So, it’s May. The end of the school year is nigh (here in Alabama, anyway; to the rest of the country who has to wait until the middle of June before you see the sweet light of freedom, LOL SORRY GUYS GOOD LUCK), I’m working on Creepy Faces while I wait on my final (!!!) round of edits on Pull, and for some reason, we’ve decided to try to sell our house.
(I say “for some reason” as if we just casually decided to put it on the market for fun, which is not at all true. The Rileys can be somewhat devil-may-care about many things, but real estate is not one of them.)
The antsy-ness at school is expected. I’ve been teaching for a decade, so I know what May is like, and it no longer surprises me. We’re just pushing through as best we can right now, and soon, exams will be over and the bags under our eyes will be a distant memory.
But the house-selling part?
I was NOT READY for that.
We’re landscaping. We’re cleaning. We’re repairing. And this is after working a full day and then hanging with our kiddos when we get home. None of this even starts until 8pm, at which point I would really just like to crawl in bed with a book and–oh, who am I kidding, I don’t even have the strength to read right now.
A couple years ago, when we sold our first house, it was done in an unconventional and completely stress-free way. This time, we’re touching up paint at 9:30pm and shoving clutter in the dryer like our lives depend on it.
And they don’t, of course. Not at all. In fact, we don’t have to move. It’s just a really good time for it, and we’ve done lots of things to the house that could earn us some cash. So we’re trying.
But there are times when I feel like my entire identity rests in how the next showing goes, you know what I mean?
All that to say: Things are a bit busy around here, guys. And Mrs. Riley needs for summer to HURRY UP.
(You don’t even want to know how many times it took me to spell “hurry” correctly. I typed hooray, hurray, hurrey before I got it right.)
(This is sort of like yesterday in class, when I kept starting sentences on the whiteboard in English and ending them in Spanish without realizing it. Feeling scattered is even more dangerous when you speak more than one language.)
Counting the days until summer,