Last week was a crazy one. Rudy was gone in Lynchburg for an externship most of the week and I was left alone to ready the house for a showing or two (which is a LOT more work with two little entropies running around!) I had a call on Thursday morning that someone wanted to come take a look at 1 pm. The house wasn't even close to ready. I subsequently became a realtor and temporarily gave up my job as mother to get the house ready. (note: when mothers choose to forgo their employment, madness ensues). As soon as I had a room ready they sensed the over-cleanliness and just HAD to do something about it. At 12:30 I was going batty and still hadn't gotten some key areas cleaned at all. I chose to shew my monkeys out the door to the backyard warning them not to play on the newly-painted deck.
At 12:55 I sighed in success as all indoors felt worthy of showing (or close enough). I slowly felt growing guilt at my ignoring of my sweet, wonderful boys. I lovingly stepped on the deck to wrap my little angels in arms of love... and then I stopped. The entire deck was covered with splattered chunks of thrown mud globs. The guilty parties were almost as covered as the deck. Not only was I a bad realtor who couldn't keep their home clean, I was a bad mother who couldn't keep her kids clean! I decided right then and there...OH WELL! What else could I do? I rinsed off the deck and my kids as well as I could and consigned myself to the realization that if the buyer really wanted the house (hmm...or my kids ;) a little splattered mud wouldn't ruin it, right? :)
Onto the good part of the story! I had put the recycling and trash out Thursday night for Friday's pickup. When i awoke the next morning I made a phone call or two then headed out to go to the Children's museum to try to make up for not being a mother the day before. As I was leaving I realized the over-stuffed recycling had been blown over the yard. I picked up the items that had strewn and pushed, squished, and smashed it back in the container. I resumed my travel up to the museum. Halfway there, I realized I had forgotten my phone. (Unfortunately, my phone has become quite an appendage in my life with waaay too much of my brain on it). I was distraught, but decided it would give me more focused time with my boys. We went, we played, we returned. Upon my return, I was eager to replace my appendage, check my to do lists, email, texts, and any missed phone calls. In my overly-clean house, there was no place for it to hide.
And it was not there.
I replayed the day's events, the only possible explanation was...
the Recycling.
The pushing and smooshing-- it must have fallen in! I frantically tried to contact someone. The recycling company, my phone company, my husband, ANYONE... but, alas, I had no phone (and we have no landline). I jumped on the computer and quickly facebooked, emailed, and IMed anyone I could think of that might hear my pleas for help. At one point I saw the WM truck outside (the same company that does the recycling) and CHASED the trash truck down the street to ask if he had any idea how to stop or contact a recycling truck!
I finally got a hold of Ginny who was an angel and contacted the recycling company and my phone company and got laughed at on my behalf. She also called my phone religiously every 15 minutes -all day long- in case it was running on some conveyor belt or being sifted through, it might be heard and rescued! Rudy, who was holding off his patients, also called the recycling company and got a hold of supposedly the right manager who took down the information and told him 'they'd be on the lookout for it'. I emailed Drea and set up a meeting at Costco to gain some sanity and vocal interpersonal communication back.
Rudy, luckily, was heading home that night so at least I'd have a phone available. After hours of stewing and stress I consigned myself to the fact that my poor, lost, lonely phone was ringing to no avail and would be lost and gone forever. At midnight that night I tried calling one more time, then one last text, as I figured by the time I woke up the battery would be dead and all hopes of finding it would surely be futile. In the last desperate text, I offered a reward and a number to call if someone had my poor little phone.
The next morning I woke up and went on a long jog to relieve myself from the stress of the previous day. (It's funny how you can personify an electronic item to make you sick at the thought that it's all alone. I found myself really wanting closure to know what happened to it.) I came back feeling much better, remembering that IT'S ONLY A PHONE! I transferred my number to an old phone we still had and went outside to work on the yard.
Rudy came out shortly thereafter with a goofy grin on his face. "They found it."
WHAT? No way.
Someone had called his phone a left a message that he had the phone and would be happy to meet up to give it back. We set up a place and time and off I went. I stepped out of my car to see him standing there with my phone. (enter Chariots of Fire theme music-- I had to restrain myself from slow-motion running to my phone.) Although very nice, he definitely had seen my reward text and was more than happy to take the measly amount I had available to give. Even though the man who worked for the CVWMA should have returned it to his manager and I probably shouldn't have had to pay a 'reward' for it, I didn't really care-
I GOT MY PHONE BACK!
Talk about recycling!
