How You Can Tell It's My Life

Remember how we were all playing at the beach yesterday?
Everything seemed so nice.
Like it was going better.

Well, what you don't know is that was a 2 hour window when Baby seemed better.

Before that my day started with Baby puking. Then hustling to get the house ready for a morning showing and our trip to visit Kiki at the beach.

I loaded the car with puke supplies:

and we hoped for the best.

Baby didn't ever puke but she was clearly not doing well. She was running a fever and uncomfortable. I fretted and wondered what would be better turning around and handling it all alone in Asheville, or making it to Myrtle Beach and having someone to entertain Kid while I tended to Baby.

I chose the later.

We made it and she perked up. She seemed revived by the beach.

I thought we had made it through the worst.

But then she was moody and irritable and a little feverish that night.

Of course, this is the first trip I've ever taken without my trusted thermometer and tylenol (seriously).

By this morning she was scarily listless and nodding off in a weird coma like state that she couldn't/wouldn't be woken from.

She hadn't peed in over 24 hours and was obviously severely dehydrated.

She finally woke up and came to the table.

Her heart was racing, her hands were shaking, and I was starting to freak the fuck out.

I think I stayed fairly calm on the outside.

She sat down and drank and drank and drank (5 cups back to back).

I was hopeful.

But then she nodded back off and wouldn't stay awake for more than a few minutes at a time.

I got a thermometer and some tylenol and motrin.

No fever.

Still no pee.

Still coma sleeping:

We went to the beach so Kid could play with Kiki (don't worry we were closer to the hospital):

I stripped Baby down and sprinkled water on her body and let the wind keep her cooled. And let her sleep.

I watched her breathing (not strained).

I took her temperature (still broken).

I let her be.

Several hours later it started to rain.

We lugged everything up from the beach.

Baby woke up and seemed better.

Kid gets in the car.

And says:

"My tummy hurts."

It starts over again.

P.S. Baby finally peed (horray! No trip to the ER for her... phew... that was a close one).

P.P.S. If you were thinking that Kid's puke-fest on Tuesday was actually a virus that Baby ended up getting... like I thought... we were both wrong. That was one of her isolated incidents. Today... this.... gallon of strawberry puke (for real, I cannot believe someone's stomach could hold so much) THIS is the virus that Baby has that now Kid has. This is no joke. I cannot wait to get it on the drive home tomorrow.

P.P.P.S Yes I canceled the baby for Monday just in case I can't even get back to Asheville in time. Or in case I'm hugging the toilet by then myself.

We Heart Aunt Kiki

Uh... Mom!

"I think I have to go potty!" Baby calls running toward me with her shorts around her ankles.

"Actually, that's called you already went poop in your pants." Mrs F corrects.

So Yeah

Admittedly not my safest plan to date:

But when I fall there's a pretty good chance it will be a soft landing. And I couldn't say that about the rickety ladder. Right?

Video Update

Locksmithery: One More Notch In the Ole Self Competency Belt

Never one to just throw in the towel (that and not wanting to pay a locksmith) I kept working on that damn lock.
No budging.

Then when Sir Hugs-A-Lot (property dispute guy) came over for a signature I thought I'd hit him up for the use of his manly strength.

That's when this happened:

Yep, he immediately broke the key.

Awesome. Well that settles it, I thought, I'm going to have to get a locksmith out here now.

Dreading it, all of it: the finding a locksmith, the dealing with a locksmith, the scheduling of the locksmith, and the paying for a locksmith. I though to myself: "I can't make it worse". So I decided to disassemble the lock and see if I could slide the locking mechanism out of the door.


Bingo! I could.

Well too bad I hadn't trusted in myself FIRST.
Because, now I still had a cylinder with a broken key.
I was kicking myself for asking that big brute for help. If I hadn't I'd have had everything fixed by now.

Thankfully the internet was here to help.
I lubed up the lock and tried to pick out the broken key.
(One more reason to hang onto your jack-o-lantern saws, ladies!)
So frustratingly close but no cigar.

I thought I'd have to get a locksmith out here after all.
I'm still thinking locksmiths must be out there for a reason. This must be complex... no?
But why can't I just replace the cylinder?
A quick google proved I can... and for only 5 bucks.
Done!

The whole dismantling allowed me to repaint the door (bonus?!). Cause it's not like I had anything else to do.

And Ta-Da.

I did it.

I have to say I was feeling pretty proud of myself. I approached this whole situation from a fairly intimidated standpoint. It would have been the easiest route to just call a locksmith and hand over the problem. I'm glad I didn't. Not just because of the massive amounts of money saved, but because it's a good example for my girls... and for myself.

P.S. Kid woke up puking today. Proving that, whether big or small, I seemingly face some kind of crisis every single day.

It's A Good Thing I'm Mrs. Money Bags

This morning the schedulers called for a showing. 2-4 PM.
I babysit until just about 1 PM, so that was just enough time to get things cleaned up and ready to go.
Than at 12:30 they called and asked if they could move it to: 12:30!
I said "give me 15 minutes".
The baby's mother came and I put the pedal to the metal on the vacuum.
Thankfully, I had been slowly getting things ready as I went along.
I almost fell over from crazy anxiety and adrenaline. One of these days the stress might actually kill me.
I did it.
We left.
We came back.
They fucked up our lock and we were then locked out.
With groceries.
Amazingly I had the key to the side door... but... damn it.. I forgot to unlock the screen door!
And I'm not about to cut a screen right when I'm selling the house.
One more way in.
Thankfully Baby had a stash of stickers in her purse.
I was able to use the sheet of stickers to lift the hook on the inside of our screen porch door.
Hoping that they forgot to lock the house door to the porch.
They did! (which, honestly, is just one more strike against them)
We're in!
But the front door lock is jammed.
Which is a pretty big problem since that's the door the realtors use.
I've spent half an hour already and there is no budging it.
And they managed to scratch the hell out of our trim paint around the door. wtf?
Especially frustrating since we crossed paths with them and I left the door open for them.
They never needed the key.
The door locks automatically.
Now I get to call a locksmith.

Belated

You know it's a pretty sorry state of affairs when you see something like this coming out of my kitchen:

Mr F got the pick of the litter from the grocery store bakery... (yum?!). I didn't even have matching numbers. What do you want from me?!... We had a showing.

My mother flew Mr F in for his birthday. His job was kind enough to give him Friday off (which seeing as he literally works over 100 hours a week he kind of had coming to him). Of course because of the showing he spent it mowing the lawn while I scrubbed the floors. Oh well... he's a grown up. I did let him pick something out at Target. As I said "You can have anything you want... even Merona."

I also made him weigh himself before bed. Happy Birthday Honey, let's see how fat you are! Something like that. Mr F always goes for it because he has some weird ability to lose weight while drinking soda and eating candy while he works all night long. Then I get all ticked off that I have to work myself into the ground to lose a pound. So he's gotten kind of cocky about it. Well, Sweet baby Jesus... that man has gained 13 pounds in the 2 months he's been in Michigan! (Of course I was kind of happy about that because it just makes me seem even thinner... yes?). I think I said something like "You're gaining more than a pound a week... What are you, pregnant?!" Oh God, it was good times. The next morning as we were eating breakfast at McDonald's (what?! I said we had a showing), I was reading the nutritional info to Mr F. Mr F said "I guess that's where I've been going wrong... the sausage."

Happy Birthday Mr F!