I’m sitting with my feet up in my new living room with boxes scattered around and my darling husband talking to the TV about NFL draft picks. I’m deliriously tired and deliriously happy.  We almost didn’t get to move in because of idiot underwriters’ contract mistakes and slow bank workers, but we’re here.  This week I’ve felt stretched very thin between demands at work and the demands of moving, but we made it.  I keep looking around in disbelief that we are finally here.

We cried when we left the old house for the last time thinking of all the memories in that house.  It’s funny, just a few days later it feels right to be here. Let the new memories begin…

Sometimes it can be a little irritating as a parent to simply be known as “mom” or “dad.”  You do lose a bit of your identity in parenthood.  There is no denying that, especially at daycare or preschool.  My daughter’s classmates know me as “Charlotte’s Mommy.”  It’s cool, though.  I understand.  There are lots of mommies and daddies rushing in and out of that place.

I definitely know the names of Charlotte’s friends’ parents and use them.  When Charlotte is speaking with them, we at least try to use their first names.  “Ms. Jane” or “Mr. Bill” seem to be acceptable for most of them.  Besides, I’ve learned two-year-olds are not great at understanding the concept, let alone pronouncing surnames.

Sometimes I just end up being “Charlotte’s Mom” and I can live with that.  It’s not a huge deal.

Today, some parents made it a huge deal.  The school keeps a basket of crackers at the front desk for the children to snack on and whine about when leaving.  The mother of a child in the class behind Charlotte was holding the basket down for her child and Charlotte walked up.  The father was standing beside them.  She held the basket out to Charlotte.

Me to Charlotte: “Can you say ‘thank you’ to Sally’s Mommy?”

Charlotte said “thank you” and the parents sort of scoffed at me.  Then I couldn’t make up what happened next if I tried.

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The dad started singing the Cheers theme song.  Yes, Cheers, as in Sam, Diane, Norm and Cliff.  Cheers.  He broke out into song with, “Sometimes you want to go where everybody knows your name.”  The way they looked at me I assumed it was because I didn’t use their names.  Why else would this  guy sing this?  Are you kidding me?!  Your kid isn’t even in my kid’s class!  I think it’s pretty impressive that I know your child’s name, let alone yours.  I ushered Charlotte out the door, quickly.

Sir, I suppose you think you’re a clever cool hipster who’s able to recall 1980’s television show references at a moment’s notice.  But, please know EVERYONE knows that song and you’re not that clever.

I can’t decide what I’ll call them the next time I see them.  But, let me be clear when I say if he EVER irreverently references the phenomenal television legacy that is Cheers, I will go off!  Let’s face it.  “Making your way in the world today takes everything you got.”

Last night Charlotte and I came down after her bath and Greyson was watching TV.

Greyson: “Goodfellas is on.”

It’s pretty much understood that when Goodfellas is on, you just watch it.  I mean, that movie is amazing.  You don’t NOT leave Goodfellas on.  Right?  I stood in the living room and stared at the TV.  We got sucked into at least five minutes of Henry’s story as he met Karen.

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Greyson: “This movie is so awesome.”

Me: “I love this movie.”

Charlotte: “I love this movie too!”

::pause::

Whoops.  I scooped up my tot and whisked her away from the mobster excess.  It’s cool, the blow and pistol whipping weren’t in any of the scenes she saw.  All of Joe Pesci’s lines were made safe for TV with “freakin.”  Still, maybe the only time to not watch Goodfellas is when my impressionable toddler is around.  Parents of the year, 2013.

“You know, we always called each other goodfellas. Like you’d say to somebody: You’re gonna like this guy, he’s all right. He’s a goodfella. He’s one of us. You understand?”  -Henry Hill (Ray Liotta), Goodfellas

We’ve been practicing our grunting and bridge guarding.  I think Charlotte would be a pretty cute troll.  You know, like the early nineties collectibles we enjoyed.  Aw!  Here she is…

Now, if Greyson and I were trolls, we’d be gruesome doofuses like a Harry Potter troll.  Ew…

Why are we going to be trolls?  Oh, because since we’ve sold our house we have no where to live.  Surely we’ll doomed to live under a bridge somewhere and be a troll family.

Seriously.  We’ve made offers on three houses.  Two have fallen through and we remain in limbo with the third.  I’m starting to think a mossy bridge over a sparkling stream would be lovely.  But, then I remember we’d probably end up under a highway overpass with some smack addicts and I continue my MLS Google searches.  Well, as long as it’s an overpass near a good elementary school it might work.

We had to celebrate tonight with a little treat.  We had to celebrate because those little thingys in the hospital that they put on Greyson’s chest made him psychic!  Freakin’ psychic, ya’ll!

It’s the weirdest thing.  This morning he says to me, “Amy, today is the day we’re going to get an offer on the house.”  I got to work and joked with a coworker who told me to keep my phone close, just in case.  One hour later Greyson called me to tell me to check my email.  Offer!  We got home after another showing.  Second offer!  Woo hoo!

Now we’re playing that brutally delicate game of counter-offering.  The reality that we will have to eventually find somewhere else to leave is creeping up on me.

But, for now we’re celebrating because Greyson is feeling better and went back to work today. Thank you all so much for your kind words and well wishes!  Things are looking up this week!  I think Charlotte sums up my feelings here…