I Got Your Real Housewives of Atlanta Right Here

Not sure why we posed in the wine cellar, maybe because the elevator was locked.

Today our winter tennis team went to play an away match at a Very Fancy Neighborhood. Like, this is the grandest neighborhood I've ever been in around these parts. Now, not grand in the old-money Buckhead way. No, rather, as Samuel Richardson says of Clarissa Harlowe's house, "like Versailles, it was sprung up from a dunghill, within every elderly person's remembrance."

Man, that's a great line.

The neighborhood next to mine, Fancy Land, is very nice. Likewise all the other nice places our normal routines take us to. Lovely big houses, nice amenities, beautiful everything, etc. But those neighborhoods are all filled with people basically like us. They work, in other words. Not Very Fancy Neighborhood! Its houses are not bigger nicer versions of my house. They are bigger nicer versions of a Loire Valley chateau--like Chenonceau with better light, an updated kitchen, and not all the dampness. I don't know who lives there except there are definitely some NFL quarterbacks and reality TV stars. Two of the Real Housewives are in there. (But, BUT, they've moved in there on the success of the show. They didn't start out there. Kim Zolciak lives there, but she started out in a townhouse behind our Great Harvest Bread Co.)

So we went to this country club and played on their indoor courts this morning, which was really nice to be able to do because it was raining. They served a delicious lunch, and all the ladies were very sweet, okay. They beat us. And my teammate texted me, "It's okay, at a club like this, the ladies are always good. They probably have their pros drilling them 24/7." And I started laughing and have never stopped.

Then, as we were leaving, Pretty Neighbor said that her friend--another neighbor of ours--works in the sales office at this club. We walked in to say hi to her, and she offered to show us through this huge vacant house. We were like, don't mind if we do! It was listed at 2.4 million bucks. The agent allowed as how she thought the house was overpriced, and I asked her what she thought was fair. She said 1.8 million, and I said, "Sold!"

Not really. Actually, it was very nice but not 2.4M nice. The layout was odd. And it says something about how quickly we can become critics of anything that we were finding fault with the butler's pantry. Like, a butler's pantry that was intended for an actual butler. Not enough workspace!

Things I liked: The top top end bathroom and kitchen fixtures and finishes; the limestone fireplaces; the designer light fixtures and chandeliers; the views.

It had a lovely walnut paneled room off the entry with a cherry floor. PN goes, "This is similar to your book room." And we LOL'd.

Walking away, I said, "I basically live in a shack." And we LOL'd some more. At least we can LOL.

LOL

Drilling them. I mean those pros are just drilling them night and day.

This house was 9,000 square feet. The agent pronounced it to be "Not really big enough for kids." And later PN and I were like, "Literally, what was she talking about?" But she also said that you can get bigger, prettier houses in that neighborhood for under 2M, so that is good info to have, I guess, for after PN and I get OUR reality show. Except Matt would never let me, so I would have to have some fake TV husband and fake children and this all starts to sound like work.

Just a little bit of my day I wanted to tell you about. Now carry on with what you were doing. xoxo

Remember That Tennis Tournament?

The one that I was on the organizing committee for, where I was like, "How 'bout Tervis Tumblers for the winners," and the other girl was all, "No, let's give the winners crystal tennis balls"? The tournament was held last Monday. It was a storybook-gorgeous October morning. I had on a new tennis skirt. There were no crystal tennis balls.

This is like Where's Waldo--can you see me?

Don't know what happened to that girl's Irish crystal hookup. But it was a lovely event. The idea of my entering a tennis tournament, a tournament where the main criterion for success is skill in playing tennis, is faintly hilarious, but we wound up needing all the committee members to enter the tournament to fill out the numbers for the round robin. And I was so glad I played! I only won one of my four rounds, but they fed me breakfast and lunch. A free lunch, I find, salves the sting of defeat somethin' considerable. Plus I got a gift bag and a t-shirt. HAPPINESS.

And I enjoyed my new skirt and got lots of compliments on it. MAIN THING.

One cool thing was that some of the matches were played on clay courts. I'd never stepped foot on a clay court before, and it's great. It's soft and crunchy, and it made me feel like I could slide into a full split if I needed to. A full split from which I'd never emerge.

You see, our poor podunk neighborhood has only four hard court tennis courts. Fancy Land, our neighboring 'hood, where the tournament was held, has eight hard courts and four clay courts. I must admit, I felt a twinge of tennis envy. More than a twinge. Wah! I want all those courts and I want a real on-staff tennis pro! I need these things to get my game to the next level! NEED.

I'm holding off on telling Matt that I want to move to a neighborhood with bigger and better tennis facilities. I don't think he will understand. But when I do bring it up, I'll be sure to tell you what he says.

Basically, I've caught the fever, and now a lot of my mental energy is spent scheming about how I can play more tennis and when I can play next. Our ALTA ladies doubles season is over. But did I tell you the awesome news? Matt agreed to play on the mixed doubles team with me. It is going to be so excellent! Actually we had practice tonight and it was really fun. Nighttime mixed doubles practice, I'm finding, requires more beer and lipstick than Thursday morning ladies' practice. It's a nice time, and most everyone is great. I will say, some people's husbands are kind of d-bags, you know? Just a few. But maybe that's ungenerous, I have a very, very low d-bag threshold.

I will keep you updated as our Season of Victory unfolds.

xoxo
B

That Troublesome Sleepover

I just had a feeling about that kid from the moment she came in the house last Saturday. Just a little bit bratty. And have you ever observed that when your child is hanging out with a less civilized playmate, her behavior begins to match her friend's? Yeah. At a couple different points in the evening, I pulled Laura aside for little one-on-one reality checks about her 'tude. Nothing major.

At a reasonable hour, the girls said they were going to stay in their room for the night. When Laura has a friend over, they sleep in Hank's room because he has more space, and he bunks with us.  Laura has her twin bed she's always had, but somehow Hank is living large with a queen-sized bed and a sofa in his room. He could host the hospitality suite for a mid-sized trade convention.  So I supposed the girls were tucked away for the night, and I went to bed.

Matt keeps late hours, and as he sat in the office, he heard strange noises overhead.  With the psychic powers that come with parenthood, he thought, "I bet those kids are climbing out the window."  He went upstairs to investigate and THAT'S EXACTLY what they were doing.  They'd pushed the screen out of one of Hank's windows--doing none too delicate a job of it, as one of the little tabs broke off--and were climbing out onto the little sloping roof underneath. 

Now, as harrowing as it sounds, this would actually be the best escape route from the upstairs in the event of a fire.  Our house is on a hill, and Hank's room is on the uphill side.  If I had to get out of the upstairs in an emergency, I'd climb out of his window, shimmy my legs down over the edge and drop down onto the grass. 

So, not a probably fatal thing to be doing, but do we want Laura and her friend to be going out there in the dark? NOPE. Matt scolded them and told them it was dangerous and under no circumstances were they to do it again.  Then, as he told me later, he was going to let it go, because it was definite mischief and bad kid judgment, but you know, once they thought of it, it probably seemed very tempting.  And kids don't have good judgment because of something to do with the amygdala, it's why they need us.  He thought, "I never actually told the kids not to climb out the window before." So he made himself clear and it was done. Anyway.   

Fast forward to the next morning.  Matt was still asleep and I knew nothing of any nocturnal defenestrations.  It was daylight, so the foster children had come over and were jumping on the trampoline with Hank.  I was engaging in some much needed coffee-sipping and Country Living perusal. The little kids came running in,  bubbling over with words.  They acted like they had the scoop of the century.  "Laura's on the roof!"  I was like, "wha?"  They said, "Laura's on the roof by Hank's room!"

I went upstairs promptly and sure enough, the window was open, the screen was out, and Laura looked like the most busted child to ever know she was busted.  Like any good Southern mother, I hollered at them to get their butts inside right that minute. Then I was kind of low-key about it, probably for all the reasons Matt had been.  I told them it was a very bad idea and showed poor judgment.  Then I told them to fix the screen and I left the room.  I couldn't quite figure out why Laura looked like someone standing in a tumbril, being driven to the guillotine.

Still, I decided that she and her playmate had had enough time together, so I did something I've never done.  I texted the other mom and told her that her daughter was ready for a pick-up.  I told her that Laura was in trouble for climbing out the window and that all the fun had to cease.  She replied, "Gotcha."

Then Matt got up and the full scope of her error became clear.  We were both in disbelief that, having been told not to climb out the window, she CLIMBED OUT THE DAMN WINDOW.  We took turns.  I reached back into my parents' parenting playbook and gave her the speech about how in the not-too-distant future, she would want to go places and have freedoms, but to do those things she would have to show she could be trusted with small things.  Etcetera. She was contrite.  She also did some blame shifting onto her friend. We weren't having any of that.

And yet.  And yet, I do think this particular friend might be someone with whom she has a hard time making good decisions.  You know what I mean?  I don't want to be one of those mothers who says, "Oh my angel child could never conceive of such mischief," but the defying Matt and going out the window again?  That's not like her at all.  I think that this friend, because of her home circumstances, gets to be her own boss a lot.  Her mother seems beleaguered.  She is a really nice lady, and when I went to pick Laura up from the one previous playdate they had together, I was surprised to see that their house--in Fancy Land, no less--was almost hoarder-level cluttered.  Just a different kind of clutter from what we have over here at the end of the day.  The one detail that stuck out to me was that she was shelving books between the spindles of her staircase, as it went up from the living room.  Pathways blocked and things used for other than their intended purposes are both clutter warning signs, according to the doctorate in psychology I earned watching that show on A&E.  Anyway, so the mom, bless her, obviously has her hands full. I digress. 

So Matt told Laura she was grounded.  No screen time, no friends, no pleasure, just hair shirts and ashes and homework and swimming.  We've done one week of that and I think he's imagining another week to really get her attention.   

Do you believe what delinquents both of my kids are this week?  And people tell me I should write a book about parenting. Oh ho!

But you know, we have had a lovely week.  She comes home and with no distractions, we talk at length about her day, we spend a long time with her work, we just have more time together.  Yesterday she read to me for a long time as I cooked supper.  She is really the sweetest girl in the world.  I am hoping this experience will teach her to exit the house only by approved methods of egress.

Personal Organizer Secrets Revealed

Yesterday my interest was greatly piqued to find out that one of my acquaintances apparently has a personal organizer. Well, when she came to bring Laura back home, I would not let her go until she told me everything. The real picture is not as flossy as I was envisioning. I was thinking--and her little girl had made it sound like--she had a regular engagement with an organizer, and like you guys were saying, "Don't you need to fly on your own at some point?"

So this girl--who I've never blogged about before, but if I did I would call her Mary Poppins because she is Practically Perfect in Every Way, and I say that in love--told me about this website that has daily deals on different stuff, including lots of services like cleaning, massages, etc, geared towards whatever city you're in. Just glancing over it, it looks like a lot of restaurant discounts, but there are also some interesting housecleaning and spa things too. Anyway, she said that a deal popped up for three hours of organizing for $30, and she booked two sessions. Dang! I wish I'd seen that offer. I would have been like, honey, meet my garage. Usually this service costs $40 an hour, she said. The lady came and organized her junk drawers, her kids' art room, and her master bathroom.

So I asked what to me is the key question: was it worth it, or was it stuff you could have done for yourself? She said that it was a job she definitely could have done herself, and that she was a little disappointed because she thought that the organizer would bring more of a vision and a system that she could implement. I know what she means: I would love to have someone who is, like, a Theoretician of Organization come and help me set up a system for the paperwork, mail, and administrative tasks in this house. I need vision. I need strategy. I need strategery. Sounds like that's what my friend thought she was getting, but the person just neatened up. Still, she felt like a lot of the value was that getting this organizer person made her deal with these issues in her house that she wouldn't have made a priority on her own.

We talked about the fact that so many magazines and websites (not to mention The Container Store) have organizing as their focus, it's really something where the ideas are out there for anyone to grab and make use of, it's just a matter of having the gumption. I'm sure there are people who have some kind of genius for it though. Anymahoodle, if I had the disposable income, I could see having a one-time gig with a person to help, um, straighten me out. Someone who specialized in my special tastes and requirements. Because there are some things you can't ask your cleaning lady to do, right?

I Got To Get Me Some of That

I dropped Laura off at a friend's house in Fancy Land today, and the little girl said her mom couldn't come to the door because she was upstairs with her personal organizer.

And she meant a person, not a Blackberry. The way she said the lady's name, followed by "the person who organizes here," made it sound like a regular thing.

Well. That must be nice for her.

I came home and told Matt this bit of information, and he said, "Is that code, like, 'she's upstairs getting somethin' straightened out,' wink wink?" I said, "Honey, no, it means she has someone to help organize her house, which is way hotter than anything you may be imagining."

When she brings Laura home, I am going to get the deets, you betcha boots.

Four Conversations with My Neighbors

1) I was over in Fancy Land taking Laura to a friend's house, and I stayed to have a drink with the hostess and another mom who was delivering her kid. In the course of the visit, talk turned to housework, specifically laundry, and how I think it needs to be abolished in favor of just going naked all the time, because the laundry is seriously killing me. Our hostess said that her cleaning lady does the family's laundry, and I was like, "Exsqueeze me? How does that work?" "It works great," she said. I bet it does. I don't have my cleaning lady anymore, but even when I did, she didn't do laundry.

Then the other mom piped up and said that she pays her mother to come over and do their laundry. I had an ambivalent response to this. My mom and my mother-in-law do things around my house every time they come to town--I'm certainly not opposed to accepting their help. I love it. But the notion of taking one's mother on as paid household help seemed strange to me. Or it at least took me a moment to process the idea. While I was thinking about this, the other mom went on, "She likes to sit on the couch and fold clothes and watch TV. And since it's kind of mindless work, I just tell her, 'Take all the time you need, Mom. You're not bothering anyone.'"

2) My friend Normal Neighbor will just not pick up her dog's poop. It really bugs me about her. When she's out walking her little dog, and it drops a deuce in someone's yard, she just looks around to see if anyone has noticed. A few days ago, we were both on the way to the bus stop with our dogs, and her dog stopped to make a deposit. I pulled out a plastic bag and pointedly held it out to her. "Here," I said. "Nah, it's okay," she said, "They're not home."

3) Mindy, next door, is having her basement redone. She told me she'd gotten all new paint, floors, and furniture down there, and I told her I'd like to see it when she gets everything set up. She said that she just had to get the bear skin hung on the wall. I was like, "You have a bear skin?" And she said yes, that her late husband had shot it. (Her husband died a few years ago, and she just remarried.) I said, "Wow," because I was thinking that a bear skin didn't really accord with my ideas of Mindy's taste in decorating. That is to say, while a bear skin isn't exactly my thing either, I was actually going to be impressed that Mindy was taking that kind of decorating risk. I've been in her house, and her taste, like that of a lot of my neighbors, runs to extreme matching, a reverence for a quasi-Tuscan look, and safe, idea-free interiors. Think burgundy and hotel art. Then I remembered that she'd said she was having the basement made into a "man space" for her new husband, Ron, and that one of the rooms is Harley-Davidson themed. It made me realize that she didn't see the bear skin rug ironically, or as an aesthetic object, the way I might. She saw it as a trophy, duh. We were coming at this bear skin thing from totally different angles.

When I said, "Wow," Mindy apparently thought I was expressing disapproval, because she hastened to say, "Well, we had history with that bear," which made me laugh. This black bear was stalking all around their cabin in the mountains, and even came into their house one time. They were afraid for their little dog, so her husband shot it. And now, she's using the skin of the bear that her dead husband shot to adorn the walls of her new husband's man cave. Isn't that weird? Or not weird, but striking. As Matt said, "Ron has taken on the Mantle of the Bear."

4) My crazy Frenemy Neighbor told me that as soon as Halloween is over, she's getting her Christmas trees out. She has three or four artificial trees that she puts up. I said, "You're getting an early start!" She said that she has so many ornaments that if she doesn't start in early November, she'll never get them all hung by Christmas. She went on to say that she collects ornaments, and if I'm ever bored, she offered, she'll tell me "the story of every one of them." I blacked out for a minute and then told her that I was going to make it my life's work to never be that bored.

If you like lists, check out the listy thing going on at ABDPBT:

Have a nice day!

In Which My True Nature is Revealed

Our neighborhood is next to a ritzier neighborhood. The place we live is nice, to be sure, but this place is truly Fancy Land. For two years, I've driven by it everyday, without ever going inside. It's gated, for one thing, so I couldn't just cruise through on a whim. Several of Laura's school friends live there, and though she's been to their houses a time or two, events had transpired so that I had never taken her or picked her up. I assumed that Fancy Land was like the other developments with huge houses that are springing up around here--enormous "homes" on tiny lots, mostly devoid of taste, and oozing pretense. Corinthian columns, anyone? Well.

So now just in the last week I've been over there twice. Friday Laura was invited to a swim and slumber party at Fancy Land's neighborhood pool, and the hostess (my double G&T playdate pal) invited me to stay and let Hank swim. Then Tuesday, one of the moms I chatted with at that party asked L to come for a playdate at their house. Both times, after I dropped Laura off, I drove around like a tourist and looked at the place.

So, um, Fancy Land is really really nice. Beautiful, even. For starters, their neighborhood pool is way bigger and better than ours. We have one pool and a little kiddie fountain. They have two pools (one is heated), a baby pool, and a waterslide. Not the vulgar kind of fiberglass waterslide that is up on poles. Please! Fancy Land's waterslide meanders down a hill through natural landscaping. Laura said she ran into some pampas grass. But anyway. Also, our playground is serviceable, but theirs is better. You get the picture.

And the houses in Fancy Land. Well, they ain't tacky, that's for sure. They're big, but not McMansionish. The architectural styles are nicely varied, and they're not totally jammed up against each other. This is due I think to the fact that Fancy Land is an older (like mid-to-late nineties) established neighborhood that predates a lot of the crazy Atlanta boom. The houses range from just barely nicer versions of our house to straight-up baronial splendor. Turns out that even in Fancy Land there is a Super Fancypants Enclave. It's on the golf course.

The other thing that sets FL apart from our humble 'hood is the landscaping. I really noticed it (in part because of the armies of laborers tending to it); every house had a beautiful and immaculately maintained landscape with varied plantings, flowers, the whole deal. I was also struck by how empty the roads were--there were people out walking, people at the pool, and people playing golf, but there weren't any cars on the road, except the landscaper crews. It was just very quiet. I guess the Jehovah's Witnesses can't get through the gates. This seems to me like a true advantage. I know there are some reasons that "gated communities" are thought of with disdain, and supposedly they have some soul-deadening properties, but right now I can't remember what they are. Maybe y'all could remind me.

Mostly what I was feeling as I drove around Fancy Land was pure desire. Like, wow, this would be the life. Twinned with that feeling was the knowledge of the enormous cost of living there--not the price of the houses but everything else, from the utilities, to the maintenance, to just the huge consumption footprint of it all. And how people are doing all that on one income ('cause many of them are) is beyond me. But still. . .

The other night I was describing the place to Matt, and I guess I must have looked a little down-in-the-mouth. He said, "Aww! Are you suffering from the knowledge that there are richer people living very nearby?"

Damn it! I hate it when he nails me like that.