From time to time, we hear folks say, "You guys are living my dream", or "I'd love to have your life", or similar. While these are fabulous compliments to the ridiculous life changes we have made in the last couple years, it should not go unmentioned that things do not always go smoothly at the Chalet.
In this internet, snapshot, instagram, status updated world, I find it just as valuable to show life's blunders with a sense of humor as to show the perfect selfie from the most unimaginably perfect angle.
Yesterday was one of the ridiculous days. So much so, that it should be shared.
Background: Geothermal contractors are presently three weeks behind. Our home heating conversion should be long done at this point, but in reality, it has not even begun. It has been a cool autumn, truthfully a rather moderate year altogether. This is only relevant because the current heating situation at the chalet is oil. Oil runs out. Oil must be ordered in advance. Oil has minimal delivery requirements.
So yesterday morning, I woke at 5AM to feed the Bird and dream about a steamy shower that would never happen. The air felt cool, so I snuggled the cherub close and settled in for a bit more sleep. My phone vibrated, the sound of my sweet husband's text message, alerting me from outside.
"the dog needs put out and the chickens are still in the coop, because it is too cold out"
ok, I say
"we have run out of heating oil, so I started the wood burner. Keep the logs going, I'll order fuel today"
I swallow hard. Alright. We can do this.
The Bear's room is the coolest room, by temperature in the house. I head downstairs to stoke a huge fire in the livingroom. As soon as I get the fire going, I'll open the Bear's door, I think, so that he wakes to a snuggly home instead of a frozen one. I quickly find that the new batch of firewood is reluctant to light. This task takes F.O.R.E.V.E.R. If you know me at all, fires are usually NOT a problem. This was a real challenge.
I feel behind schedule. I race to the kitchen, pull the crock of chili that I made the day before from the fridge. The handle pops off. GGGGrrrrr. We can come back to that.
The Bear wakes. Mucus is caked all around his nose, across both of his cheeks. He is crying and cannot be soothed. I summon 'Thomas' to occupy him, while I revisit the unlightable fire.
The Bird, AKA 'World's Biggest Sympathy Crier', hears his brother crying and wakes to fill my ears with more shrill sounds. I bring him down to the couch and shroud him in blankies while I try again to warm the living room.
Stay at home mommyhood aint no joke.
We fill bellies and wipe hineys and things start to turn around. We had high hopes of sharing cinnamon rolls with Papa Kevin, who is staying here on his journey out to Utah...
but the flipping oven gave out the night before, so that option is gone. I pop toast in the toaster and race down to the wood burner to toss a couple more logs on. What century is this??!
Chaos continues and I burn the toast. Cold flipping cereal on a cold flipping morning. That saying that saves Mamas sanity, "Don't worry, they won't remember anything before age two"... any chance I can extend it to age three? Not feeling awesome.
No one is cheering, and the flame is barely visible, but heat begins to emanate. The Bear and the cat seem pleased.
The dog, as well. Who now needs to go outside before he pees in the house. I don a jacket and head out to tend to the chickens and such.
Oh, this is the shameful, tech saves the day... before I could even get the TV on. All parenting ideals, making it 18 mo without screen time... it all goes down the flusher TODAY.
Skies part, angels sing, the fire takes.
Into the kitchen to clean up breakfast and fix crockpot. Stupid holiday candles that should be in the front windows are on counter. I bump one and 10,000 tiny shards of glass pour across the room. The dog, the boy and my feet find them for hours, despite three vacuuming attempts.
Glass slips into the floor cracks that I swear are just put in place to offer the Bear bobbypin hiding places. ggggrrr
No one. NO ONE. naps at all. Scratch that. They both sleep for about five minutes, until the oil truck (that shouldn't even be here, except the geothermal guys cant get their scheduling shit together) arrives, startles the two dogs in the yard, they bark, the man with too many layers on wants to talk about (yell about) the neighborhood while he fills the tank.... wakes up my (teething) babies.
More Thomas, more fire fueling and we stumble through a couple hours.
At 2:43 I text the husband, "I'm done. I'm cooked. Can't wait to see your mug"
Husband gets in the door, takes off his shoes and invites me to take that shower that I thought about at 5 AM
What a stellar fellar!
Hot, steamy, healing goodness. Aaahhhh cleanliness feels good.
I come downstairs, ready to commence cooking an OVEN-FREE bonvoyage meal for my Father, who is heading West in the morning, and I ask the husband to flip the heat back over to oil, so that we can give the ashy wood a rest. Husband hands me the Bird and heads downstairs.
I never see him again.
Stoke the fire.
Weeeeeelllllll sorta. The heater proceeds to break at this time. I cook dinner with the Bird on my back crying and the Bear flipping out because he still cannot breathe through his nose, he hasn't napped, no one is playing with him, and the day is really not going great.
Dinner started, I head out to button up the chickens, with the Bird on my back.
By some slip or terrible turn, I bump him on the doorframe when I am cleaning out the chicken water... it is 20 degrees outside. The Bird screams, the chickens freak out and take off. I do my best to round them back up and close up the coop. The screaming Bird and I head for the house.
Stoke the fire.
Dinner is complete, not even burnt (first non-burnt dinner in two weeks), and the Bear helps me set the table. For fun, we place a plastic wine glass at each seating. The plan is to toast my Dad on this new chapter of life.
Stoke the fire.
I call to the basement, where the men are diligently working to get the heater fixed, ask if they can take a break for dinner. Famished, they agree that they should clear their heads and fill their bellies. Fumes of heating oil fill the basement, when I get upstairs, I realized how strong the smell is there, as well. I open the kitchen window. Remember, we have no heat.
We sit down together to eat a warm meal for the last time in who knows how long. Somehow the half inch of fluid in the Bear's glass gets mixed with the half inch of liquid in someone else's glass. We cheers and the Bear spits his beverage across the table.
My goodness! We just gave the baby wine! AaAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH I'm a terrible mother!!!!!!!
Not really, I mean he didn't drink it, he spit it everwhere.
Is this day really happening?!?!?!?
If I hashtagged, I'd tag the crap out of mommyguilt right here!!!!
Stoke the fire. Pour apple juice.
We eat together, brainstorming a resolution. The gentlemen have a couple ideas.
I take the boys upstairs for a bath. The upper bath and bedrooms do not have duct work, but baseboard heaters. The smell hasn't filled the closed rooms. I feel safe.
Warm baths, clean, happy babies.
I take the boys to our room, the upper bedroom, bundle them up, winter hats and all, crank the baseboard heaters and put a sock under the door.
The boys are nearly to sleep when the phone battery dies and sends a beeping sound emanating through the room. Both boys are up and crazy town has arrived... again.
Husband brings a battery for the phone and a status report. We are trying to decide what to do.
Some fumes and an hour later, I am positive that the boys need to sleep elsewhere. I pack for.... I do not know how long, and take the kiddos to my Mother's. The husband and I hug in the driveway. I think we would both like to hide there in eachother's arms. What have we gotten ourselves into? EVERYTHING in this house has broken in the last year. Two major items in the last 24 hrs.
The Bird screams (read hyperventilates) the entire hour drive.
The speedometer in the Burban decides this is the very best time to die. I turn on the GPS for an approximate speed for my late travels.
I pull off the expressway and the car goes silent, both babies are now zonked out. Pull into Mom's driveway and consider just sitting there for the night. This is the most peace I've had all day.
By 11PM they are both asleep at my Mom's. I sit and tears pour down my cheeks. It's been SUCH a long week and it's only Monday.
I start to email a friend who is out of town, tell her I need to crash at her place with the babies. Before I hit 'send' on the email, a text pops up. It's the husband.
He found the problem on the heater.
He opens up the house, allows the air to pass through all night.
The boys and I head home in the morning to a warm and nearly stink free house.
This Thanksgiving I will be particularly thankful that Monday's only happen once a week.
Maybe I'll go make a fire to set a soothing tone. Or not.
Let's crank this crappy oil furnace and burn what we got... because geothermal is coming... some day.
Cabin living isn't always the picture-perfect postcard that it seems to be, but we wouldn't change it for the world!
If you made it to the end of this rant, hope you found the funny. It's only a few hours ago and we are already laughing... in a warm house, as we shop for a new oven... to cook (or burn) a turkey in. :)
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