Selling Stuff

So my in-laws have sold their house. Which is good. And it's also a shame. Because we had a whole bunch of stuffIdidn'teverwanttogothrough sitting over there.

And have I ever mentioned we now live in the smallest house in the world? Shoebox size.

So now all the stuffIdidn'teverwanttogothrough is sitting on our verandah. In our living room. Under our house.

I am waiting for Hoarders to come a-knocking.

While I am waiting for them, I am half going through things, half avoiding going through things.

I feel like I am drowning in my crap.

So I've decided to list things on eBay. Like an old Olivetti typewriter. Someone might want that, right?!

Which brings me to my next quandary. Baby clothes. I've kept them, in the hope we will have another baby. But.. Well.. Who knows if that is going to happen. So now we are living in a swamp of baby clothes.

What to do people?

I want non-hoarders to tell me what to do with all these darn baby clothes - besides cry into their tiny-ness and mourn that my children grew up quicker than I can eat a block of Cadbury Marvellous Creations chocolate (which BTW - I just inhale - and BOOM it is gone).

PS - I know it's upside down. I am too tired. Too Gone with the wind to be bothered to fix it. Just turn your computer screen upside down. Or your head.

Skater's Dream House

Did you ever draw dream houses when you were a kid? I did. I spent hours drawing floor plans, a really big bedroom, an indoor swimming pool - and by indoor, I mean it was in the heart of the home, large wardrobe, big kitchen, probably a spa, all the bells and whistles. I loved drawing those little floor plans in multi-coloured textas. A wannabe architect.

Well imagine my glee this morning when I stumbled upon this ace house - the PAS House. Everything in the house is skate-able. The walls. The furniture. The whole kit and kaboodle. But you can only skate in there if you're a pro-skater. The PAS House is only a full-scale model of one room of the house, but I'm already saving my pennies.

When the Doctor's bigger, I think we'll invest in this home (ahem). I can imagine teenage boys digging on this idea. Heck, I dig on this idea. Uber cool!

Do We Stay. Or Do We Go?

A couple of weeks ago I was standing in our minute living room and could smell the unmistakeable stench of dead possum.

Given I am a country girl, I can identify the stench of dead animals at 10 paces. My parents taught me well. I know dead possum when I sniff it. And dead fox. And dead dog poo.

This was that gassy smelly of a dead possum. A common dead possum. In our ceiling.

So I called our real estate agent to report the dead animal and request some back-up. She called back and told me the landlord would come over the next day.

Great. Dead possum be gone.

So the next day the landlord came over. I expected him to sniff around the house. Smell gassy dead possum and remove dead possum.

Instead he said: "I have a possum cage, shall I set it?"

Well, not unless you're Bill Murray from Ghostbusters, I don't think you're going to trap this dead possum. I can't imagine it's hungry for anything.

And me being the pushover went, "Oh, oh, ok, yep." And let him set the trap and leave.

Now let's time warp ourselves to today. The now. The right now. And right now, we've got disgusting, and I am talking deee-skust-ing big. Fat. Blowflies. Flying in from the airvent thingie. Seriously. One day they were just loitering there, at the air-vent thingie, and flying in and out. Filth.

Now fast forward to right this very second, and I've just checked my emails and surprise! I've received an email from my real estate agent, my very favourite pen-pal!

Did I receive their correspondence back in March? No. No. No I did not. Well surprise! We've reached our 1 year anniversary, and to celebrate they're putting our rent up. Who wants to blow out the candles on that one?

Now I'm not Bill Gates. Or Steve Jobs. Or even Brynne Edelstein. So where am I going to pull this extra cash out of? Tell me that real estate agent? Selling blow-flies on the backstreets? Hocking possum skins to NZ fashion designers?

What to do? Cough up? Or look for an alternative abode?