Atomictumor

At approximately noon today, three neighborhood children who have played with MastaG for years when we lived in the former Casatuma went into the backyard, threw a rock through a plate of my double plated back doors, put a ladder to the roof, deposited a broom and a step stool that were on the back porch up there, and flattened my garbage can with a bike.

Their ages are 9, 6, and 5.

When I got to the house to do my normal checking it out and fixing some problems thing, I noticed the glass, and went off.  There was a pool of broken glass on the back porch, and a rock wedged between the standing inside plate and the broken outside one, with several rocks scattered around in the broken glass.

What bothered me more, tho, were the implications of these little bastards getting up on my roof, falling off, and breaking their stupid necks.

No, the door bothered me more.  Stupid assed kids.

So, anyway, I was on the phone with the lady explaining the situation and about to call the local 5-0 when I walked around back again and found the dad of one of the kids, the 6 yr old, who I’ve always figured to be a good kid, with good parents, standing out there.  He explained the situation to me.  We walked over to one of the other kids house, the 5 yr old, and talked to his dad.

Apparently the kids were playing in his yard (across the street from mine), and after a while he realized they weren’t there.  He heard them back behind my house, and heard the glass break, but when he got around back they scattered.

Anyway, he and the other dad are going to pay for the door.  The mom of the kid I suspect of throwing the rock, however, has a history of never believing that her little delinquent angel commits transgressions to anybody but her.  We’ve had issues before.  I don’t expect much out of her.

I’d love to throw the police on this, but I don’t care for police, and I don’t see any reason to get these two dads in trouble when I don’t believe their kids did any more than watch this older kid break crap.  Furthermore, their dads are PISSED, and I don’t see that the police would do much more good.

Still, the whole thing is bullshit.  These kids that knew my kids for years, kids that I’ve fed, kids that I’ve had playing at my house, are breaking my damn back door for no other reason than that I’m not there.  Little bastards.

Makes me want to get a tazer

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That reminds me… if you’re still looking for that perfect christmas gift, may I offer a small suggestion?

A little while back I wrote about Grandma Waffle coming to live with us. Initially, the idea was for her to make a couple of trips from Florida, bring up all her belongings, and officially move in with us. Seems pretty straightforward, right?

It makes me think of the parts in Meet the Robinsons where various characters say “I’m just not sure how well this plan was thought through.”

Nothing dramatic, just the simple fact that our house isn’t big enough for 7 people. Waffle, who is used to living quietly by herself, was suddenly thrust into the chaotic goings-on of our 4-kid household. Quiet doesn’t exist here. Neither does privacy. So when Waffle came into enough money to keep her utilities on at her apartment in Florida, she went back. Her lease is up at the end of February…maybe she’ll come back, maybe not. I’ve learned with my mom to expect the unexpected. She craves change, doesn’t mind taking risks, and can’t stay in any one place for very long.

I tend to be much more cautious. I look for the expected, the definite, the factual. I like stability. I don’t mind staying in one place, if that place feels safe to me. Perhaps these are some of the reasons why I am struggling with buying a new house.

Bos and I started looking at houses shortly after we invited Waffle to come live with us. Right off the bat, we found one that we really liked, affectionately called the White House. It’s big enough for all 7 of us, has been recently updated, and is in our price range. It’s not perfect, of course. I’m not wild about the neighborhood, and there are some big unknowns about utility costs. We haven’t really look at any other houses (because there aren’t many decent 4+ bedroom homes that we can afford).

We hemmed and hawed and talked to our agent, friends and family and eventually decided that the time was right to put an offer on the house. So we did. And when the counter offer came back, it wasn’t what I expected. The thing is, the counter offer was reasonable, or at the least could have been made reasonable with a little more negotiating. But I got spooked. I got overwhelmed. I started thinking of all the things that would have to fall into place, and all of the risks we would have to take. Trying to sell Cemestos Gardens over the holidays. Ack. And so I retreated, and we didn’t accept the counter offer.

Which leads us to now. Waffle is gone. Don’t know if she’ll be back. White House is still on the market. We still like it. My head is still spinning from all the changes I was anticipating that didn’t happen. I’m grumpy and not feeling the Christmas cheer. Which makes me even more grumpy, because damn it, I love me some Christmas cheer.

Grumble.

My baby got bakin’ skillz:

Oh yes, internet, she made that with her own lovely two hands.

Oh, and Netmom had a birthday.