The Friday Diary-On Saturday

Hello world!

First off, I would like to say, ohholyfuck I missed blogging. Seriously. 

Next time I move, internet WILL be on in the new place before I move in. 

Lesson learned. Modern conveniences: 1 Sarah: 0

Anyway. 

What have I missed since I've been gone?!

Someone please clue me in on the goings on of the universe. 

Also, and probably more importantly, what have YOU missed in my life?! 

See how important I think I am?

You missed this:

We haven't brought out TV over yet, and we didn't have cable or internet anyway, so I've been listening to a TON of music. Right now this song has creeped into my bloodstream and won't get out:

...

Thanks to Bill, and the fact that my new house is strategically located just down the street from Culvers, I now have a new addiction:

Culvers, bitch. It beats In and Out burger, hands freaking down, especially if you add grilled onions and Thousand Island to it.
Although they don't call that Animal style, which makes it slightly less fun.

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On Sunday, we spent out very first night in our new house. It was scary.
The house isn't old, but it talks, like all houses do. Settling and creaking in the night, and making all kinds of fantastic noises that make me nearly pee the bed.
But we made the best of it, eating celebratory steak and mac and cheese for dinner

And enjoying nice hot baths in my new amazing bath tub:

Lainie and Jack were so tuckered out from moving, they both passed out promptly by 5:45 at night. 

Success. 

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For those of you who remember our co-sleeping struggles, you should be happy to hear that Jackson has been sleeping {most of the night} in his new big boy bed!!

Those blankets glow in the dark. 

Fantastic.

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On Thursday, after a very long and exhausting week of moving and entertaining kids without the aid of a TV or internet, I decided I deserved a little break.

So I threw myself a one man party:

Yes. I dipped my Oreos in Nutella. Judge me, I dare you. 

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I've also been reading a great deal. I read two books in one week, in fact. Dancer with Bruised Knees by Lynn McFall, and Their Eyes Were Watching God by Zora Neale Hurston. 

I absolutely loved the former, and was just OK with the latter. 

All in all, it's been a long and tiring but ultimately really good week. 

The Friday Diary pt. 7

Happy Friday everyone!!

This has by far been the best week I have had in quite a while. 

So let's all have some Chocolate Vodka peanut butter milkshakes, and bust a recap. 

Yep. I said that. 

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This week I've been loving this song:



The guy's voice is just amazing.

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On Saturday of this week I went to look for a new house. I looked at five total, and found the perfect one. And, I GOT IT. Knowing that my kids and I could finally move out of....well, the hood, was probably one of the best feelings I've had in a long time. It was up there with finding out I got my new job and would no longer be struggling to feed my kids, and keep this ghetto ass roof over their heads. And when I got that call, I cried.

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Saturday night, The Mister and I celebrated our first Valentines day as an official couple. It was perfect. Everything I could've wanted in a Valentine, and more.

Oh, and we made these:

The aforementioned chocolate Vodka peanut butter milkshakes. 

How do you make them, you may ask?

Well, to be honest I'm not sure how you really make them, but this is how we made them:

Probably about 1 cup of Cupcake Vodka in the Devil's food flavor

A few scoops of peanut butter...honestly I have no idea how many we used...4 maybe?

A few more scoops of Vanilla Bean ice cream. Now this is important: it needs to be Vanilla Bean. Not French Vanilla, not Vanilla. Those kinds suck. Get the kind with the little specks in it. 

Ice....again not sure how much....just add some until it looks about right

Chocolate syrup if you fancy it. I did fancy it. 

Put all that shit in a blender and blend it. 

Pour it in two glasses and don't forget the bendy straws. 

Bill made sure he had a blue one and I had a pink one. He's sweet like that. 

...

So, do you remember back when I was a doula?

Well, if not, I was, and it was awesome and terrible at the same time. I mean, I loved the work I did when I actually felt like I helped someone. But a lot of the time I just felt like I was spending way too much time away from my kids for way too little money, and I needed to be an activist when that wasn't where my heart was. {activism, not birth. I love birth, hate activism}

I digress. 

Anyway, I found out Monday that the guy renting my house to me is married to a woman I did a doula consultation with {but didn't end up working with} last year. She was so sweet, and I remember her talking about how sweet and big hearted her husband was at our consultation. 

She was right, because he rented us the best house in the history of ever. 

What a small world.

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All this week I have been packing...and procrastinating about really packing...and thinking about cleaning...and basically doing anything I can think of to get out of getting what I need to do done. It's bad. Seriously. 

There are just so many things I would rather do than pack. 

Like look at shit on Pinterest, or gouge my eyes out with a rusty spoon. 

Either way.

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Speaking of Pinterest, I have already gotten all day dreamy about how I want to decorate the new house, and Pinterest really isn't helping...or is....depending how you look at it. 

Do I want a light blue bedroom with deep, dark furniture colors and blue, white and brown bedding?

Or maybe a dark blue room with white and black furniture?

So many choices. 

Oh, and what I absolutely wouldn't do to turn Lainie's bedroom into this:

I don't know who would love it more, her or me.

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Well, I really should get back to packing. 

And just throwing this out there, I would make a delicious 4 course meal for anyone who wanted to pack all my shit for me. Not even move it, just pack it. 

Happy Friday!!!

Our New House

As you may remember, I posted recently about how much I hate moving. 

I may have left a small nugget of info out there. 

I hate moving, except one part: finding my new house, and unpacking all my shit. 

It's just the searching and the calling and the driving and looking and uncertainty that I hate. 

I would like to announce today that I FOUND A HOUSE. 

And we are moving. 

FINALLY. 

Out of the ghetto we go. 

The kids each have their own room, I finally have a kitchen bigger than a closet, and we have separate bathrooms and a garage.

If you saw the shoe box we're in now, and the ghetto parking lot where people always steal my spot, you'd be very happy for us. 

And just because you didn't ask, here are some pictures of our new place. 

Front. Obviously.

Kitchen. Obviously.

Living room and part of the dining room.

Master bedroom and part of the master bathroom.

Yes. It's very beige. 

Can't have everything, right?

I am just in love with my new house, and I can't wait for the kids to see it. 

Yeah, I looked for and chose a house without their input. If I hadn't, we'd still be looking when Lainie graduates high school. 

F*ck Moving

Recently, after some meddlesome gentle encouragement from Bill, I have made the decision to move.
See, I live in the ghetto.
No, seriously, I do.
I've actually come to believe that I am the only blogger in the world who lives in the hood, because all the blogs I come across display the dwellings of said blogger as places you definitely wouldn't find in a neighborhood where shoot outs are no big deal.
Seriously, I live in a neighborhood where shoot outs are no big deal.
There was one just the other day. I'm not sure who won because I was too busy going fetal on my closet floor with my entire body shielding the children, but I'm pretty sure it was Buck Nasty. He's a good shot.
Anyway, we need to move. Bill first posed the idea not long after I got my new kick ass job that pays twice what my old, lesser kick ass job did, and at first, although I knew he was right, I was hesitant.
Sure, my laundry room is outside my house, causing me to run from my front door to my laundry room in my underwear to grab my shit out of the dryer on a near daily basis, and yes I am the only person in my condo complex who graduated high school, and sure I get followed on my way to the dumpster by guys with tattoos on their face, but those aren't necessarily reasons to move, right?!....RIGHT?!
Why am I hesitant, you may ask?

Because moving sucks ass.

Especially moving with two young children. Double especially when you're moving with two small children, and you have a vagina. Triple especially when you're moving with two small children, only possess a vagina, and you don't own a truck or know a bunch of burly ass dudes to come move your shit for you.

Right now I am probably two weeks into looking for a new place, and I am already so ready to give up and live in the ghetto forever. I could braid Lainie's hair and get Jack a grill and we'd be fine.
I have looked at somewhere in the neighborhood of 200 house listings, and emailed/called 4 people about their house. Yes, 4 out of roughly 200.
2 of the 4 were scams. The old "Oh I live in Nigeria, please send me your money and all your information, I'm completely trustworthy" trick
And seriously, when did move in fees for rental houses get so freaking out of control?!
Everyone wants first and last months rent, plus a security deposit, plus a cleaning deposit, plus a why the fuck not you need a house and I have a house you can live in deposit, and that's all after the application fees which run anywhere from  20-65 bucks.
Yep.
20 to 65 dollars just for the privilege of filling out an obnoxiously long application, and taking the chance of them saying "Hey, thanks for the $65 but you can't have my house. Later bitch!"

Ugh.

I'm over it.

So how about we all think really hard about what my name could be if I joined a gang in my neighborhood, and I'm going to just freak right out if one more asshole in Nigeria emails me asking for my money.

Moving sucks.