I once ran a product that was comprised of a team of 2000 in 14 different countries. Today, I manage a team of 40 people across five companies to deliver one of the most strategic products I've ever seen. I can do all of this with the balance of a pink phone, my Blackberry, and a lot of quick thinking. I can multi-task like nobody's business and although I can be dozy sometimes I can tell you the last time I saw the hammer and the going price for a pint of organic skimmed milk.

All this has been rendered irrelevant.

I was brought down.

I have been beaten by the house.

Angus and I have been making runs every day, sometimes multiple runs, with the seats in the car removed for more access (we have one of those people-mover minivan things. It's fucking ugly but does the job well.) We have moved over 50% of the house already, and the place looks like a wasteland here. We are constantly doing something-patching up, boxing up, packing up, moving up. It's been non-stop since Friday and there is absolutely no sign of stopping as sometimes the sheer quantity of work makes us weepy.

Tuesday Angus had to go to Ipswich, and so Gorby and the girls and I faced the world alone (we had decided to take the girls to the new place after all, and will keep them in a warm and secure confined space when we power sand the floors-their distress at seeing their current home disappearing was really stressing them out. We walked upstairs once to Maggie shaking in a corner, so we knew a balanced environment with their things was what they needed). So the four of us (including the two cats, very happy to be in the new house and enjoying the massive windows) went at it alone.

It was not easy. There were many deliveries coming Tuesady, a utility room to paint, and all of this within a certain span of time. I also had my day job to keep paying attention to so the attention span, she was short.

It started early. After waking up at 1:30 and 4:00 for puppy walkies I blearily packed the car at 6:45 and made my way to our new house with Gorby, aka Sir Drools-a-Lot (CalTech Girl, we've found the same thing you suggested-it's not only a matter of him getting used to it but if he's in his crate he has no problem with motion sickness-unfortunately we don't always have room for his crate!). I hadn't had a chance to give him his motion sick tablet and there was no space in the car for his kennel, so he was strapped into the passenger seat. Once we arrived, he ran around outside while I unpacked the latest car load.

I walked around, smelling puppy farts. Gorby's stomach was obviously upset from the car ride. I felt sorry for him but he was in the garden looking like nothing was wrong and we had a little walk with no results. The telephone line guy called and said he was coming in to check the line. I walked into the study to check the other phone when I saw it-Gorby wasn't having puppy farts. The four day no-accident streak had ended, as Gorby had planted a load on the study floor the size of a grapefruit. I had 0.5 seconds to clean up the massive dump before someone came into the home and thought us disgusting RSPCA mental cases.

I cleaned it up and noted the acidic hole on the varnish it had left behind. I decided I would throw puppy poo on my future enemies instead of battery acid, as same effect, less danger to my lily white hands. I opened the door and blamed bad smell on bad puppy farts, which is the dialog I would use the rest of the day.

It was non-stop. I felt like Catherine O'Hara in Beetlejuice, directing the moving men and screaming 'This is my art and it is dangerous!' At one point the phone was being repaired, satellite was being installed, the fridge delivery was here and the bed we'd ordered was on its way. All this and I had to paint the utility room to get it ready for said appliances. I buried my head in my hands and kept painting, despite being told to move cars/open doors/sign delivery papers and answer work calls. At one point I was on a work conference call and had to point to where the satellite needed to go and hold the phone to my ear with my shoulder while miming with the other hand that the home phone? She no work. The satellite installation man called me from outside so I opened a window to answer him but forgot that I am a tall Jolly Green Giant and so smashed my head into the frame. The kitchen was alive with the phone ringing, only it was the phone man trying to fix it as the phone doesn't work, anyway.

All this and there was Gorby to look after. Gorby, my darling boy. Gorby, who right as the fridge men knocked on the door and the satellite guy was talking with the phone guy about some kind of business, he walked up to me, smiled, and sweetly urinated all over the floor.

I promptly burst into tears and buried my face in my hands, hitting my recent window-frame related swelling. I thought about curling up in the space where the dishwasher should go, but as that was arriving later in the day and curling up in there would mean I'd have both puppy and cat company, I refrained. I thought about calling Angus and being all dramatic: 'I can't take this anymore, darling!' I would weep. 'There is simply too fucking much going on and I HATE EVERYTHING!'

Oh yes. A load of boxes, three delivery guys, one puppy, one half-painted utility room and a pint of orange juice and all I knew was this-I can't pick up the bacon. I can't fry it up in a pan or even make him forget he's a man. I have been beaten by suburbia, it has soundly kicked my ass. Women do this all the time. Women are stronger than me and make it look like a cake walk. In fact, women juggle toddlers on one hip and have their kids making paper-mache or yarn pictures while they do this. Me? I'm fucking incompetent.

So once it was all over-urine cleaned up, delivery guys gone while I waited for the next ones to come, and kitchen as unpacked as it could get-I did what anyone else could do.

I sat down with Gorby and watched a bit of Mannequin as a bit of 80's bad movie therapy on our new working satellite system.

Suburbia: 1. Helen: 0

-H.

PS-two people need you. One needs you because a little one should never have been through this. The other needs you because her little ones are hanging out in uterine space and she's working her way through the dreaded IVF two week wait-called the 2ww it really does a number on your head. Love to them both from me.

Posted by: Everydaystranger at 06:02 AM | Comments (9) | Add Comment
Post contains 1225 words, total size 7 kb.

1 Joan Cusack in Addams Family Values "Careful! These are beautiful things! They're from catalogs!"

Posted by: caltechgirl at March 29, 2006 06:38 AM (jOkK0)

2 In my humble opinion, puppies can be a lot tougher to raise then toddlers at times-they at least wear diapers. Don't beat yourself up-your strong, and its all worth it. :-)

Posted by: Teresa at March 29, 2006 01:25 PM (zf0DB)

3 First of all, I love 80s movies no matter how bad they are. They're so corny they have a certain type of dorky charm. And of course, let's not forget soundtracks. Secondly, I don't blame you at all for getting stressed out. And yes, I am a strong believer that mothers are on another realm of competence. Especially the attentive ones. I actually found an article once that talks about studies that have proven motherhood made people smarter rather then the common theory of dumber. Needless to say, I made a dozen copies and mailed it out to every mother I know.

Posted by: Jadewolff at March 29, 2006 01:26 PM (75szC)

4 You're doing great! Housewife is one of those jobs that everyone thinks they can do and everyone thinks is easy - until they do it. Like a lot of things that are traditionally "womens work". Funny, that. The secret is that we all drink. Heavily. (Kidding! sort of)

Posted by: That Girl at March 29, 2006 01:58 PM (QzfsY)

5 Dude, I'm surprised you're not in a mental institution with a straight jacket for all you're going through. You did the right thing by sitting down to a bad 80's movie. Also? The puppy urine thing? It'll go away once he gets more confident that you're the parents of his dreams. Little Miss tiny brain went through that, and she's stopped now. P.S. I also think you need a family guy marathon right now.

Posted by: statia at March 29, 2006 04:02 PM (NsnoE)

6 Don't worry - I'm sure Gorby was just stressed by all the strangers in his life that day and the fact that YOU were stressed, too. They pick up on things like that. Once things are settled, he'll be fine... You on the other hand, may need lots of rest.

Posted by: sue at March 29, 2006 04:36 PM (WbfZD)

7 Honey, even the best of suburban housewives have bad days. That one sounds like a doozy! Everything, in my humble opinion, is made wose with the liberal application of poo. Doesn't matter whose ass it ejected from. Tie a knot, dear. It WILL get better.

Posted by: Margi at March 29, 2006 05:42 PM (BRtaN)

8 Thanks Helen, you are beautiful. I think I already told you what to do on days like this. Do not forget. Thanks again.

Posted by: Broken at March 29, 2006 07:14 PM (wypb3)

9 I think you would have done very well without the added stress of a new puppy. You can't blame him for being confused; moving back and forth is bound to mess with his mind (as well as the cats). All will be back to normal as soon as you get moved in. Hang in there till then!

Posted by: Judy Carrino at March 29, 2006 10:08 PM (2+7OT)

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