When is that Dyson guy going to invent a coffee maker that won't get completely clogged with a single ground, causing it to erupt in angry burning hotness all over everything everywhere?
Cap'n back on premises: check.
Niece back home: nearly check.
Children on antibiotics: two.
Business intact: check.
Inches of snow: 10
House on the market: check.
Offers on the house: one.
Serious offers on the house: zero.
It occurred to me yesterday that before we did this, before we ditched our jobs and moved to the country to do our own thing, that I carried an unspoken assumption that once I left the city I would somehow acquire all the spare time and sanity that I ever desired. Instead, there are more plates spinning, and zero time for moi. And still, I couldn't actually tell you what actually fills my day. Kids, yes. Customers, yes. Cleaning, yes. It doesn't sounds like much, but boy howdy, it's a lot.
So, yes, the Cap'n did a knock up job in the city and was back in record time. And my niece visited to help pick up the slack and was incredibly helpful. If I could snap my fingers and have anything right now, it would be a 16-year-old daughter who is so thoughtful and eager to help.
Last week poor BabyEve came down with a nasty case of RSV, and nearly landed in the hospital. For four days she just sort of checked out...distant gaze...nothing sweet, just misery. She's doing much better now, and it's amazing to have her back.
Whilst hovering and fretting over BabyEve, I knew Poopies had Yet Another Virus, but figured it was business as usual. I knew he was carrying a fever, but figured it was just a new cold settling in, and would pass like the others. I knew he had been coughing for awhile, but honestly, we're all always at some stage of a cough. It wasn't until his eyes got all pink, puffy and glazed and he stopped eating that I realized something was up. The Cap'n took him to the doctor yesterday and apparently got a few raised eyebrows at the severity of the Pooper's illness. I feel so bad, he was really sick. To be fair, BabyEve's illness was far more dangerous, but it pulled all my attention and I forgot about my poor little guy, quietly festering in the corner. Poor. Little. Sweet. (and now skinny) Pooper. Ugh.