. Go to Sears to find the little emergency key for the treadmill which has magically disappeared. Awesome, redux.

11:something Go to Barnes and Nobel with Boyfriend to track down some Joesph Campbell books that his son has requested for his birthday. Find BALTO on dvd for Daughter who has been begging for movie. Should probably be a better parent and save it for Christmas.

12:20pm Pick up Daughter from Pre-School. Immediately tell her that we purchased BALTO.*

12:45-1:30pm Shop at Costco with Daughter and Boyfriend. Try very hard to not kill Boyfriend for his entirely adorable if they were all alone in the store cart derby antics.

2:15pm Unloading groceries. Snow falling heavily.

2:45pm Pack everyone back into car to pick up Father from Doctor Appointment.

3:30-Present Watch/very slightly assist or attempt to assist Boyfriend as he hangs aforementioned Christmas lights. Am snapped at for being critical. Awesome to the fifth goodandgoddamned degree.

Snow continues to fall.

Tempers continue to flair.

Fuck yeah.

Leftovers it is!

On top of all of this I have to watch BALTO. So Awesome I can no longer contain myself and am going to pour a glass of wine. Its a holiday!
___
UPDATE!*
Because, I am sure you wanted this day to continue just as much as I did.

UPDATE!**
In which I caught the house on fire!

UPDATE!***
Just Ugh. Seriously. Ugh.

*
I did reheat the lasagna (which I spent three hours preparing last night. It is one of those primo lasagnas. Okay? We aren't talking Stouffer's, OKAY?)

Boyfriend hung all the Christmas lights on the big tree outside, in the snow. And they look lovely and he got cold. And the damn tree has GROWN and we need more lights.

That is all I have to say about that at the moment.

**
In addition to the lasagna, I made a salad. It was really good. Green leaf lettuce, leeks, yellow bell pepper, three roma tomatoes, goat cheese, and Newman's Own Light Italian Dressing.

Well, there was this leftover sourdough bread from original lasagna dinner last night. And I can't eat it, but I didn't want it to go to waste, so I did what I have done literally 200 damn times and made croutons. cubed it, tossed it with EVOO, a couple of spices, some parm, some salt and pepper. When I pulled the reheated lasagna out of the oven, I tossed the croutons in. I set it to Broil and went to toss the salad. Now, in the 200 damn times I have done this previously, in the time it takes the oven to heat from 425 to 500 the salad gets tossed, the lasagna gets cooled, and the croutons get toasted perfectly.

Today, when the buzzer went off and I turned around, well, the oven was ON FIRE. FIRE! FLAMES! And then I opened the door and it was like fucking BACKDRAFT or something. and then we all did that like three times or something before I hit the whole thing with the fire extinguisher. Which, I'm pretty sure, more or less ruined the oven. Sweet Christ! Also, the entire house filled with smoke and not a single smoke alarm in the house went off. Not one. Like a cloud of smoke in the house and NO ALARM. That is comforting.

So, I blasted the flames while Daughter was dancing around singing I Love Fire! I Love Fire! Boyfriend was going on about how it would die out. Father was just progressively more agitated.

Which leads directly to ...

***
Ugh. Just. Ugh. Is this damn day over yet?

You don't even want to know about Dinner. Or Post Dinner. I promise you. You don't want to know.