I should have time to write today when you consider the number of hours I have been awake. Shouldn’t people be able to achieve absolute greatness if they just take the time to work at something for great lengths of time? Extended periods of time? Today, I was awakened at 4:14am to a baby looking for food. Little did I know that 4:14am was going to be the official start to my day. From the time it took me to feed the baby, put her back down to sleep, pull a blanket over my big toe, it was time for my husband to wake up in order to get to an early meeting. He informed me that we had no water after attempting to shower and on this, his first day at his new job, his hair was looking less than stellar. I considered the notion of going without water for the day. I could rest, watch t.v., order some food, feed the plants…oh so close.  I quickly realized that we need water for just about everything we do in a day and as a consummate hand washer, while my tortoise-shell skin could use a day off from scrubbing, poopy diapers, bum-wiping and general hygiene all seem to require having water in the house. Down I went to the room with the water machines, furnace, robots, mechanical bulls and found the phone number for the company that installed our well. I learned very quickly after their arrival that the only writing I would likely get started today would be in the form of yet another complaint letter. Two plumbers arrived shortly before 10am, I guess my paging them at 5:45am was pretty useless in retrospect. The first was a surly, older man, reeking of stale cigarettes, wearing dirty flannel clothes with a quilted, navy vest over top and the biggest, baddest, snowiest, muddiest boots I had ever laid eyes on. His companion was much younger, thinner with fewer, yellower teeth. They proceeded to follow me into the house with their gargantuan, muddy boots, across my tile, then my hardwood and of course descended down the carpeted staircase into the newly renovated, carpeted guest room into the room with the gadgets to be inspected.

After this first round, walking in the door, down the hallway, down the carpeted stairs, through the carpeted bedroom into the furnace/water area, I very politely asked one of the workers if he would remove his boots as he was returning for a second trip through the house from outside. He was very nice and said, “no trouble at all.” Then, the crotchety old man came up the stairs, still wearing his boots and said, “we appreciate you GRUMBLING at us about our shoes but if we fall down your stairs, a $750 job for us will be a $50,000 lawsuit for you if I break my toe and they ask why I wasn’t wearing my work boots.” Stunned. We walk down those stairs several times every day without falling.  Albeit a challenge at times with a baby on my shoulder and two swinging children grappling for a position at the front of the heat, I can assure you the only thing that could make our descent more dangerous is if we were sporting work boots that were three sizes too big, with every tread iced with silt and snow. I might have drop-kicked he and his muck-lucks down the now soiled stairs had I not been tending to a cranky baby and shielding my three year old from the watchful eyes of two smelly strangers.

Surely you have a better chance of falling down carpeted stairs with clunky, shit-filled work-boots than in stocking feet.
 
To make matters worse, our bill is going to be about $4000, not the $750 he used in his ridiculous analogy which I was already thinking sounded steep. I have now changed four shitty diapers, wiped one poopy bum and am still not able to wash my hands.

Perhaps my book will be a series of complaint letters, starting with Shoppers Drug Mart (calendars) followed by the well company. Maybe I’ll include a chapter about the importance of having clean water. Never mess with a stay-at-home Mom with nothing but time on her hands and a laptop poised on a dining room table that just won’t sell.