Keely Comes Unhinged.

At least SOMEONE'S sleeping like a baby.

This house has turned me into a Nervous Nellie and a Doubting Thomas.

Whenever something new is opened up (the floor, a pipe, a line of credit), I fully expect that something "surprising" will happen. A rat's nest will be exposed. We'll all discover that there is actually no "foundation" to this place. Little things like that.

And when people estimate that a job will take two days ("three days, tops"), I no longer believe them. Besides, if each person lining up for their turn takes the allotted two/three days, I'm pretty sure we'll be playing Contractor-Go-Round well into the girls' adulthood. Because I do not believe that this home will ever be done with exploding on us.

"Homes are never really done," Experienced Homeowners frequently tell me. And I realize this. But I'm pretty sure relative "doneness" doesn't usually equate with major house catastrophes.

And I no longer want to be the Blue Ribbon standard for worst home ever. It sorta hurts the morale, you know?

We had a really nice weekend with P.J.'s sister, niece, and parents for Katy's 11th birthday. It was actually pretty terrific to get to take the weekend "off" from sporadically mopping/moving/sobbing and get to play tour guide. I did feel pretty awful, however, about the fact that our home stunk like an outhouse and the downstairs bathroom may as well have had crime scene tape across it. (I swear I am a decent wife to your boy, Schoenies.)

The jackhammering currently shaking my computer (and Susannah's chubby cheeks- sorry, Zuzu) punctuates the fact that my brain is full of irrational little marbles. It could also be the lack of sleep, however. I keep falling asleep only to wake up each hour with those annoying little half-awake nightmares.

Susannah fell down under the house in one.

Nora was covered in sewage in another.

The cats were- inexplicably- on the ceiling, making it all too Trainspotting-y for me.

In each scenario, I am completely unable to save anyone or help anything. And it doesn't take Freud to dissect the anxieties behind these dreams- but it does make for an exhausted next day. And when I'm tired, I cry. And when I cry, contractors feel UNCOMFORTABLE. And then I stay up late feeling anxious about how I'm stressing out the contractors. It's a vicious cycle.

But- to the best of my knowledge- this is not the end of the world. Sure, a huge chunk of my house no longer exists, but the girls are healthy. (Covered in concrete dust and breathing in methane, but healthy as smallish horses.) So far, our insurance has decided to play nicely with the whopping costs that keep piling on. And P.J. has not yet left me.

It could be a lot worse.

It could smell a lot better, but it could be a lot worse.

Duct Tape House, Part- Oh, I Give Up.

I'd leave, if my shoes weren't filled with Little People.

Remember how, way back on Monday, I realized that I had taunted fate by posting about the hilarity of the previous Thursday's bodily fluid debacle? Well, I got my comeuppance once again by continuing to post about said fluids- this time in the form of a sewer explosion.

And I'm going to do it again, simply by referencing last Monday's travails. I'm totally like a kid who keeps pushing an irate parent into more and more groundings.

"Wanna make it two weeks?"

"Great."

"Fine, three weeks."

"Terrific."

The plumbers came early yesterday morning to check their work- which, up to this point, had consisted of fixing numerous pipes, filling in a cesspool, and pouring concrete all over the lower level of our house. Basically, today they were going to run a smoke test and make sure that no smoke escaped into our home- meaning, of course, that our pipes possessed zero holes from which smoke could travel.

When they arrived, we greeted them with some unfortunate news. From the time they left the night before until that a.m., we had run the dishwasher and done a few loads of laundry, and a horrific smell not unlike rotten eggs being shoved into your nostrils was filling the entirety of the house. That's right, whereupon before any of this work had been done the smell had been confined to the lower level, now it was permeating the entire abode.

The plumbers were pretty sure what the smoke test was gonna show them. And they were right! Since the four major gaps in the pipes had been fixed, that freed up the rest of the pinprick holes in the pipes to step it up and truly shine. (In the form of breaking open completely.)

I asked one of the plumbers if it was the worst he'd ever seen.

"No way," he said. "Top three, though. Definitely. God, this is bad."

And the insurance check which we had oh-so-recently been [tentatively] approved for? That whole "complete renovation of a bathroom" and "majority of the plumbing work" check? Yeah, that's getting scrapped for now, as we all recalculate how much it'll cost to take the bathroom down to the studs, re-line the entirety of the sewer pipeline, and gut the majority of the lower level's flooring and walls.

Nora saw me cry. The plumber saw me cry. Heck, the guy driving the Speedy Express van and dropping off a package from Amazon.com saw me cry.

Did I mention that we have guests coming this afternoon and staying until Monday?

Before the plumbers left yesterday, they headed into our main floor bathroom for a quick de-clogging of the sink- something which was "a cinch" to do (and something which I'm pretty sure they're no longer charging us for at this point). And there was a clog, all right, but the majority of the problem likely stemmed from the fact that the pipe leading from the sink HAD NEVER BEEN GLUED INTO THE DAMN WALL. Just hanging out. A free agent, if you will. So they glued a new one into place, since- hadn't you guessed?- the previously unglued one had also completely rotted out.

The plumbers joked that they'd have to rip out the wall and see about all of these pipes. Ha HA. Plumbers are hilarious.

And last night was spent cleaning literally inches of concrete dust off of things on every floor. Thick, sticky debris required multiple dustings and even more go-rounds with the mop. And it's still filthy. And really, really smelly.

P.J. saw me cry. The cats saw me cry. My woefully low bottle of Peppermint Schnapps saw me cry.

A completely hypothetical question to all homeowners: Was there a point in your homeownership where you realized that you would never recoup your money spent? Was it within the first three years?

Just asking.

Spoiling A Movie In Three Panels.

So, this is nowhere near "wordless" today, but I think you'll forgive the loquaciousness when you behold THIS:

This movie has already aired. You may have missed your chance to see it. But it still needs to be discussed.

The promo features three distinct pictures slashed across the page: Cuba Gooding Jr. looking concerned. A female behind a chain link fence looking, I dunno, hopeless. And, inexplicably, a group of what I can only assume are jumpsuited prisoners laughing on a bus.

Because of these three pictures, I feel like I've already seen the movie. He's tenacious. She's heard it all before. They're laughing on a bus.

My favorite part, however? The tagline: She never had a chance until he gave her one.

Which could easily be changed to: She'll have a chance in the near future, maybe like in a year or so. Don't do anything regrettable behind that chain link fence. Just hang out with your friends- they look jovial. 

I am really sad that I missed this movie. But, come on, don't YOU also kinda feel like you've watched this movie after reading today's breakdown?

Cuba Gooding Jr. is going to beat me to death with a shoe.

She never had a chance...

Guest Blog: Little Stories Everywhere.

Today is a first for me: a guest blog! My pal Molly at Little Stories Everywhere is a riot- and has the exact same parental neuroses as me. It's refreshing. Enjoy!

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Molly and her positively edible kiddos.

When you have a baby there are scores of things that people never tell you...things that are ugly, horrible and completely disgusting.  One of these sad truths is venturing out to the Pediatricians office for the first time.  It was...hmmm....an experience.

Bitzy was only 4 days old when we ventured out to the Pediatricians office.  Take in mind that I was still bleeding profusely (that's one of those sad disgusting truths that no one told me about, or perhaps I just ignored them), my emotions were doing jumping jacks, and as a new mama, my baby was much too young to be going anywhere.

It also didn't help that my baby girl came out of my body screaming her brains out and didn't stop until she was 6 months old. So there's that.

But alas, we  had to do it.  This wasn't the first time that we had been in the office as we had come to check it out when I was preggers, but this was the first time with a precious little person that was outside of my body, who, might I add, elicits a strong fear of germs in me with each step outside of the house.  I used to notice wall colors and vases in the homes, offices, stores & restaurants...not anymore.  Now I hone in on anyone who is coughing, rubbing their eyes, or breathing too heavy. "Hello people, I have a newborn!  Stay inside you nasty selfish people!!!," I wanted say.  

So anyway, at Bitzy's first appointment I noticed that there was a "well side" and a "sick side" thinking, "Oh that's nice that the germy little monsters can't get near my precious & perfectly healthy child."  I went on my merry way trying to make it through the appointment with a screaming baby eyeing every child in there, looking for cues to their unhealthiness. At that first appointment, one thing was clear, I didn't want to ever be on the "sick" side of this office.  The "sick" side is germy, dark and stuffy with the stench of dirty diapers and vomit. However, the "well" side was bright, healthy, and breezy that smelled of clean laundry and lavender.

Then it happened.  At the tiny age of 12 weeks old, my perfect baby came down with a cold.  I, being a completely insane mother called the office and asked for her to be seen.  While they discouraged me because after all, they couldn't do anything for her, I still wanted to go.  It was HEARTBREAKING seeing my baby with a stuffy nose and darn it, they should know how to magically make her better.  "What did they go to medical school for anyway?!  Come on! Again, people of the world, I have a newborn baby. Make her feel better!," I'm sure I said under my breath. (I think it's safe to say that with a sick, colicky baby I was a real treat in those first few weeks). 

So off we went, what I didn't remember was the awful "sick side."

As we walked into the foyer I automatically turned left into the "well side"...then pausing to the remember that runny noses are normally not a sign of perfect health. Sadly, we turned right into dark grimy sidewalk to Germville.  As I looked into the room I didn't see children, I saw germs.  My perfect child didn't belong in there!  She deserved her own room away from all the gross germys.  I practically buried her head in my chest to somehow keep the germs away.  It didn't help that every child in the room seemed to be hacking up a lung. Gross.

But alas, we made it.  Basically I paid $30 for them to tell me that there's nothing they could do and to be scarred for life after sitting in the "sick side."  I would rather wait in line at "The Wal-Mart" for an hour than spend 5 minutes in that nasty room...although something tells me that when we've got child #4 under our belts I'll just be happy to sit anywhere...even on the sick side.

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Love Molly? Go check out her fabulous blog- and don't forget to "like" her Facebook page!