Sanctuary

Hey y'all -

I know. It's been forever.

When I got back from my trip to LA, your dad and I decided to move forward with our plan to switch bedrooms with you guys. Your dad and I are going to move upstairs to what used to be your room, because it just wasn't making sense for us to run up and down the stairs all day, fetching baby clothes and diapers and putting away toys. Also, I have a fantasy that when this parenting thing gets rough, I can run to the top of the stairs and scream "SANCTUARY!" like Quasimodo in Hunchback of Notre Dame. Then, you'll have to leave me alone, because the ancient Catholics say so.

You guys will be moving to the smaller room just off the living room.

But of course, we couldn't just move, we had to first build some things! Great big things! Like, a closet upstairs. And some toy storage for downstairs. And we had to assemble most of it in the middle of the living room. Why? Because nothing we do is "easy peasy." It's more "hard-y swiss chard-y," (the only veggie I could think of that rhymes with "hard.") Ok, fine. If we're going to be honest, it was hardy Bacardi.

I bought storage bins online from Ikea, and your dad built me a custom unit for them to slide into. This thing is 8 ft long, and should accommodate all of your toys. Or else.

For most of this week, our house has been mayhem with each person having half of his or her wardrobe upstairs and the other downstairs. Need to wrap a present? The gift wrap is by the bath tub. Need to print a document? Crawl under the bed.

My vacuum cleaner robot died on Sunday, so I fiddled with it for half a day, removing all 31 tiny screws. I decided that no amount of money was worth the frustration, so I threw the whole contraption in the trash can and resolved to buy a new one. A quick look on Amazon reminded me that the dang thing cost me almost $300, so I fished it back out of the trash. I tell this story just in case, when I don't blog for a few days, our readers are under the false impression that I'm busy doing something glamorous. Now when I miss a day, you can reasonably say to yourself, "Self, I bet she's pulling wadded dog hair out of a vacuum with tweezers."

So anyway - mayhem everywhere, stuff in piles, vacuum disassembled on the counter. My hyper-clean grandmother would have had a coronary if 1) she had been here and 2) she didn't go to exercise class four times a week and have a better ticker than me.

And then: Hagen started teething, and we all stopped sleeping.

Yesterday evening, I was making dinner, and Laney threw him a raw ear of corn to shut him up. We had to have a talk - again - about the differences between brothers and puppies.

Last night, Hagen hollered all night long. I think we cumulatively got an hour and a half of sleep. Nothing helped. Not medicine, not being held, not being put down, not pacifiers or lullabies or pleading or offers of cash in an envelope.

We're all draggy today, and even Hagen has been hanging out at the back door, looking out at the world and wondering what's to become of us.

Sanctuary!

Love,

Mom