So, instead of updating our blog or focusing all of our excess energies on preparing for this cycling trip to Iceland (which I swear is still going down)...we bought a house.
It went like this. We took the dogs for a walk in Green River. We saw a green house from heaven. We called our liason for a showing, which took place after supper that same night. We then put in an offer. Some ADHD magic took place over the next week, and we moved into our first home about a month after finding it, paying a solid $136 in closing fees, to boot.
It went like this. We took the dogs for a walk in Green River. We saw a green house from heaven. We called our liason for a showing, which took place after supper that same night. We then put in an offer. Some ADHD magic took place over the next week, and we moved into our first home about a month after finding it, paying a solid $136 in closing fees, to boot.
That's everybody's home buying experience, right?
...I just listened to NPR. Apparently nobody in America comes out ahead after buying a house... We, meanwhile, are paying half of what we paid in rent and are out....well...nothing.
I don't know how these things happen to us.
Meet Carolina Jubilee. She's an utter delight. Notice the massive cliff/hill in the background. Just one of our many scenic views (seriously...everywhere you turn is national park quality Red Desert river country, sans the tour buses and regulations). Shelby very much enjoys chasing the deer that are peacefully grazing our property straight up the side of that cliff. We'll have to do something about that...
Anyway, it was the last day of school yesterday, which, for my part, entails slapping a smile on my weather beaten face and pretending that a kindergarten graduation/after party is simply another part of my effortless teaching job.
Anyway, it was the last day of school yesterday, which, for my part, entails slapping a smile on my weather beaten face and pretending that a kindergarten graduation/after party is simply another part of my effortless teaching job.
Teaching kindergarten is like inhabiting Amy Vanderbilt's body, manners and personality in tact, but with a much wider variety of job descriptions - nurse, riot police, therapist, stereotypical 1950's housemaid, janitor - all of which must be completed with grace and a smile.
I was very much ready for sixth grade (and a Xanax) by the end of yesterday's hard earned festivities. I carried that attitude home, and was convinced that the next day (today) would be a simple act of saying happy goodbyes and turning in my keys.
Consequently, I was very much surprised when my intentionally humorous farewell speech about Irish exits and swallowing your emotions to bolster pre-existing ulcers turned into a garbled mess of tears and utterly honest expressions of love and appreciation for my awesome coworkers.
I was that girl. Uh huh. I'd rather not go into details.
Consequently, I was very much surprised when my intentionally humorous farewell speech about Irish exits and swallowing your emotions to bolster pre-existing ulcers turned into a garbled mess of tears and utterly honest expressions of love and appreciation for my awesome coworkers.
I was that girl. Uh huh. I'd rather not go into details.
So much for Irish exits. Teaching has melted my cold Gaelic heart...ulcers still intact...
Which somehow brings me back to Iceland. Folks, this thing is happening. The panniers are packed. The cycles are outfitted, mine with a fine set of aero bars that were the talk of the REI bike shop of Salt Lake City. "Aero bars on a touring bike?" "Well, isn't that something!" "That's out of the box thinking, there!"
We're gone on Tuesday. I don't know what else to say about the matter. Iceland isn't exactly Destination Numero Uno, which makes it a bit challenging to research. A colleague told me that she reads a story with her fourth graders about the baby pufflings in Iceland. She said that their first flight is supposed to land them in the sea. Unfortunately, the lights of Reykjavik reflecting off the ocean confuse the little puffling puffs, and many crash land in the city streets. There is a happy ending, though. The 100% literate Icelandic children are allowed to flood the streets, scoop up the pufflings, and release them back off the cliffs to live happy, multicolored, fish-eating puffin lives.
I have yet to confirm the validity of this story, but I hope with the entirety of my being that there really is a time of year where 100% literate Icelandic children race around saving baby pufflings from doom. I kind of need this to be true on a very guttural level.
We're gone on Tuesday. I don't know what else to say about the matter. Iceland isn't exactly Destination Numero Uno, which makes it a bit challenging to research. A colleague told me that she reads a story with her fourth graders about the baby pufflings in Iceland. She said that their first flight is supposed to land them in the sea. Unfortunately, the lights of Reykjavik reflecting off the ocean confuse the little puffling puffs, and many crash land in the city streets. There is a happy ending, though. The 100% literate Icelandic children are allowed to flood the streets, scoop up the pufflings, and release them back off the cliffs to live happy, multicolored, fish-eating puffin lives.
I have yet to confirm the validity of this story, but I hope with the entirety of my being that there really is a time of year where 100% literate Icelandic children race around saving baby pufflings from doom. I kind of need this to be true on a very guttural level.
I mean, really. Children. That can READ. Saving PUFFINS. What more could I ask of this world?
Come back soon to read. Please. I promise greater fidelity to this little enterprise, and perhaps a few more details on what two teachers with bikes my actually do...besides bike...on a partially frozen island with no night time hours. This will hold you over until then.
With an athlete like me, what could possibly go wrong?
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