The last 48 hours have been insane, truly.
No, baby is fine, and I'm physically fine, and everyone is healthy, but oh the DRAMA.
First thing, I was out buying the paint for the rooms, and got an emergency call from a friend who needed me to pick up her kid while she goes off to the ER to get treated for hemorrhage after 3 weeks of getting her period, and hoping her fibroids weren't blowing up in her abdomen. I said, of course, be right there after the paint gets loaded into my car. I phone my husband and we figure out dinner and where the kid will sleep if need be since our own son, Kaz is going to be sleeping in the living room while we paint his room.
Then, silly me, I pick all of them up and let the kids rip the house apart while I figure out what room my underwear have been packed in. And hope my friend is okay.
She is, btw, and gets her son later and we all eat dinner and then I drove them home, and came back to my own home and collapsed.
And then yesterday morning the f%^&$% painters don't show up. AT ALL. Apparently one of them was "injured" in the vague sort of way that makes me think he fell into a two-four and never quite found his way out. And of course, his friend couldn't come without him, because after all, he'd have to work alone all day. *eyeroll*
After multiple phone calls we agreed they would show up at 8:00 a.m. the next day and work all day until late because the organizer is bringing her crew to reassemble my house on Thursday and switch the furniture into the right rooms. And Monday Kaz's new furniture is being delivered. So I needed a freakin' room to put it in.
And the painters didn't show up again today, and didn't call, and I almost cried. Really. They won't return any phone calls and every excuse is lame anyway, so they are fired.
Fired like ceramics.
So I phoned up my organizer and she tried to find me someone, and I phoned Homeservice Club and begged and they had some people phone me, and tomorrow God willing, a painter will show up and I will breathe out, and life will be good. And Monday my organizer and her crew will put my house together.
And maybe my son won't have to sleep on a g-d air mattress anymore and I can send back that shitty mommy award stuck to my forehead. I know, I know it's not my fault, but still, this is not what I had planned. Maybe I should've "injured" myself on a two-four....