Photo: My living room at the moment. They are taking my house down to the studs!
My Lord, I am so tired. Just to the bone tired. The Husband and I were up at 5:40… and not my usual “I’m up before everyone else and I’m going to take my time to get ready for my day” 5:40 in the morning. Oh no. It was “get up, make the sandwiches, get the water, prep the outfits, go go go go go go go” 5:40 in the morning.
The husband was on a train into the city at 6:35 and I…. I running around like a mad woman trying to get us out of the door in time to get down to Cambridge for playgroup. It took an hour and fifteen minutes.I needed to pop into a Dunkin’ for some coffee toward the end because I just didn’t think that I was agonna make it!! Now, I must say, the universe was very nice to me and gave me a pretty primo parking spot. I was very grateful for that!
And of course, playgroup was lovely. The boys had a great time. The mom who was responsible for snack didn’t bother show up, so we had to improvise… but otherwise, we had a great time.
But that does not change the fact that I’m sitting in my throne chair, I’ve got two toddlers above me who are not sleeping, I’m to-the-bone tired, I’ve written not a single word of fiction… oh my world is spinning.
Sometime on Friday afternoon, our contractor sent us an email:
“The window sill in the dinning room has pretty extensive termite damage. I’ve asked [my assistant] to take off the trim, cut out chewed wood and install dutchman patch to sill…”
… I don’t know what a dutchman patch is, but I do know what a termite is! And I know what they do! And I know that the inspector probably should have caught that when we had him come through the house and look at the joint.
So that happened.
Good news? It looks like it isn’t an active infestation. Better news? For what we can see, the damage seems to be localized to the sill. But we are going to have to find an exterminator to come out and look at the damage.
We went out on Saturday to look at the damage and also to set up our mailbox. I have a real, genuine mailbox out in the world! My first real mailbox. Isn’t that crazy? My childhood home had a mailslot in the front door, so I never had to “go out to the mailbox” and ever since I moved out for college, I’ve been stuck with the tiny hole in the wall mail slot thingy. Fumbling with a key and what what. Well, no more! Today, there is a mailbox with my husband’s last name on it that belongs to… us….
I say my husband’s last name because I have a hyphened last name. This dude went to the hardware store, left me and the boys in the car, went in and bought enough letters and numbers for our address and his last name. Half way to the house to install the thing, this dude is going to say to me “Oh, you know, I only bought enough letters for [his last name]. I didn’t get enough for [his last name] and [my last name]. Is that going to be a problem? Should I go back and get the letters?”
“Homie, you are really passive aggressive about my last name!” I said to him in that “I’m play upset” voice, even though I was slightly upset. Bro, I hyphened your name. It was bad enough when you insisted that my maiden name be treated as an initial in my personal email, and now you’ve pretty much erased me from the mailbox??
“I mean, I’ll turn around if you want me to…”
We were, literally, 2/3rds of the way to the house by then. I had two restless and hungry boys in the back seat. If I had told him to turn around and go back, I would have been “that woman.” So no, we didn’t freaking turn around. But I let him hear it all day.
If I ever divorce that man, I’m totally listing that as one of the reasons why.
On Sunday, my very good friend, , Shelly, and her husband, Bob, came by the house. They, too, have a “project house” that is much larger and cooler than ours. Complete with old servant’s quarters and creepy old mirrors that lead to the next dimension… they also are the owners of one of those good and cool cameras that is needed to take appropriate Christmas card pictures. So I made them lunch, they got the tour, and Shelly did me the biggest favor ever by following the boys around and taking their pictures. I’ll share closer to Christmas. They are just phenomenal!
Bob is really into home improvement and house stuff anyway, so he brought his heavy duty flashlight and started poking around. Most of the stuff we already knew, though there were some suggestions in there that we hadn’t heard before. The big catch that he found, though? The big, crazy, how could we have missed it, freaking leak coming from the downstairs toilet into the basement. It’s…like… hella gross. It’s coming from the toilet and the sink and it has been there for a while.
I don’t know how much it is going to cost to fix it. The plumber who has been hired for the house is going to come out tomorrow to get to work. He will have to take a look and I’m sure that the price of it will be perfectly reasonable and not at all super exspensive. Right? Right??
My home is a cool construction zone. Here are some pictures:
And, of course, because we are breaking our lease, we’re trying our best to work with our landlord to find someone to move in right after us. If no one occupies, we’re responsible for the rent. There were three appointments scheduled for last week, so I had to get the place into “show” shape (which is no easy feat with two toddlers constantly destroying the joint). Of course, every time something was clean, the children found something else to destroy… or spit up on… or poop on…
Finally, after Ursa Minor decided to spill the entirety of his plate on the floor after I’d vacuumed for the millionth time, Ursa Major pointed at the mess and said unto me the following sentence:
“Um, Mama, um… [Ursa Minor] made a messy, mess! And, um, can you get it? I think you need to vacuum, Mama!”
… thanks, babe. Thanks for that.
It is going to be a really, really long week.
But we’re going to get through it together, right?
It should be noted that the boys never slept, and in the middle of my writing this post, Ursa Minor screamed a scream that was in an octave unknown to human, animal, or beyond. When I came into the nursery to explain that there was no universe in existence where that is ok, and that they needed to take a nap because they are freaking tired and jive little punks when they don’t nap, my little Emperor in training gave me a very simple reply:
“No, Mama, we don’t understand. We don’t wanna nap. We want to play. We go downstairs now. We want to play, Mama.”
I’m fairly sure that my neighbor is going to call Family Services or the Police or something on me. Won’t that be fun to write about on Wednesday??
It’s only Monday, ya’ll.
…. See you Wednesday (I hope)….