In Threes (Or in the Trees)

Someone just had to say it — right after the skunking: “Well, these things happen in threes.” I thought, “That really gives me a warm fuzzy.” Seeing as how I was only just recovering from number two. Shitsville.

We were just minding our own business. Making it through the week as a single parent household when — damn of all damns — another freakin’ blizzard. Since this makes like 100 for the year so far, I was less than amused. Miss 6 sent off safely to school with yet another gracious mom who apparently hasn’t gotten sick of me and my neediness yet…then I look out of the window halfway through my invoicing and I see that I can’t see the house across the street because of dumping sideways snow. Bugger! — and more than a bit of an inconvenience since Beanie has to be trekked out into the tundra to pick up Miss 6. But luckily I’m firmly in I CAN HANDLE IT mode. (Woman, hear me roar.)

I’ve moved on to writing a website, Beanie napping and hot tea in hand, when…LOUD NOISE. Continuing LOUD NOISE. What th—? The furnace? I go check, having absolutely no idea what I am looking at/for. I just see fire. I think it’s normal fire. But LOUD NOISE continues. Oh well. Back to the writing. Then I start to SMELL FIRE. Not good. I text the hubby in the middle of his mesmerizing storage conference: “Something’s up with furnace. Should I call –the people–?” Phone rings almost instantly. “What do you mean?” “Well, I turned it off because it smelled like fire.” “So,YEA-CALL-THE-PEOPLE!”

Now, to clarify, I am not completely stupid. (Former honor society/dean’s list/scholarship person.) But I know better than to call –the people– if I’m not 100% sure that –the people– are indeed needed. –The people– cost money and the hubby isn’t too thrilled when I make bad judgment calls that lead to unplanned large expenses. Duh. It’s just that this furnace thing is not in my normal orbit. I know where the thermostat is and which arrow to push if it’s too cold. But that’s where my dealings stop. It’s the hubby’s domain — as non-feminist as that sounds. Thirteen years of marriage tends to do that. You divide the stuff and just get to it.

Anyway, since I was solo for the week, there was no divide and conquer to be had. So I called –the people–. At this point you’ll start to understand why I don’t usually do this: I launched into some inane soliloquy on how, yes, we are the furnace owners they visited a month ago for a service call, and, wouldn’t you know, the guy left his jacket, and, I am so sorry I haven’t called before now, and, oh-my-gosh-would-you-believe-that-something-is-wrong-with-it-again? This got translated to “she’s pissed because she thinks we screwed something up.” And my return phone call was nothing short of hostile until I had a chance to re-explain. But despite the sub-20 weather/blizzard and my Scarlet O’Hara routine of, “My husband’s out of town and I’m so helpless here alone with two young children,” they were very clear that they wouldn’t be coming until the following day — LATE. So, super. LESSON: Don’t piss off –the people– if you think you’ll need them for something.

At this point I’m back in jaw clench, freaking mom mode. My mind racing. Babies can’t regulate their body temperature. Unsupervised space heaters are not a good idea. Especially behind a closed door with a kindergartner for the night. Okay. So. Grab the pack-n-play. Plan to go little house on the prairie for the night. Miss 6 and me in bed. Beanie in said portable. Dog in still-skunky kennel. Cat doing whatever the hell she pleases. (She’s the cat.)

Here’s how the night went: Miss 6 piling into bed with about 10 stuffed animals and two blankies. “I HAVE TO HAVE THEM ALL.” Beanie scratching at the portable’s rough-ish bedding. ALL NIGHT. Then hiccups at 12:30. And 1:44. And 2:37. And — you get the idea. Miss 6 must have punched me in the lip about five times. She thrashed. And flipped. And talked. In her sleep. “Backwards! Backwards!” “NO! A SHARP stick!” I seriously thought she was telling me something real a couple of times. Until I realized her feet were now on the pillow and she was actually snoring into the down comforter between outbursts.

Needless to say, we were all up and at ‘em around 5. Space heaters really do work. But I am definitely not a co-sleeping candidate. It sucked. Except for that one sweet moment at around 4:55 when I felt a little hand slip into mine. Angry, sleepless mom melted away. “Clifford Crunch anyone?”

Next up: How I shoveled the walk in high-heeled boots and make-up before heading to a meeting — Beanie in tow. I may have been a little bit sweaty. But I was miraculously able to maintain some semblance of professionalism. In spite of it all…Onward!

(Today’s theme song: SexyBack. Justin T. And I have no idea why. Maybe it’s the boots.)

FOOTNOTE: $400 later, the furnace is up and running again. And it looks like I’ll be scheduling surgery tomorrow. I have what the report called, “a very large calcification.” I asked what causes it. She said, “The biggest factor is being a woman.” Or maybe I’m just lucky. ☺