It's hard to believe I've hardly written anything in the last 3 months, mainly because my life has produced a perfect potpourri of potential writing topics. Just think of all the possibilities! For instance: Selling a House in the Worst Market in our Lifetime in a Thousand Words or Less. Or how about this one: Long Distance Relationships After Marriage--Why cohabitation still remains the most popular living arrangement for today's married couples.
Now here's a topic I could not only write a great essay on, I could probably swing a seminar or two as well: The Homeschooling Hobo--so your homeschool room is packed up in a storage unit, you have some stuff scattered throughout your parents' house, and some other stuff at your staged house 45 minutes away, and you have no time to oversee your children's education, here's exactly how NOT to go about it.
But this is one I'm really itching to write: A Failure's Guide to House Buying--Three Pitfalls to Avoid.
Pitfall #1: Do not fall in love with "The Red House." The Red House will pose as "the one." It will lure you in with its charms and its lovely little 5 acres, its many bedrooms and abundant square footage, and incredibly low price, but don't be deceived! All the while it pretends to court you, really it is writing a contract with another buyer.
Pitfall #2: Watch out for the likes of the Bent Creek house. Quaint? Yes. Spacious? Very. Quiet little cul-de-sac with countryside behind? Check. But the real nature of this house is just when you think you have, it will go behind your back and find another family! The nerve!
Pitfall #3: Beware of the Chalet house. Just when all other houses are removed from reach, this one suddenly disappears from the market, refusing to return. If only we could have perceived the insidious nature of such houses!
This essay could be interesting: Phone Fathers--Parenting Toddlers over the Phone, How One Dad does it. (I'll let Chris write that one.)
Confessions of Disorganized Mom Living in Transition--believe me you don't want to read this one, neither do I want to write it. Particularly because I have this split personality thing going on. My own house has vacuum lines on all the carpets, the ceiling fan could pass a white glove test, and the bathroom fixtures all sparkle. The lawn is so green it doesn't belong in Colorado, the flower gardens have received a record-breaking amount of miracle grow, and every tiny weedling gets sprayed with Round Up to oblivian. I even went so far as to chase down and spray every last ant on the driveway one day. (We wouldn't want to have a showing and have a buyer see an ant on the driveway. They might change their mind about buying the house. Yes, the market is that bad!)
And then there's the bedroom that I'm staying in at my parents'. Let's just say that all my cleaning energies are being funneled in one direction. Abigail and Naomi assembly-lined sundry doll paraphernalia from the playroom into said bedroom just the other day, and this got mixed up with various half-unpacked items, including a slew of obsolete loan paperwork, a memento from aforementioned Bent Creek betrayal-house, and in the end, a pathway through the wreckage would have been nice.
I could write an essay about: Seven Kids and One Austistic Brother Under the Same Roof--Learning to Embrace Noise (of course my kids are most of the noise.)
Actually, my autistic brother has been doing quite well ever since 6 more people came to invade his space. It's just that the very first night we were here, my parents had gone for the weekend, something they almost never get to do without him, ("let's go on a date," he'll say to my parents. Going on a date is three people for them,) and he was quite distraught.
So about 10 at night he started doing this banshee screaming thing he does; it sounds kind of like he's being murdered. My sister and I weren't sure where to put him since my neices were sleeping downstairs and my kids were upstairs. We finally decided to put him in the garage to keep him from waking everyone, until he calmed down.
We were lucky the cops didn't come. The immediate neighbors all know the situation but sometimes his screams can be heard for blocks and people don't know what's going on.
But sometimes it's a little humorous when the cops do come. One day, just as an officer was stepping in the front door, Buzz came running down the stairs, which end directly next to the door, screaming on the top of his lungs. It didn't take long for the officer to realize that 1) this individual is "special" and 2) he is not screaming because anyone is hurting him. In the brief moments of silence between deafening screeches, he was heard saying, "Just wanted to make sure everything is okay here!" and quickly excused himself from the scene. Really? Are you sure you don't want to stay for some coffee?
Well I'm sure I could go on for a very long time thinking of writing topics that the last few months of my life have generated, but who wants to write when there's so much to write about? I think I enjoy writing more when I have nothing much to say.