Jennifer Dulos

The Sink to Nowhere

So, we are here, vaguely. I mean we are here. There was a night last night where people both big and small slept. The baby in my arms. Then Christiane fled her new “big girl” bed and snuggled in. Then at some point Theodore joined me on the outside, while Petros went around to hug his father. Only Constantine had a continuous night sleep, alone.

This is so very him.

This night, I walked Fotis to all the kids’ beds, them all so weary and knocked out from odd eating arrangements and the crazed excitement of the new. Tonight we had a “picnic” dinner on the kitchen floor, with Petros upset that we were not truly eating outside, where it’s a perfect 36 degrees. This morning, they all went out with Fotis and Uncle Mark for bagels as I fed the baby in her high chair. See, the kitchen table and chairs only just got here, at 8 p.m., Day 2. Oh, Fotis invited Uncle Mark to spend the night. The first night, when we were just arriving into the house ourselves, boxes, luggage, 3 pets and all. My friend Laurel’s mother Martha lived a life of her husband always springing 20 guests on her with only nineteen minutes to spare. Now she was an expert hostess, even more elegant and together than Martha Stewart, plus brunette and prettier, this Martha. She could actually pull this off. I remember she once said that what saved her marriage were two things: 1) she had her own bathroom, and 2) (not to sound snobby but) they contracted someone to really scrub their bathrooms when needed. Mrs. Watts, you are my soul twin and I so get you. I often tell Laurel how akin I feel to her mom.

I do wish for one moment though, in this new house, with Fotis – Alone. After the kids have gone to bed, to pop some champagne, even if I don’t drink more than a thimble-full of anything nowadays, to toast to this new structure, to our family, to this fresh and lovely start. To commune with my husband really.

Tonight he’s having dinner out with people who helped us move, as I stay home with the kids, and feel sufficiently grimy and not so restaurant-ready — at all.

I remember when we went skiing one holiday and our flight got diverted and then we had to take a 4 hour bus ride to the resort, and then, pretty awfully post flight, the 3.30 a.m. wake up that day, and that fantastic, cherry on the cake, bus excursion, he took us straight to the nicest restaurant in town. I was wearing my glasses as I don’t like to fly with contacts. He told me I looked beautiful. I think, a) he meant it, and b) he really wanted that blackened miso cod.

Anyway, here I sit, at a desk in Fotis’s office, as they have Internet, but the rest of the house does not. Clea-Noelle’s changing table is wobbly. I lost a knob to my desk, the one that C-No plays with and loosens during our bottle feeds back at 5 Charlotte. We have 3 out of 6 kitchen chairs ready from the upholsterer, Upholstery by George! I ordered them — no, honestly — 13 months ago, and they are late by 3 days! It’s like that joke about the guy who leaves town for twenty years and when he returns, he stops by the shoe maker with his old, crumpled-up receipt, and the shoe maker goes into the back and rummages around for about twelve minutes and then comes out and announces, “They’ll be ready next Tuesday!”

So, hum, I guess I should get ready for bed myself. The pets are good. They are making their way in the new digs. I am a bit jumpy. All this energy. Arranging the pantry. Which drawer should be the junk drawer? Where’s the lamp for the baby’s room? No, really, where in God’s name is it? When I find it, (as this is my one small obsession that has grown throughout the move), it will be my Holy Grail moment. Like when I was pregnant with the boys and my life’s quest narrowed down to finding the exact, most perfect twin stroller and the safest, best, hands-down wonderful car seats. May I recommend to you: drum roll please: the Maclaren Twin Techno XT(specifically), and either Britax or Recaro for car seats/boosters (in general).

Where was I? Oh, here. Trying to say good night. To no one, they are all either asleep, or animal, or not here.

Home Alone, Farmington new construction style. Did I mention that our master bath, stand-alone sinks don’t have the right piece that fits from the drain into the wall, so they are of no use, just shells or ruins of the oddest pieces of art amongst us? Just saying.

Okay, good night!

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