Day 95: House Full o’Fixers; Phantom Things

So we welcomed the tile guys, the painters, the repair guys, two architects, a construction manager, and one person delivering Mr. Foodbabe’s stuff. And the UPS guy, too.

We have amazing backsplashes, a gorgeous paint job, architectural blessings on the paint colors and the counter stools, and general O.M.G.ing about how great the kitchen looks.

And here’s just a wee part of it:

Anyway, the faucets and metal pot-rack bars and and and will come next week. The handle on the wine cooler has been switched over, the BlueStar’s oven door no longer falls off in my hands when I open it, and the dishwasher is seated nice and tight. We’re thinking December 14, completely done. That’s 12/14/2007, smartypantses.

I failed to mention that part of my sitting and waiting yesterday was for something that not only did not arrive, but the (ahem) person who told me to wait for it, knew it wouldn’t arrive until today. So for the second day in a row, I sat. If Mr. Foodbabe is upset that the adorable girl he married now has an ass the size of Arkansas, it’s his own darned fault.

In other “it’s not there” news, Jean-Luc barked himself hoarse at a box in the basement. Usually when he does something like this, it’s because he put something away for safekeeping before he realized he didn’t have opposable thumbs so he could get it himself, nor does he speak English, so he could ask us for help. This time, he was particularly single-minded and we couldn’t find what the fuss was about. No chew-toy. None of his “babies.” No plastic cup or tennis ball. Just a book full of books. And wouldn’t you know, my copy of The Seasoning Of A Chef wasn’t even in there! (It’s still propping up the short leg on the foosball table.)

Amount of time Jean-Luc spent barking at nothing today: 3 hours. Amount it felt like: 3 days.

Places Secondborn went on his own in the car: Two — one after-school appointment, and now a visit to his friend’s house. A 100% reduction in driving responsibilities usually relegated to Momzee (that would be me) means I get to have cocktails this evening. Mr. Foodbabe, however, does not. He’s tonight’s designated sober parent. I’ll tell him when he gets home.