things we contemplate while in a demerol-induced stupor

2013-02-04 22.59.02 I found my hoard of Sweet Valley High books in the basement. Good judgement whispers to let them go.

(I doubt I’m gonna listen.)

Generally I’m an enthusiastic disposer—just ask Steve. I have been known to remove things directly from his hands and into the donation box or trash in an effort to de-clutter. (He totally loves it when I do that.) I really despise clutter.

But those glossy-covered lovelies I cannot seem to ditch.

I considered naming my twins Jessica and Elizabeth. I was in a Demerol-induced post C-Section stupor, but it seemed like a decent idea. How fun would it be to introduce your twins as Jessica and Elizabeth? Both my girls and the Wakefield twins are identical. Both sets of twins have a handsome older brother. One is bookish and the other can’t resist a rich boy driving a black Porsche.

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Elizabeth and Jessica DeLorenzo! Not really—but how awesome would that be?

Imagine my recent excitement when I discovered Sweet Valley High Confidential: Ten Years Later? It picks up the story of Jessica and Elizabeth Wakefield 10 years after high school. SPOILER ALERT! (Are you really gonna read this book, though?) Steven Wakefield is gay. Lila Fowler is as insipid and spoiled as ever but it’s no longer charming and deliciously catty. Just kind of pathetic. Bruce Patman is in love with Elizabeth. (I can sort of buy that.) They say naughty words (even the big F), have sex (!), drink wine AND caffeinated beverages. It should have been exciting, but it was all sort of a big let-down. None of the innocence or designer jeans. Cell phones and laptops and stuff that wasn’t even invented in the 80s. And yet I could have lived with all of it, but for the most ridiculous thing I have ever heard in my life: Todd and Jessica are a couple. An ENGAGED couple.

Come. On.

What the frickety-frack. There is no way that would have happened in a million years. Elizabeth and Todd are perfect together and Francine Pascal RUINED EVERYTHING! I feel like Kathy Bates in Misery.

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My well-traveled plastic box of pulpy 80s literary treasure surfaced this week because it seems we are contemplating a move (more on this as the situation unfolds) and as a result, I am cleaning up and clearing out and packing things and scrutinizing every corner of my house. All those little projects we have neglected these past years will finally get finished just in time to give the house to someone else. My to-do list just grew a mile and my time is more stretched than usual which really draws out my sunny side. The realtor says we must de-clutter (oooh!) and de-personalize (I took down the kids’ art—the walls look bare and devoid of spirit).

I’m excited for this new phase of our lives, but leaving things behind—a home I love, great neighbors, our sweet backyard and lovely neighborhood, a city I have grown to think of as home—won't be easy. Especially for a chick who kicks and screams as much as she can when confronted with change.

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I doubt I will read any more of the new Sweet Valley books—I’d rather sink back into the gentle 80s version of life in the perfect Southern California setting. Life was simpler—for me and the Wakefield twins. Everyone needs an injection of that every once in a while, no matter where real life takes you.

(The books are coming with me.)