Brandon's so confused with my emotional intensity during the situation. His advice is to read a book to get my mind off of the stress. What a dumb a. And he knows it as I remind him of what my life consists of these days with a) a 2 year old, b) a newborn, c) summer in arizona, d) all of the toys that entertain a 2 year old are shoved against the wall, e) the constant evacuation of our home at only a moment's notice to avoid frying baby brain cells with each new layer of glue fumes and f) my VAST range of post partum emotions. We still love each other but after this ordeal is over, we know who's always going to get the last bite of dessert.
I know I've complained about the obivious hurdles that come with living in a house under repair but let's not forget about all of the interesting people that made this transformation possible.
-The extractor who had a hard time relaxing on the weekends because his wife was leaving him for another man and would not be returning home once she was released from prison in February.
-The painter that sweated sooo much that I had to keep the air turned way down and listen to him blame it on his ADD and cigarettes. (I gave him the number to a great hynotherapist)
-The drywall guy that we actually thought was normal until he launched into a random story about his cute little Mormon wife spending $80,000 on coccaine last year but thankfully sobered up before the birth of their 2nd child. Oh yeah- and he kept asking me if his hair plugs look real or not.
-The PSYCHOTIC father-son flooring installers. Oh. My. Word. These 2 were equally Italian and paranoid. Brandon made the mistake of engaging in a political conversation with these guys and 2 hours later, I'd walk out to all of them in a heated, eff-word laced argument about whether or not you should feel guilty about shooting trespassers trying to steal your food. In another life, I would have stood in line for hours to ride this crazytown roller coaster but at this point, please, just finish your work and get out of my front yard before I put out your nasty cigarettes on my own bloodshot eyeball.
I use to think Ade was a much easier baby than Brooks was until I realized how much I hold him. He's spent 70% of his first 5 weeks of life in a sling around my now- humpback body. He's
spent 20% sleeping in bed with me, usually nursing and the other 10% doing exactly as pictured above. If he's not with his momma, he's not having it. I know I've got some retraining ahead of me but I'm going to say I'm still in the survival mode at this point. As my mother says- "Whatever works Heather. Whatever works". I wonder if they make slings big enough for teenagers?
Maybe you don't really care much about harvesting produce in your own side yard but I feel it's the bee's knees. My little brother planted these trees before his mission and left with strict instructions on how to care for them. Basically- don't let them frost over and if you fear they will, cover them with blankets, wrap your naked body around the trunks and whisper them reminders that their daddy will be home December 08. (Direct instructions from Elder McCain BTW). His well wishes seemed to work because these trees are LOADED!