Number of times I attempted to blog today: 12
Number of times I accomplished writing anything: 0
What I did instead:
Just barely answered the door in time for the CenterPoint Energy guy before he drove away due to neglect. God knows how long he was standing at the front door knocking while my dogs were barking their heads off and I was upstairs nursing. It took me a good five minutes before I realized there was someone at our door, and the dogs were not just barking at some random UPS driver. Did I mention it was 8:00 a.m.? Yeah, so I was not fully dressed yet. When I did answer the door, with a crying baby in my arms (Dylan was pissed, rightfully so, for having his feeding interrupted), I realized my shirt was inside out.
I also learned that there is a big hole in the center cell of the heat exchanger on our furnace, rendering it “not repairable.” Awesome. I love shelling out money we don’t have for un-sexy items like a furnace. Cue the heating & cooling sales representative, round two of dogs barking their heads off, and a crying baby. At least this time my shirt was right side out (I have three cups of coffee from an over-sized coffee mug to thank for this. No, seriously – I found myself drinking out of a mug I used to eat ramen noodles out of in college – it’s massive). By the time he finished his assessment and sales pitch, Josh emailed me the name of another service guy who would be stopping by for a second bid, and I gave up hope of ever getting dressed like a normal person today. Instead, I’m rocking the slippers and the baby-strapped-to-my-stomach-because-that’s-the-only-way-he sleeps-for-more-than-45-minutes-at-a-crack look. Whatever. I don’t really care.
What bothers me more is that when strangers are in my house I suddenly see my home from a whole new perspective, and it’s not always pretty. Today, I noticed that a stranger would think we threw a college party last night. On the counter, leftover from yesterday’s family barbecue: a bowl with stale chips and dried up salsa, a couple of empty wine bottles, an ice bucket, and a shot glass (which we actually used to hold napkins down from flying away on the patio…but the strangers don’t know that). Plus, the recycling container (which is really just a brown paper bag) was chok-full of empty PBR cans. Oh, and baby clothes, blankets, burp rags, and Josh’s coaching gear are strewn about, like too much tinsel on a Christmas tree. Embarrassed, I just smiled and shrugged my shoulders and played the new-mama card: some days we’re not meant to get anything done.