Everything that had been in our living room is in a random pile in the middle of our dining room. Our sprinklers have been turned off and more items are scattered about the yard. I would post a picture of the wreckage, but our home computer, desk and cables for the digital camera are somewhere on the back lawn.
Our bedroom floor was completed yesterday, but the majority of our furniture is still in the garage. Because Charlie is totally paranoid to put anything on our new hardwood floors unless the pressure-bearing object is coated in felt ... it has been an extremely slow process moving anything back in to the house. (Think continental drift = 4 to 20 centimeters a year.)
And to think, on Monday - we're going to rip out the carpeting in the children's rooms and embark on another "5" days of improvement hell.
Last night, I
So I helped.
Because at 36 weeks pregnant, there was NO way I was going to sleep on the pull-out couch in William's room another night. Although I really enjoyed our toddler son climbing on top of us every morning at 5:30 AM, the configuration of my feet being at a higher elevation than my head and sharp springs sticking me in the back made sleeping a wee bit difficult.
While we were carrying the queen mattress in to the bedroom Charlie noticed that it smelled like a barn. More specifically - a horse. Probably because it had been in the garage for the past week, coated in dog hair and quite possibly trampled on by a rat. Even still, I slept better last night than I've slept for the past week.
Today, Charlie did his best to move more furniture in to the house, but items like our solid cherry dresser and bureau are too heavy for him to move, even with the assistance of his coordination-challenged 36-week pregnant wife.
After several hours, I finally convinced my husband to call on one of our neighbors for help. You'd seriously think that I was asking him to invite someone over to wax his chest. I could sense his angst as he picked up the phone and placed the call. And then - he was barely able to choke out a request for assistance.
"Hi, I really hope I'm not catching you at a bad time. I was wondering if perhaps you might have a few minutes to help me, very quickly, move a couple dressers back in to our bedroom."
He clenched his teeth and held his breath.
And then, he closed his eyes and let out a sigh.
"Oh no, no, no, no, no, no!! Not now - it doesn't have to be now!! I really hate to bother you. Whenever you have a couple minutes - oh tomorrow? That would be great! I'm so sorry to interrupt."
As he hung up the phone he told me that he had caught our neighbor in the middle of preparing dinner. And although our neighbor had said that he would gladly turn the stove off and come over to quickly lend a hand, Charlie didn't want to put the guy out.
Even though he accepted our neighbor's muscle strength for tomorrow afternoon, within minutes of hanging up the phone, Charlie grabbed his coat and car keys and took off for Home Depot - where he was planning to purchase a device that would allow him to transport our heavy furniture back in to the house ... all by himself.
Although I was encouraging Charlie to call on someone else to help - so we could at least get the rest of our bedroom together - I totally understood his hesitation.
Because I, too, hate to ask for help.
Why is it that although we feel no greater honor than when people ask us for assistance - we feel like such a tremendous inconvenience reaching out to ask for help, ourselves? I know I'm not the only one that feels this way and I can't help but wonder why this condition affects so many people?
Currently, I feel like the greatest burden not being able to do so many things by myself and it's hard enough reaching out to my own spouse. Which makes me wonder if this self-induced perception that we are an inconvenience, is aggravated by pregnancy?
Even though we have had several friends and neighbors come forward and tell us that they want to be put on our "call-list" if I were to go in to labor before my mother arrives next week (quite likely if I am moving around 500 pound mattresses) ... I suspect that if this baby decides to come early - his brother and sisters will be there for the birth.
If you can believe it ... I have an easier time with the image of delivering a baby, with our three toddlers in attendance, then I do with the image of calling someone and asking them to drop everything to come over and watch our children.
The truth is - reaching out for help is not in my nature. I cannot stand the thought of being an inconvenience and if anything, being a mother has made it that much more difficult to reach out and ask for assistance.
And I'm not sure why.