Our Open House

This morning as I rolled out of bed (too early for my liking) I felt exhaustion mingled with relief. Okay, let's be honest, the only feeling I ever feel in the morning is tired, but I like to imagine that this is what I felt. We had a tough, tough weekend. We had an open house for our home and since Cody and I had procrastinated some major touching up (painting, washing walls and windows, de-junking closets) we had a lot to do in two short days. And those two short days seemed sooooo long. I worked from the moment I woke up to the moment I went to bed, late at night. I haven't worked that hard in a long time. In my mind I was O-Lan from The Good Earth, who birthed her own child, cleaned up the mess, and then proceeded to fall back in beside her husband, working in the fields, with newborn in tow. Okay, so maybe I wasn't working that hard, at all, not nearly close. In fact, I really wasn't working that hard at all compared to other normal people, much less fictional people. I guess I am so use to being semi-lazy that two full days of work seemed so hard. So, so hard.

It is times like these that assure me that Cody and I would not fare well on the Amazing Race, simply because we are both too bull-headed when it comes to home improvement. I always know this going into it, but I can't seem to play nice when our opinions want to thumb wrestle. My commands must be obeyed. Why doesn't he get that? Plus he was complaining about his chest hurting the whole time, being Mr. Drama Queen. I told him to cowboy up, stop crying like a prepubescent and move that big heavy china hutch two inches back and forth and back and forth again, until I can decide where I want it. Amazingly, we got everything done and we are back to being nice to one another.

While perfect strangers were walking around our house, opening up our closets, and hopefully praising our sweat, and tears, we were at church, trying to relax a little, when right in the middle of sacrament meeting, Claire barfs up everywhere. Sweet. And the kicker is, we couldn't take her home because we had an Open House going on. So Cody drove around in the car with her for two hours (in which she threw up again). Sweet.

In the evening, Cody simply couldn't cowboy up and handle his chest pain any more, so he went to the ER to find out if he broke a rib or not. Turns out he punctured his lung. That's what happens when you give me lip and don't do exactly as I tell you. Actually, he got injured five days before playing soccer and suffered through the pain (of which I gave him zero sympathy for, made him lift heavy furniture much to his peril, and called him things like 'sissy' and 'little dancing flautist') all that time.

So to sum up this weekend, I just reconfirmed to myself that I am semi-lazy, will never be on the Amazing Race because I don't work well with others in high pressure situations, and I mock those in pain. Who wants to be my friend?