As promised, here is the mother of all blog posts updating you all on everything that happened (or at least what I can remember, I should have taken notes…). If this turns to migity mush by the end and your saying to yourself “oh my gah, that was a lot of randomness!”, consider yourself warned. So where to begin? I’ll start with the week my beloved husband left me for a “work trip” in Italy…which I call a “vacation”. Numerous hours of blissful sleep, never to be disturbed in the middle of the night…that’s a vacation in my book (or blog rather). Yeah, he may have been “working” a lot, had a cold, and ended up scratching his cornea and needing pain meds all while he was there…but he still got sleep.
The week Sean left for Italy was one I’d like to forget about. It was the week both babies decided to get their two top teeth at the same time. My content, happy, little Liam turned into a clingy monster that would only sleep if he was rocked, which without a rocking chair means standing by the crib in case you drop him because your arms are so tired and losing circulation. Abram just plain refused to sleep…ever! He still wakes us up about once a night, but during this week he was up 4 to 5 times a night. Thank goodness that during those awful early hours people are awake back home so Facebook is live and kickin’. So right about now you’re thinking well lack of sleep…that’s normal for parents of infants, which kudos to you on being so compassionate! Here’s the thing though, if taking care of cranky teething babies was the only thing I had to do it wouldn’t had been so bad. During that same week I had two very German older gentlemen installing my kitchen, who only spoke German and GerEnglish sign language. If it wasn’t for the hand gestures I wouldn’t have a clue to what was going on. Also during this week I had my entire house from the US delivered. No, not the house itself, you’ve seen the ‘Wizard of Oz’ too many times!
Let’s take a moment to dive deeper into my household goods being delivered shall we? It was literally me against seven guys in my house (if you include the cranky babies). Three German (two being the kitchen installers), one Italian, one Irish, and my two little English transplants (I have never had to put the toilet seat down so many times in one day!). The three guys that delivered my household goods, although were very nice, totally used the fact that I was alone with two babies to their advantage and therefore are complete asshats. At the time that my house was delivered we still had super sexy loaner furniture in the house, so furniture on top of furniture means nowhere to move, plus boxes equals I’ve become my own version of an Olympic hurdler. Anyway, what I wasn’t aware of at the time was that it was their job to unpack all of the boxes and put the contents away according to my every command (which had I known that I would have been like a drill sergeant). At one point the Italian had stopped to help me open a box and when his leader witnessed this he barked an order in German and quickly left me to battle the moving tape on my own. Needless to say, I was exhausted and I still had another long night ahead of me until Sean returned from his work vacation the next afternoon.
Fast forward to the next week, still trying to find the floor amongst all the boxes, which was okay with me because it was the week before my parents were to arrive from the States. During this week I had an interesting encounter with the electrician who had stopped by to fix some electrical problems we’d been bugging the building manager about since the day we moved in. He went about his work quickly leaving me to continue unpacking while the boys were taking a nap. After covering all the sticky note to-do’s my husband had left for him, he asked me in his best GerEnglish sign language if there was anything else he needed to work on.
I pointed out to him that although there was power to the wires for the light fixture over the table, there was not enough power to light the fixture. He immediately takes the fixture we had purchased for that location and went to work hooking it up, mistaking my hand gestures for “hang this” instead of “these darn wires only have enough power to make a 60 watt pendant light turn on”. He got it hooked up, and then proudly went to flip the switch to discover the light didn’t turn on, which I responded with the “told ya so” look. From there he said a few words in German I am pretty sure were not meant for me to understand, and went around to the different switches pulling wires and replacing them again. He returned to the light fixture and began to put it up again when I noticed some wires sticking out that needed to be pushed inside to properly secure it to the ceiling which he couldn’t reach. Quickly I jump up onto the table, and attempt to push the cords in when I hear a curse word come from the electrician I actually understood. Looking in the direction of the curse word I see the electrician shoving his thumb in his mouth and then pulling it out shaking it around as if he was in pain, which he was due to the lovely gash across his thumb. Apparently the spit and frantic waving combination was enough to calm his bloody nerves and he went about attaching the fixture with my help again. Eventually I end up hold the fixture while he mingles a few wires when suddenly he curses again, but this time the spit and waving didn’t work. There was a stream of blood running down his arm, which if you know me, you know I don’t do blood very well. He quickly jumps off the chair he was using as a ladder and runs to the sink to wash the blood away. Here I am, standing on top of a table, holding a light fixture, willing myself not to pass out. The only thing going through my head was “the babies are going to wake up soon and if you pass out the only person here to help is a bloody electrician who is cursing up a storm in German…not very good babysitting material”. Somehow I manage to keep myself standing upright and he signals to me that it was okay to set the light down, that the wires would be able to support the weight. I follow his lead, and make my way off the table trying to think of what the heck to do with this guy bleeding all over my new sink…duh…fix him (excluding the spit factor). Thank goodness I had just recently put away the baby first aid kit. Tossing the kit on the counter I decided the rattle inside was no help and instead went for the gauze and first aid tape. I felt so proud of myself, fixing him up well enough to not bleed all over and avoiding passing out. The rest of the day I wore around an invisible cape that read “Super Mom, fixing bloody electricians since 2012”.
And now I realize this post is turning into a novel and I still haven’t covered the two weeks my parents were here visiting, and also because I have an awake Mr. Abram I’ll leave you all pondering the Hughes-Cobb Germany adventure until my next post. Lucky for you, that one will include pictures so you can choose to skip all the migity mush and skip to the pictures (they do say a picture is worth 1,000 words right? Maybe I should do a post of nothing but pictures and let your imagination tell your version of the story…nahhhh, I like writing too much.).