We're going to pretend the last six months didn't happen, aren't we? Of course we are.
Really, the rate things are going around here it was going to take something epic to get me to post a blog. I mean, seriously- who turned my treadmill on high and where's the key to this damned chain??? Anyone that tells you your life will calm down and you'll get more sleep once your kids are older is LYING TO YOU. LYYYYINNNNNGGGGG.
*cough* Anyway.
But seriously, we are talking epic here. Monumentous, even. Something I never, ever thought I'd be saying again. I mean, I thought I was done with all of this, thought I was done with it years ago. But here I am, ready to take the plunge again.
I'm having a garage sale.
(ha! Bet you thought I was going to say I'm pregnant, didn't you? HA HA HA HA. Wait, you didn't? What, was my delivery off? Not sincere enough? Crap.)
I know that, as a card carrying Suburban Mom I should be well versed in the subject of all things yard/garage sale related. You can't spit on Saturdays without hitting a neighborhood sale around here. I've avoided them, though- having one, going to one, driving by one (ok, maybe not so much that last part). Nothing to do with garage sales, no sir, no ma'am. And it's all because of David. Well, to be more accurate- it's all because of David's MOM.
Once upon a time, back in the Oklahoma Years(tm), I was a part of this kickass online group of moms. We all had kids within a year or two of each other, so we'd organize playdates and nights out. It was so awesome having other people to talk to during those hellish playground hours. Seriously, any mom who tells you that she just LURRRRRRVEEES spending hour upon hour with her special lil' Chiclet romping through the playground without a single adult soul to talk to? LYYYYYYING. Or on drugs. Or maybe both. Probably both.
We saved each other from that. We'd turn all of the kids loose and then we could sit back and chat (or gossip... because really, that's what we were doing. Let's be honest here. There's always good dirt in the Mommies group. Always.) and everyone was happy. We were so happy that we decided to throw a six family garage sale. It made sense at the time.
Six families! Boy stuff and girl stuff and baby stuff and toddler stuff and mommy stuff and daddy stuff and EVERYTHING YOU COULD EVER WANT THAT WAS SLIGHTLY TO MODERATELY USED IN ONE GARAGE!!!!! My garage, to be more specific. This was one of those moments that I volunteered myself and within two seconds really wished I hadn't. I could just feel all the ways it could go wrong festering in my stomach like bad tequila (wait, is there such at thing...?). I suppose it made sense logically, though, to host at my place. We lived in a nice open neighborhood, unlike the moms that lived on base nearby. The streets were wide and spacious for cars to get through, unlike the moms that lived on tiny little streets. We had a big-ass garage... that pretty much sealed the deal right there. Plans were made, permits were filed, signs were made, and on a Thursday night we gathered all the men-folk an' chillern to sort, price, separate, and
organize.
(I'll pause for you to laugh at the idea of ANY of that getting accomplished with six husbands and nine kids running loose. OK, you can stop now.)
It WAS fun, though... eating pizza and riding around sticking signs in the ground and making fun of the guys playing basketball. And to be honest, Friday went pretty okay. One mom showed up with Krispy Kremes at 6am, another started the coffee, and by 7am the doors were thrown open on a gorgeous June morning and we were ready for business. We sold a lot of crap, made some new friends, and let our kids entertain themselves. Really, it was like one long day at the park.
And then came Saturday. Two days was good. The third day... the kids are getting cranky. The moms are getting tired. Patience is wearing thin. We'd been up late the night before. Chris- who was three at the time, had gotten a new lightsaber Friday night and simply COULD NOT GO TO SLEEP due to the excitement of it all. The thing LIT UP. He was so amped he ended up just crashing on the sofa at about one am, sending me staggering to bed shortly after, the idea of my six am alarm making me cringe. But six came, and I dutifully got up and started the coffee. There were going to be a lot less of us that day; most of the moms had other things that needed to be taken care of, but in the interest of trying to make a little more dough I agreed to open for Saturday (I know, I know.) My help for the day would be David's Mom.
You know that mom on the playground that's always JUST this side of judgemental... she looks at you with a sympathetic smile and mourns how hard it must be to have a child that eats sand/can't climb the monkey bars/has an affectation for Wilson Philips songs. She likes to be in power because darn it, her way is the RIGHT way. Add in a nice heaping spoonful of social awkwardness and a penchant for yoga pants and you've got David's mom. And a little of David's mom went a long, long way. When she arrived just before seven I was half irritated- she was supposed to arrive no later than six-thirty. When I saw that she had four year old David in tow, I found the other half of my irritation. We'd had an agreement, we mommies- Saturday morning the kids were staying at home. In fact, that's why a few of the moms couldn't make it, and hey- I respected that. We wanted to have a couple of hours of sales, and then it would be packing up and separating what people wanted to keep (nothing, really) and what people wanted sorted to take back home (anything David's mom brought). Cranky pre-schoolers and such work don't mix. They don't mix at all. It was the decision that was made. It was MOMMY LAW. Until she came wandering up the drive with her sugared up four year old at 6:50am.
All I asked was that she not take David inside. That's all i asked. We had a front yard full of toys, and he was wide awake. All I wanted was for Chris to be able to sleep another couple of horus, to spare myself the agony of the sleep-deprived toddler. I was even super specific: "Could you do me a favor and keep David outside? Chris had a hard time sleeping last night and didn't crash on the sofa until well after midnight. I want to let him sleep as long as I can." I even said THANK YOU. Thank you for doing what I freaking asked.
So naturally I shouldn't have been surprised when my seething husband hissed out the front door at me. "What the hell is this kid doing in here sitting on Chris?" Sitting... wait, sitting ON? ON my kid? My sleeping (well, not anymore) kid? Oh, right. Because naturally "please keep your kid out of my living room where my kid is sleeping" translates to "Go ahead and give your kid a donut for each hand, plop him RIGHT DOWN ON TOP OF MY KID'S LEGS ON THE SOFA, and turn on cartoons as loud as you can." Right.
It went downhill from there. I don't even want to get into the story of her lying in a recliner moaning about how taxing the day had been while directing me on what stuff to pack for her. I can already feel that little vein in the side of my head throbbing.
So that, good readers, is why I don't do garage sales. Until now. And obviously the only thing that can convince me to bust out the marking pens and color coded stickers once again is something very powerful, very powerful indeed.
Pinterest. I need to redecorate. I need money for primer and canvases and Mod Podge. LOTS of Mod Podge. Freaking VATS OF MOD PODGE. I'm not even sure what mod podge is, but it gets mentioned a lot on pinterest.
Freaking Pinterest. Only it could convince me to sell my crap so I can redo other people's crap. Evil genius.
