Mold N' Neuroses N' Manipulation

Everyone's feeling the crazy.

Motherhood has made me a new kind of crazy. (And- before- I used to think that my neuroses knew no bounds.) Which just goes to prove my extremely new theory that having a kid makes you MORE of what you were before. And that's not even one of those lovey, sentimental sampler stitchings- I was nuts before, but my insanity has been amplified since having Nora. I was kind of a clean freak before...now I'm a downright germaphobe. (But really, you'd never even guess at that by the state of my kitchen.) Same goes for being a defensive driver, kiddo movie fan, and tired.

But I digress.

My newfound nutsiosity has manifested itself in my upcoming trip to Cape Cod with N.J. and P.J. For which I've been packed since last night. We leave on Saturday. Okay, and to be fair, I'm not totally packed. My two iPhone checklists (yup) for Nora's stuff and my stuff is mostly done. There's a bunch of stuff that I can't pack until about ten minutes before we leave/right after she wakes up. And there's a checklist for that, too. I also have a list for last minute things like "water the plants," "make sure no cat is locked in the bathroom," etc. (P.J. is on his own for packing and lists. But, from what I've seen, he does just fine half an hour before by throwing some shoes, a shirt, and someone's toothbrush in a duffel. Boys.)

And the reason for all of this planning and pre-planning and post-planning is not so that I'll have a Martha Stewart-like calm about my house (btw, did you know that Martha turned 70 a week ago? Does that seem crazy? It does to me. And I should know). Oh no, the reason that I do things so early- and so written out- is because I can no longer keep a list of thoughts in my head. There are so few things that I truly need to bring for our trip (Doc Bullfrog, various medications, four pairs of shoes) but if I didn't write them down I'd be on the plane wondering why I had a carry-on full of dirty laundry and was panicking about the cat stuck in the hall closet.

And boy, I write down the weirdest stuff on my phone. (And here as well, but again...that's a digression.) You'd think I could remember that my child needs shoes on her feet for travel, but there it is. "Crocs on Nora." I'm shocked that I haven't yet felt the need to note "buckle Nora into car," but there's a few things I can feel decently confident about. Besides, Peej will be there.

It's not totally my fault, however. We have yet another contractor who began work this week. And having part of one's home gutted and mold-remediated and rebuilt can jar one's concentration. Especially if you're as giddy about it as I am.

This is the room that was initially a second kitchen when the home was a stately multi-family house. Then it  became a flophouse for wayward animals/drunk dudes/pizza menus. Then, once we moved in, it became storage. First ours, then for P.J.'s best friend. Once he moved his things out, it became a lumber yard for doors, shelving, and baseboards. (But never was it a kitchen. We paid someone to remove the defunct and foul appliances- and gave them extra to never again mention the things that they had seen.) And one day, during a long nap for Nora and a long audition for P.J., I cleared out the room. Doors were stacked in the backyard, lumber was slid out the picture window, I scrubbed down the place as best I could, and painted it a light spring green. (P.J. was shocked. I told him to put away his "toys" or I'd do it for him. Via the recycling trucks. He did.) And when I was done...it was still filthy. Because there was still water damage behind the sink and hints of mold and a general dinginess to the area.

But thankfully, we are having another kid. And this kind of thing makes P.J. wonderfully receptive to ideas, especially if I mention Nora's propensity for climbing in that room (which she doesn't have) and my plans to leave the newborn there for hours on end (which could be a bluff. But might not).

And these contractors are great. Remember the multitude of guys we've had working on the house for the past two years? The ones who show up at 11? Leave at 1 for a two hour lunch break? The ones who fail to secure parts or give us accurate quotes or show up at all? THESE NEW GUYS ARE NOT LIKE THEM. Yesterday was the day to gut the room. They showed up at 7:45am, stayed until 6:15pm and never left. The room is gutted and stripped and now the air is being filtered for 24 hours. And these dudes are pleasant. To me! No "little lady" condescension, no asking what my husband might think, no ignoring...they even remembered Nora's name and that we had two cats (stuck somewhere in the house). Pretty superb.

So yes, packing. Made slightly more difficult by the fact that the laundry room (and the playroom and lower stairwell and side door) and inaccessible due to plastic sheeting, like that part of E.T. or that particularly horrific episode of 24. Which means that I cannot do laundry. OH WELL.

Maybe I'll plastic off the kitchen sink and fridge this afternoon and tell P.J. that the contractors are doing something. Maybe we'll spring for pizza.

But I think he's on to me.

Just as motherhood has made me crazier, fatherhood has made him savvier.

Unless it comes to packing.