A few weeks ago, a dear friend evidently believed me about the dresser drawer thing (she can sleep in a dresser drawer. When she cries, I'll shut the drawer. Win win.) and drove here for the weekend from Nashville with a nursery in her truck. She brought a crib, mattress, bedding, a dresser/changing table, a swing, assorted other things. And then she worked her tail off emptying shelves, moving the shelving units to the basement, reassembling them and then hauling all of the craft stuff downstairs to the new location. When she was done, I had a nursery. Holy crap.
And then I went home for my birthday, and my friends there threw me a beautiful shower and I came home with Petunia LOADED with assorted baby stuff. It occasionally freaks me out, how very very happy everyone else is about this but it has reinforced that I have really fantastic friends.
|Tiny Little Bunny Magnets, In Process|
|My Porch, The Bottom Step Of Which Is Completely Submerged|
|My House, With Water Lapping On All Four Sides|
|To The East|
|To The West|
|To The South|
|By Thursday Afternoon|
It could be so much worse. I could have fried myself when I went plunging into the water to retrieve the tea set that my grandmother made. (Irony - it was on top of the heavy old metal file cabininet that didn't flinch and was probably the safest thing in the basement.) It could be like the house across the street - with the sandstone foundation that washed away, leaving the house condemned and them with a day to remove all of their possessions.