remember to lock your doors

The doorbell wakes you up. It's 1am. And you know, you sense that something is wrong.

It's just kids, you try to convince yourself. They are running around ringing doorbells trying to give everyone a good scare. At 1am...

And then you hear someone try the door. Your heart starts to race. You think, I locked it, didn't I? You turn to the dude who is already climbing out of bed. "What's going on?" You ask. Like he knows. Like it's not pitch dark in your house. Like he can see who's outside from the bedroom.

"I don't know," he says.

Your heart is racing. Someone is trying to get into your house. You hear the sound of someone trying to turn the lock. You feel trapped. Scared. Frozen. It's making sense, what is happening, yet it makes no sense at all.

A burglar who rings the bell?

The baby starts to stir. Will a crying baby scare him off? You realize that you can't move. Your whole body is frozen. Listening. Waiting. He's still trying to open the door. And then nothing.

The dude is back. "Get him." He says about the baby. "Get him and call 911. Somebody is trying to get in." He's holding a knife.

His words unfreeze you. They give you a purpose. You get the baby. You get the phone. You force yourself to be calm. You quiet the baby. You call.

And you hear him trying the other door. He's still trying to get the lock to turn.

It's like you see yourself, you hear yourself, saying words you hoped you'd never say. "Someone is trying to break into my house." You marvel at how even your voice is. You fight to stay calm. It's like it's happening to you but at the same time it's so bizarre that it isn't. This has to be someone else. This isn't happening to my family.

She asks questions. "I don't know," you say. "I'm with my baby."

The dude comes and takes the phone. He gives a description. Height. Hair. Backpack. Barefoot. He tells her what direction he's headed in. He asks for a cop to come by. He hasn't put the knife down.

It's quiet again. No one is outside. The dude is waiting at the door. He still hasn't dropped the knife.

Ten minutes go by.

The cop arrives.

"We've apprehended him." He says.

"He's being very cooperative." He says.

"Never been in trouble with the law before." He says

"He's really drunk. Probably just thought this was his house. We're going to take him home."

On the stoop are his shoes and socks.

"Didn't want to track mud into the house," the cop jokes.

Only, I don't feel like joking. I feel relief that it's so trivial. But I feel sick. This is my house. This is my family. I don't fall asleep again until the sun is starting to come up.

And in the light of day, I can see the humour in it. I can see the guy telling the story about the night he got so drunk he tried to get into someone else's house because he thought it was his. I can see him laughing about it over a few beers with his friends.

But now it's dark again. And I'm afraid to go to bed.

Does he understand the fear he's left us with?

we bought a house!

It is a 1960's bungalow. It still has the original kitchen with original stove, recirculating hood fan and single sink. The basement is original too. Wood paneling, orange carpet, orange bar. Oh ya, baby, there's a bar!

And it's perfect :)

Well, okay, maybe not "perfect". But I get to redecorate, which I am loving!


Since it's a mid-century home we are thinking about going (wait for it...) mid-century modern.

Aren't we original?

The best part? I get to do another nursery! And since we now know that the sprout is a boy it won't be yellow and green. I'm thinking robot, rocket ship...

Feel free to suggest your favorite mid-century modern design websites. I need ideas!

uh... you missed a spot

My child loves the broom.

Okay, that sounds like a euphemism for...

Well, we aren't going to go there.

But, seriously, the sprout loves the broom. Literally.

We've all been working hard getting our place ready for sale. Which has involved giving the sprout a lot of piggy backs in the Beco. (Oh, god... that sound like a euphemism too...) If I need to get something done, like, say, sweep the floors and the sprout wants to, say, cruise the furniture and put lots of sweaty footprints all over the nice floor I am trying to clean, it is just easier to hoist him on to my back. Where he can chat and drool on mummy's head and point and tell me I am doing it all wrong.

He always giggles when I sweep. It is by far the funniest thing I've done lately. Apparently, I suck at cleaning the floor. I suck so much that it reduces my child to a giggling lunatic.

I guess the sprout thought I needed a lesson in how it's done.
Can you see the dust that he's swept up? Genius child. I wonder if I can whore him out to cleaning companies and make some extra cash have more money to put into his RESP.

Oh wait, there is something against child labour, isn't there?

No child labour laws were broken during the writing of this blog post.

do people really live like this?

We're house hunting.

You, know... that fun time where you think it's a good idea to spend too much money so that you can have a few extra square feet, a basement and a yard. And you get to go and snoop in other people's houses. Which I think is really what house hunting is about - spying ;)

We've been to see 4 houses so far. One was already sold when we saw it. One cost too much money. One was nice but we didn't like it enough to enter into a multiple offer bidding war.

And one was, how to describe it... in one word...

AWFUL

Absolutely, unequivocally, AWFUL.

The house was being sold "as is" and I was told that we could expect the house to be in very poor condition. Which we kinda figured it was from the pictures. We figured it would be dirty. We figured it would be smoky. We figured there would be peeling wallpaper, and crappy flooring and that it would be very messy.

Oh, how naive we were :(

We didn't think there would be dog poop every where, dirty dishes piled high in the kitchen, a giant hole in the ceiling, walls missing upstairs and "wall-to-wall" carpeting meaning random pieces of carpet strewn over the subfloor.

There was a toilet behind the stairs on the main floor. No door, no sink. The plunger was on the floor beside the toilet and a note on the toilet said "do not use". This was the 2nd bathroom.

We couldn't enter the master bedroom because "the guy" might be home and sleeping. But someone had cut a "doggy door" out from the bottom of his door to let the dog in and out. I assume, so that the dog wouldn't poop in the bedroom.

There was a pool in the backyard. If these were my friends, and I knew how they kept their house, I wouldn't go within 6 feet of that pool.

I left feeling a bit sick.

Do people really live like that?

Where was the pride of ownership?

I admit, I sometimes let my housekeeping lapse, but I don't think I could ever let it get to that point. This was years of dirt and neglect. Nothing was clean.

No, wait, the giant TV in the living room was spotless.

It's nice to see the owner had his priorities straight.

It still makes me feel sad when I think about it. I cling to the hope that they are moving out of here and going to a home that will be able to give them the help they need.

And for us, the search continues. But maybe we won't go to any more "as is" house sales.