BabyEve is the clinginess thing eveeeer. I know it sounds terrible: "oh, the human embodiment of an angel loves me so much that it hurts to be parted from me for even an instant" and she truly is the sweetest thing on this planet, but at the same time it would be fabulous to be able to leave the room or get something done without a sweet babygirl either losing her marbles, or attached to my front, each hand thrust into my hair, earnestly sucking her lower lip. Is that wrong? I keep trying to get the Cap'n to step up and intercede, get her to rely on him a bit emotionally, but it's hard when she's screaming for me and the best medicine is to walk away and let her bellow. So, I guess that means that I'm just as much to blame. Huh!
Today is Sunday, so guests are stopping by, getting coffee, checking out. Somehow this morning I ran out of coffee within 15 minutes of opening...clearly some foreign big cups were brought in without my knowing...and so this morning I'm in frantic, paranoid, compulsive making of never-ending pots of coffee.
I have to admit that some days, particularly the extremely cold, snowy, icy ones, I'm really loathe to go clean up after the weekend. Even though it is nice to get out of the house, get some moderate exercise, have some fresh air and some much-needed alone time, sometimes it seems like a never-ending limbo, or maybe even a mild personal hell, to work to return rooms and cottages to their original condition, only to have them re-dirtied and then re-cleaned. Forever and ever amen. Sometime we refer to it as exorcism...particularly if we didn't particularly like the guests. On those occasions I can't help but always think "This house is clean." a la Poltergeist, when I close the door to a hard-won clean cottage.
Yesterday we had an appraisal at the place we're hoping to buy next door, the old restaurant that we'll convert to a larger living space and additional units for the business. It's nice to have progress, but frankly, the whole thing gives me a stomachache. Even though there are bright spots, I don't particularly like the building, and this is likely going to be our home for a long, long time, I assume. If it weren't for the location, I frankly wouldn't want it. And after all our work, all these years, it would be nice to finally really love our house, you know? Also, I'm afraid relations with the seller (no real estate agent is involved, unfortunately) have begun to dissolve, which I've sort of been anticipating. She is a bit of a hothead. And, she seems to be strangely unacquainted with the process of real estate transactions, not knowing that there would be this curious thing called an "appraisal" that would confirm our number, and that the current sad state of real estate values might ding the number a bit. She's a big paranoid mess right now. We should hear back late this week. I don't think she's going to be happy, and I don't know what her reaction will be. This is the part of real estate transactions I hate, mostly it's the waiting but it's also the potential for conflict and failure.
Now I shall don my vestments to exorcise the demons of unclean.