I Am a Child of Wonderful Parents

I am from what the media calls a traditional family. My brother, sister and I grew up in a loving and humble household with both of our biological parents. Our wonderful biological parents. 

According to the Washington Times, families consisting of a married couple with children under age 18--traditional families--have not been in the majority since 1967, but we never knew that.

Mom & Dad, back in the day

Giant bonus points for the fact that my parents are open-minded and all-inclusive. We mixed it up with every type of person, every type of family unit. We hosted foreign exchange students from various countries. When kids weren't getting along with their own parents, they’d crash with us until the storm blew over. Our house was the holiday go-to place for people who didn’t have anywhere else to go. Our doors were open to anyone at any time.  My parents always had food, jokes, an empathetic ear, a warm make-shift bed or a funny story to share with whomever needed it. We never gave any thought to differences, to privilege, to haves and have-nots. We were blissfully unaware.

I don't mean to give the impression that it was all Ozzy and Harriet at our house, it wasn't. My siblings and I gave my parents plenty of trouble growing up. We're all strong-minded, opinionated and curious. It couldn't have been easy for them. Still, they doled out the right amount of discipline mixed with respect and love. We always knew they were in charge.     

Mom & Dad now

It’s only when I went away to college that I realized how different my parents were, that we were in the minority. We still are; my mom and dad recently celebrated their 62st anniversary. 

My brother and sister are both happily married with families of their own, doing their part to keep the traditional family going. 

Even though we've scattered, we take every opportunity to congregate as a family unit. We do it out of love and also out of fun. We genuinely have fun together. Loud, raucous, unrestrained fun. Those of you who know us *in real life* could probably tell some tales! 

Yep, I am a child of wonderful parents.

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This post is in participation with the Group Blogging Experience, and this week’s prompt is children and/or parent(s).  If you want to blog with us, go to the GBE2 Facebook page and request to join the group. Everyone is welcome.

Sell Already, Damn House

I am abundantly blessed. The word prompt for this week’s Group Blogging Experience is longing and when I search my heart, there’s not a lot of longing going on in there. I’m happy with what I have, I love the people in my life and I’m creatively stimulated by what I do for a living. I’ve tried to think of a deeply meaningful and profound way to approach the subject; maybe a patriotic post about longing for world peace, or a direct post about longing for a robust economic recovery, or a haunting post about longing for a lost lover…

Fail.

The only thing I am REALLY longing for is a new house. The house we live in has been on the market for 3, yes, 3 years. 3 years! We want to downsize our house and upsize our yard. We want to scale down, simplify. We want to organize our life to where my husband can retire soon. But we can’t sell this damn house.

Here’s why it’s bugging me to the point of distraction:

Strangers want to enter our house at a moment’s notice

We live in our house, it’s not a showroom. We have a cat and a dog that live here too. We’re not slobs but we’re not top notch, everything-in-its-place-at-all-times kind of people. When we get notification of a showing, I drop everything and clean like a maniac for as much time as I’m given. It’s mayhem.

At the advice of our realtor, we de-cluttered and moved personal things

The family photos, framed kid’s artwork, craft projects and cool stuff are rotting in the basement; most of it is ruined by the extreme weather shifts. We never dreamed the good stuff would languish in the basement for 3 years! It’s sad.

I want another dog

Yeah, I know. But I do, really badly. We have no yard here and we’re trying to sell the house so it just doesn’t make sense. The timing is off. Still, I want to rescue another dog, and I have for the last 3 years. We’ve always said we’d get a friend for Frosty when we moved. I’ve been waiting for a long time. It’s maddening.

I could keep writing about this but I don’t want to be a complete downer. For those of you in our predicament, I wish you swift and good luck. For those of you that pray, please send up a few. If praying is not your thing, please light candles or dance naked or do that manifest thing or send positive thoughts, mojo, juju, or anything else that may help.

I am longing to sell this damn house.      

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This post is in participation with the Group Blogging Experience, and this week’s prompt is longing. If you want to blog with us, go to the GBE2 Facebook page and request to join the group. Everyone is welcome.

How I Met My Husband

The bakery was crowded; a line snaked through the middle of the small room. A handsome, broad shouldered, overly starched man swaggered up to the girl as she entered through the front door. “You looking for somebody?” he asked, smilingly. “Depends on who’s asking” she shot back with feigned confidence. He had a small table reserved at the back of the bakery and motioned her to follow. She complied, checking out his backside as he led the way.

They sat and had a nice chat, learning a bit about one another. His crisp clothes, sharp haircut and upright posture worried her, he looked too neat. She didn’t like men who spent too much time in the mirror. In her experience, overly handsome men could be vain and narcissistic.   

She sat there politely, listening and watching as he talked with animation. Yes, she was listening, watching and wondering 1) is he going to offer me coffee and a pastry? 2) is he always this neat? 3) what’s the deal with those hands?

His hands were gnarled and scarred. It looked as if each finger had been broken more than once—in multiple places. Those hands sharply contrasted with his otherwise perfect appearance. There must be a good story about those hands. 

She wanted to know more about him.   

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This post is in participation with the Group Blogging Experience, and this week’s prompt is The Bakery. If you want to blog with us, go to the GBE2 Facebook page and request to join the group. Everyone is welcome.