My nerves are fraying rapidly. Right now, half a dozen men are stomping around on my roof, ripping off the old shingles and whatever is lurking under them. The house is small so even if they're not directly over my head at a given time, it still sounds like they are.
This is day two.
I can mostly tune out the scraping and stomping, but I've got three little boys. My brain is wired to jump at sudden loud noises. Every half hour or so I hear something dramatic and take a head count to be sure that the kids are all accounted for and not causing the noise in question. Because my typical day is filled with noises that require immediate investigation and intervention.
The front door has to be cracked open to let in the extension cord for their power saw. (Which is plugged into the same circuit as my sewing machine and everything else at this end of the house, so I can't use the sewing machine, or iron, or microwave, or vacuum cleaner. Or my washing machine, which is unplugged so they can use that outlet.)
It's kind of like being stuck in the world's noisiest and most boring waiting room. Except I don't have to keep the kids quiet or in their seats. I just have to keep them from unplugging the extension cord while they're trying to shove each other out the front door. And keep them all within sight because the roofing sounds mask all of those little auditory clues that usually let me know when someone is up to something.
After the roofers left yesterday, I thought I'd make dinner and then get some sewing done. Two seconds later, I picked up an empty cookie sheet that someone else had just taken out of the oven and burned every finger on my right hand. I haven't had so much fun since the bee stings and root canal. I'm linking this post to Finding the Funny over at My Life and Kids, because all I can do at this point is laugh at the situation.