I hate when handymen of any trade come over to the house. I always feel violated somehow. Like they're judging me. I feel like they are scrutinizing the way that I live and if I were a better person I wouldn't need to call in a wrench monkey to come lay hands on my pipes...or whatever it is they do.
Earlier this week a "team" showed up to tuck point the exterior of the apartment. For those of you unfamiliar with tuck pointing it is a masonry project where the exterior brick work is sealed by a process consisting of old Italian stereotypes yelling obscene things at each other at the top of their lungs. Somehow that keeps the water out of the house. My guess is that the water is just afraid to come in now.
So for two whole days we were held hostage by swarthy jerks on scaffolds who wanted nothing more than to scream our place sealed. Sophie, who has been a fitful sleeper as of late, slept through the whole thing. 
This concerns me on a lot of levels. Not the least of which is that I am afraid now that when it comes to hiring a sitter we are going to need to find a Teamster with tourettes.
Labels: Apartment, Baby, Baby Sitter, Sophie, Teamsters
Well, I'm not much of a bricklayer, but I can cuss like a sailor on request.
I'm looking forward to babysitting at some point, should you need a little break. I'm free(er) after Dec. 15th.
Been thinking about you guys. Call if need anything.