The Unpacking Post

 Most seasons when you come rolling into town, you're in for a few surprises. It can't really be helped when you've rented something by looking at a few pictures and a google map to check the proximity to the nearest Krispy Kreme field. And there are always going to be a few little hiccups while getting settled. For instance, last spring when we got to our summer rental we realized there was no microwave.

This was a serious hindrance to my culinary capabilities.

We weren't really expecting any shockers when we arrived this year because we were actually able to rent the same house.

We call it the Grandma house.

There are so many reasons this house works well for us: it's furnished, it has a garage, it has a great washer and dryer ( baseball life GOLD, I tell you), it's on a cul-de-sac (which the girls rule with their bikes and scooters) and the owners don't mind our old, weak bladdered dog.

But your friendly neighborhood realtor may take a look and say

it needs some TLC or

it's ripe with potential.

This is code for

bring your sledgehammer and goggles.

So the only major differences we noticed when we walked in the first night was that the back room was completely empty. Last year it was full of brown wicker furniture and Asian decor. This year it's where we throw our shoes and dry our laundry. And also, there used to be about 38 lamps in this house. Now there might be 3.

This is unfortunate because I did all my light bulb shopping from those lamps. Didn't have to buy one last summer. Just kept moving them from one hula girl lamp to another.

When we walked further into the house we realized that half the lights were out (dang bulb shortage) and we were not alone.

You know that smell? The one that tells you something has died a possibly horrible death in the walls or the attic?

If you don't, it's just as lovely as you would imagine.

Only not.

My brave husband checked the attic and didn't find anything. Shortly after that I attempted to put a light bulb in the girls bathroom fixture so they stood less of a chance of falling in.

I failed.

I mean, the light came on, but I didn't secure the heavy glass globe well enough and it came crashing down into about 70 million pieces.

I forgot the can opener but I did remember the little scoop broom and garbage bags.

 Steel trap and clairvoyant.

At that point, it was late. We hadn't unpacked anything of consequence. The hallway smelled like something that missed it's own funeral and now it was booby trapped with glass shards.

Welcome to baseball 2014! Go Baybears!

So we did what anyone would do. We went to bed. Pajamas and toothbrushes be slammed.

And do you know what? When we woke the next day  our allergies had kicked in so strongly we couldn't smell Bigfoot's dead cousin anymore the smell was gone.

Hallelujah!

And in the morning light, I could see that we didn't need to get a fresh round of tetanus shots.

Things were looking up.

And now, a tour:

His and her chairs. Be jealous.

The aforementioned bathroom. Minus one globe. Allegedly.

Why yes, that is a half bath with a door that won't close. Privacy schmivacy.

Anybody need a throw pillow? I'm your gal.

This is where we keep Lainey.

This is where we keep the Littles.

This is where we keep 1979.

This is where I would use a sledgehammer..... (also allegedly)

There it is. In all it's forty year old glory.

I have to go now,  to get things going for dinner before the double header tonight.

My new fancy hand-held can opener can't crank itself you know.



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The Mobile BayBears are 6-4.