Drought
I am compelled to blog what is going on here because writer's love to report that "you just can't make this stuff up!"
The drought in our home refers to the lack of running water. Yippee, just like the good ol' days of being a poor, broke down kid in a single-parent home! It is also fun to note that a few weeks back we also went without gas. And, that while I was pregnant with the twins our electricity was shut off, leaving us stranded outside, at night, with no means to open the garage to get into the house. Good times.
So, sans running water (which, to clarify, includes: flushing toilets, use of sink, and showers/baths) I challenge the day to throw at me whatever it's got. Let's do this. That's how I roll.
Despite my constant [ahh, the fan finally kicked on after 20 minutes in the 'on' position. oldest broke it], anyway... refusals of jugs of water my husband would like to bring home, he lugs home 3 gallons and a King Size Snickers to cheer me up.
He leaves. The fun begins.
I set up the lovely collection of Graco baby equipment to take a picture so that I can hock it on Craig's List. (Duh, to pay the $600 water bill! Such silly questions.) The babies begin warning me of their impending melt down. I try to hurry with the setup and glamorous photo shoot in the garage.
The phone rings. The oldest asks grumpily, 'ughh, who is "the..city of...dallas?" 'DAMMIT! Give me the phone!!'
Finally someone calls me back on my story. Somebody, anybody. I need to make progress.
Well, it's City Councilwoman Elba Garcia.
At this moment, the babies begin screaming. Two minutes into the conversation, 'It's the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown,' ends. Shit! The toddler now demands more entertainment.
A minute or two later, the oldest interrupts that something is seriously wrong with the girl twin. Oh Christ. Hurry up, ask the important questions. Remember 'deadline writing' from college, because 1.) I've been waiting weeks to talk to Dr. Garcia and 2.) I know I won't be able to catch her again, lest I get her cell number (which i do).
The oldest reports that the girl twin has pooped herself and it's run down her leg, all over her clothes [dammit, the fan turned off again], and her side of the crib. She's crying loudly.
I type a message for the oldest on my screen while Dr. Garcia searches for a number to give me. "Wrap her in a blankie and hold her."
I get a final bit of info, apologize and tell Dr. Garcia I'll have to catch up with her again another time. Perhaps before calling me she should've conferred with the city attorney about how fun it is to talk to me at home.
I hurry to help the girl twin.
I'll end by saying that she's fine now and she's all cleaned up.
Just remember one point--WE DON'T HAVE RUNNING WATER.
The day is far from over. Can't wait to see what happens next.
The drought in our home refers to the lack of running water. Yippee, just like the good ol' days of being a poor, broke down kid in a single-parent home! It is also fun to note that a few weeks back we also went without gas. And, that while I was pregnant with the twins our electricity was shut off, leaving us stranded outside, at night, with no means to open the garage to get into the house. Good times.
So, sans running water (which, to clarify, includes: flushing toilets, use of sink, and showers/baths) I challenge the day to throw at me whatever it's got. Let's do this. That's how I roll.
Despite my constant [ahh, the fan finally kicked on after 20 minutes in the 'on' position. oldest broke it], anyway... refusals of jugs of water my husband would like to bring home, he lugs home 3 gallons and a King Size Snickers to cheer me up.
He leaves. The fun begins.
I set up the lovely collection of Graco baby equipment to take a picture so that I can hock it on Craig's List. (Duh, to pay the $600 water bill! Such silly questions.) The babies begin warning me of their impending melt down. I try to hurry with the setup and glamorous photo shoot in the garage.
The phone rings. The oldest asks grumpily, 'ughh, who is "the..city of...dallas?" 'DAMMIT! Give me the phone!!'
Finally someone calls me back on my story. Somebody, anybody. I need to make progress.
Well, it's City Councilwoman Elba Garcia.
At this moment, the babies begin screaming. Two minutes into the conversation, 'It's the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown,' ends. Shit! The toddler now demands more entertainment.
A minute or two later, the oldest interrupts that something is seriously wrong with the girl twin. Oh Christ. Hurry up, ask the important questions. Remember 'deadline writing' from college, because 1.) I've been waiting weeks to talk to Dr. Garcia and 2.) I know I won't be able to catch her again, lest I get her cell number (which i do).
The oldest reports that the girl twin has pooped herself and it's run down her leg, all over her clothes [dammit, the fan turned off again], and her side of the crib. She's crying loudly.
I type a message for the oldest on my screen while Dr. Garcia searches for a number to give me. "Wrap her in a blankie and hold her."
I get a final bit of info, apologize and tell Dr. Garcia I'll have to catch up with her again another time. Perhaps before calling me she should've conferred with the city attorney about how fun it is to talk to me at home.
I hurry to help the girl twin.
I'll end by saying that she's fine now and she's all cleaned up.
Just remember one point--WE DON'T HAVE RUNNING WATER.
The day is far from over. Can't wait to see what happens next.
posted by hildy @ 4:55 PM
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