The best part of a good story is the unexpected, the anticipation, except when involves your final inspection of your house after 2 years of drama. I kinda wanted the final inspection to go smoothly, without a hitch. Not exactly.
Steve: “Where are the yellow cards?” He (our contractor) was looking for these cards that we haven’t SEEN, EVER. The inspector was set to arrive in 15 minutes and we were supposed to magically make these yellow cards appear.
Me: Over the phone with Steve, “What yellow cards? I have no idea what you’re talking about. I haven’t seen ANY yellow cards.” At work and helpless to look through papers, Steve was going to have to look for it. (Apparently, there are these UBER (not the car-driving service) important cards that need to be initialed and/ or signed at every inspection point. Since Steve and I have not been home at any of the inspection visits, we’ve never seen these yellow cards or know they existed.)
To our horror, relief, shakes-of-the-head, and what the hells??, the yellow cards were found in a dusty box of papers that had other construction-related plans and items in it. Steve thought it might be important, and kept it. (Brilliant man.) F to the Y, we have literally purged like a couple dumpsters worth of junk and gone through over 50 boxes. Fortunately, the yellow cards were in a dirty box that didn’t end up at the dump. This post would be turning out extremely differently, and it gives me a lump in my throat just thinking about the yellow cards getting thrown out. Can you imagine? The infamous yellow cards. The cards that hold a bit of ink in all the right places. The cards that make it so we can move on from this grueling chapter of our lives. The cards that make it so we are legal. We have legalized our bedroom. We are legit because of these yellow cards. (By the way, they’re not cards, when I think cards, I think smaller. For the record, these are 8 1/2 x 11 pieces of cardstock, not cards. But whatever. Semantics. Words do help clarify, and the word ‘cards’ was throwin’ me off.) Here they are:
So when I got home, crashing happened. I was so tired, like all of the emotions flooded me from this extensive valley we’ve been in. That photo, below, is me, sleeping off the final inspection hangover. I’m lovely & sexy, right? Pillow over head, mouth agape, dead-to-the-world with my cat atop to comfort me (or himself). (We call him Flubbs, because he basically conforms to whatever surface he’s on. He flubbs his body down constantly, always right in the middle of a walkway. He decided that I needed to be flubbed during my nap.)
Just after my nap, Jules came over to congratulate us on the final inspection news! How sweet, right? Friends. It’s really been so amazing having the support of our friends and family through this mess. I guess that’s really what life’s about right? Thanks, Jules, for recognizing this milestone. And thanks to all of you who have prayed, listened, and loved us through this. I feel like I can breathe a little more deeply today.
Until next Friday. Love you loves.
Gastric Bypass Update:
Summer— having an off kilter schedule can be harder for me. I hate to say it, but I thrive on routine. I do better when I’m busy, because I’m a boredom eater. I eat to fill space and time. If I’m busy, I don’t think about eating as much, so having too much time off can be bad for me, in the eating department. I’m also a grazer. I don’t like to sit down and eat. I eat on the go while I’m moving. Apparently, this is bad, because it’s not intentional. You’re supposed to sit and think only of what you’re eating and enjoy the textures and tastes of your food. That’s what my nutritionist Lori said.
Yeah, I don’t do that. I’ve tried. I feel kinda creepy. So, I basically still inhale my food, just less of it. Confession. There you go.
And word to the wise. If you are a snacker, don’t buy the Boom Chicka Pop Kettle Corn. It’s so good you will not be able to stop eating it. Only buy it for parties, if you must. It’s just, wrong, in a purple bag. And oh, so right.
Why You Keep Judging Me? 