We're replacing the windows in our house. We signed the paperwork last week and this morning at 8 o'clock, a company representative called and asked if he could come by to measure the windows? In 45 minutes? My hair was cowlicked, the bigger boys were still in their pajamas, and the hubster and baby were fast asleep upstairs. I said, "Uhhhh..." and the rep said he could add on, oh, 45 more minutes? "Sure," I stuttered. And then I hung up the phone, dashed to the bedroom, woke my husband, and hustled the whole lot of them out the front door to get breakfast at Chick-Fil-A while I frantically tried to tidy up the house after quite a messy holiday weekend.
9:30 came quick. I'd managed to (sort of) clean the house and also succeeded in stubbing my toe on the edge of the dishwasher frame, causing an impressive amount of swelling and blood (Overshare? Sorry.) The floor looked terrible, but the vacuum bag needed replacing and I simply didn't have time to do it because I'd been too busy shoving everything that was laying around into my closet.
The Window Man arrived and I grumbled a half-pleasant good morning before I retreated to the dining room to sit with the boys while they ate their food. From the table, I glanced into the kitchen and the living room, absolutely certain that Window Man was more likely to be noting my fake-clean house than, you know, measuring the windows. I was sure he glimpsed the Cheerios lining the hallway floor, the dusty blinds, and the smudged mirror in the bathroom. While the kids happily crammed down their Chicken Mini's, I convinced myself that Window Man was amassing an entire inventory of all the reasons why the woman (me) living on 1234 Loser Street (my address) is most definitely, without a doubt, the very worst mother, wife, and homemaker in the ENTIRE world.
I have quite an imagination, yes?
House- 1, Lenae- 0. I need some coffee and chocolate.
7 comments:
This is why I never call people for repairs! We've been living with a broken closet door for more than a year now, but I'd rather re-hinge it myself than deal with the stress of repair-man-judgement in our bedroom! I hope you enjoyed your coffee and chocolate--you certainly earned them!
Yes - I think this is why we don't have things done to our house that we can't fixe ourselves. We need new carpet -- but that means they'd be moving furniture and our closets would have to be cleaned out! The horror!
And Emily, we have had a kitchen cupboard missing its door for at least a year. I barely even notice it anymore (so sad!). If you fix your door, videotape it so I can get some pointers. Maybe we should start a home repair blog...
I'm in an apartment; I hate even calling the landlord for anything. He's really good about coming right over, so I have to be sure that it's fit to be seen before I can call him. But he's a guy; he doesn't notice too much of the mess!
Oh I hate days like that! But don't feel alone...today my house is definitely winning, too.
I know I would have worried, too; but you know those guys see all kinds of messes in a day's work. They probably forget minutes later. If they notice at all. Most guys don't even pay attention to dust and random Cheerios.
Why do handymen always seem to come at that moment when I'm in my pj's, i haven't showered, two days of dishes are piled in the sink, and the furniture and carpet are blanketed with an inch of cat hair? Or maybe it's only in those moments that I notice those things. I think it goes along with the natural law that Stephen and I will only run into our neighbors when I'm having a bad day. I'm confinced they must think I'm a drunk. The only time they see me is with my eyes half closed, stumbling to the door or being carried by Stephen into the apartment. Ah well, maybe it gives them some entertainment!
Rachel, you silly! And I am positively tickled that you commented on my blog! Get a blog , sister, so we can be friends on the Internet too ;)
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