An Open House… Sorta.

So the real estate agent we’re working with emailed me last week to let me know that there will be a “Realtor’s Open House” on Tuesday (that’d be tomorrow).

I’m sitting in the living room, on the couch, watching The Zen Master slowly turn around in a circle in the dining room with a scowly, quizzical look on his face.

“Why are you scowling?”

“I need the dustpan.”

“Didn’t you just have it?”

“I’m trying to figure out where I put it.”

Which is a good summary of what today was like.

Our real estate agent is one of the soccer moms I see on a regular basis but hardly ever talk to. Having worked with her for the past few months, I’m kind of wishing I had socialized a bit more in the past eight years or so our daughters have been on and off on the same team (her daughter is a grade behind Princess Punk). She’s awesome. Loud and kinda pushy (which is kinda great for a real estate agent) and kind and friendly at the same time (also good). The kinda woman I’d like to hang out and have a margarita with. Which has been promised as soon as all this buying and selling hubbub is resolved. I think I’ll call her Broker Mom.

Anyway, Broker Mom has gotten our house on the list for a whole slew of realtors to stop and view on a whirlwind bus tour of houses recently put on the market. The idea is for them to check out the house to see if it is worth their time to bring their clients.

We’re praying this generates at least a little bit of traffic.

We spent the majority of my day off cleaning, neatening, beautifying and cleaning some more. The house looks just about as good as it is possible to look.

This is the second “deep clean” we’ve done in the past 6 weeks. The first was in preparation for pictures for the listing. We’ve been trying to keep everything neat and presentable since then, but this weekend, it was time to break out the big guns.

It is amazing to me the amount of dirt, grime and stickyness that accumulates in my house. I frequently found myself washing places that really shouldn’t need a thorough application of 409 followed by several minutes of vigorous scrubbing.

I really don’t know what keeps splattering the walls, but there are were various little dots of splattered something or other, plastered on my walls in a wide variety of places. They were all generally the same…  translucent, sticky, brownish orange stuff. And I can’t help but picture some sort of Grime Gremlin, dancing through my home at 3am, flinging goo at my walls. Gross.

Anyway… The house looks spiffy and I hurt… Everywhere. But at least I feel accomplished, and I’m praying that this was all worth it and Broker Mom can convince her colleagues they must compel their clients to buy our house.

Now, to lock down The Peach so she doesn’t completely undo the cleaning that took us the better part of a three-day weekend, in about 5 minutes of whirling dervish, toddler typhoon.


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