Fun Daddy and I decided that we weren't busy enough, what with a toddler at home, both of us working, and B2 on the way.
Having done the math, we decided that the best thing to do was to move out of our Upper West Side apartment, which was costing us an arm and a leg and a kidney each month, and bolt for the idyllic and slightly cheaper suburbs. We were going to wait to do this when our lease expired at the end of July, but an opportunity to sublet our apartment came up and we jumped at it, as it meant we could move and get settled before the arrival of B2 (aka - Trouble) at the end of June.
This meant finding a house to rent, leasing a car, organising childcare for Lunatic Child in new town, organising movers, packing and moving all in the space of about 3 weeks. I am leaving out about 500 other things which had to be done. And might I remind you, dear readers, this is the 3rd time we have moved in the space of a year.
Oh, and we had a houseguest in the middle of that.
Oh, and both Lunatic Child and I had a hideous bout of the stomach flu.
Our houseguest was an old friend of Fun Daddy's, and it was lovely to see her. She is exceptionally charming and interesting and the weirdest stuff always happens to her. I am pleased to say I was able to contribute to this trend.
She very kindly organised to take me to see Porgy and Bess, which I was tremendously excited about as I have felt very bad that I've been a bit rubbish on experiencing the NY Arts Scene. ie - I have not experienced the NY Arts Scene one iota since moving here. So off I tripped on the day, despite feeling a bit funny in the tummy.
I sat through the entire performance feeling progressively more horrible by the second. Sweating. Light Headed. But really determined to enjoy the show (which was great, by the way). I made it to the end, stood up to leave, walked about 50 feet and then had to throw up in my handbag. And not just a little bit. A LOT. Like uncontrollable vomiting for about 5 minutes. I was completely freaked out and hysterical (remember, I am in my third trimester of pregnancy here, people). Crying. Puke coming out my nose. In my hair. In my handbag. It really was not my finest hour. And poor Fun Daddy's friend is just sitting there in horror. She doesn't know me *that* well and had no idea what to do with this disgusting mess of a person sobbing in front of her.
We managed to get ourselves into a taxi and home where she gratefully deposited me with Fun Daddy and went to see her sister. I tried to go to bed, but an hour later Lunatic Child woke up wailing and when we went into get him, he promptly barfed all over Fun Daddy. And that was the pattern for the rest of the night. I threw up in every available recepticle in the house (toilet, sink, bathtub etc.) while Lunatic Child managed to only vomit on things which needed to be washed, such as our sheets, his sheets, his father's clothes, my bathrobe, his pajamas (3 times), etc. A Fun Time was had by all.
Luckily, there was only One Night of the Vomit, and then we merely felt totally crap for another week or so. Fun Daddy did not get it at all. I fail to see how he could have possibly avoided it, but he must have a cast iron stomach.
My handbag is a write off and I still need a new one. It remains on the to do list.
We somehow finished packing and got ourselves into the new house. Which is nice. We like it. We only have a few more boxes to unpack and pictures to hang, so clearly we needed another project.
Enter...the Feral Kittens.
Fun Daddy, who is a committed dog person uttered the fatal words "I wouldn't mind getting a cat" about a week after we moved. I have always been a cat person and have wanted one for ages. Within the space of about 30 seconds I'd looked up local cat adoption websites, told him to pick one out from the photos and I would go get it. He wanted 2 sisters, who are lovely gray and tan calico kittens.
I went to see them last weekend. They were being looked after by 2 slightly crazy old cat ladies who were *extremely eager* to get me to take them home. Having gone all the way to see them, I felt like I couldn't say no, but I was worried. They seemed very skittish.
My fears were well founded. They are basically feral. They've spent the last week hiding under the bed and hissing whenever we try to fetch them out. I have my kitten poking broom, which I use to sweep them out from under the bed and into the closet where they're easier to grab. They don't enjoy this. Neither do I. I've been attempting to bribe them into submission with roast chicken and tuna fish and copious amounts of handling. I've basically fed them almost an entire roast chicken, with not a whole lot of results. One of them no longer tries to bite me when I pick her up. It's progress, of a sort.
Fun Daddy is extremely disappointed in the whole cat experience to date as he was expecting some fun, cuddly kittens. I profess that I am having trouble loving them as well. It's going to take weeks of concerted effort to get them used to people and, to be honest, even that might not be successful as they are about 12 weeks old, and you really need to socialise them before 8 weeks for the best results.
We are contemplating calling one of them Queen of the Underbed, as she has never voluntarily come out from under the bed as far as we can tell. The other one is less shy and will come out and have a sniff around, but she'll scamper back under there as soon as she hears a noise. It's hard to get a bit of quiet when you've got a toddler in the house...poor baby kitties. I'm doing my best to tame them, but this may be a task too far, even for Harried Mum.
Lunatic Child loves the new house with its back garden. We go looking for sticks and dinosaur rocks. His new thing is smell, only everything "smells like a dinosaur". When you say, "Is that a good smell"? He'll say, "No. It smells like a dinosaur". OK. In any event, whilst he still loves cars and trucks, he's definitely moving into the dinosaur phase of little boy-dom. He can correctly identify 3 or 4 different kinds and is always interested in learning more. His favourite dinosaur appears to be the Ankylosaurus. An esoteric choice.
So anyway, that's all the news there is that's fit to print. I'm off to file the taxes (booo, hiss...)
Cheers to all!