Selling a house isn't as fun as it sounds...

...and that's saying something! Keeping this house clean isn't very hard; most of our belongings are in storage to make it appear as though there's plenty of space (and detract from the lack of storage, I'm sure). However, I am so sick of washing my floors...I almost wish we had the house on the market when The Girl was crawling. I'm sure they've never been cleaner.

This weekend, I wasn't expecting any showings. So, after my second glass of wine at my grandmother's 80th birthday celebration, a BRILLIANT idea came to me.

I invited my nephew to sleep over.

Now, this in and of itself isn't a big deal. He's a sweet, loving boy who listens as well as any four-year-old. In fact, he follows directions to a T (when he follows them - again, he's 4). So I thought I could handle two four-year-olds and The Girl.

Let me back up a second here. For the record, when my son and my nephew get together, it's like they're brothers. Incredibly close, almost twin-like brothers. They fight and love each other with a single-minded intensity that is hard to understand but hilarious to watch.

So on my way home from this party a few hours later, the realtor calls. She has someone interested, can they come see the house? I reply, "Sure!" (thinking that I could get everything done and all 3 children out of the house by 11am the next morning).

Mistake number 1. Should've said no.

Anyway, the sleepover itself was fun. The boys traded horror stories of their sisters ("She ALWAYS knocks over my blocks." "ME TOO!!" "Ugh, sisters!" "I KNOW!"), ate cookies at 7:30pm (hot diggity, they were enjoying that!) and built a fort to watch a movie in. I was told that my back-rubbing skills were not as advanced as his mommy's, my chocolate milk was not as tasty as his mommy's, and the hot dog for dinner wasn't his favorite way of having hot dogs, but my nephew did tell me that our sleepover was the BEST he's ever had. "TRULY."

After a few tears at bedtime and the ensuing "He's copying me!" and, "I said I was sorry, like, a HUNDRED times!" I separated them into different rooms and they fell asleep. Easy peasy.

I cleaned the house up once the boys went to sleep. Washed floors, picked up toys, did dishes, folded all the laundry. In bed by 11pm, feeling pretty good...

It was all for naught. The Girl woke up the next morning and began tearing things apart. I didn't pick up her room because I didn't want to wake her; plus, it would take me about a minute to do anyway. Which I did...and then she promptly undid:

(Her scowl is because I told her to stop pulling clothes out.)

After destroying her room and pulling every article of clothing out of her drawers, she walked into the playroom. Here's what happens when Evelyn walks by something:

After the fourth time around the house, I gave up and resigned myself to wait it out until my parents arrived to do a final pickup. At this point it's one hour prior to the showing, and I agreed to let the boys play in the backyard for a few minutes.

Dumb dumb dumb.

Those spunky little kids thought that just playing outside was a boring idea. So they decided to do a science experiment (this is 100% my nephew, as The Boy is pretty uninterested in science right now). So they uncovered the little green turtle sandbox...which was filled with rainwater and melted snow. They made mud patties and mud puddles right there in the backyard, exactly where, oh, a potential buyer might walk when he takes a turn around the yard.

Fantastic.

Now they're covered in mud up to their knees, and the only way into the house is through the playroom...the only carpeted area in the house (of course)....

Yeah. It was that kind of morning.

Thirty minutes before the showing, my parents show up and take The Girl out to the car. My mom helped me undress and redress the boys on two very large towels (so much for all the laundry being done) and I gave the floor another quick wash (thanks to the dogs, there were paw prints in the front hall. What a nice welcome to a potential buyer, right?). We're out the door at 11:20am - 10 minutes before the showing. Then, my mom calls from her car.

"Do you have The Girl's coat?"

Turn the car around, open the garage (the boys, who are in my car, begin 20 questions, ranging from "Why are we turning around?" to "Why is your house green, Auntie? Is it because it's The Boy's favorite color?"), run inside, grab said coat, and get in car. As I'm pulling out, the realtor pulls in with the potential buyers.

Phew. I'm in the clear.

Until I realize that The Girl had taken off my vaccuum attachments and placed them in strategic locations (on the couches). Let's hope no one tried to sit. I'm pretty sure a vaccuum attachment up the rear is a surefire way to make someone feel unwelcome...but then again, who am I to judge?!

Welcome to my little slice of the Internet...

Welcome to my happy blog! (Well, most days it will be happy. We can't all be perfect like my older sister, who's not only an amazing stay-at-home mom to three adorable, rambunctious kids but also makes quilts and other assorted home decor in her free time which, I'm certain, is between 11pm and 2am every night).

Anyway, back to me, because it is, after all, my blog. Here's the family breakdown:

Nancy (Me): During the day, I write help systems and socialize with those I work with ("building relationships"). I enjoy reading, writing, and talking about my kids (it's in the job description of "mommy").

Sean (The Husband): An all-around great man with a ridiculously straight-and-narrow code of ethics, who changes careers pretty consistently (every 4.5 -5.5 years) and moves the family around to keep things interesting. He loves me and the kids, and is blissfully unaware of any gifts given, family schedules and general daily happenings. He just goes where I tell him to, for the most part.

Chris (The Boy): My 5 year old whose vocabulary blows away most of the engineers I work with. His talents include negotiation skills, loving himself more than any other, catching a football on-the-fly, understanding what a subject and predicate are, and lately, reading.

Evelyn (The Girl): My 20-month old whose wailing skills are unbeatable. Her talents include walking by a table and inhaling any food on it, pooping, terrorizing my dogs and smiling at the exact nanosecond prior to my complete mental breakdown.

Peter (Needy Petey) right: The dog of a thousand breeds, Petey is an 80 85 pound oaf who enjoys whining, nervous barking, fretful sleep, licking The Girl every chance he gets, and spending his days looking for new ways to get anyone, anywhere, to pet him.

Molly (Mollykins, or Kins for short) left: Despite the innocent name, Molly enjoys terrorizing Petey, locking Petey out of the doggie door during rainstorms, backing Petey into corners and making him stay there, eating off my table when I'm not looking, sleeping on the bed (against the rules), and she has mastered the art of looking cute. She is the BEST guard dog in the whole world, though, and adores the children.

Check back for random stories of my life. They seem to make most people laugh, and when I look back on them, I usually laugh as well. Usually.