When our apartment first flooded, a couple of our closest friends triaged us, taking us in and letting me cry on their couch.
The last 8 days were spent as refugees (or Fugees, as it were), staying with friends from our birthing class. They were generous to take us in with approximately zero minutes notice.
Hey Phebes, remember your offhand offer of help if we needed it? Um, yeah... we're on your front porch.
And indeed, Phebe and her family took us in and even trusted me to use their washing machine! We've spent the last week living like crunchy hippies, reading to each others kids, cooking communal meals, and making BIG pots of coffee.
The Bean, for her part, has shown remarkable resilience through all the disruption, sleeping in her travel crib without complaint. She's cheery even, and has been training Phebe's son in the fine arts of throwing food to the dog and screaming to get your way.
But rather than overstay our welcome, we're trying to spread the love around a bit. So this morning the Science Family moved for the third time in two weeks, dog sitting for some friends while they're in Vegas, and then probably taking advantage of them for a little while after they return.
Meanwhile I'm leaving more threatening messages around town, with the insurance company, with the board, trying to get some movement on the insurance claim so we can start the repairs. I'm pretty sure the property manager is avoiding my calls at this point, and no one is calling me back. I think they know I'm desperate and possibly hormonal... given the chance I might start breaking some skulls.