We were going to move to a bigger house this summer. The deal fell through, and while I am disappointed, I am also relieved. But we will be moving in a different sense, more of a shuffling than an actual "moving."
Right now, Baby Tuna shares our bedroom. She sleeps in a pack-n-play and has for the past 10 months or so. (For the most part, she sleeps in bed with us, too, but always starts out in her pack-n-play). Zane shares a room with Nora the Horrible, who refuses to sleep. She refuses to leave the light off. She refuses to keep the godforsaken toys out of her bed. (However she decided that sleeping on multiple Barbies is comfortable, I don't want to know. The two older girls share a big bedroom upstairs. Rudy and Eli each have their own room.
Recently we decided that Tuna has to move out. And Eli and Rudy will have to double up in the basement room, at least until the wall gets put up down there and there is another bedroom. Nora is moving into Eli's old room because the light turns off not only at the switch, but at the fixture too. Tuna will then move in with Zane, who sleeps like an angel. I hope everyone can get more sleep with this arrangement.
I know Rudy and Eli won't be happy about this, but they have to realize that Eli won't be in there forever. He may not even stay long enough to see a second bedroom in the basement built. But everyone is doubling up and they will have to get used to the idea. I don't give shit one if 16 is too old to share a room with 13...they are both gross teenage boys whose rooms smell like sports equipment and old socks. They can wallow in their mire together.
Keeping Nora solo may turn out to be the wisest thing we have done thus far. In a room with no closet, no lights, and no siblings, perhaps she will be able to get some sleep too.
No, the changing of rooms does not substitute for moving. But we are shovelling out the hovel and having a garage sale, so maybe some of the same effects will be achieved. Fingers crossed.
Tuesday, May 8, 2012
Monday, March 12, 2012
FLA
Vacation approaches. I have been dreading this for a long, long time, and procrastinating on payments and tickets and all things Florida. Now it is right around the corner. YIKES!
We rented a house in the Keys. We are flying to Orlando. Anyone with any sense better pray to the heavens above they aren't on the same planes as we are. Yep. I said planes. As in more than one. Because it is IMPOSSIBLE to fly with two adults and seven children. An adult, according to Delta Airlines, can only be responsible for three children. Which means that Brian has to take two children, I have to take three children, and Eli, the biggest child out of all of them, has to be in charge of one of his younger sibs. Yes, Delta, you will regret that policy.
So having said that, we had to purchase airline tickets in three seperate reservations. Makes perfect sense. So we are actually flying out on two different airplanes. Same airline, close times. Brian and the three middle kids have a short layover in Atlanta, and I have a direct flight with the three little kids and Eli. I guess we will meet up when we get there. So far, we are all on the same flight home. Subject to change at Delta's discretion, of course.
Once we get there, we have to rent two cars. None of the rental car places in Orlando offer a vehicle that seats 9 people and 9 backpacks. Two cars are actually cheaper than the 15-passenger van, which I am terrified to drive, for tipping purposes. So two cars it is. Carseats extra, of course.
I wonder what driving from Orlando to the Keys will be like with kids who are excited and ready to see the ocean and touch palm trees and catch geckoes. I am guessing it will be hell. I am hoping to stop somewhere and spend the night, since even if we do make the entire drive in one shot, we cannot check into our rental house until Saturday.
The kids want to pick mangoes and oranges off the trees. They want to swim in the pool, play in the sand on the beach. I want to sit my ass in a chair, read a book, and forget my life for a few days. Not worry about moving and the new house and the old house and the rental agent and school and work and all the things that course through my brain on a moments' notice.
Drink a fruity drink or two, maybe get a little tanked and go swimming. Eat seafood with no regret. Watch my family be a family. And maybe even have a little fun, while I am at it.
We rented a house in the Keys. We are flying to Orlando. Anyone with any sense better pray to the heavens above they aren't on the same planes as we are. Yep. I said planes. As in more than one. Because it is IMPOSSIBLE to fly with two adults and seven children. An adult, according to Delta Airlines, can only be responsible for three children. Which means that Brian has to take two children, I have to take three children, and Eli, the biggest child out of all of them, has to be in charge of one of his younger sibs. Yes, Delta, you will regret that policy.
So having said that, we had to purchase airline tickets in three seperate reservations. Makes perfect sense. So we are actually flying out on two different airplanes. Same airline, close times. Brian and the three middle kids have a short layover in Atlanta, and I have a direct flight with the three little kids and Eli. I guess we will meet up when we get there. So far, we are all on the same flight home. Subject to change at Delta's discretion, of course.
Once we get there, we have to rent two cars. None of the rental car places in Orlando offer a vehicle that seats 9 people and 9 backpacks. Two cars are actually cheaper than the 15-passenger van, which I am terrified to drive, for tipping purposes. So two cars it is. Carseats extra, of course.
I wonder what driving from Orlando to the Keys will be like with kids who are excited and ready to see the ocean and touch palm trees and catch geckoes. I am guessing it will be hell. I am hoping to stop somewhere and spend the night, since even if we do make the entire drive in one shot, we cannot check into our rental house until Saturday.
The kids want to pick mangoes and oranges off the trees. They want to swim in the pool, play in the sand on the beach. I want to sit my ass in a chair, read a book, and forget my life for a few days. Not worry about moving and the new house and the old house and the rental agent and school and work and all the things that course through my brain on a moments' notice.
Drink a fruity drink or two, maybe get a little tanked and go swimming. Eat seafood with no regret. Watch my family be a family. And maybe even have a little fun, while I am at it.
Shameless
I am hardly one to be addicted to television. Quite frankly, I don't have time. Good TV is hard to come by, in a world where MTV doesn't have a single video on anymore, and CMT is ruled by Wife Swap and Hillbilly Handfishing (ok, I don't know what channels that shit is on, but CMT seems logical.)
However, I have recently fallen under the spell of the Showtime series "Shameless." William H. Macy plays a glorious drunk in Frank Gallagher; who wouldn't be drunk as much as possible with six kids and no woman to take care of them? Viewers come to learn, though, that there is good reason Frank's wife left. (He was a drunk before.)
We find a hero in Fiona, Frank's eldest daughter, who has taken over as mother-figure to the five younger Gallaghers, each of which is their own brand of broken. She is sexy and sly, street-smart and savvy, yet even the most timid viewers tend to relate to her. After all, all she really wants is love. And a semi-normal family.
I'm not going to give away any of the plot here, so don't fret. Watch it yourself, and become just as hooked as I am. (Sunday nights, 8C, Showtime--channel 600 for Duluth Charter subscribers.) And know that you can go forth in this world without shame, because your life cannot seriously be as f*cked as these folks.
However, I have recently fallen under the spell of the Showtime series "Shameless." William H. Macy plays a glorious drunk in Frank Gallagher; who wouldn't be drunk as much as possible with six kids and no woman to take care of them? Viewers come to learn, though, that there is good reason Frank's wife left. (He was a drunk before.)
We find a hero in Fiona, Frank's eldest daughter, who has taken over as mother-figure to the five younger Gallaghers, each of which is their own brand of broken. She is sexy and sly, street-smart and savvy, yet even the most timid viewers tend to relate to her. After all, all she really wants is love. And a semi-normal family.
I'm not going to give away any of the plot here, so don't fret. Watch it yourself, and become just as hooked as I am. (Sunday nights, 8C, Showtime--channel 600 for Duluth Charter subscribers.) And know that you can go forth in this world without shame, because your life cannot seriously be as f*cked as these folks.
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