Going North, part 1: I'm sorry, when did I sign up to live in Crazyville??

Troubles really began to pick up at a rabid pace when we picked up our rental car and got the Garmin/GPS that does not work. And get this - THE AVIS EMPLOYEES KNEW IT. Lord help them if they try to charge us for it. Well, Uncle Endo, I mean. What? Who's Uncle Endo, you say? Get up to speed, people. Endo Pharmaceuticals is Dan's employer. They are paying for much of our relocation expenses, as long as we follow their corporate relocation company's guidelines, which is a subject for another post altogether. I've long referred to his employer as Uncle Endo, as he has paid for - among other things - Dan's company car, until recently, when he took it away, but did give him a little cash, so I really can't complain that much. Uncle Endo has also paid for us to go on some really fabulous vacays - again, subjects for other posts. Anyway, Uncle Endo will get billed for the rental car. Which leads me to a point that I must address. If I've been asked one thing more than anything else, it's "How are you getting your cars up there?"


Let me put this to bed, so that we may all rest easily tonight. Uncle Endo has hired some company to pick up our Suburban in North Little Rock, which occured two days ago. They are delivering it up here. When, you say? Well, that's the funny part. THEY CAN'T SAY. Apparently, the company is the only one in the continental U.S., and they are in such demand that they have to meander around the country picking up relocating families' vehicles and tote them around as they pick up other relocating families' vehicles, and deliver them when they just happen upon the location one of said relocating families. So, in short, we can expect to have our own vehicle any time between now, and....uh, March, I think. Just kidding. It's anytime between two and 14 days. Please remember there are no other vehicles to transport, as Uncle Endo took back the company vehicle Dan had. And thank God, as I don't know that I could have endured another round of guess-a-rama for a second vehicle.


Well, that was a long digression. Long, but necessary. It's all just part of the whole story of us going north. We're back to the non-working garmin/GPS. I told Dan during our excursion Monday night looking for our hotel around southeastern Pennslvania in the torrential rain, lightening and thunder that our first purchase the next day would be a garmin/GPS. I didn't care how much it cost, or what you had to barter to get one, but we were getting one.

Tuesday morning. We all sleep in until 9 a.m. NINE A.M.!! It's hard to process, I know. Don't get all excited thinking it was glorious, because we were all still somewhat stupified and lost. I woke up with Lily sprawled across my legs, and some child's elbow in my side. Or armpit. I'm not sure. I just know it was a pokey part annoying me. I think I also may have slept in my clothes from the day before. Gross. Again, I am rifling through bags looking for clothes. The people are now approaching hysteria because they are (1) hungry and thirsty, and (2) being asked to dress themselves, and naturally Lily needs to go outside. Dan, thinking he was saving energy or something silly like that, didn't bring up all the bags. When I say bags, I mean duffel bags that weigh close to 50 lbs. (couldn't be over that because of airline regulations), and are probably four feet long and well, I'm not very mathy, but I just know they are enormous. So there are four of these gi-normous bags still in the Suburban, which naturally, contain every single thing we need at that moment: toothbrushes, clothes, clean socks, etc. I admit - no one brushed their teeth the night before. I know you agree with me that I had more to handle than I could shake a stick at, so please don't think less of me for this sin of omission. We remedied the situation, but not after no less than 10 minutes of me searching the bags in the Suburban for just the toothbrushes alone. That doesn't include the time spent searching for clothes. I found clothes for the people, decided Dan could fend for himself, and decided I would wear the same clothes again. I mean, really, who's looking?? Liiiiiiiike I care.


We are dressed. We are semi-presentable, and at least our breath is not leaving a toxic footprint on the planet anymore. We get in the Suburban, and Dan says we need to go to Avis to get another garmin. Nooooooo, I remind him, we're buying one. He says he wants to replace it. The man is so obsessive-compulsive. I dutifully call the numbers for every Avis within 100 square miles that he has spent no less than 45 minutes on the internet retrieving, and it should be no surprise that either they don't have one, or have just rented the last one out. That done, Dan is satisfied that none are available to rent courtesy of Uncle Endo, so we must buy one. We now need a store that sells garmins. Or Gps thingys. He asks me where to go. I have noooo clue. So we just drive. Eventually, we happen upon a Radio Shack, and as he gets out of the car, I tell him do not come back to the car without one no matter the cost. The people do not understand why they cannot go into the store. Are you kidding me???? Remember we have a DVD player in the vehicle, but somehow we've only ended up with three choices to watch: Secondhand Lions, Barbie in "Mariposa," (don't ask), and Battle of the Bulge. Yes, it's reeeeallllly the Battle of the Bulge. WWII I think. Or maybe it was the Vietnam War, or for all I know it could have been the Franco-Saxon War of the Roses. I don't really care. My eight-year-old is definitely a history/military buff, and this is supposedly a true story. Just know it's not Dora the Explorer. I pick Mariposa, which naturally upsets Jack, but I promise him we'll watch Battle of the Bulge next.

Dan comes out in a few minutes with a box. It's our new gps thing. We name her Lola. Lola is bossy, and acts like she knows EVERYTHING. Lola has lots of helpful little things she can do, but her biggest problem is that she likes to take the long way. She thinks it is the most efficient, but usually it's the scenic route. You realize this after you've driven 45 minutes to get somewhere three miles away. Perfect example: the people wanted cheeseburgers from McDonald's. I knew I had seen the "Goldne Arches" within a couple blocks, but wasn't sure which direction to turn. So I type in McDonald's and Lola brings up no less than 15 McDonald's between here and the city but the closest one she lists is five miles away. I figure I better follow her directions, lest I get lost. I drive the five-point-three miles down the road, through a driving rainstorm, through construction zones where the concrete barriers are lined up on both sides of the single-lane highway making the lane extreeeeeeemely narrow, through standing water that makes me hydroplane, through lanes of traffic where cars headed the opposite direction throw up tsunami-sized waves onto my windshield, with at least one child every minute-and-a-half screaming for me to turn up Scooby-Doo. We get to McDonald's, get our food, and head back "home." Now I know darn well that we took no turns, sidetrips, or detours on the way to McDonald's, and never got off Baltimore Pike. It stands to reason, then, that we should not have to take any turns, sidetrips or detours to get back to the very place we just came from, right? No. Lola says "Turn right in. Point. Three. Miles. Onto. Such-and-such lane." Whaaaaaat???? I don't take it. Which means in about two seconds, Lola says, "Re. Calculating." Ugh. I ignore it. My rules-oriented child starts to panic. "MOM YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO TURN BACK THERE!!!!!!!!!" "Jack, it's ok. I know what I'm doing."


A minute passes, and Lola says, "Turn. Right. In. Point. Two. Miles. Onto. So-and-so road." Huh?? Again, I don't do it. Again, Jack hyperventilates: "MOM!" "Jack." I say,"it's fiiiiine! Quit worrying!"


Lola is hyperventilating now, saying over and over "recalculating turn right recalculating recalculating turn right then turn right recalculating." You know she is soo mad at me! I can just imagine what she really wants to say, "You. Are. Stupid. Pull. Over. Immediately. Onto. Such-and-such avenue. Car. Is. Immobilized. You. Should. Not. Be. Driving. I. Quit."


Sure enough, five-point-three miles later - no turns, sidetrips or detours, we arrive "home," despite Lola's best efforts to get us to the same exact point via Rhode Island. She must be so mad!

Where was I? We had just purchased Lola - Tuesday morning, Katie's birthday. Sorry for the long digression. Again, it's imperative to understand how Lola works, and what we get when we ask her for the simplest task. So back to Tuesday morning. At this point, I am believing that I only have Dan with us today and tomorrow (Wednesday) to house-hunt, and so I am somewhat panic-stricken. We had been to the area two weeks prior, just Dan and myself, to look for a home, but didn't find anything. I am now panicking! I told Dan we couldn't wait all day. We only had so much time! We find a house for rent by looking on Dan's computer and just call the agent listed on the sign. In about an hour he meets us at the house, and I explained to him our situation. He has two more houses to show us.


While we are still at this first house he is showing us, a buck runs through the back yard, followed by a few does. The boys start salivating. There's a huge barn, and an in-ground pool with stonework, a diving board, and wrought-iron fence surrounding it. It sits on two acres - right in the middle of town. On a long, private driveway, on a dead-end street. Perfect!! A couple of huge trees provide enough shade for a city block, as well as long, twisted knotted-up roots creeping up out of the ground and low thick brances begging to be climbed. The yard seems to stretch into tomorrow. We go inside. A porch has been closed in, complete with a large brick wood-burning fireplace, tile floor, and bricked cabinet/bar area. Gorgeous!! Might be a little hard to heat and cool, with the all-glass walls, but it's so beautiful with the backyard and view to the pool, and fox and deer running right in front of the house. It's a little dated, but has wood floors throughout. Four bedrooms, and two-and-a-half bathrooms. There's another fireplace in the living room, which connects to the dining room, which connects to the kitchen, where there is a vintage stainless steel sink and countertop. Wow! It's the perfect mix of new and old, I say! One of the bathrooms is decked out with a very colorful ocean-life mural covering one entire wall. Ok, buy some paint. I go to the other "master" bathroom. It's PINK. Pink porcelain tub and pink porcelain sink. While I am absorbing this, I hear Cole saying something about "bathroom." Like, having to use one. I go to the ocean bathroom. There sits Cole, on this toilet, pooping. Geez. I tell him to stay there, because I see no toilet paper anywhere, including in the cabinets where I am forced to look into. On my way to the other bathroom, I pass the agent - Greg, who seems baffled for some reason - and sheepishly tell him Cole is using the ocean bathroom, I'm sorry, I need some toilet paper, I didn't know he was doing that, etc etc. I throw open the door to the pink bathroom, and there sits Katie on that toilet!!!! Pooping. Can this get any more embarrasing. Fortunately there is toilet paper in that bathroom. I help her finish, and go to help Cole finish who of course has not remained on the actual toilet seat. Use your imagination to finish this part of the story.


We rejoin the non-poopers of the group, and my face must be nine shades of red. I have not been this embarrased this much since law school. They are in the tiled-fireplace room, and Dan's talking about how it seems about right for us, it's a little smaller than we'd like, but it's such a great piece of property, the rent's about right, and so on. I'm standing in the kitchen, and something just seems off. Something isn't right. I keep looking at the appliances, opening the pantry door, and suddenly, it's like someone slapped me: THERE'S NO DISHWASHER. My chest gets tight. Is it getting hotter in here? Why did it not seem so hot before, and WHHYYY is it so hard to breathe??? I just can NOT get a deep breath. I mean, am I having a heart attack? Shouldn't I feel naseous or something? Or maybe numb in my left arm? Or is it my right arm. I am not sure. Something is not right, that is for sure. I have got to get outside. Maybe I've just been in the car too long. Or the air's been turned off in this house too long. Or - wait a minute, WHY THE FRIG WOULD SOMEONE NOT HAVE A DISHWASHER WHO WOULD WASH THE DISHES!???!? Dan suddenly looks at me.

"What's wrong with you??," he asks me somewhat alarmingly.


"THERE'S NO DISHWASHER!!" I scream.


"What??" Ask Dan and Greg simultaneously. They both turn at the same time and head into the kitchen, opening doors, looking in the oven, turning around and around as if a dishwasher would appear.


"WHO WOULD WASH THE DISHES??" I scream again.


Dan says, "Well, you're standing in the kitchen." He thinks he's so cute.


"We could eat on paper plates."

"WE CAN'T COOK IN PAPER POTS DAN!!" I'm still screaming.


No response.


"THAT'S IT. WE'RE DONE. LET'S GO. I'M DONE. WE'RE NOT LIVING HERE. EVER. GET IN THE CAR. WE'RE LEAVING."


Greg looks like someone just cut off his arm. He really doesn't have an explanation, and genuinely seems surprised himself. We leave, and of course we don't know where to go, so Dan drives around, burning gas, and putting miles on the tires - as my Dad would say. His phone rings while we're touring the town, and guess what. We were having a new roof put on our rental house back in North Little Rock, and the renter is calling to say that the roofers are so rough (say that really fast 10 times: rough roofers!! Haha), that the tiles on the ceiling are starting to fall. INSIDE. ON THE INSIDE.

I just decide I don't care. I can't do anything about it. My panic attack was almost over, and I just mentally decide that if the roof caves in around her feet, at least we have insurance. It'll pay. Dan calls the owner of the roofing company, who promises to go take a look. The renter calls back in a bit, and reports that yeah, roofing company owner Lewis came over alright, and was quite condescending and said it looked just fine to him! Dan told the renter we'd take care of whatever the problem was. WHICH we clearly did not know what that was. He said some other stuff, too, but I wasn't listening.

A little bit later, we follow Lola's directions and arrive at the next house where Greg is waiting on us. This one very well may be the perfect house ever, EXCEPT. (There's always something). Except there's a man living downstairs in the "in-law quarters" (I mean, why is an extra space always called that? Do you have to be in-laws to live there? And do you have to be in-laws to the other people living there for you to live there? Who determines that?), and, Greg explains, "if you don't need the space (fat chance) he will continue living there or he might consider (as in, just think about and not necessarily doing so) moving out." Huh. That's a new one. With all the sticker shock about property values, weird traffic patterns, outdated houses, people who hand-wash their dishes and line dry their clothes, this is actually a surprise. And a little creepy. Dan and I say we don't even need to go inside.

The rest of the house-hunt? We'll save it for another post. I've got to go find some Tylenol.