I Scream, You Scream, We All Scream at Sean-Peter

We took the kids to Young's Jersey Dairy outside Yellow Springs, not too far from the base. It was in the interest of self-preservation that we take a break from our relentless house hunting and get out of the hotel for a few hours. We'd heard of this place from Ruth and Mark, who were stationed here years ago, and then recently from our realtor. But we were still surprised at the size of the business this family has set-up for themselves: a little petting zoo; miniature golf; a driving range; a makeshift "train" ride for the kids as well as a tractor playground they can climb on ... and, of course, "the best ice cream around". Leah, our realtor, told us she decided to stop there once on her way back from Columbus late one night. It was almost midnight and she had to stand in line for ice cream. It was good, but sheesh. Wasn't Conner a good sport to pose for this picture? And the one below epitomizes Sean-Peter: in the nanosecond it took me to raise the camera up and press the button, he had climbed the fence and was halfway over to the other side. Now, I did notice his ascent as I was aiming, but I recognize a photo op when I see one. Note his two siblings standing there, calmly watching the cows -- not trying to join them.

And, yes, he's like this all the time.

House Hunting: Not recommended.

It has been quite the harrowing week of house hunting. If we hadn't had a referral for some childcare for the Little Ones, the search probably would have put us over the edge. The kids went to Deb, another military spouse, so readily you'd think they were old friends. Speaks to the kids' adaptability and amiability; also to the strength and reliabilty of the referral. Thank you, Donnetta!

By Wednesday the kids were tired, we were tired, and we had looked at probably 30 houses without one screaming out, "You're home!" And we belatedly learned that we were looking at the tax figures wrong. That is, we understoond what the figure was, but not the frequency that figure was due. In Las Vegas we are not. Ouch.
The timing for a break from race-car-speed house hunting worked out because Deb the babysitter found out Tuesday night that her husband is due back from his deployment on Thursday. So, no more babysitter. We definitely slowed down, but we looked at enough the next two days to show us how impossibly exhausting it would have been had we had the two- and four-year-old along with us the whole week. We already had an 11-year-0ld whining at us "How many more houses?" and, "What time will we be done?" and "Where are we going now?" Like, duh: there's kind of a trend here of looking at houses.

So we were not feeling a particular affinity toward each other or Uncle Sam: He moves us to Ohio, he wants to gank us for over $300 a month to own a house here, and -- to top it off -- his cousin in Maryland tracked us down right before we left Italy and told us -- again -- that John still owed taxes from when we lived there seven years ago.

Because John had dealt with this Maryland tax problem twice before, we figured it was a matter of dealing with it, again, and getting, again, the same result: "Sorry, our problem, not yours". (Albeit without the sorry part.) Except this time they say it never was John that owed but me. And didn't we mention that before? And oh, by the way, we've shredded any papers that might have proved you've talked to us about this before so now it's on you to prove we're wrong. Too bad we caught you in the middle of an overseas move with all your records in a box somewhere on the Atlantic. (Does anyone else move with seven years worth of tax records in their luggage?)

To say this came at a bad time makes the cliche of saying that would be an understatement sound like an understatement. It's like we're on this sinking boat and everytime we think we've found the source of the leak another one springs up out of nowhere until it dawns on us that someone had retrofitted the shoes we put on our two-year-old with ice picks in the soles. I mean, really: you can't make this stuff up.

So after this grueling week in this hotel room full of snapping turtles wondering if we should just rent a house and be done with it and pay Maryland $600+ we don't think we owe ... John looks around and starts to say, in that goofy, Southern-jive way he has, "I love this Fambly"...only before he can go on to wax poetic about how it's a soft place to fall and he's so glad he has us despite everything, the Accidental Comedian (aka Conner) strikes again: " . . . not much of a choice, though, is there." With no trace of irony in his voice whatsoever.

It was just the comedy break we needed. Conner looked a little confused when John and I burst into laughter, all but falling on the floor with how funny it struck us. The little ones were just glad the Grumpy Parents were gone and not yelling at them for doing kid things so they joined right in, never mind they had no idea what the joke was. And Conner either got it or, what the heck, at least they're not yelling at me, and ended up laughing, too.

Anyone knows a good tax attorney, you can pass him our way. Even if we ended up paying him what we "owe" the State of Maryland, it might be worth it. Did I mention that school starts next week? And, even if I knew what town we'll be living in, I still wouldn't know which school zone it would be ... Oh, and John starts work on Monday, and we're a one-car family until our 4-Runner gets here sometime in September...

One positive note (there is one!) is that we are looooving our van!

********Time elapse************

John read most of this during one of the many interruptions while it was in-process and said that he thought it was a bit "dark". (This coming from him!) I said, yea, so was our week! I promise no more rantings (or at least not for awhile) -- and I'm going to try to find the camera cable so I can download some pictures soon, too.

The Princess and the Gremlin

We have settled into our new lodging more in the last 12 hours than we did in the two days we were at the other place -- definitely a good move. We even got the front desk to disable the pay-for-view channels on the TV after John caught Sean-Peter trying to order one of the adult shows, if you know what I mean. They disabled the phones for good measure, too, so all he can call out to is the front desk. We have cell phones now so it's all good.

We've taken to calling Sean-Peter a Gremlin, in addition to other nicknames -- Dr. D (aka Dr. Destructo) and Little Brute ... yes, mom, I know -- they'll be what you call them. We're just calling them as we see it! (And for the record, most of the time I just call him Little Buddy.)

Gremlin came up when John pulled him off the cupboard doors he was repeatedly banging shut, only to have him immediately push the buttons to activate the dishwasher then scamper off on his mischievous feet out of reach so fast John only met air by the time he turned around to smack him on the behind. Instead he shouted after him, "You're not a boy, you're a Gremlin! That's why you don't talk! You hatched from an egg out of our closet!"

Olivia, on the other hand, consistently goes around in her princess wear and insists on changing into a "princess dress" unless we simply start her day out in one. She wore her crown on every flight over here and told anyone who talked to her -- which was about everyone -- that the jewels were real and she collects diamonds -- something her parents were sure happy to hear about as that will certainly take care of our retirement plan.

We Have Arrived

I'm sitting here at the Residence Inn in the Ghetto ("North Dayton"), somehow inspired to post to this blog which came up with transcript in Russian for reasons completely unknown, waiting for our Chinese takeout to be delivered. Chinese food! American Chinese food! Moo Goo Gai Pan. I can't wait.

Between the mysterious Russian, the impending Chinese food, and the strange form of English that Sean-Peter habitually speaks, I feel like I am having the most international experience. All in Ohio. Who would have thought.

We are changing lodging tomorrow. We spent a good amount of our time out this morning stopping at places closer to base that included "Suites" or "Extended" in their name. We would be moving even if the guy that delivered our dinner last night hadn't avoided eye contact with the obvious intent of staking out the place -- luckily we hadn't even unpacked yet -- because this place has a loft with only a ledge for a wall barely higher than the bed that practically invites Sean-Peter to catapult himself over the edge to the floor 15 feet below. Brilliant design.

Moo Goo Gai Pan! Sign out for now.

Apply Directly to Source

Mom sent us a homeopathic "Distress Remedy" -- this solution you mix with water and you're supposed to spray it around, mist a room to clear it of stress -- emotional tension and negative energy and whatnot. John thought this evening would be a great time to try it, but no matter how many times we go around with it, it doesn't seem to be working...because THE KIDS ARE STILL HERE!

What gives?!

Oh, wait. John thinks maybe you're supposed to "apply directly to source". Maybe we'll give that a try.