I said to my dentist back on Wednesday that so far my week had felt like a week of Monday’s. I’m still echoing those sentiments. But I gotta pause for the cause here and give shout out’s to Chris and Anne, who are responsible for two of the few bright spots to shine on me this week.
Anne sent me rockin’ mixed CD’s that have been on constant repeat since they arrived and Chris sent me not one but four mixed CD’s and an awesome looking book that I can’t wait to dive into. Thanks, guys…your timing is spot on.
So. Week of Mondays, The Recap:
Still feeling a bit gypped about the quaint 3-bedroom bungalow that in reality has two bedrooms and is caving in, I start to get mighty discouraged about the whole house buying/selling process and wonder what the hell we thought we were doing putting our house up for sale now we’ll soon be in the dead of winter period.
Wake up to discover my porcelain veneer had chipped off in the night – the porcelain veneer that I’ve had for less than six months and paid a thousand dollars for. Spend day alternating between weeping over the prospect of having to have even more dental work done on this tooth and stressing to the point of mudshits over the prospect of having to pay for the repairs.
Early Wednesday morning, shortly after midnight, my neighbor starts playing loud music. We are up all night – we get maybe three hours of sleep. I’m forced to cancel my 7.30 a.m. appointment with the dentist and spend the morning changing sheets, cleaning up puke, taking care of Julia and dealing with a very, very ornery Oliver.
Take Julia to the doctor’s where it’s determined she doesn’t have a throat infection or tonsillitis, as I suspected, but just a nasty stomach bug. Come home, put both children to bed and tidy up house for upcoming showing. Realize while the couple is viewing our home that Picasso Oliver is upstairs in his crib painting a poo mural on his headboard.
I see the dentist, the outcome being that HALLELUJAH, the tooth repairs are covered under warranty, but I have to go through the entire scraping/filing/remove old veneer/put temporary veneer on/scraping/filing/remove temporary veneer/put new porcelain veneer on process again. Oh, and I have a fractured cavity that needs to be fixed, too. Awesome!
Julia continues to vomit and by 11 p.m. we are concerned enough that Dave whisks her off to the ER, where it is determined that she does indeed have a throat infection. I pace the house until I know they’re coming home, change bed sheets for the fourth time that day and finally tuck my little girl and then myself into bed shortly after 2 a.m.
Thursday and Friday:
I am exhausted; I feel like I’ve been hit by a Mac truck. Julia is slowly beginning to feel better but is nowhere near 100%. Oliver, on the other hand, is sick of being cooped up in the house. He’s full of energy and rarin’ to go; to say he is difficult to deal with would be an understatement. I am flooded with mommy guilt for resenting him and his behavior and flip flop between wanting him to leave me the hell alone for twenty minutes and feeling like he hates me.
Julia strongly resembles my mother, and seeing her so sick this week brings back a lot of memories of when my mom was really sick in the hospital. I struggle to stay focused on the present instead of slipping to the past and completely losing it emotionally.
We see a house that we really like, but it clearly needs a lot of work both inside and outside and is ridiculously overpriced. I feel discouragement creeping back up. We talk to our agent about the feedback he’s been getting after showings at our house and he tells us the only negative so far has been about our basement – how the first three levels are really great and the basement is kind of shoddy. He suggests we slap a coat of bright paint over the sallow yellow that’s down there, so we pick up paint and I miss Cops because we’re busy getting a first coat on.
I hate painting.
It’s my morning to sleep in. Julia wakes me up at nine, I make breakfast while Dave showers and gets ready to take Oliver to swim class. They leave, I pour a coffee and am about to check my email when Dave comes back to the door and tells me that the back window of our van was smashed out in the night.
I can’t believe it; I need to check for myself. Sure enough, there’s a gaping hole in the window and bits of glass sprayed all over our driveway.
I really feel like sitting down to cry myself through a chocolate fudge cake and a bottle of wine, but I have a basement to paint.