Our realtor took us around on Saturday in this nice community where we would like to live. Each house she showed us was beautiful and spacious and within our price range. It was like some kind of dream. Then she took us to a house she said "was below our price range and a little smaller than the others but might work." As we pulled into the driveway I commented on the ugly drainage pond surrounded by a concrete wall and chain link fence a few lots down; "Oh good, there's a pool!" I said.
My definition of ugly was about to change forever.
The house was small, but cozy and nice. It had a nice formal dining room and a foyer with a coat closet, just like I want. But when I walked into the kitchen/breakfast/family room area which had nice big windows onto the nice big covered deck in the backyard I saw--you will never guess--PORT-A-POTTIES. HUNDREDS OF BRIGHT GREEN PORT-A-POTTIES all lined up in a field behind the house. And because the house was on a hill, it was ALL you could see out the window. Oh, and did I mention the five or six septic tank trucks parked back there? Yeah. Our realtor struggled to put a chipper spin on that. She said something like "Oh, look, the privacy fence is ten feet instead of six feet!" Unfortunately because of the hill the top of the fence was still two feet too short to block the expansive view of hundreds of plastic poopers from the window.
I can only imagine what it's like when the wind turns. I just threw up in my mouth a little just thinking about it.
In my head I could hear the voice-over from HGTV's Househunters saying "The third house was in good condition and was the least expensive but the deck overlooked a storage facility for portable toilets, you know, the kind they put behind the livestock tents at the county fair."
We went back to the car and where I had been making notes like "Pretty floors" and "Updated kitchen" and "Swings in backyard" at the other houses I wrote "Crappers" and shoved it in the no pile. The heeeellllll no pile.
Guess where we're going today!! That's right, the Clogged Eustacian Tube Kid is back! On the ninth day of Christmas my mama gave to me... nine days of omnicef, eight nasty fevers, seven sleepless nights, six doses of Motrin, FIVE POOPS A DAY!!, four refused meals, three thrown tantrums, two sore ears, and a yeast infection in my diaper.
Silver lining: Next time we go to the pediatrician we won't have to wait in the Sick Waiting Room because we will be waiting in the Charles H. Lastname Sick Waiting Room at the Academomia Clinic for Pediatric Ear Health. Or perhaps the will institute some kind of "Get your card punched! Buy nine ear exams, get the tenth free!" promotion. Or maybe instead of giving Charlie a sticker they will have my coffee waiting there for me when we arrive. And is it too much to ask that they take the playground equipment of death out of the waiting room? Even though he almost falls off it every single time we are there it calls to him like some kind of primary colored plastic siren. Let me tell you something, you who decide which toys go where, sick toddlers do not take kindly to being told "Please don't climb on that" four hundred times. Especially sick toddlers who know EXACTLY where we are, thankyouverymuch. We need a big TV and some Cheerios and a few issues of Cosmo for me. Is that too much to ask?