This one time, back when I consumed alcohol on a regular basis, I thought it would be SO cool to have a house with no mold on the inside OR the outside.
And then I fracking woke up from that dream and realized that the contractor is coming this Saturday. As in: one and one half days from now, Saturday.
We'll be living without a master bedroom, master bath, dining room, or back door. Mark and I will be sleeping in Ian's room, WITH IAN- the non-sleeping baby. There will be dust, and chaos, and most definitely no naps.
The nice man will be tearing out (count them) 4 entire walls of 3 separate rooms and a ceiling in a fourth room.
If we’re lucky he might put new stuff back up on the walls.
If a benevolent God truly exists (and, I’m sorry Mom, Dad, former Sunday school teachers and the godparents of my children, but right now I’m fairly sure God is laughing manically and waggling his fingers to make more things leak in this house. Because he’s THAT BORED.) our hard-won contractor won’t find anything else rotting/molding/leaking/dying once he starts working.
In the meantime, I’m going to be coping by going completely bat-sh!t insane. Please go away during this brief interlude. Do not take my phone calls or pretend that you know me when you see me on the playground, at the store, or sleeping on the curb outside your house.
If, however, you love my husband and my children, you might want to take Mark's phone calls. Because, God (you fickle being) love him, he has to live with me through this.
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