All the Better to Move You With, My Dear

I enjoy a challenge. I like to rise to the occasion. I love the feeling if accomplishing something that seemed difficult at first glance. Today is apparently my LUCKY DAY.

It’s moving day! The elusive, hard-to-pin down, eagerly-awaited day when my life begins to return to normal (or the Taylor version of normal). We have the official green light to return to our house. We are no longer exiled. The floors are done, the cabinets, island, and stairs are unwrapped, and the house looks like a house again instead of the scene in E.T. where everything is wrapped in plastic. Tomorrow begins the next wave of painters, cleaners, baseboard-installers, and lions and tigers and bears, oh my! It’s all OK, though, since I will be in my own home, in my own bed, back to my own life.

Goodbye, Homewood Suites! Goodbye, waffle bar! Goodbye, free Neutrogena! Goodbye, coin-operated laundry! Goodbye, Scary Hairy Sunbathing Man Who is Very Proud of Himself! Hello, ankle brace? ANKLE BRACE?

Oh, yes. I decided to make today a little more painful and challenging. Just in case moving all of our stuff back to the house before check-out was not challenging enough, I will increase the difficulty level. Are you ready to rumble? Today is Davis’s day off from daycare. (Davis, you remember Davis?) And now I have a sprained ankle (a legitimate sports injury, I am so proud), so I will be performing all of these tasks ONE-LEGGED and HOPPING ON MY GOOD FOOT. Yes, folks, tickets are $15 in advance and $20 at the door. See me carry suitcases and bags on one foot! See me play defense one-legged while I keep Davis from sprinting onto Parkside Drive! Watch me drive back and forth down Pellissippi with my left foot! This is some good comedy. Lucky for me, it’s just part of my life. Gotta go, the check-out clock is ticking…

P.S. All of this has been very hard on Buzz.

If I Raced NASCAR

I have an old friend who embodies the stereotypical southern lady. She is always dressed appropriately, carries the proper handbag, and her house looks like a Southern Living magazine. I was very surprised when I found out that she attended the NASCAR race at Talladega today. This would be somewhat similar to me attending a spider enthusiast convention, complete with tarantula pettings. I think it was good for her to see how the, ahem, other half lives. She won’t come out and admit it, but I think she had a good time. I myself am not above watching a car race every now and again, and I had one great experience in the infield at Bristol. Jeff Gordon is VERY nice looking in person and also has gracious manners.

I have always thought I would be a great race car driver: I have some people skills and enough speeding tickets to qualify me for the Tennessee Highway Patrol’s “Top 40 under 40” Hall of Fame. NASCAR has gotten a little vanilla, to put it mildly. They need some spice, Posh-style. I can see it now:

ESPN reporter: We’re here with Vaiden Taylor, driver of the 34D car. What happened out there, Vaiden?

VT: This Victoria’s Secret-Tampax- Enfamil car was running faster than a group of women heading to Macy’s for a 50% off sale! Then Carl Edwards got into me. Perhaps if he became more familiar with Midol’s new line of extra-strength products we wouldn’t keep having these problems with him.

ESPN: He tried to have your qualifying laps thrown out earlier this week, causing some controversy. Can you comment on that situation?

VT: Carl needs to man up. I would like to see him retro-fit his ride with two carseats and qualify listening to The Wiggles while handing out chicken nuggets. THAT takes some talent. He can take that tired old back-flip down the road.

ESPN: We are now hearing reports from the Tony Stewart garage that you flashed him in Turn 2.

VT: Stewart has two Cup Championships. I have boobs. Look, we all use what we have. It’s not my fault he was laughing so hard he spun out.

ESPN: The National Guard is here to escort you to the officials’ trailer.

VT: Carl Edwards is such a girl.

Home Suites Home

My home is located in a lovely neighborhood in West Knoxville. I am not located in that lovely neighborhood. I am living in Turkey Creek, Knoxville’s equivalent of the Las Vegas strip. While most of the repairs to the house have been completed, the granddaddy of them all – the floors – still have to be refinished. This is a lengthy process. This is a dusty process. This is a process that requires me to live in a hotel for the next little while. I am not thrilled about this plan. I am, however, trying to look for the bright side, the silver lining, the upshot. To help me with this process, I have decided to make a “pro” and “con” list. I share this with you tonight:

Pro: There is a waffle maker on the breakfast bar every morning.
Con: Waffles every morning makes one fat.

Pro: There are men in tiny swimsuits sunbathing at the pool all day.
Con: One of them is likely the Missing Link.

Pro: I wanted us to have more family togetherness.
Con: Not this much togetherness.

Pro: I can see Target from my house!
Con: I can also see (and hear) I-40.

Pro: If we were in New York, this would be a very large apartment.
Con: We are not in New York.

Pro: My suite is professionally decorated.
Con: By blind six year olds freeze-dried in 1992 with an unholy love of hunter green.

Pro: A nice lady makes up my bed every day.
Pro: She must have a nice husband, too. She has on diamond earrings just like mine!

OK, in all seriousness, unlimited supplies of Neutrogena products and fresh clean towels every morning aren’t bad. I also have to remind myself that the floors at the house are going to look great, and since the pantry is cleaned out anyway, it’s going to get a nice paint job and better shelves. I just may thank Davis for the destruction after all. In about twenty years.

Blog the First, or How a Midnight Trip to the Potty becomes a $15,000 bill to Mommy and Daddy’s Homeowners’ Insurance.

It normally doesn’t rain in my living room. We hadn’t really ever considered the possibility of adding an indoor swimming pool to the second floor of our home. Enter, stage left, my three-year old son Davis. Davis changed all of that.

Davis is a really cute kid. He’s smart and funny and charming. He takes adorable pictures when he swipes my camera. He has a Rain-Man-esque knowledge of Disney movies. And that kid is driving me over the edge as fast as he can.

This month has been especially trying. My ceiling is being retaped and repainted, my living room furniture is being dried and salvaged, my refrigerator is relocated to my garage, a fine coat of drywall dust covers everything in my home, and all my worldly possessions are in a storage unit in the next county while my floors are being repaired. Not because we had a tornado. Not because we had a tragic accident or a fire or a plague of locusts. We had … Davis. The story? Please to enjoy…

We have mercifully finished potty training. My children do not potty train early or well, so since Davis is not yet a sophomore in high school, I was patting myself on the back for a job well done. Three weeks ago, he got up in the middle of the night to go potty (YEA!). We heard him put the seat down (What lovely manners…his future wife will thank me), we heard him turn on the water (Hygiene! Yippee!) and then we heard his bedroom door close. Because self-congratulation is rarely enough for me, I told my husband, “Did you hear that? He got up, put the lid down, AND washed his hands.” Scott mumbled something that I took for “you must be the best mother of all time” but was probably “shut up and go back to sleep”. Whichever. What I had apparently not covered in my hand-washing lessons was never to put the stopper up and leave the water running. You can’t cover everything, right?

Later that night, Scott heard water. I kept telling him that he was imagining things and that there was no water dripping. He said he heard it again. I questioned his sanity, told him he was a worry-wart, and told him he really needed to lay off the caffeine at bedtime. The next morning we awoke to squishy carpets upstairs, water-logged furniture downstairs, and a ceiling that was conveniently watering my plants in the living room. Once the insurance adjuster, the electrician, and the flooring specialist had all surveyed the damage, come up with a plan for repairs, and gone, Scott turned to me. “See, I TOLD you I heard water!”

More to come!

Sanity

This blog is being created by Vaiden as an attempt to chronicle the random acts of "kindness" that her well intentioned little three year old son Davis bestows upon her in her everyday "normal" life. It is an attempt at finding the humor in these situations that would otherwise drive Vaiden certifiably insane. Enjoy the humorous musings of a wonderful southern lady about her everyday life with her adorable three year old son, Davis, sweet beautiful daughter, Katie, and loving and supportive husband, Scott.

***Posted by a friend***