Monday, September 28, 2009

Highs And Lows, And Lots Of Caps

Now that I'm just settling down at the end of the day, I'm realizing that the past 24 hours have felt like about two weeks.

We got to bed last night before 11 -- which never, ever happens, no matter how serious our intent -- and when I got into bed I was thinking, "Pretty soon the girls might be able to share a room." And just as I put my head on the pillow Berit woke up screaming because she had an itch she couldn't reach. I purposely left both monitors on in case I needed a hand (she tends to get overly dramatic; don't know if I've mentioned that here before) and shook Trevor: "Can you listen for Marta?" "Oh yeah, mmph, sure, yeah."

I went upstairs and dealt with a needing-to-be-naked Berit who was so incensed about her ITCH that I started feeling terrible for all those little babies who couldn't communicate that really they just had an itch they couldn't scratch and no, they didn't have colic at all. Because she would not let up about the itch.

Finally, when we had resorted to getting out baby wipes and rubbing them on her itch to make it -- what? drown?, I started leaving her room and she perked right up, telling me in vivid detail all about the books she read before bed. At this point, Marta, who had gone to bed with a bit of a cold, started screaming. Berit was so genuinely intent on telling me about the wardrobe in Bootsie Barker Bites on EVERY PAGE that I couldn't interrupt her (also I feel like lately all I do is rush her and I feel terrible guilt about this), but the screaming in the next room would not stop. I gestured wildly at the video monitor trying to rouse Trevor and when it occurred to me that he didn't have a clue that I was even upstairs said quickly yet gently, "Berit, you need to lie down and go to sleep now," and miracle of all miracles, she did.

I went into Marta's room, where we began our first "I'm sick please cuddle and dote on me" of four sessions during the night -- the last of which ended with us in the kitchen eating Puffins.

At roughly 4 a.m. I went to bed in earnest, sure that all was well again for at least an hour. And it was. For an hour and a half, in fact. At 5:30 a.m. I was pulled to the first layer of consciousness by Berit singing in her room. At 5:45 a.m. I realized that she was screaming How Much Is That Doggy In The Window? and slapped Trevor on his back, saying, "GO TELL HER TO BE QUIET!"

In the second miracle of the night he bounded out of bed and up to her room. He walked in and yelled, "STOP SINGING!" And she, hurt, sobbed as loudly as possible, "But DAD, I NEED TO PRACTICE HOW MUCH IS THAT DOGGY IN THE WINDOW!" And Trevor said, "I like your singing but now it's night and you have to go to sleep." To which Berit replied, "I don't like you playing in my room." So Trevor left. Berit continued to sing, and Marta woke up, at 5:50 a.m.

And that is how we began our day. Oh, they're both sick. No preschool, no gymnastics. Pouring rain.

Also: second showing today.

Also: cloth diaper decision needing to be made today. My trial is up.

Also: book signing to attend in the evening -- should I leave my sick children?


Let's start with the cloth diapers. We decided that no, we wouldn't buy the cloth diapers we've been trying for the past two weeks. We have had a GREAT EXPERIENCE with and think that anyone who is interested at all in cloth diapers should do their trial. Super nice, super easy, and great dipes. In fact, we loved the cloth diapers. We decided against them because:
  • One week of diarrhea made us hate the dumping in the toilet process. If it was all ... solid... it'd be fine but bleccchh.
  • Marta, a little furnace in her own right, might have been contributing to global warming by wearing them. She loved the diapers, but did NOT want to wear clothes with them. Every time she had them on, she was sweating.
  • She's almost two. She will probably potty train within a year's time.
We had a list of pros about the diapers as long as my arm (and truly, they are SO EASY TO USE), but in the end this is just what we decided to do.

Now, regarding the book signing. I went, and it was really, really great. Whenever I go to one of these events I feel so at home, like I'm in my own little club of people from all different backgrounds who spend their Monday evenings gushing about books from very diverse perspectives. The girls were fine. Currently they are purring through their noses in their sleep, completely stuffy and uncomfortable. But they were still fine. And actually, Berit doesn't even seem that sick. So that's good.

One other thing and then I'm telling you about the SECOND SHOWING. Trevor got bad news about a house he had been planning on building when his sworn enemy in the business made a bid that sounded pretty good to the homeowner but which we all know is a PACK OF DIRTY LIES, naturally. So he's been mad about that all day, and I've been all "Well can you IMPLY this or INFER that or nagnagnag-businessethics-theirsarebadhowdoweimplythatwithoutoursbeingbadtoo?" Which could explain why he's downstairs and I'm upstairs. Hm.

And. Second showing.
They came at 1 p.m. when we had finished cleaning the house at 12:58 p.m. Literally, I saw them pull into our subdivision, ran in and screamed at Trevor, HERE THEY ARE HURRY and he ran out. Our house is their choice. They put together what they think their offer would consist of and drove home to GR to figure it out tonight. Our Realtor (also their Realtor, coincidentally and bonus for her) thinks we'll hear tomorrow. They would need to move in in, oh, about a MONTH.

So this might not happen at all because we've been this close before with no offer, but still. STILL! And our Realtor is going on and on telling us about all the things they loved about the house and I'm thinking, that's what I love about this house. And she says, "Nothing else they've looked at has a basement/ballpark-esque playroom like yours, and I'm all, I KNOW. I know!

I'm reading Are You There Vodka, It's Me, Chelsea by Chelsea Handler right now (yes, I am) and all day I've been muttering the f-word in my mind because apparently if I read it, I become it, and the f-word has seemed like an entirely appropriate reaction to people possibly probably wanting to buy our house.

Also, I have my first race in two weeks and I have not run in five days.

The End.

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