This week I've been nursing an ear infection (yes, otitis media, and yes, I now know why babies scream when they get it!). I feel like I'm deaf, which I'm not, but I've been yelling nonetheless. CAN YOU HEAR ME??
Through the sludge that is murking inside my head, and in addition to trying to stay on top of normal family life, I've been trying to paint and get the house ready to put on the market. I finished Neal's (13) room and the girls' bathroom. The kids helped me get the game room under control. Tomorrow we were supposed to have our realtor come over to give our home the walk through so she could tell us what what we could expect for an asking price.
I finally called Dennis this morning and told him I give up. At least for this week.
We have accomplished a lot, considering, but, as you know, one mess leads to another, and putting things back together after painting takes about twice as long as the painting did. Maybe three times. Suddenly Neal wants to rearrange his room (a first, what's up with that?), get rid of furniture (which is standing in the hallway) and remove any traces of his babyhood that I may have framed anywhere in his room. The girls, well, let's just say it takes very little to push them over the edge in the messiness department.
Meanwhile, the laundry (which was done, but somehow never got put away) sits piled up, and a layer of dust, which was once comfortably stored under beds and sink cabinets, is now settling on every surface of the house. Not helping the sinus situation. I haven't even begun to tackle closets. Ugh.
I try not to panic, but the thought of selling our house scares the you-know-what out of me. We're supposed to - for an indefinite amount of time - live a lie. We are supposed to somehow fool prospective buyers into thinking we don't really live here. Oh, people want to see our furniture and count the number of kids in the pictures. But they don't want to see the vast mountain of laundry that litters the house every week (how on earth am I going to do it?), the vats I use when I make spaghetti, or the toothpaste crusted on the mirror after seven people brush their teeth.
I remember going to a seminar a long time ago. The speaker's phrase has stuck with me all these years: Fake it till you make it.
The realtor's coming next week instead. I'm so glad. It'll give time for my head to clear, and some time to get geared up for an extended time of faking it.
We can do this, right?