It's been a day.

So...the contractor called this morning, at about ten, to tell us he'll be out tomorrow morning at eight.

It would have been nice to have been notified of this on Friday morning, so that we could have made arrangements to get a couple of outlets moved, and to get the dishwasher plumbed and wired in.  Thank God that contractor is used to the unprofessional twits employed by the big box stores.

Other arrangements included how to keep the boy out from under foot while the installer and contractors are working. 

So, we scrambled a bit, got the imp some clothes packed (clean shirts, but dirty pants--today would have been laundry day, but for the short notice on other things that needed done first), and got him off to spend a couple of days with Grandma and Grandpa, while we're having construction going on. 

The pixie is a lot easier to handle on her own.  Most of the time.  Today, she's been a major drag on what I needed to get done--whiny, cranky, constantly upset, and constantly wanting to be on my lap or underfoot.

I still need to do a sink full of dishes (my last one in that particular sink).  I never got the laundry even started.  Nor the living room cleaned up enough to walk through without tripping over or stepping on toys or clothes.  I had a sad little leg monkey all day, no matter what I tried.  And no, Daddy wouldn't do.  And no, Daddy couldn't do most of what needed done (heel spurs suck). 

And no, I can't do anything while she's down sleeping--the least little noise wakes her up.

Tomorrow...we'll spend tomorrow in either her bedroom or her brother's (yes, while he's gone, but his room is a lot bigger), while the installer tears out our old cabinets and puts in the new ones.  I may well move the TV and DVD player into whichever room we decide to use, break out my headphones, and put Winnie the Pooh, Cinderella, Brave, or Beauty and the Beast on for however many times she wants to watch it. 

So, now?  I'm going to go do that sink full of dishes, and see about a load of dirty clothes.  Once the pixie is good and solidly asleep for the night--she only just stopped whimpering a few minutes ago.

And after that?  I think I hear a glass of bourbon calling my name. 

...Shit.  My glasses are all packed away. 

Okay.  I guess I hear a coffee mug with bourbon calling my name.