Mia's finger was so infected she needed a prescription of antibiotics. Puffy red and white and numb. But she was brave when the doc manipulated it, distracted by the popsicle.
Nora's throat hurt, then she woke late in the night with an uncontrollable cough. Just like the old baby days with croup, I carried her into the bathroom in the dark and we sat in the steam until she had quieted.
The steam is thanks to the new hot water heater, one of the final ticks off the list of house renovations I have no right to feel anything but grateful for, but I am so tired of strangers clumping around our dirty laundry and unwashed breakfast dishes, I just want my house back.
Nora turned out to have strep throat and I do too. Antibiotics all around!
We finally got out of the house today - the girls with Dad to the Wagner Farm, then late in the afternoon when they persisted in silliness, with me to the Purple Park on bikes. We've always called it the Purple Park because of the folk art house right next door, painted a lovely shade of lilac with a dark pink trim. Endlessly interesting, the garden was a rotating art show, with birdhouses, funny signs, glass globes, wire and wood animals, gnomes and other treasures tucked away behind gorgeous stands of bridal wreath, wysteria and hydrangea. In the front yard was a purple painted post with arrows pointing in four directions giving the mileage to the local coffee house, to towns in Ireland and Italy, to Grandma's house.
We rounded the corner in the alley and I saw first that the trailer was gone. It had been a tiny and neat little Airstream adorned with a painted cowgirl and the name "Lil Rambler" spelled out in rope. In its place was a pile of rough boards, some of the pulled down fence. Beyond it was the denuded garden and the shocking sight of the Purple House, now painted an anonymous cream. Worst of all, we stepped into the yard to check on the koi pond and found it full of debris and an abandoned rake, the orange fish floating on their backs.
The girls thankfully didn't share my horror, just saying, "Someone littered!" When Mia saw my tears she offered a hug and it helped a little.
I never knew these neighbors of ours, I just enjoyed their garden from outside the whimsical fence. I can't shake the brutality of the change, enacted by thoughtless hands, thinking only of resale.