Wednesday, March 14, 2012

Putting One Step In Front of the Other

OK, so we've now gotten the pre-approval for the home loan that I was discussing yesterday.  Praise GOD!

Now we are waiting for the mortgage loan officer dude (I have absolutely no idea what the guy's actual title is) to e-mail the approval letter to the real estate agent so she can get the offer paperwork done and submitted.

I swear, I am aging ten years during this process.

I really, really want this house.  I'm not in love with the house, don't get me wrong.  But it's absolutely the perfect house for us.

First off, it's five bedrooms.  This will mean that each of my children can get their own bedroom (well, kinda), as well as keep one open as a guest bedroom.

Yes, I can see that question spinning in your head--we have four children, why wouldn't they each get their own bedroom period?  Because those bedrooms are upstairs.  There are two bathrooms upstairs.  One is off a bedroom by itself, and the other is a shared bathroom between two bedrooms.  I don't particularly want to force one of my children to go through the bedroom of another to get to the bathroom.  This will complicate matters when they are pissed off with each other.

And since the three that will share two bedrooms are boys, getting pissed off is a regular occurrence.

Besides, the fourth bedroom has a door to an outside deck, and I don't particularly relish one of my children having that kind of access.  This is why this door will get a bolt lock, as well as being in the alarm system.  I'm no idiot.

Also upstairs is a common room larger than the living room we currently have.  My children are overjoyed at the very idea that they would have their own television upstairs, as well as a couch and some bean bag chairs.  I laugh at this possibility, because they'll have to learn how to get along and watch something that they all agree on.

My children have never been able to do this.

In fact, they rarely agree on anything.  And with mornings like this morning?  It spiraled out of control very quickly.

It all started with the death of a goldfish. 

We're not talking about a beloved goldfish or anything.  We're talking about those $.23 jobs from PetsMart.  Or PetSmart.  Whatever it is.  Doesn't matter.

Anyway, a goldfish die, as they are prone to do.  I regularly replace these guys, as they tend to last about two weeks in our house.  There's a reason why they're called "feeder goldfish."  You use them to feed larger ones.  So, it doesn't surprise me that they don't last too terribly long.

But my daughter, however...

So, this goldfish dies, and she goes into hysterics.  She's five.  Leave her alone.  It's her favorite goldfish.  She's named it Rapunzel.  This is my fault, as I should never have allowed her to name a goldfish.  I take full responsibility for that.  But I digress...

So, we have this funeral at sea thing, and it's now time for breakfast.  Because she's still snivelling, I allow her to pick whichever spoon she wants to use.  This, again, is my fault.  She picks the wrong spoon.  She picks the Mickey Mouse spoon her younger brother always uses.  

To make a very, very long story much shorter, here are the highlights:
  • Youngest son gets pissed, grabs a spoon and chucks it at his sister.  He misses, striking the next to oldest child.  This starts another chain reaction that I'll get to in a minute.
  • Youngest son gets even more pissed (because he missed), and bites his sister.
  • Sister screams bloody murder, then bites him back.  He starts screaming and runs to Mommy, who doesn't know what the heck is going on, and proceeds to punish my daughter, completely ignoring my protestations.  Yes, I understand biting is wrong.  Yes, I understand that she's five and he's three.  Doesn't matter.  He started it.  Well, she did.  Well, I did.
  • Next to oldest blames oldest for the chucked spoon hitting him, and he starts yelling at oldest, as well as flicking cereal at him.
  • Oldest gets pissed, and lunges across the table at his brother.
  • The two older boys end up getting into a Taekwondo throw-down, which ends in a tie after I have, um, dealt with the matter.
  • Two older boys bawled the rest of the morning.
  • Two younger children bawled the rest of the morning.
  • I felt like bawling the rest of the morning.
So I came to work.

Just putting one step in front of the other...

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