Confessions of a Domestic Failure Page 18
I know I said I wasn’t only in it for the grand prize, but I’ve been thinking of what I could do with $100,000...anyway, it’s out of the question for me unless I can figure out a way to make myself stand out—and fast.
Wednesday, February 27, Middle of the Night Sometime / Too Tired to Care
Establishing a sleep schedule is vital, not only for your child, but for your own well-being. Thanks to the Family Bed, all five of my children slept through the night by three days old.
—Emily Walker, Motherhood Better
Aubrey woke up again. That’s four times in one night, not that I’m counting. I refuse to look at the clock right now. I don’t even want to know what time it is.
I’ve tried everything to help her teething: an amber tree sap necklace that the woman with henna tattoos on her arms at the health store promised would work like a miracle, aspirin and mouth-numbing cream. I even tried homeopathic remedies, although David said they’re practically water. At this point I’ll give anything a shot.
Nothing is working. I’m starting to wonder if something more serious is wrong with her. I’m researching online now. Maybe something terrible is wrong in her body. Like a tumor. Here I am, worried about my sleep, when my baby’s kidneys are being squished by tumors.
To: Dr. Ross
From: Ashley Keller
Subject: Emergency Appointment
Dear Dr. Ross,
I know it’s late, but I couldn’t find your home or cell phone online anywhere. I’d like to set up an emergency full-body scan for Aubrey first thing in the morning. She’s been screaming all night and something is seriously wrong. Attached are 47 pages of my findings.
Thank you.
Ashley
To: Ashley Keller
From. Dr. Cynthia Ross, Pediatrics
Subject: Re: Emergency Appointment
Hello Ashley,
I’m sorry to hear that Aubrey isn’t feeling well. She seemed fine at her last appointment. It sounds like she’s teething and possibly going through a growth spurt. I went over your “findings” (which seemed to be links to various blogs and obscure pseudo-scientific medical websites) and would like you to stop Googling her symptoms.
Full body scans are not done on children Aubrey’s age, nor does she need one.
I suggest Tylenol and something cold to chew on, like a frozen washcloth.
As for my home and cell phone numbers, I don’t give those out to patients. You are free to leave a message at the office or email me anytime. As always, in a (true) emergency, don’t hesitate to call 911.
Take care,
Dr. Cynthia Ross
To: Dr. Ross
From: Ashley Keller
Subject: Re: Re: Emergency Appointment
Thank you so much for the advice. Did you happen to check out any of those links? I’m wondering if the connection between dust mites and molar pain have any substance to them? I already purchased the dust mite elimination ray advertised and plan to sweep the whole house with it. They’re on sale for $399 if you’re interested in one for the office.
If I had your cell phone number it would much easier to just text you the direct link. I would only use it in emergencies like this, and wouldn’t give your number to anyone else.
Aubrey’s settled down a bit. Most of her crying is done at night. Do you make night appointments? House calls? Like in old movies?
Ashley
To: Ashley Keller
From: Dr. Cynthia Ross
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Emergency Appointment
I don’t make house calls or book “night appointments.” The article about dust mites was complete lunacy and I hope the dust mite ray comes gold-plated at that price.
Feel free to call the office and make an appointment anytime. I only ask that you not bring your binder of printouts from the internet as they tend to make our visits last much longer than they need to.
Take care,
Dr. Ross
10 A.M.
I credit fresh air, good food and exercise for my children never having so much as a sniffle. Mother Nature is their pediatrician.
—Emily Walker, Motherhood Better
There must be a way to let someone know that their baby doesn’t have a dust mite-induced infection without laughing in their face, right? If there is, Dr. Ross hasn’t heard of it.
If I wasn’t so tired I would have said something like, Excuse me if I don’t have more experience with teething, but if you’d heard my child crying you would have thought her internal organs were being disintegrated by the toxic feces of microscopic pests, too.
But I didn’t.
We were in the driveway. Aubrey was sleeping in her stroller. There was no way I was moving her. Maybe I could catch some Z’s, too. So tired.
11:45 P.M.
For teething pain I highly recommend using aromatherapy. My babies love the smell of lavender and jasmine diffused through Baltic sea water. Who needs big pharma when we have precious oils?
—Emily Walker, Motherhood Better
Aubrey woke up again. I brought her into our room even though Joy’s #1 rule of parenting is “Never let them into your bed.” Aubrey was sleeping at my side now, and I had about six inches of space so I figured I’d just stay awake until morning.
I couldn’t go back to sleep if I tried. The type of shrill yell she woke me up with sent about fourteen gallons of adrenaline into my bloodstream. David, of course, slept peacefully through the whole thing. Would it be wrong to heat a fork and poke him with it? Kidding.
Thursday, February 28, 5 A.M.
I was beyond exhausted. Over the last few days I’d probably gotten eight hours of sleep total. Aubrey would only doze when I was holding her. I’d tried every over-the-counter remedy, every hippie remedy and everything in between. I even burned sage in the corners of her bedroom to ward off bad energy. That was Joy’s idea.
“Have you considered taking her to a channel to see if there’s something in a past life upsetting her?” was another bit of Joy’s brilliant advice.
“No, but thanks for the tip.”
“It’s all so strange. Ella sleeps soundly. So does George.”
The worst thing a mom can do is brag when you’re complaining.
“Oh, you’re struggling to lose ten pounds? I can’t seem to gain weight!”
“Oh, you’re having financial problems? We can’t figure out whether to buy a yacht or another summer home!”
So there we were, at 5 a.m., once again standing in the kitchen, Aubrey in her pink-and-white footie pajamas and me in one of David’s old college T-shirts and sweatpants. The sad fact was that I was dressed for the day. One great thing about being exhausted is that you don’t care what anyone thinks of your outfit choices.
Aubrey leaned into my chest and I pushed the black start button on the coffeemaker while I hugged her to my body with my free arm. She nuzzled. She was obviously tired—why wouldn’t she sleep? Was this normal?
Facebook Status: I remember when I thought eight o’clock classes were too early. Zzzzzzzz.
The coffee machine sizzled as it finished pouring the steaming black liquid into my Best Mommy Ever mug. David had surprised me with it in the birthing center. Wishful thinking, I suppose.
I dumped in all the vanilla creamer that would fit into the cup without splashing out and stirred it quickly with my finger.
Toting my coffee and daughter, I shuffled over to the couch and flipped the TV on to some home makeover show. It was always entertaining, seeing a dilapidated basement go from unfinished baseboards and exposed wires to an impressive, impeccably designed playroom.
I took a greedy sip of my coffee. Sweet and delicious. What would I do without this comforting blend of caffeine and sugar? Motherhood w
ould be absolutely impossible without it. Suddenly, I realized that with all of Aubrey’s sleep issues I hadn’t checked in to the portal for over forty-eight hours. I wonder what I’d missed. Probably Samantha Davidson sharing photos of a baby calf she delivered with her own hands or Serena Hossfield posting a recipe for homemade toothpaste.
There was a message from two days ago, but it was from Emily herself! What did I miss? I shifted Aubrey, who was now sleeping, in my arms, and moved as close as I could to the screen. What had she said?
Motherhood Better Message:
From: Emily Walker
To: <
Hello ladies! I’m loving your posts about the Home Challenge. Samantha, your hand-reupholstered dining room set looks fantastic! Bravo! And Heather, the canary yellow paint is just what your kitchen needed. It looks full of sunlight!
I have a surprise for all of you. As I hinted during our last web call, I’m launching a new line called Emily at Home that will feature beautiful and practical items from furniture to hand towels. To make this challenge a little more exciting, I’m sending my right-hand man and chief designer, François De La Rose, to each of your homes for a one-on-one consultation! He’ll help you use what you have, along with a few complimentary pieces from my line, to finish out this challenge with a bang!
I’ve posted appointment assignments below. If you need to reschedule, let me know ASAP, otherwise I’ll assume we’re good to go.
Happy designing!
Love and Hugs,
Emily
I scanned the bottom of the email with all of the ladies’ names, cities and dates until I found mine.
Ashley Keller....what? That date can’t be right. I opened my computer’s calendar and sure enough...today. François De La Rose was coming to my house today. In three hours, to be exact.
I looked down at Aubrey, who was snoring contentedly in my arms, and then up at the pile of underwear and socks in the middle of my living room, three days’ worth of mail, one day’s worth of breakfast and a week’s worth of snack remnants on the dining room table. A trail of granola bar littered the entire floor. The kitchen sink was overflowing with dishes. My bedroom was a mess. Aubrey’s bedroom had toys everywhere and this famous French interior designer, who reports directly to Emily and influences who wins the Motherhood Better Bootcamp, would be here in three, no, two hours and forty-five minutes.
Well, shoot.
I crept up the stairs and gently laid Aubrey down in her crib. She gave me two seconds before she stirred awake and began to cry softly. I picked her back up knowing that she’d be in a full-blown howl in minutes. The only thing left to do was to speed clean. With one hand, naturally.
With Aubrey in one arm and a garbage bag in the other, I began throwing things into the bag. It made no difference whether it was clothing, a paper plate, socks or a checkbook, it went in the bag. I could sort it out later. For now, I had to convince François De La Rose that I was not the maternal version of Oscar the Grouch.
An hour and six bags hidden in my closet under a comforter later, the house looked deceivingly put together. Aubrey still lay comfortably in my arms, even though I’d had to switch her from side to side numerous times as my cut-off circulation turned all sensation in my arms to pins and needles. I rushed over to the sink. The dishes. The dishwasher was full so I rinsed the cups and plates before stacking them in the oven.
The house looked cleaner than it had in months and I still had a full hour to get dressed.
I was halfway up the stairs when the doorbell rang.
“Please be the mail, please be the mail,” I murmured to myself, running toward the door.
I swung it open and standing before me was not the mailman, unless the mailman was a four-foot-three, tanned and Botoxed Frenchman wearing an all-white satin suit and crimson crocodile shoes with a matching red bow tie, who traveled with a full camera crew.
“Allo, mama!” the man said, waving his hands with flourish. A camera flashed and the light blinded me and caused Aubrey to stir. “Je m’appelle François De La Rose!” he said, entering the house while looking madly around.
The crew of three burly men dressed in black work pants and black short-sleeved shirts, and one mousy-looking intern in a wool skirt and collared T-shirt covered with a dark vest, followed.
I followed François as he made his way into the living room. He looked around with a troubled expression on his face, as if the place were on fire or crawling with poisonous snakes.
He remembered I was there and turned to face me.
“Chérie. You must be Ashley,” he said sweetly before kissing me on either cheek. He inhaled sharply, “And this precious bébé, elle s’appelle comment?”
He gently tapped Aubrey, who was fully awake now and staring at the men with lights and cameras, on the head.
“She’s Aubrey. It is so nice to meet you! Thank you for coming! Can I get you anything? Coffee? Tea? Wine? I would have had something prepared but...” I rambled on.
The camera crew stayed close, focusing the lights and microphones on us. Their lights felt like a laser beam. I had no idea this would be videotaped. Could I be any less prepared? I smoothed the front of my T-shirt and sucked in while trying to remember the last time I had washed my hair.
“I’m so sorry, I was just about to get in the shower—” I blubbered, wishing they would turn the damn cameras off for a minute.
François held one hand up. “No, sorry. You are a busy mama of...” He looked around the room as if something was missing. “How many kids zoo you have?”
I felt my face get hot and coughed self-consciously into my hand. “Just the one. I have one child.”
François’s eyes grew large and he laughed loudly. “One? Mais non, surely there are three or four children who live in zee home. Whose things are zese?” he asked, gesturing at the overflowing toy bin, walker, bouncy chair, exersaucer, sippy cups and piles of baby clothes. “Zoo you run a daycare?”
I shifted from foot to foot. “No daycare, just the one.”
François gestured around the room, unable to comprehend what I was saying. “Mais surely, you are hiding some extra children somewhere?” He lifted a couch cushion, perhaps hoping to find triplet three-year-olds, but all he discovered were three stale French fries and a heavy dusting of crumbs.
He jumped as if the furniture food had startled him. “OH, MY!”
Forcing a smile, I lowered the couch cushion and gestured for him to sit directly on top of it.
François sat next to me, shifting as if he could feel every hard morsel under the cushion a la Princess and the Pea, and took my hand, “I see now why you have joined zee challenge. But do not worry, chérie. François is here to clean up your space.”
One hour and frantic half-French, half-English phone calls to an interior designer, professional organizer and commercial cleaner (François thought a domestic cleaner might get overwhelmed by my home) later, everything was in motion for my home to go from raccoon Dumpster party to gorgeous family home. The cleaner was coming tomorrow morning, followed by the designer, then the organizer. They weren’t doing anything drastic, but “optimizing my space.”
I was overwhelmed with excitement.
“Thank you so much, François,” I gushed.
Without answering he bent down and pulled a black binder out of his satchel. “Wait, mademoiselle, zere is more.” He smiled devilishly.
Tickets to Jamaica? Free babysitting for life? A sister wife?
He opened the binder. The first page was a glossy insert with Emily Walker Home printed in white calligraphy.
“Emily Walker has arranged for all of zee women to preview the Emily Walker Home line,” he said in a hushed tone as if the CIA were listening in.
My heart skipped a beat. I’d get to have the Emily Walker line before
anyone else? Imagine the Facebook posts. Joy would perish from jealousy.
He handed me the binder and I began to flip through page after page of stunningly beautiful furniture.
François leaned over and turned to a spread. “Allow me. Zis one would look beautiful in your family room.”
Before me was a beige leather couch, loveseat and recliner, a coffee table and an entertainment center with loads of hidden storage called the Verdanza Package. It was amazing. I felt tears spring into my eyes. So this is how celebrities feel.
“Yes. I love it. I’ll take it,” I whispered.
François clapped his hands. “Perfect! How would you like to pay?”
I blinked. “Pay?”
“Ah, chérie, oui. Your designers and organizers, and a few pieces are free, but zee entire Emily Walker Home line is being offered to you before the general public at wholesale price because you are in zee...bootcamp.”
“Which pieces are free?”
François flipped through the catalog and pointed to a set of three throw pillows. “Zere.”
I held my breath. There was no way, even at wholesale prices, I could afford a new living room set.
“How much is it?”
François flipped to the next page.
Verdanza Package: $1,025
That’s it? I thought. You can’t even buy a couch in some stores for that. This is brand-new designer furniture at prices that will be gone in three months. The pieces themselves will probably sell out. Yes, David is worried about money, but he’s always worried about money. That’s never going to change. Anyway, he’s probably securing the DentaFresh account right now. If I don’t buy this set I’ll be wasting money, throwing it down the drain.