Goodnight, Irene: Alternatively Titled I Love Electricity

I can now say that five out of six of us have experienced our first hurricane (Erin, a New Orleans native is an old pro). And I'm here to tell you I do not need to do that again for a while.

Sunday morning began early, with the cringe inducing thud of the power going out. We sort of knew it was inevitable, it was just a matter of when and for how long. I was nursing the babies when I heard the tell-tale "thud" around 3 a.m. The little sound machine that sits on our bedroom floor next to the crib stopped, the air conditioner silenced and of course, the lights (bathroom, outside): out.

The rain had started around 2 p.m. Saturday and was relentless, battering, Noah's Ark kind of rain. I let the kids play outside for a little bit before the winds came (figuring we'd likely be trapped in the house for a good 24 hours--see above). They are always up for an occasion that requires rain coats and umbrellas.

The winds didn't come until Sunday morning and oh did they come. But a quick peak at the sump in our basement told the saddest tale of all. No power=no sump pump and the waters were rising. Erin bailed. Then I bailed. It hardly made a dent. Our sweet next-door neighbors texted us to see if we needed anything. For some strange reason their power had been restored while ours had not (even though they're just next to us they're on a different power grid). I told them our tale of woe and they responded immediately: Did we need anything? Ice for the melting fridge? Coffee? Babysitters while we bailed?

Did someone say coffee?

Then Erin then had the brilliant idea to plug our sump pump into the neighbors' house (which is so close we can practically stick our hand in their living room window).

SUCCESS!

But perhaps most brilliant of all was her next idea, which was to plug the DVD player and TV into the neighbors' power so that Leo and Ellie would leave us alone for ten minutes. Let's just say between the bailing and the babies and the trapped in the house for twelve hours with no power? It had been a long morning.

And in case anyone is wondering I do not think Leo or Ellie would last long on the prairie (not that I would either). Around 4 p.m. Sunday afternoon the whole house buzzed with the beautiful sound of the power being restored. I whine endlessly here but really we were the lucky ones. Friends close and far on the east coast suffered so much more than we did, not to mention the poor people in parts of the mid-Atlantic and New England and New York and even parts of New Jersey just a few miles from us.

The next morning the sky was bluer and clearer then I've seen it in a long time. The coffee pot was on and full and wafting its gorgeous scent of Stumptown throughout the house, the dishwasher was churning and all the towels, soiled from the basement antics the day before were clean and gracefully spinning around in the dryer. Truly the calm after the storm.

And the battery back-up for the sump pump? It's on its way.

When it Rains, it Pours

You know it’s bad when you look at going to work as relaxation.

I’m hoping this week is better than last. Leo was up and down illness-wise. Thank goodness it was nothing serious, just enough to really just inconvenience and exhaust us all, so I really can’t complain (although, watch me!). He was home from school Monday and Tuesday with a stomach bug, returned Wednesday and Thursday. Then, Mom of the Year got the email from Mrs. L on Thursday afternoon. I knew it was bad before I even opened it. The subject line was: “Leo’s cold.”

Uh oh.

Yes, the boy apparently hacked all over everyone on Thursday. He was taken to the nurse’s office twice for a temperature check (normal). His sweet classmates reportedly "pat him on the back with each hack," according to Mrs. L., who never came right out and said it but the message was clear: keep him home on Friday. And so I did. I honestly didn't know it was that bad. Thursday morning I assure you, he was bouncing off the walls and seemed more than ready to be back at school. He practically skipped to the bus.

I worked from home on Friday (always an interesting endeavor). It was then that I also discovered that our dry-since-last-year-finished basement (yes, yes, we have carpet, I know, who has carpet in their basement when they live in the flood zones of northern New Jersey? Answer: We do) was no longer dry. You may have heard, we had a bit of flooding.


GROAN (with the obvious caveat that it could have been much, much worse). And obviously, in light of Japan and everything that’s going on there, well our little basement woes seem mightily insignificant.

But still. We all know what we did this weekend. And by “we” I mean, Erin. Ripped out wet, heavy carpet and moldy wood. Scrubbed basement floors. Hauled wet carpet and moldy wood to the street. Yes we have a sump pump. And a French drain. Isn’t home ownership just awesome sometimes?

I miss our cozy little soft carpeted basement but really, that carpet had to go. We’ve already had it professionally cleaned once, when a pipe burst last spring. We’ll (I mean, Erin) will paint the basement floor a cute color (we’re thinking maybe red?) and get a few more area rugs. It’s going to be fine.

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In other news, you know how they say that the reason you don’t sleep well during pregnancy is it’s mother nature’s way of preparing you for all those middle of the night waking newborns? Well, I’m thinking, if you’re pregnant, and you already have small children who don’t sleep well, shouldn’t you get a pass on the whole “waking up in the middle of the night for no reason” thing? Most nights I’ve been waking anywhere between 1 a.m. and 3 a.m. for a good solid hour. And I just can’t get back to sleep. And it’s a real drag. True, many nights, someone (small) wakes me. Leo kicks me in the head or crashes his tiny skull into mine (he’s fond of sitting up while completely asleep and then tipping forward, often onto my head). Or Ellie arrives bedside, whispering, “Mommy, can I get into your bed?”

But the waking up for no good reason at all? Just seems cruel. And no amount of Stumptown seems to be helping.

On a lighter note, we had a fun play date yesterday (I think the kids were thrilled to be out of the house after Saturday's full day of flood repair). Leo was loving a little toy tool bench and after some assistance with the tool belt, figured out all by himself how to put the tools in the little pockets, looking like a lost cast member from "This Old House." Ellie, upon noticing my interest in Leo's play, announced from across the room, "I want to be a tool!"

Sometimes? It's just really hard not to laugh at your kids.


This picture has nothing to do with this post (and it's terrible quality) but I love how it illustrates Leo's wonderful imagination. See how he's hung his dragon from the Lego tower (which is apparently on fire)?

Sick Kids and Broken Sumps Pumps, Alternatively Titled: It's FUN to Be a Grown-Up!

You know it's bad when your kid's teacher calls and suggests that perhaps you should keep your kid home the next day. Apparently Leo spent all of Thursday hacking all over everyone, not eating his lunch, yawning and just being generally miserable. By the time she called me (early afternoon) she conceeded it would be too late for me to get him before the school day ended. And so I scrambled at work trying to make arrangements for today. And Ellie could use a day off too. She still sounds like the Marlboro Man.

And because the last hour of my day at work wasn't stressful enough--trying to finish three stories in an hour and delegate my work for the next day (and did I mention today is my holiday work party? That I am missing FREE margaritas?). Seriously. Anyway, as I was saying, if that end of the day stress wasn't enough (because if I don't leave by a certain time then I miss my bus and I'm late picking up my kids, my kids who are already the LAST kids to get picked up). It's like a gigantic domino set, the whole schedule thing. If one thing falls, they all do.

And then, home to the sump pump alarm which had been going off all day and night which I think Erin and I had sort of been hoping would just "heal" itself.

For those of you who don't have the pleasure, in layman's terms, a sump pump keeps your basement dry. Northern New Jersey, where we live, is prone to flooding. Big, major, awful, thousands of dollars flooding. And so we have a sump pump. Well, did you know sump pump batteries die? I didn't. And did you know that when you buy a replacement battery, you also have to buy BATTERY ACID to pour in that new battery?

Lucky Erin got to tromp out in the 22 degree wind storm last night to good old Home Depot to buy the goods, which included yes, a box of freaking battery acid. We worked together to pour it into the new battery and shortly before midnight (yawn) we were back in the working sump pump business. Pfew.
***
And so today instead of free margaritas and co-worker gossip I am taking Ellie in for her follow-up wheezing exam (please no nebulizer, please) and will throw Leo in for good measure (to be checked out by the ped for his horrendous cough). And if that wasn't fun enough (two sick kids to the ped), let's also go to the ENT! He had asked that I call him the next time Leo is "junky" so he can properly check out the adnoids. All I can say is this procedure involves a numbing spray and something (a tube? a scope? going up the nose or down the throat or something equally awful). Leo is going to LOVE that. I mean really, kill me now, OK?

We WILL be stopping off at the wine shop on the way home.

Unbeknownst to Leo there is numbing spray in his immediate future (don't ask me how I'm going to swing that ENT apointment with both the kids since Leo's going to need some serious restraints) but for now, Leo is a happy clam, sitting on the couch watching "Dora's Christmas Carol" for the seventy-millionth time. He's doing his second favorite thing in the world, eating scrambled eggs. Sure it's technically a sick day, but at our house, we call this, falling into a barrel of schmaltz.*

*I believe this is Yiddish for swimming in chicken fat, which at one time was considered a delicacy. I know, I know, kind of gross. It was something my grandma and mom said when someone was really, really happy. At least, for the moment.