Yard saler turns proprieteress

Readers, Nancy's post below is chock full of magnificent brilliance. You will be doing yourself a disservice if you don't read it.
Ok so my yard sale was this weekend, and as Nancy said, we have been a skotche busy. And tired. Here is Samantha (sorry, Sam, your eyes are closed) on Saturday. It was a fairly hot day, but mercifully not raining, as it had been the night before and early that morning.



Samantha and Sara also sold items on Saturday. Here is Sara's adorable son Dominic. I was being a very naughty girl by convincing Dominic he needed to take home many of my boys' toys that were for sale. Do you see the beautiful trees in our neighborhood?

Here was a delightful shopper who was wearing an Auburn hat (the Auburn part wasn't delightful). (I went to Florida). But he and his wife were jovial and fun.

A shopper drove up in this adorable vintage Dolly Madison truck. The shopper rescued it in a salvage yard and painted it. I would have traded all my merchandise and earnings, right then, for this truck. Wouldn't my kids and I look so vintage-y and authentically cute in it?

Here is Hudson, Sara, and Dominic. Notice how Sara unselfishly gave the boys the good chairs adn she got stuck with the car seat, although she repeatedly reassured Samantha and myself that she was quite comfy.

Readers, I have nothing else. I am tired. So very, very tired. My mom is here in town and has already made it clear she expects us to go yardsaling next weekend. Bring it! As long as I am not hosting, I am a-go!

Housewifery: A Defense of 21st Century Housewives

Oh, Readers. I'm sorry for the painful break in YSA postage! Our kids started school last week and we have been consumed with parent duties. And as Laura continues to be a student herself, she is doubly busy. She goes to class all day. In contrast, I sit around on my ass all day while my kids are in school. Ha. Not really. That was just my segue into the next paragraph.

Last week my husband's friend said to him, "What does Nancy do all day? You should really get her back into the workforce."

This friend, whom we will call by a pseudonym to protect him from the wrath of housewives everywhere, holds the same rank and pay grade as my husband. He is childfree and recently married a lovely childfree woman who also has a professional career and corresponding paycheck. We will give her a pseudonym as well. Let's call them Juan and Leeza McMajewski.

Juan wonders what I do all day. Of course, if Juan knew me when all five of my children were under eight he would not have asked this question. The answer would have been too obvious: housewives with five-under-eight wipe a lot of asses and read a lot of board books.

But now I am a housewife with five-between-seven-and-fourteen. They go to school all day. They all wipe their own asses and can read their own books.

So what do I do all day?

Oh, Juan, I'm afraid you will be sorry you asked.

I facilitate good hygiene.

I drive or escort people to school.

I encourage good manners.

I exercise, because it is good housewife strategy to remain attractive to the breadwinner.

I transport people to places where they have extra-curricular commitments.

I launder huge amounts of clothing.

I put some of this clean laundry away.

I wash the rims of toilets coated with errant urine.

I purchase enormous quantities of food.

I prepare, cook, and serve that food.

I scrub toothpaste residue from sinks.

I load and unload the dishwasher more times in one day than you do in a week.

I collect Nerf bullets from around the house and yard.

I put carefully selected and literarily significant books back on shelves.

I vacuum dirt from carpets.

I Windex fingerprints off windows and woodwork.

I scrub gum off floors.

I pick up dog shit.

I assist with homework.

I call doctors and orthodontists.

I transport people to appointments with doctors and orthodontists.

I email teachers about curriculum and performance.

I solicit businesses for donations to the school fundraiser.

I ease teachers' burdens by Xeroxing, collating, stapling, and filing.

I purchase unfathomable amounts of toilet paper.

I retrieve people from school.

I participate in "quality time" with children so they know they are valued and loved.

Juan, if I was "back into the workforce" I would not have the time to do all these things between 8 and 4. Someone would still have to do all these things. Either I would do them at other times or my husband would have to do them during his off-hours.

What I do is ease the burden on the rest of the family so they can enjoy their after-work-after-school time interacting with each other in pleasurable ways.

The End.

rummage sale madness (by Laura)

Readers, this is what Nancy's van o' dreams looks like as we near the end of a yard saling morning. Nancy refers to this spot in her van as the foyer. It certainly can hold many treasures.


This was a very well organized display of holiday items. I hope these nice proprieteresses had a van-load of decorating enthusiasts drive up after we left and buy everything.

Here are Nancy and Betty feverishly poring over bins full of paper products and scrapbooking supplies. They were very excited.

If you are holding your hammer together via tape, it is time to throw it out, not donate it to your church's rummage sale.

Here is Betty, happily posing for me as I show her my neat new camera phone.

Just so you know, Readers, I have not eaten one single bite of the aforementioned donuts. Here they are, as of 10 minutes ago. I was really hungry. Yard saling does that to you.

Here is Nancy displaying one of her hats she purchased today. I think she should wear it to the kids' first day of school this week, as a sort of celebration. What do you think?

Here are lovingly homemade tissue box holders. I wonder if I will ever get to a point in my life when I have time, let alone the desire to crochet a cover for an item that is inanimate (i.e., it doesn't get cold). I hope not.

Here is the largest collection of used Ace bandages I have ever seen. Was this from a large family of mostly boys who were always roughhousing and hurting themselves? Brittle-boned elderly nuns who sprained lots of ankles? An emergency department employee who is a member of St. Henry's who was desperate to donate something? Who needs this many Ace bandages? Readers, there is a story here.

I was intrigued by this item at St. Henry's. There were many balsalm-wood pieces in the box below. An aspiring architect's model set? Something that was used in architecture school in the 80s? A modern-style dollhouse? Samantha, help us out here.

As Nancy mentioned below, I will be putting on the proprieteress' hat this coming Saturday. I am woefully unprepared, and hope to get everything in gear soon. Check back in next week to read all about what is sure to be an adventure!

National Yardsale Day!

We started the day with a highly anticipated estate sale. Usually, an estate sale is the liquidation of a deceased person's collected property, minus the good stuff that his kids have skimmed off the top. But today's estate sale was the liquidation of a young family's stuff. They are moving and down-sizing. At first I felt sad and ashamed -- sad to witness the family's loss of such beautiful things and ashamed to be a vulturous beneficiary of this family's hardship.

But then I decided to look at it a different way...

This family has not waited until the end of their lives to realize that their material objects are just the trappings of this world. This family is refocusing their energy now on the things that matter: family, health, and happiness. The rooms full of silver and china mean nothing. The furniture and books are absolutely replaceable. They are moving forward into the future unencumbered by these tangibles, free to appreciate and enjoy each other without the usual material clutter of middle class life.

Having said that, I bought some great shit!

I got a couple of metal hanging planters, some cute wall art, some smelly soap, some costume jewelry... Betty bought a wonderful dresser which will live in my house until she retires this November and moves down here to establish herself as a full-time member of the YSA club.

Here we are with the numbers that would determine the order of our entrance into the sale.

Here is a savvy shopper who came early, got a low number, then skibbled over to QT for some coffee. Smart thinking!

Onward, Ho! ...to the St. Henry's rummage sale!

This was a standard sale. This little bitty church, dwarfed by Blessed Sacrament and Queen of Peace, it seems to me, somehow hauls in a mother load of junk every year. I found this hat lying on the floor.

Readers, what could this possibly mean? Here are some possibilities:

1. This hat is to be worn by rescue workers who need to clear a very noisy building in a time of danger.

2. This hat is to be worn by someone who is suffering from an intestinal parasite.

3. I can't think of any other reason.

The top purchase at St. Henry's was Sara, the life-size pony. JoJo and Addie snagged her for 75 cents and plan to work out some sort of joint custody arrangement.

We had to go to QT immediately because St. Henry's did not have a bake sale and the kids were starving to death. Donny and I bought the standard double taquito meal. Jo and Addie got donuts. Betty enjoyed a cucumber chicken caesar wrap. And Little Laura bought this:

That is a gigantic smoothie of some sort, two egg sandwiches, and a box of donuts. I don't think I've ever seen Laura in such close proximity to such a large quantity of food. She claimed the donuts were for her kids but I can't confirm that they were ever delivered to those poor boys.

We skivved a bit after that. Donny wanted me to take a picture of this flag pole:

In his opinion, its owner is either creative with PVC or disrespectful of the flag. We couldn't tell.

Next week: Laura hosts a yardsale! Saturday 8/21 at her house. Come early. Bring cash.

hot saling (by Laura)

Readers, I have no pictures to entice you with today. I apologize for my lacksadaisical approach to yard sale blogging. All of our sales today were skivs, so I was highly unprepared. And when I say "our", I mean myself and my three boys. On a very, very, very hot and humid day. Yuck.
So the first sale was hot. And there was no shade. A delightful tower of stuffed animals with a lizard jauntily set atop all of its friends was quickly reduced to a Pompeii-esque cascade after Hudson took a flying leap at them. My thought was that he was wishing it was a pool, so very hot it was. I figured I was getting dirty looks thrown at me by the many proprieters at this sale (like, 6 of them!) so I quickly grabbed a Harry Potter book missing in my collection (reassured, I was, by Nancy, that it was indeed returned to my house, but I do tend to lose things immediately) for $1 and scored a Hidden Pictures bonanza book for my boys, which prompted an immediate fight in the car and thus was taken away from one of them for the rest of the day. Aah, nothing like brotherly harmony (not) instituted by the sharing of a used, 25 cent book that they have probably done before, as they are taken from the Highlights magazine. Enough of the book. Moving on....
To sale #2, the big one of the day. This was a poorly advertised estate sale in (what else) a deceased person's home that smelled like (what else) a combination of old, shag carpeting, mothballs, and stale, dank air. Nancy and I have blogged before about the depressing aura that surrounds these locales, and really, it just is. This woman must have been a hoarder-lite, or else she had big dreams that she had fancy places to go, because I have never seen such a collection of narrow, ugly, and new (25 years ago they were new, but they still had the tags on them) 5 1/2-sized shoes in my life. My tiny friend had amassed such an impressive collection that she had one large bin solely for tennies, one for flats, boots, and I lost track of how many others. Brand new costume jewlery could be had by the pound, at this sale. I was intriqued by the story there , for surely there was a story, but, as my three catastrophe-makers were tearing through the house looking for stuff to break, I couldn't stay and chat.
Sale #3 was where I made a major yard sale faux-pas. The signs did not list a time, and it was getting to be 2pm. The only sign that listed hours was once you get to the house. They were obviously packing up, so I jumped out, peeked in, saw that everything was for kids younger than my own, and faster than you say "How rude are you, crazy lady, thinking a yard sale would still be open at 2pm!" we were outta there.
Readers, stay with me a bit longer, as I have exciting news about tomorrow. An estate sale in Country Club. Yes. Where you are not allowed to have yard sales because it is a country club. And Nancy is back. And St. Henry's is having a rummage sale, which they have approximitely 12 (I may be exaggerating here) times a year, but still! This is where Nancy scored her best-ever orange chair! I am a-flutter with anticipation! That and the afternoon stray poop found in the pool (NOT placed there by one of mine, thankyouverymuch), and boy did we have an interesting day. I have high hopes that tomorrow will top today. And also that school starts soon.

jail (by Laura)

Readers, here is the county jail. A sale I attended was directly across the street.


As you can see, the jail officials are very strict.

Here is the most extensive collection of old spice containers I have personally ever seen.

Readers, I was alone again this weekend as both Nancy and Samantha are vacatationing. The sales were plentiful in number, but puny in offerings, as evidenced by this drive-by shot of a particularly pitiful sale:

I am taking this through the car window because, readers, I am a coward. There weren't many salers out this weekend, so at many sales I was the sole peruser. This makes it difficult to surrepitiously snap incriminating photos of a 30 year collection of Playboy. The proprieters are keen on their observation of you, when you are the only hopeful buyer. This next sale was in someone's basement, which immediately set off warning bells in my head, but in I went anyway. It was a dark, dank basement where M. Night Shyamalan should spend some time, thereby getting the idea for his next thriller. Once again, it would have been painfully obvious had a taken a picture of the few offerings...that darn flash would have given me away.

I inadvertently stumbled upon this gold mine of a sale. Pseudonyms will be used for the proprieters, as these friendly folk did not wish to be identified. "Roy" is a contractor, and for the past 12 years has been storing the items he rips out of homes and businesses into the warehouse you see here.

Roy and his friend "Ralph" have rooms upon rooms filled with building supplies. Need a toilet? Roy and Ralph have aplenty.

Need some cabinets? Again, take your pick.

The only item I purchased was a twenty five cent Where's Waldo book for my boys, who promptly informed me we already owned that one. You could say it was a dud.

Owls for Sale-- a warning to retailers across America

(Mom - this is Nancy writing.)

I have hesitated sharing this information with you. I wanted to do some research on owls, dig up some background about their place in mythology, give you some sales figures, stuff like that. But I just don't have that level of journalistic commitment, so I'm going to rely on opinion and assumption.

No one wants owl figurines anymore.

There. I said it.

This information might come as a shock to you -- especially if you are a professional buyer or merchandiser at Target or Old Navy or any of the other bazillion stores that currently think owls are the hot icon for selling clothing and kid's decor.

I can report, based on my experience in the field, that Americans are liquidating their stock of owl figurines. Maybe owls work as images on products, but in the current economic climate they are undesirable as free-standing statuettes.

I think maybe owl figurines were popular in the 60s and 70s. "Give a Hoot, Don't Pollute." "How many licks does it take to get to the center of a Tootsie Pop?" You remember. And they were usually that nice brown color that was popular then. Add some avacado green and some goldenrod and you would have had a top-selling knick-knack! I'm sure the powers-that-be in 2010 mass merchandising are tapping into our Brady Bunch memories and pushing the owl icon along with the peace sign, Love Bugs, and those big, cartoon-y flowers. Maybe a t-shirt with Woodsy the Owl on it makes the adults of our country feel young again.

But I can assure you, there is a surplus of owlish objects in the garages of this country. Week after week, we see them on dirty card tables, sandwiched between old mugs and ashtrays, offered for sale for a few measly cents. Under no circumstances should the Target buyers order owl tchotchkes!

As evidence of this excess-owl-phenomenon, I offer these photos, collected over the past year during my yardsale adventures:

I rest my case.

Nancy