I had this great post in my mind for yesterday. I knew exactly what I was going to write about. I had a little plan. You know what they say about plans.

I stumbled downstairs for a caffeine and water fix and to chug a couple of vits and saw Mr. G, honey all snugged up in a chair, eyes closed, a thermometer hanging out of his mouth, clutching a box of tissues.

Uh, oh.

My day had just changed. I would be spending it with Germ Boy. Poor baby. I poured orange juice. Made an egg white omelet — one yolk for color and three extra whites for protein. Nurse Betty was on the job. I spent the rest of the morning putting a pot of soup together that Germ Boy could graze on all day, when he wasn’t sleeping. He was sleeping most of the time.

The morning was gone. But the afternoon was still mine.

The phone rang. The contractor wanted to know if the roofers could come early this month.

Me: How early?

Contractor: Tomorrow?

Well, tomorrow was going to be a bright, shiny day at 60+ Fahren.

Me: Okie dokie.

Right then, my afternoon changed.

The attic access is in my office. It used to be in a closet… in my office. But I took that closet out and had Mr. G, honey build some needed bookshelves — floor to ceiling — right beneath the attic access.

When we had the ice damming in February and Roof Guy was in the attic assessing the damage, he noted that two of the bathroom vents weren’t connected properly, so they were just venting bathroom fug into the wild blue attic. What the buyer doesn’t know is vast.

Getting into the attic last time required a lot of shuffling and scuffling for Roofer Guy and huffing and puffing and a red face on my part. I silently vowed to be prepared for the return visit. Back to the present.

For the rest of yesterday, I hauled, shoved, maneuvered and extracted the precious tools of my trade — and one odd dresser — into another room. Good thing I’ve been working out with SparkPeople. Not so much with the huff and puff anymore.

Occasionally, I would run downstairs and make sure Germ Boy hadn’t taken a turn for the worse or tripped on to Valhalla, where the women are pretty and there’s meat aplenty.

I did my cardio and strength training and flopped into bed next to sweaty Germ Boy and hoped he would sleep the sleep of the dead and not the sleep of the moaner (not the good kind) that he slept the night before.

Germ Boy left this morning feeling much better — complete with air quotes — and returned at noon feeling shaky and weak. His cure for everything is spicy food, which I think is pretty good in theory, but it seems to be only a temporary fix. He needs to tweak that cure a little before he submits it to the medical profession. Just sayin’.

The roofers are here and it is BANG. THUD. SHAKE. BARK and repeat. That last would be Gracie Golden Pup. I have Christina Aguilera singing Candyman on the beyond-loud-bordering-on-bleeding-ears volume. Better still, this version.

I can still hear BANG. THUD. SHAKE. BARK. I’m thinking entertaining the troops is just what I’d like to be doing right now, if I had any talent. And I don’t. I’ll just leave that up to the really talented like Aguilera, who’s got some major pipes.

This is my current view~

I’m humming the theme from The Sound of Music.

I just asked if I could have a ride on this ~

It hauls the bundles of roofing material up the ladder. How cool is that? I don’t think Roofer Guy took me seriously.

What about this~

I’d like a ride on that, too.

I’m at that moment where I’m wondering if I chose the right color of shingle. Should I have gone with my other choice? The better choice. You know that moment? I would like that to go away now.

The Men Who Roof will be back tomorrow to finish the job. I wonder if I’ll get the intended post — the really interesting one — done before Friday. Turning up the volume now.

Fence needs doin’.

Elen