Lights are all blazing, saying "Welcome to this cozy home!"
Febreze has been sprayed, saying "Fresh! Yummy! The owner didn't have time this morning to bake cookies to set out for you!"
Bach is quietly serenading the home that has fresh flowers in each room.
Garbages are empty, closets are tidy, flat surfaces are scrubbed and bare.
There's a homemade pennant that reads "Repair in progress" artfully tucked into the hole in the floor in the dining room, which could not be repaired to our satisfaction in time.
Things that couldn't be suitably put away are hidden deeply enough that even opening a cupboard won't reveal them, and there's a laundry basket in the back of my car filled with the rest.
Backing up... there are two showings today. The first is for potential buyers, checking out condos for their kids to live in while attending MSU (our place may be too nice for such use, to be honest). The second is our realtor giving other realtors a tour so that they keep our place in mind for their own clients. And even though I have left the condo in showable condition any time I've actually left, there's a difference between the "maybe" and the "you'll need to be sure to be gone." So I cleaned HARD. Laundry, sweeping, vacuuming, dusting, windows & mirrors, counters/sinks/toilets/showers, garbage, filled the bird feeder and weeded the "yard," mulched the pots and attacked Blake's closet.
I went to TOWN. I even cleaned the window wells. I was on fire! Blake helped by blowing bubbles outside rather than inside!
And then I woke up this morning and my back was on fire. I'm not sure what part of all that frenzy did it, but I stood up, then laid back down and thrashed around whimpering for a few moments. I apologized to Rob for suddenly being old and broken. He asked about a return policy.
"No returns!" I cried triumphantly, thrusting my pointed finger into the air. "God said so."
I stood again and carefully adjusted my posture so that my lower back didn't hurt as badly, looked in the mirror at my new crouch, and said, "This is not great news." From nubile lass to crotchety bag in less than twenty-four hours.
I think this is the sign I needed. Time to get a cleaning lady!
Over the Memorial Day holiday, I weeded, planted and did general yard clean-up for about 11 hours. At my age, I'm good for up to 5 hours a day IF I begin early in the morning and have taken one Aleve and an allergy pill.
So glad you're at the "showing" state and will be praying for just the right buyer.
I'm going to look into some child labor laws for you. :)
1. Blake is working too hard; blowing bubbles outside? Geeze, slave driver!
2. Blake could have been working those many hours with you, and his nimble fingers could reach in the crown molding. Maybe he could sew in a factory-like setting.
Only the law will tell me which is appropriate! (I bet the 2nd)
Well, how did the showings go? And your back? Are you recovering or will this be a perpetual state until you sell?
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