We're all a little sick. Me? I advance plan.

With our house on the market we've been window shopping for our next (and possibly final!) home. When I look at a piece of real estate, I try to picture how a house will work when our kids get older. Soon they'll need their own bathroom - two sinks or one? Wouldn't it be cool if they had their own space in the house to hang out as teenagers? I mean, within earshot of the kitchen, of course, so I can spy, but so they feel like it's private? Will our house be cool enough to be the hang-out spot for their friends anyway? I want to be The Peach Pit of homes so if they try anything funny, later I can have a heart-to-heart with them as I tie them to the furniture and take away their rights. With this in mind, I try to think of features that will lure teenagers to want to spend time in my home. Hm. Should I buy the house that includes a pool table in the basement or is that like using a single stick of gum to lure Lady Gaga to your hometown? I mean, we're talking about the north shore here. This exists.

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For only $32 MIL this sweet shack can be yours!

Just to remind the room, my kids are babies. Bee is thisbig and Stella's in diapers. Yes, I'm an advance planner. I wrote a back-to-school post in June, I have party details underway for a February birthday and I've been saving for retirement since I was 23. I once wrapped all my Christmas presents in August. A friend joked that I should plan my funeral. Hey, that's a great idea! I'll take the Kentucky Rose casket from Costco and a DJ, please. And don't skimp on the booze.

My other friend suggested my insane advance planning is a need for control that stems from my traumatic upbringing. That's a dark way of looking at the same coin, but she's got a point too. I have this need to pin down every detail so I never feel upended. The other day I realized it's already August and I don't have the girls' holiday dresses planned. A little nervous energy went down my spine and then I remembered that yes, yes they do have holiday dresses that I bought end-of-season in January. Close one, mom!

You can imagine I'm a really chill person to hang out with. Sarcasm. I keep a bossy schedule and I plan lots of details. So I'm Type A! Big deal. Everyone has their shit. Look at these guys.

The truth is we're all a little sick. Everyone carries the burdens of their life. I used to feel isolated because of my troubles and I still struggle with feeling guilty for acknowledging the pain in my past. I have it so good, right? There are people who have it worse. There are people who don't have food and this guy has no face. I'm realizing though that just because someone has it worse than you doesn't mean your feelings about your life are not valid. They're just feelings. Just because you take the time to lament something about your life doesn't mean you're ungrateful for what you have.

Just because you suffer doesn't mean you suffer alone, either. "Be kind; Everyone you meet is fighting a hard battle," said Plato, that ole goofball. He had a point! We all have our quirks and our pain. There's not a person reading this who had a perfect childhood, sailed into a delightful marriage, a stellar career and an easy family. If they did, they only exist on Pinterest and in Land's End catalogs. The rest of us were bullied, abused, insecure, too tall, too short, too fat, too scrawny or otherwise flawed and completely normal people. I'm one of them. It means my family has to put up with my bizarre future planning and in turn, I promise to have bean bag chairs and snacks on hand for their future friends  - who are currently also in diapers.

Be kind to yourselves, my friends. You are fighting your own battle too.
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A spa room in you house . . . that will bring all the boys to the yard, right?

Filed under: Memory Lane, Preach, Real Estate

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