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So, good news and bad news. 

The good news is that, as of today, the house we wish to purchase is not haunted. So far. Insomuch as we know. 

The bad news? A little hauntin' and the subsequent exorcism may have proved cheaper financially. (Not spiritually. You can't put a price tag on otherworldly security. Besides, I'd be a horrid "post-haunt" interview. Lots of tears.)

Turns out, we need a new roof. Not immediately, but soon. Ish. So we're probably going to replace it before we move in, sparing us that awful "We have a new baby and it's winter, how are we supposed to tear off the roof NOW?" conversation. Also, the boiler is original to the house, as in 1959. (It looks like a time machine, complete with random copper pipes and what looks like a helmet that I most CERTAINLY will not try on.) And, um, appliances. There are none. Wait, that's not true- there is one dishwasher. It's broken and may or may not be causing a tense pipe situation. And there's a broken window. Okay, two. (It is our house of dreams!)

What is DOES have, however, is space. Lots of it. 3500 square feet to be exact, in a superbly non-falling-down brick structure that has all the correct appearances of not leaking. And three full floors, five large bedrooms (with goodly-sized closets) and three full bathrooms. With fans! We've never had a bathroom fan! A big ol' backyard that will make my thumb greener and a garage that will enable P.J.'s power tool collection to grow (and be sorted neatly on pegs.) Two ridiculously mammoth kitchens (one that seems to be begging for a bar) with room for our huge dining room table and all twelve chairs as well as new appliances, counter space galore and enough cabinets to sort all of my glassware, plates and various napkins that we are not supposed to use (Annie totally understands this).

My favorite part of the day came when our inspector did a "simple" drain test. As he was letting the water run, he turned to us and mentioned something he wanted to finish up checking outside. Okie doke! So out we went. About five minutes later I remembered that my awesome bagel was sitting on the counter (P.J. buys me a Dunkin' Donuts bagel with veggie cream cheese every time we make a run to the new house- at this rate I'm gonna be huge! Huger...) and I bounced back inside to get it. As I stepped into the living room and made my way back to the kitchen, however, I heard a sound. "I'll go investigate," I thought, like so many stupid female characters who get knocked off in the first ten minutes of any horror film. It was a bizarre, hollow sound, like crazy kitchen wind or a malevolent (and displaced) spirit or...a ridiculously full double sink mere seconds away from spilling onto the floor I'd already decided to hate. I batted at the faucet, stupidly hoping that would alleviate some of the water. It did not. Running back outside, I screamed for P.J., for our realtor and for the inspector. (Admit it, Peej, for a second there you believed that the house was haunted, too. It's okay.)

The water was shut off, but the sink refused to drain and we still heard that pesky "rushing water" sound. Opening the cabinet below the sink we found a nice trickle of water coming out of the side of a pipe- where the previous owners had conveniently ripped out the connecting dishwasher hook-up...leaving a big ol' hole. 

"Can you put your hand here over the pipe while I run out to the truck?" 

"Sure!"

Sadly, my hand wasn't doing the trick and so I decided to stick my finger into the pipe. (Those of you who know me also know what a huge deal this is. I don't like poking things and I have an X-File-sized phobia of things going down in drains.) Double sad, my finger wasn't the correct width and I had to jam it up to the knuckle in order to get any sort of seal. I also got a blue hand out of the arrangement so it wasn't a total bust. P.J., meanwhile, borrowed our realtor's car to drive to some mythical "hardware store" around the corner for buckets in case the [also mythical] ones in the inspector's truck didn't pan out. And they didn't. (Meanwhile, our realtor kept asking if I wanted to trade off with her, but as she was dressed for an open house starting an hour later and I was already soaked...it just didn't make good sense.) The inspector (it sounds like I'm talking about Peter Sellers here) took care of the situation- there were ziploc baggies and other fun things involved- and we got to move on to the rest of the house. (As for P.J.? There was an Aldi around the corner and about ten minutes later he returned, arms full of flower pots. "It was all they had!!")

The rest of the house was actually in good, nice, structural shape. It didn't register as such at the time since we were so tweaked out, but later on at a fantastic Persian restaurant up the street (Honey cakes! A real food and not just a pet name!), we sleepily discussed the merits of the house. When we got home we turned into stressed-out possums and fell asleep with blankets over our heads.

But we're going for it! A few really promising visits and quotes from contractors made us feel spiffy (since when does a roof quote of 8k when we expected a cost of 10k to 15k make us feel rich?) and we're stoked to get things underway. 

And this past weekend was our one year anniversary. Crazy! We decided to be tourists and stay in Chicago. Ever been to the Swissotel downtown? I highly recommend it. They have water dispensers in the lobby with MELON in them. Wow. And dinner at the Signature Room at the 95th floor of the Hancock (That's right, baby, WALTZ on past the hour and a half elevator line to get up to the lounge.  The name of the game is: Reservation.) We had a window seat and I thanked P.J. for arranging the fireworks at Navy Pier directly below us. (You DID do that, yes?) We also partook in a lengthy and fabulous architecture boat tour, had brunch at Flatwater Grill on the river and hung out at all the Grant Park parky things. Plus, we shopped. Oh, how we shopped.

Sadly, the end of the weekend was marred slightly by the loss of my filling, causing jaw pain unlike anything I've ever felt in the mouthy region. (The next day I went to the dentist: repaired filling, another cavity, removal of a faulty sealant and subsequent awfulness underneath and an exposed root. All on the same tooth! My dentist- "You may feel some nerve soreness tomorrow.") Regardless of my intense fear of dentistry, I was ready for emergency brick n' hammer surgery. The actual process was far more pleasant.

And that's all for now. Actually, it isn't, but this post is becoming ridiculous and my fingers are sore. (Remember, I did some plumbing recently.) But happy 17 weeks to our little kiddo! Keep cooking! Congrats on the recent acquisition of fingernails, ears in the correct part of your head and a little bit of fat around your ever-hardening skeletal system. Take a nap, you've been working hard.

And stop kicking. No one likes that.

Doesn't anybody stay in one place anymore?

No.

This past weekend (starting on Friday, really) I had the distinct privilege of heading to O'Hare at 4am. (Nat? "As you do.") It was the beginning of my Let's See All the Sisters College Tour '09. And in the nick of time, too- they graduate in a couple of weeks!

The flight was lovely, as I had drifted off to sleep right after takeoff...only to be nudged awake by an apologetic flight attendant. Would I care for a drink? (They didn't even have cranberry juice. Just a cran-apple blend with 8% juice. They should really call it "juice.") I was then informed of my in-flight movie selections: Bride Wars and Paul Blart: Mall Cop. Really, American Airlines? And to top it all off, the video wasn't jiving. Come ON. So, I held my "juice" and waited for someone to come get my trash (I kinda feel like Little Lord Fauntleroy- "collect my refuse!") Because, you know, you can't just fall back asleep after the beverage service. Nope. You've got to keep your tray down and hold your 'guilt cup' until it's taken from you. If you put your tray up and nod off, you'll spill a few drops of "juice" on your lap- or worse yet, your neighbor's...and she's already hogging two seats with her NY Times and she's not even pregnant. And forget about leaving your trash on your neighbor's tray so you can fall asleep- that is illegal.

So, once that harrowing leg of the trip was done I ended up at Harvard with Chelly, Kate, Quinn and Cole (my favorite Harvard student, big sister and little dude nephews) for a quick lunch before Rachel's luncheon award ceremony (yes, I pre-ate). Rachel won something cool, like the best actor to act, ever. Or something. (I think at this point, Harvard's just throwing accolades and money at her to thank her for enrolling.) Later I got to see her improv troupe and a couple of fabulous senior recital rehearsals...and then it was time for a ten minute power nap. She may or may not have been talking to me at the time. Then three plates of food at her superior dining hall (hush up, Chel, Quincy House has the best food- complain about it next year over your ramen. Besides, my college's dining hall was 90% vegan.) And then it was time for her mini senior showcase at the Signet, her lovely and exclusive club that has included the likes of Tennyson and Lithgow (John). Her voice was superb, the packed crowd ate it up and I got to party (soberly, seated) with Jen and Kate. Later, I passed out in the front seat of Kate's stylish and roomy new Routan. 

Up early with my nephews (although, admittedly, they let us sleep in), and off to see my sister's new house in Reading, 15 minutes outside of the city (awesome, porches, yards, fabulousness) and drove to Pittsfield to high-five my folks before Kate and I jaunted up to Williams College to see Emma for the five hours allotted to each town. 

It was a gorgeous day, and after a terrific meal of fake sushi (only 'fake' because I wasn't allowed to get a spicy tuna roll) and rad pad thai (a great name for a band) and eight other things, we stopped off to get a sandwich to bring to Em's boyfriend Dan. Eating Across Massachusetts '09. Walked for what seemed like five miles (Kate and Em assured me that this was not so) past tennis courts where wound-up dudes argued with refs about something or other in some important tennis match (I'm a sports fan), past where Kate used to play soccer, down to the baseball field to say hi to Dan for FIVE MINUTES...and then we walked back. It was a gorgeous walk, however, as Williamstown is one of the prettiest places in the spring, ever.

Home Saturday night with my folks, two of my sisters, bro-in-law and the little dudes (another great band name). My mom made about thirty of my favorite comfort foods, most of them Armenian, and I ate myself into a stupor. Sometime in the [early] evening, I was tucked in somewhere warm and allowed to drift off, content with the knowledge that I wouldn't be taking a boat, train, Routan, plane or cab for at least fifteen hours.

And then it was Mother's Day! I made my mom a decently sweet set of notecards with a dragonfly print and a fancy letter 'D' (for her name- I'm not COMPLETELY random) and my bro-in-law gave me a gorgeous pink Gerbera daisy for my very first Mother's Day. Does it count? I think it should count for at least a half. Walked with my mom and Kate (what is it with you people and walks?!) and watched a Nancy Drew mystery from 1939 with my mom- now that's cinema. Before too long, however, it was time to go back to the airport for an uneventful flight back to Chi. My awesomely faboo husband had cleaned the house, gotten me a sweet card that made me cry (it was the hormones) and had lobster tails chilling for the following night (when we could have din prior to 10pm.) I could possibly dig on this mother thing.

In other news, I am ballooning ("No you're not"/"Thanks, Mom.") and we may or may not have just bought a house! (We did.) Okay, well, they accepted our offer- but, as we all have learned, that means NOTHIN'. Inspection this Sunday, so more deets then. But it's superbly promising, as it has bedrooms, a roof, a floor and [hopefully] plumbing. 

Livin' the dream.