The weapons of house destruction should be arriving shortly.
Last evening, Emily and I packed up the half of the living room where they'll start this morning.
Couch, loveseat, tv cabinet, coffee table, end table, numerous plants, lamps, pictures, shelves, all shoved into the other end of the living room.
Persian rug rolled up.
Not without difficulty.
Frankie and Tikka were on the rug as Em and I were rolling and for some reason they couldn't grasp that rolling it meant that they could no longer stand on it.
And for some reason they were loathe to jump from the rug to the floor.
Honestly.
The contractors just walked in.
Me and Stephen moved from office to kitchen with our laptops.
One, they started in the office.
Two, Frankie is in the crate, letting us know how he's feeling about these new strangers parading through our home.
Company for Frankie = less barking from Frankie.
Tikka upstairs, downstairs, following the contractors, looking for any affection they feel like bestowing.
When I moved to the kitchen, she stood resolutely at the top of the stairs, refusing to come down with me, looking at me as if to say,
Are you REALLY going to leave them up here on their own without my surveillance?
Let the games begin!
It would appear that clearing out half the living room wasn't enough.
At this moment, the two young men taking on our reconstruction nightmare are moving the heavy furniture to the company's storage facilities.
Including the three antique chairs.
But NOT the antique library able.
I do want to stay married and moving that table out of Stephen's sight will result in immediate divorce.
And possibly dismemberment.
The kitchen is starting to look like a small jungle, as what stays in the living room will be covered in cardboard.
I kind of like all the plants in the kitchen.
Somehow I don't think Stephen will agree.
The two tropical plants inherited from my neighbour have been moved outside, as have all plants I think will survive out there, where they will remain until this is all over.
And everything else is just being moved to whatever free space is available.
Leaving the living room looking quite bare.
The only reason the couch is still in there is because they couldn't get it out the front door.
I know we got in, but how remains a blank spot in my mind.
And Tikka is just taking everything in her stride.
Now that the initial excitement of new people doing strange things in the house has subsided, she's content to just wait things out.
The time line: a month.
A very long month.
Just so long as everything is done before I leave for Murray Corner.
Because NOTHING is going to keep me from my week at the beach.
That's the only thing holding me together right now.
All this from one little crack in a pipe.
And, oddly enough, Stephen has managed to miss ALL the moving of things and packing of stuff.
Someone will pay later.
Dearly.
Pookie and Mum's Day Out was a huge success.
We started out with a hair cut from Norma-the-most-amazing-hairdresser-in-the-world-at-Klub-Soda.
That Keith initiated the hair cut request sent waves of joy crashing into my heart.
There was a time, not so long ago, that getting Keith to agree to a hair cut was akin to getting Em to clean her room.
Except now he willing gets his hair cut.
Em is still completely unwilling to clean her room.
However, Keith didn't have an appointment, and when I called Norma, she said,
I can certainly cut his hair, but I need him here now.
So as Keith was heading for the shower, I told him to stop, get himself dressed, brush his teeth, spray on some cologne and get himself into the car.
ASAP.
Ten minutes after I hung up the phone, he was walking into Klub Soda.
And I was trying to parallel park.
Luckily no one had the camera for that.
Keith doesn't so much get a hair cut as a nest trim.
Hair grows down.
Atop Keith's head is the closest thing to a human hair bird's nest I've ever seen.
And it's misleading.
Underneath his bird's nest cap is a tangle of hair.
Everytime he gets it cut, I'm amazed at what collects on the floor.
And in the end, the effort was worth it.
Such a handsome young man, my son!
After his ears were lowered, as my father calls it, he wanted to get a pair of Birkenstocks.
He's the only one in house who doesn't have a pair.
So a couple of doors down from Klub Soda is River Valley Footwear.
Where Birkenstocks, all kinds of Birkenstocks, an entire wall of Birkenstocks are available for purchase.
I found at least two pairs I wanted.
But restrained myself.
Or rather, my bank account restrained me.
Keith came out with a lovely pair of Birks just like his mummy's.
Only bigger.
Thankfully, he'd cut his toenails.
Finally, hair cut, feet covered in impressive German made sandals, we were ready for lunch.
Which was good, because I was hungry.
Very hungry.
It was busy when we arrived at M&T.
But we managed to secure a table by the window, and within a few minutes we were tucking in to a Louisiana chicken wrap for me, and a chicken, bacon, Swiss for Keith.
Just writing about it makes me hungry.
M&T is so prepared, they even had a Keith-sized spoon on the wall, waiting for him.
After lunch, we headed uptown to the optometrists so Keith could get himself new glasses.
What happened to his other ones is something I promised would not be put in my blog.
But suffice to day an expensive lesson was learned.
And then the movies.
Transformers 3.
Yes.
I had already seen it, but Keith didn't.
And I would have watched anything to spend time with him.
After the movie and Em had finished work, we had to do a small tour of the mall, as Em felt the burning need to spend some of her pay on MORE clothes.
Soon she'll be able to open her own consignment shop.
Finally, having left the house at 11.30 am, I pulled into the driveway at 5.50 pm.
Made a salad.
Said hello to Stephen.
And went back out to visit my mother.
Home at 8.30 pm, packed up half of the living with Em, went out for an ice cream to thank her for her help, and then, blissfully, at 10.00 I was able to crawl into bed.
Exhausted.
And wondering what the hell was going to happen in the morning.
Title Lyric: Closed for Renovations by JP Loughran
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