Month: February 2016

Light and Bright with Room for a Pool

Posted on by buffythebitchyblogger

Another flashback to Buffy’s blog.com site, dating back to early 2015. 

 

So we decided to sell our house… Only we didn’t really decide to sell it. If that sounds vaguely familiar, then you read my inaugural blog entry. If you’re a slacker and missed it, rewind (errrr, scroll down) and read it so you’ll be even steven with the rest of us.

Today is a day of reflection as I look back on the words that have occupied my brain space since we decided to sell our house.

What buyers MUST have, according to them:

  • light and bright
  • tons of natural light
  • room for a pool
  • de-cluttered everything
  • open concept
  • granite countertops
  • spacious master bedroom
  • ensuite
  • his and her sinks
  • high ceilings
  • at least 5 bedrooms
  • media room
  • exercise room
  • landscaped yard

What people beat the shit out of you for not having:

  • a pool big enough to host the next Olympics
  • a summer kitchen because, you know, everyone is Houston wants to grill outside in the summer when it’s 100 degrees in the shade and sweating through one’s clothes is super sexy
  • three-car garage (really? REALLY? Because the best I can tell, people with Range Rovers never park in their garages because who would see their RRs and be impressed? And for those who drive the large SUVs, it’s a tight squeeze, and who wants to be squeezed tight while they’re unloading kids and pets and groceries and sporting equipment and…)
  • a yard the size of Disneyland
  • Disneyland

What people beat the shit out of you for having:

  • light and bright
  • tons of natural light
  • room for a pool
  • de-cluttered everything
  • open concept
  • granite countertops
  • spacious master bedroom
  • ensuite
  • his and her sinks
  • high ceilings
  • at least 5 bedrooms
  • media room
  • exercise room
  • landscaped yard

If you’ve ever sold your house, please Please PLEASE tell me this will all be over soon, because it’s enough to make Buffy bitchy.

But Buffy isn’t really bitchy because I have a fabulous de-cluttered open concept home that’s light and bright with beautiful granite countertops and room for a pool in the spacious, meticulously landscaped backyard that’s big enough for people and pets to play. And? I’m the winner because I get to live in this fabulous house we call home.

A Weirder than Weird Look at Education

Posted on by buffythebitchyblogger

Like the preceding entries, this highly educational discussion dates back to Buffy’s original Blog.com site, which went amuck because no one on the face of the blog.com planet would respond to technical questions. Sooooooo, cheers to Buffy’s very favorite masterpiece, below:

 

Spring break is just around the corner, which means there are two topics filling the adult airspace in my zip code: (i) where families are taking their designer luggage for spring break, and (ii) where their kids are going to school next year.

So I’ll go first. (i) We are going to neither sunny Florida nor the slippery slopes of Colorado. (ii) Peep 1 is settled, and Peep 2 will attend one of two schools because he only applied to two and not 10. Both answers make our family weirder than weird.

Having grown up in a small town that had two elementary schools (one on the north side and one on the east side), a falling-down junior high (eventually rebuilt) and one high school (new and modern), the highly discussed school topic was new to me when I had children in the nation’s fourth-largest city. I realized JUST. HOW. SERIOUS. the business of getting into “the best school” was when mommies and daddies were phoning “the best school” from the birthing table to secure a spot for bouncing baby. Silly us just winged it, and miraculously, the kids were accepted at a nearby preschool when the appropriate time came. I had a second realization: Our family must be weirder than weird.

Things calmed down in elementary school… until fourth grade. Rumor had it, at least then, that if you didn’t apply to “the best school” during your student’s fourth-grade year, well tisk tisk and finger wag. Silly us winged it again because, after all, our kids attended an exemplary-rated public school and were receiving an excellent education just seven blocks away. Miraculously, they both made it to middle school. Whew, because our weirder-than-weird family didn’t chew our nails to the quick waiting for the acceptance letters during our spring break staycations.

Up next? You guessed it: high school. We’ve been there/done that once, and we’re being there/doing that again. With both Peep 1 and Peep 2, we visited a handful of schools, applied to two, asked God to open the door to the right fit, and went about our business as the family that is weirder than weird. Hubs and I agreed that if our kiddos couldn’t get into one of the two schools, we had a bigger issue at hand. But yeah, that’s just us the weird people.

The reality is simple — and this is coming from the simple-minded member of the family that is weird. There are sooooooooooooooo many great public and private schools in H-town, and both parents and students are darn lucky to have sooooooooooooooo many options. No parent takes a child’s education likely, and I have yet to hear anyone say, “I really just want the third best for my child.” Sadly, that’s what you’d be led to think when parents of students at “the best school” blab on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on about how much better “the best school” is than the crappy alternatives.

And if that’s not enough to make Buffy bitchy, I don’t know what is.

Only Buffy isn’t bitchy because it WILL work out. It always does. And wherever my peeps and your peeps end up, it will truly be “the best school” for each of them.

 

 

 

He Walks With Me and He Talks With Me

Posted on by buffythebitchyblogger

Dating back to Fall 2014 from Buffy’s original Blog.com site is this taking-it-down-a-notch entry about childhood Sundays. So see? Buffy isn’t always bitchy. 

 

I’m taking it down a notch today and am just Buffy the Blogger. It’s Sunday, the best day of the week, and it belongs exclusively to God.

Sunday is a lot different than when I was a kid. Mom usually popped a pot roast in the oven before we left for town, and it cooked while we were at Sunday school and church. We’d come home, have lunch, clean the kitchen, and then mom and dad would spend what seemed like a long time reading the newspaper. The afternoon was spent at home, and then we went back to town on Sunday night for youth choir, youth group and church. Fast forward three+ decades. It would never enter my mind to leave the oven on while we’re at church, much less to cook a meal. Sometimes we go to church on Saturday and sometimes on Sunday, but never on Sunday night. I can read the Houston Chronicle in less than 10 minutes, less if Ken Hoffman’s column is about wrestling or monster trucks.

Church music is different, too. Back in the day, we sang hymns, and we followed along in the hymn book. Today’s church songs are generally more progressive, and the words are flashed on super-sized screens behind the pulpit.

Sermons have taken a turn also. A lot of churches offer feel-good sermons, and I like to watch those on TV and listen to them in the car. Who doesn’t like to feel good? But, in my opinion, there’s no replacement for back-to-the-Bible basics that are thought provoking and challenging… and life changing. The reverence of traditional worship offers blessings that are indescribable.

When I was a kid, prayer time was generally spent alone. Today, I use my dog walking time to talk with God. His beautiful creation is right in front of me. There aren’t any distractions. Work deadlines and household chores and to do lists and and and and and and and aren’t invited to follow me out the front door. Walk time is the perfect time to thank Him, praise Him, ask Him and listen to Him. I’ve learned that basically any time and anywhere is an appropriate time to connect with God, and thankfully, He’s everywhere I go. Everywhere.

The bottom line is simple: Times change; God doesn’t. And that makes Buffy thankful.

Waving Bye-Bye to Dr. Doolittle

Posted on by buffythebitchyblogger

Shortly after Buffy’s blog was launched in Fall 2014, and on the coattails of Krazy K, who you met in the post that started it all — “So We Decided to Sell Our House” — Dr. Doolittle took center stage. This entry, originally posted on Buffy’s blog.com site, reminds us to weigh our options before we do “it.” Oh, and guts are good, so go with it. 

 

After a hefty “signing” fee and 36 monthly hits on the plastic, a straw just broke the camel’s back, and we just waved bye-bye to Dr. Doolittle.

Dr. D is an orthodontist. Hopefully you or your peeps don’t have one and won’t ever need one because it’s a long and winding road. But if you’ve traveled down Braces Boulevard, I’ll say a prayer for ya because I feel your pain.

The I-wish-I-was-a-rock-star-and-not-an-orthodontist orthodontist recommended a Radical Procedure — I have assigned upper casing to the r and p in radical and procedure because that’s how radical the procedures was — that would have resulted in life-long consequences. By life-long, I mean forever, and by consequences, I mean horrific. “It” involved a lot that I won’t go into, but “it” seemed farfetched, and second opinions from an oral surgeon and another orthodontist confirmed what my gut had already shouted from the rooftops: Do. Not. Do. “It.”

Which brings me to this: Go with your gut, folks. Whatever size your gut is, go with it. I’ve long thought Doolittle was doing little and that his office is a marketing circus with faaaaaaaaaar too many patients. I’ve been in smaller crowds inching (err, elbowing) my way up the steps of the Cotton Bowl during Texas/OU weekend. But I’ll give DD this: A lot of mouths with a lot braces with a lot of “treatment plans” creates a pretty cushy cash flow. Pitch in fresh-baked cookies as a consolation prize at check out — does that seem counter to promoting dental hygiene?

In the 36 months we’ve been hanging out at the braces factory, I don’t think my son saw the same “technician” twice. Maybe he did and maybe he didn’t; it was hard to see their faces through the elaborate body protection that would provide optimum safety if the office were to come under nuclear attack. Pack a snack and grab a pillow because I might just jump on another soapbox about inconsistent care by the revolving door of staff that gave conflicting information time and again. And again. And again and again and again. And those ridiculous Doolittle Dollars. Oh wow. I need another soapbox.

And if that’s not enough to make Buffy bitchy, then I don’t know what is.

Only Buffy isn’t bitchy, because we dodged a bullet… or in this case, a rockin’ smile. And if you caught that pun, you know Dr. Doolittle, too.

So We Decided to Sell Our House

Posted on by buffythebitchyblogger

This blog entry was originally posted on Buffy’s blog.com site in Fall 2014. Here’s to the blog that started it all:

 

So we decided to sell our house.

Only we didn’t really decide to sell it, rather someone else decided we should sell it. With the likes of “hot market” and “bidding wars” filling the air, the idea of pocketing some change and moving on to the next home was indeed worth consideration.

Rewind to October. The hubs and I were just minding our own business and livin’ the dream in one of Houston’s vibrant inner-loop neighborhoods. Happy marriage: check. Incredible kiddos: check. Good health, solid careers, fab home: check, check, check. So yeah, lots of checks.

Enter stage left: Krazy K, the neighborhood’s new part-time player in residential real estate. You know the type: squeezing in a sale or two each year between PTO and keeping up with the Joneses. Twice my size — and I’m talking height — and deceiving from the word go, this crack of a pot convinced the two of us she had a buyer for our home. I have to hand it to girl wonder: Her shtick was intriguing. According to a carefully crafted script, all KK needed was a one-time showing and we’d have a contract in hand by the end of the day. Easy peasy. Pop the cork on the champagne and toast a quick victory. High fives and fist bumps. No need to declutter or clean closets or blah, blah effing blah.

Of course, that ended up a super-sized joke. Big Bertha simply brought a sidekick employee from the office and presented her as this extremely interested buyer. While I could insert a soliloquy-length’s commentary here, in the end, Amazon girl only wanted our listing. In. A. Big. Way. We cried foul and promptly shooed her out the door like the rat she is. (Stay tuned, because Krazy K isn’t out of the picture yet.)

And if that’s not enough to make Buffy bitchy, I’m not sure what is.

But Buffy really isn’t bitchy, because no one, particularly not a deceptive part-time real estate salesperson, is going to steal my joy or trample the happy life I enjoy. All the things I cherished when we decided to sell our house still have check marks by them: a happy family, good health, a fabulous home and a very bright future.

So until next time, cheers to all. (clink)