Rethinking the Welcome Mat

Dear Mr. Kirby Man,
Ohhh…you are so sly!
Offering a FREE CARPET SHAMPOO TODAY ONLY. Informing me that it was part of a free advertising plan for your company that was looking to open its doors in my little town. Offering to clean my children's car seats at NO CHARGE OR OBLIGATION. And somehow forgetting to inform me that you were actually a Kirby Vacuum salesman there to steal three hours of my time and $2,000 of my money!
I'm not sure why you thought that I would succumb to your manipulative tactics.
Maybe it was because um…my sweet neighbor…umm….Judy (as you scan your chicken scratched list of neighborhood names) just bought three of whatever you were selling and was just certain that I would love the product.
{Although, I must promise that if I get the product at a cheaper price than you gave ummm….Jjj…umm …my neighbor, Jackie! Yeah Jackie! I must promise not to discuss it with her. Seeing how she just happily purchased the product for twice that price!}
Or maybe, on your way up to my door, you past by the two college students that were trying to round up enough funds to go to Mexico to teach the children English. I'm sure they told you that I was a BIG FAT SUCKER! that couldn't say no. They probably disclosed the fact that if you found a common acquaintance (say a roommate) that I would even give you twice as much money as originally planned.
Or possibly you knew that cleaning the kids car seats was on the top of my "to do" list for the day.
Whatever the reason, the way you entered my house with the freshly polished apparatus and the way that you pompously collected dirt samples from my freshly vacuumed floor irritated me.
I'm not gonna lie; somewhere around the 18^th dirt sample I became weak. I awed over the suction power of your coveted Kirby. I momentarily pictured myself pushing around a Kirby vacuum in high heels and freshly applied red lipstick. But then I promptly remembered that red isn't my color, high heels make me nervous and paying $2000 for a VACUUM is ABSOLUTELY RIDICULOUS!!
Oh, but Mr. Kirby Man, you should be proud. You and all of your cunning sales strategies was the last straw. And tomorrow I will be hanging a little sign that

says this:

right here:

Cordially,
Kimberlee
P.S. If, at your next sales meeting, you sit next to:

• the gentleman that stopped by my house two weeks ago trying to sale a miracle cleaning product that would make my marble floor, bathroom mirrors, granite counter tops and kitchen utensils shine, or…
• the duo of well dressed twenty something that stopped by last week to make sure my family had enough OVERPRICED food storage in case of FINANCIAL emergency, or…
• yesterday's book saleslady from Europe who barely spoke English but still wanted to "discuss" my children's reading habits, or…
• the home security guys that showed up during the middle of dinner and when informed of their poor timing still continued to give me a 45 minute sales pitch, or…
• any of the other SEVENTEEN door-to-door salesmen that have stopped by our house this summer,

PLEASE do me a favor and inform them that our front door is now home of a cute little "NO SOLICITING" sign! Many thanks.
Dear Miniature Door-to-door Salesmen,
If you are too short to reach my doorbell/ride your bike to my house/come to my front door while your mom waits for you in the minivan/or don't know what soliciting means you are always welcome to knock on my door. I would love to buy girl scout cookies/a raffle ticket to help your soccer team/frozen cookie dough/a candle/a calendar or whatever else you're selling. I wouldn't even mind sponsoring you for the upcoming school walk-a-thon/dance competition/football or baseball tournament! Just promise that when you grow-up you won't be a Kirby/Home Security System/Cleaning product/Cutco Knifes/Encyclopedia/Vitamin Door-to-door Salesman.
m'Kay!
Kimberlee

The Pity Party Saga (continued…)

Do you remember this post? The one where I whined and complained about…um, everything. The one where I implied that our world was imploding right before our very eyes. The one where I felt sorry for myself and unpleasantly begged for ya'll to feed me handfuls of WORMS! {Big fat juicy ones. Eensie weensy squeensy one.} The one where my clever sista' joked:

"Aren't you so excited to do dishes by hand in cold water watching a black screen on your man TV, soothing Jace with a little whiskey cause you're out of the "good stuff" using masking tape to clean your floors and hide out while your bangs grow in your glowing orange house!!!"

Well,
I. WANT. THOSE. DAYS. BACK!!
Because since then… Our car suffered a Star Spangled death on the Fourth of July. In return… Spence’s truck felt ignored and started dripping massive amounts of radiator fluid. And… Brynlee accidentally left a stack of library books in the clubhouse on her Swingset. We watered the lawn and therefore, the books. Then… We were informed that Spence’s company was requiring all employees to take two more weeks FORCED TIME-OFF WITHOUT PAY!
And... Remember how I gave a "thumbs up" to Behr paint for offering us free paint to repaint the gallons and gallons of Orange paint we had liberally applied to our house. Yeah... So far we've received a combined total of ZERO dollars and ZERO cents! Oh, but it gets better… We found a dripping pipe in our crawl space. Turns out… The broken pipe was located SOMEWHERE in the wall BEHIND the kitchen cabinets. Guess what… To access the pipe the cabinets had to be removed. And there’s more… There was mold. So… We are sitting in a hotel room while a restoration company…well, restores! But as a plus… I’ve stopped drinking Diet Coke! But as a negative… I’ve taken a liken to Vodka. Oh, I kid... I can’t give up Diet Coke. So, I mix Vodka & Diet Coke. They say that bad things come in groups of three. What a crock of I disagree!

Dear Spence,

picture by SFoto

To me you mean a medium rare steak topped aplenty with A1 and accompanied by nothing.
You mean watching fireworks on top of the Perkins roof.
You mean our first camping trip up Scout Mountain. In which we didn’t bring a tent and instead slept in the bed of the “Tool” pick-up truck.
You mean the perfect surprise proposal with fabric that you picked up from the fabric store, roses galore and dozens of rings and ring boxes to choose from.
You mean patience and forgiveness, even when I don’t return it. Or deserve it!
You mean love notes, treasure hunts, gift boxes, flowers, love songs and lingerie.
You mean giant bags of peanut M&M’s for you and a box of hot tamales for me.
You mean all night talks, card games on cookie sheets and midnight “Wal-Mart” dates.
You mean laughing until I lose control; Rollerblades with a white ninja outfit and a perfectly worn blackbelt and red washcloth.
You mean a handcrafted summer luau in February and a washer and dryer “promise ring”.
You mean freshly mowed lawn & the sound of a power tool.
You mean excited, laughing children.

.

To me you mean

:bliss: :laughter: :joy:

:friendship: :eternity: :happiness:

:LOVE:

.

Happy 6th Anniversary babe!

I love you.

The house is done! {woot, woot}

At {first} we had this...

and {then}, for a brief bit, we had this...

and {now} we have this...