But I’m Still Crossing My Fingers And I’d Cross My Toes If I Could

I haven’t written much about our new house because, quite frankly, I’ve been afraid I would jinx it. And jinxing, as we all know, is a deeply legitimate and terribly spiritual phenomenon – utterly reliable in its ability to Bring Doom Upon All and advocated by pastors from their pulpits in churches far and wide.

Ahem.

A-HEM.

But honestly, it’s really only been in the last two days that I’ve been able to say the words “we’re moving” without a trace of fear or intestinal disturbance or some combination of the two.

I’m so not kidding.

You see, when faced with Major Life Changes, I find that I frequently while away the hours doing productive things like Waiting For The Other Shoe To Drop, Imagining The Worst Possible Outcome, along with my favorite: Figuring Out Why Good Things Can’t Possibly Happen To Me.

And apparently? If you put me in the middle of not one but two housing transactions? Well, as my mama would say, I can worry the horns off of a billy goat.

It’s been so much fun!

Just ask our realtor!

So I’ll spare you the details of how completely sick I am of my stupid, pointless worrying. I’ll spare you the details of how I’ve realized that I obviously need to take a couple of steps down the Spiritual Maturity Ladder since my heel keeps getting caught on that pesky Ye Of Little Faith rung. That’s a post in and of itself, but I’m not going to write it because it would make me want to flail and flog myself.

With reeds. Or perhaps a cat-o-nine-tails.

Anyhoo, now that we’re on the other side of The Unfortunate Septic Tank Incident, now that we know the only thing we have to do to our house post-inspection is to TIGHTEN THE BOLTS ON THE TOILET IN THE MASTER BATHROOM (yes, you read that correctly. We have to tighten four bolts. The end.), now that we’re only ten days away from closing, I feel like I can exhale, and I want to tell you something:

I LOOOOOOOOOOOVE the new house.

(Here is where my mother-in-law would say, “Well, I don’t really love it. I mean, I love God, I love people, but I don’t love things. So I don’t really love it. But I DO like it. I really really like it. A lot. Well maybe I love it just a little bit. Not like I love God or I love people, but I do love it just a little bit.”)

And we’re really excited about the move.

And I’m really glad that I can talk about it now.

And I’m probably going to drive you crazy.

And that’s probably nothing new.

So we should be just fine.

Especially since that pig with steam coming out of its nose is no longer at the top of my blog.

Sigh

How Could I Possibly Taunt A Fellow Blogger Whose Hair Is So Cute?

Shannon and I have been talking about cooking up a little bloggy rivalry this week since our alma maters are going head-to-head on the gridiron this weekend.

But the problem is that we’re both good Southern girls. Which means that our version of trash talk ends up being something along the lines of what Patty Simcox says before she launches her Student Council campaign in Grease: “I hope [we] don’t make too poor a showing!”

Because here’s the bottom line: if I were sitting in Shannon’s kitchen right now (drinking diet Coke, no doubt), I could probably give her 100 reasons why Arkansas will win. For starters, they’re on a roll. They’re dominating everyone they play. They have two tailbacks who run like trains. They’re confident. They’re well-coached. They’re GOOOOD.

So in all honesty, I know that things don’t look too great for my Bulldogs tomorrow. We’re not nearly as talented as they are. We’re plagued by injuries. We’re inconsistent. And we’re underdogs.

Big time.

However, I have one little glimmer of hope.

We’re playing at home.

And we’ll have our cowbells, which means that even if my Bulldogs don’t bring their A-game, maybe the crowd can frustrate the Hogs with the noise. It’ll be a loud, raucous environment, no doubt – an SEC gameday at its finest.

So, in the spirit of the weekend, I give you this:

May the better team win.

And please please please let the better team be mine. :-)

Go ‘Dogs.

You Might Call This Post “Random,” But I Prefer “Eclectic”

1. Septic Man has finished all the repairs. Only instead of it being $900, it was $1150, because he said it was “a bigger job” than they thought it would be.

I’m not positive, but I think that what he was really saying is that D and I are full of it.

And I’m not even insulted. :-)

2. Alex is going to my parents’ house for a few days. When he found out that Mama was leaving today, he immediately asked her if he could tag along.

He’s terribly, deeply attached to his daddy and me, as you can tell.

But believe you me: if I had the chance to go somewhere and eat donuts and drink diet Coke and watch movies all day long?

Can you say “IN A HEARTBEAT”?

3. Overheard yesterday while walking behind a group of teenage girls:

“OH MY GAH – did you, like, GET BANGS?”

“Uh-huh. I TOTALLY did. I mean, I HAD them before? But they weren’t this short?”

“OH MY GAH – THEY’RE AWESOME! They look, like, SO! GOOD!”

Re-playing that conversation in my head has entertained me more than I can tell you.

It’s the little things, you know?

The Hits Just Keep On Coming

You know what TOTALLY ROCKS?

When the people who are buying your house are coming for their inspection at the exact same time that the inner-workings of your septic tank are exposed for all the world to see!

Or smell, as it were!

I’m trying not to panic.

But the not panicking is harder than you might think.

You see, our repairman was supposed to be here at 8:30 yesterday morning, but he didn’t get here until 4:30 in the afternoon. And then he said that he didn’t have enough daylight to do anything but dig the hole.

Which made perfect sense to me SEEING AS HOW HE WAS EIGHT HOURS LATE.

And then this morning the heavens opened up and poured down the rain and as a result, no work was done.

So when D called the repairman this afternoon to see if he’d be here tomorrow morning, Septic Man (who is actually very kind) asked if there was any water in the hole that he dug yesterday.

D calmly replied that why, yes, strangely enough, there was a good bit of water in the massive pit.

Septic Man said, “Hmmmmm. That’s not good.”

LA LA LA LA LA LA LA LET’S SING THE DENIAL SONG LA LA LA LA LA LA

Because here’s a funny story. And a true story, too: I’m not nearly as worried about the rainwater in that hole as I am by ALL THE OTHER DELIGHTS that are creating such a pleasing array of olfactory sensations when I step into our backyard.

Anyway. Our realtor has assured us that the buyers are really laid-back and very relieved that we’re taking care of the repairs.

But we’ll see what the inspector thinks.

By the way, just typing that last sentence made me sick at my stomach.

Maybe I should let the buyers know that I have a blog with the initals “BM,” and really the whole septic tank thing is just part of a themed home-buying experience.

OH lordy.

Pray for me.

I Forgot To Tell Y’all This Because I Was Distracted By The Giant Hole In Our Backyard

Paige had a little boy yesterday morning around 3:15.

His name is Joseph.

He weighs 8 pounds and is 21 1/2 inches long.

Mama and baby are doing great.

Daddy stayed outside the nursery window until about 6 yesterday morning just staring at the little fella.

And I can’t wait for Alex and Joseph to meet.

I think they’ll be fast friends.