On the Market

Everything is back to relative normalcy at our house. Zane is healthy and ornery, and the babysitter is out of the hospital and looking forward to watching him again this week. In-laws have come and gone.

Which leaves a poor blogger with the question: What can I blog about?

Luckily for me, a dear friend had the answer. She suggested that I blog about my weird obsessions. Actually, I believe she said something like, Zany Mama, you should blog about some of your weird obsessions. You know you’re really a freak about certain things, and I think you should share some of those things with the world.

Okay, maybe that’s not exactly what she said, but it IS what I heard. For a moment I was momentarily taken aback. I don’t believe that I have any weird obsessions, I spluttered.

Friend: Come on, Zany Mama, you won’t let SRH’s graham cracker box touch your food in the grocery cart because you think that somehow the graham-crackery cooties will befoul your food. (I recall her saying).

Me: That’s not weird. It’s looking out for my own healthy self-interest by defending my food from the disgusting madness that is the outside of a S’More. Those things are just gross. Gives me the willies jus thinking about them in my grocery cart. I maybe didn’t say that out loud. Maybe I said something more like – You think that’s weird?

Friend: That’s weird.

Well, I’m sure I could ramble on and on about my weird obsessions, but I’m actually a little pressed for time. Our house is going on the market tomorrow, and I have tons of cleaning – well, not cleaning more straightening so that it looks like I cleaned – to do.

But what occurred to me is that I do have some weird obsessions around showing our house. The following is a short list of “to dos” when showing a house that might qualify as a little obsessive, and, oh yeah, weird.

Febreze the bedroom. At no other time in my life do I believe that my bedroom has an odor. When the house is on the market, however, every time I walk into it, I think, Goodness, we stink. Like a pack of dead cats are hanging out in here. I better get the Febreze. Not only do I spray Febreze every morning before we leave the house, I have to re-Febreze if anyone walks into the room. I am partial to the Meadows and Rain scent.

No trash in the trash cans. No laundry in the hamper. I personally think that this one makes perfect sense. No one wants to see my trash, and dirty laundry makes people not want to live here. SRH, however, feels that trash should be cleared out if the particular trash can doesn’t have a cover. His logic goes something like, Zaney Mama, do you really think they’re lifting our trash can lid to see if there is something in there. Yes. If the hamper only has a few shirts in it, he’s fine with leaving them in there. Me, not so much. Therefore, every morning I lug around a trash bag with me as I move from room to room getting ready so that nothing is left for the nosy prospective home buyers to rifle through and judge me about.

Finally, all shades must be raised to allow for maximum daytime light. I think this augments the lightness and airiness of our home. It’s a 90-year old house – it needs all the lightness and brightness it can get. I have been known to yell up the stairs to SRH, Make sure the shades are up in Zane’s room and the office at least 5 times before I hear the satisfying zipper-like sound of the shades’ ascending. I actually breathe a sigh of relief when I hear that sound.

As you might guess, this house had better sell quickly, or I’m going to be a mess of obsessive anxiety, SRH will decide to divorce me, and Zane will have even more to talk about in therapy. Wish me luck.