showing the house

Getting a new house is exciting. Selling your old one, not so much. In the middle of Bumby’s nightmarish illness, we had to show the house.  Which means it had to be spotlessly clean, and we had to regularly leave it empty for one-hour intervals.  Empty of humans and dogs, that is.

The house went on the market on Wednesday, and we had a broker open house and a showing on Thursday. It was easy to be out of the house for these, because we were at the ER all day.  Friday it was just me and the Bumby. We had showings at 9:30, 1:30 and 4.

For the 9:30 showing, I packed up Bumby and the dog, and we went to a local coffee house for some breakfast. The dog stayed in the car while Bumby ate 1/4 of my bagel and 3/4 of his napkin, all the while rejecting his oatmeal and bananas. We went home, he took a great nap, and we had some lunch.  It was 12:45.  The day was going swimmingly. I decided that for the second showing, I would take dog and baby for a nice long walk.

At 1, I decided it was time to start packing us up to go, since it can sometimes take a while and there was a little mess in the basement where we had been playing.

At 1:02, Bumby explosively pooped.  I scooped him up, went up to his room, and laid him gently on his changing table. He started thrashing around like a fish out of water, screaming MAMA NO NO NO.  I guess he did not want to be changed just then. In theory I would respect his agency over his body and wait a little before trying again, but, you know. Real estate, etc. I took off the poopy diaper and he smeared his poopy butt on the wall. Of the house we are trying to sell.  I wipe him clean-ish and put him down, praying he does not pee on the carpet while I clean the shit off the wall.  He does not. I pick him back up and put a diaper on while he is standing (I don’t know why he likes this better) then put on pants, socks, shoes, and a jacket.  Off we go!

Not so fast. While I have been doing this, the dog has decided to shred a piece of plastic toast from the kitchen set all over the basement floor.  I put the leash on the dog and set dog and baby near the garage door. Normally holding the leash and “walking the dog” will occupy Bumby for at least 20 minutes. I run down the three steps into the basement and start picking up the toast pieces from under the coffee table.  I hear “Mama!” and look up to see Bumby heading for me, sans dog.  I race over to him as he heads for the three steps, and catch him BY THE FACE as he falls forward down them.  I shove the toast pieces into my pocket and shove Bumby in the stroller. He is screaming, and the dog is now barking to show how upset she is that I am bothering her puppy.  I race up the stairs and grab a dog-poop bag, and off we go.  It is 1:28.

I am covered in sweat, Bumby is screaming, and the dog is pooping on the neighbor’s yard when the people pull up to look at our house. I pretend I do not see them or live there, and proceed to walk my little trio down the block.

We walk, and walk, and walk. I am exhausted and want to stop, so when I decide it has been a respectable amount of time, I start to head back to our house. The dog has actually pooped SEVEN TIMES on this walk, and I have only one bag so I have to keep opening it up and putting more poop in it and then tying it shut again. I am so tired of poop by the end of this walk.  The dog gets super excited by the thought of going home, and starts to pull on the leash and kill it like it’s a snake. She is extremely fierce.  So fierce, in fact, that she snaps the retractable leash. There is about a 12-inch piece of leash dangling from her collar, and I am holding the useless handle in my hand.  She decides it’s time to go home and starts racing for our house. Bumby starts crying again, because Where is the dog going?

I get her back with a fistful of treats and grab the leash end. I have to walk bent over and steer the stroller with one hand.  The people are still in our house.  I am standing across from it with a dog on a one-foot leash and a crying baby.  It starts to snow.  I give up and put the dog into the car, then Bumby into his carseat. We are going to get gas, I decide.  This is a great use of time. Multi-tasking!  I pray that I can get them both inside before the buyers come out and see the disheveled lady with the loud creatures and decide it’s too rough of a neighborhood.

We get gas.  They are still in our house. We drive by the new house to say hi. They are still in our house. I circle the block a few times. They are still in our house.  They stayed for an hour and fifteen minutes. Our house is not that big, y’all. What were they doing in there for an hour and fifteen minutes?  They finally leave, and I look back to discover that in the last 90 seconds of driving around my neighborhood, Bumby has fallen asleep.  I put the dog in the house, and go take a nap in the car with him.

For the 4:00 showing, I turned up at my friend’s house unannounced with a dog and a baby and said, “Hi. We’re only going to stay an hour or so. Do you have anything to drink?”


3 thoughts on “showing the house

  1. When we were selling our house last round, getting the dogs out was a nightmare. I cannot imagine adding a baby to that. I hope it sells quick!

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