It's my (Pity) Party, and I'll cry if I want to

Saturday morning started off amazing. The sun was shining, but Evan just wanted to sleep sleep sleep, and sleep some more, in his swing. The beautiful breeze through the window somehow inspired me to pack and clean as though I was on speed. I was on a roll. Then both boys wanted lunch. I strapped on the Moby and worked a bottle into its folds, turned on the oven, whipped out a salad and chicken fingers.  In doing my power clean, I had neglected to change out of my spit up infused jammies or put on makeup (really, why?) It was exactly 12 noon, and someone knocked on our door..

It was our seldom heard from landlady and her son (the one never retuning my calls).  He wanted to see for himself, for the first time, the damage in the master bedroom.  Ok, fine, come in, we aren't mad busy. (Nor had I told them I was moving, making the box towers become elephants) So whatever, he takes a look, there's a Vietnamese conversation I'm left out of and then he looks at me with a smile. "Ok, I'm going to get to work!" "UMM..?!"  "Oh, my mom would have called you but she doesn't have your number" (In my head: we have lived here a year, how the hell does she not have my phone # yet? We live 2 floors below her..) "Ok-ayyy" They decided at one point, to renovate the bedroom...well, both of them...and the floors. The floors? Yes, the laminate is all going to be ripped out as well as the carpet in the bedrooms. The only "safe" place in our small 2 bdr apartment is the kitchen. Awesome.  And sure enough, right there on the spot, the wall came down and the carpet went out.  All afternoon was the sound of construction, and the wail of a baby unable to sleep amongst the chaos.  I really regret not being dressed that day, any chance of escape was shot down given that my dresser was barricaded out on the balcony outside the bedroom.  Two miserable boys + one miserable mom = one long ass day.  At some point while hauling out carpet remnants, LL broke the front door. I am still clueless as to how this was done by a 70+ year old, 4' 90lb woman, but the door was seriously done for.  Now the chaos and spit up shirt are open to the passers-by, and on a Saturday afternoon, there are quite a few. All are curious to poke their heads in. 
 After several days of ADN coming in and out as he pleases "to see the boys" the one day I need (and want?) him there? Gone.  Couldn't be bothered to answer a phone.  I'm ashamed to admit it, but both the wine and the tears broke out early that night. 

It's just the beginning..

A very wise woman once said in her blog, that writing is almost always easier when we are experiencing the negative. With the recent events, I have decided to create a blog, as an outlet. A place for me to vent, gather advice and also document the happier times.

The New Year started off amazing.  I am a new mom again, and lucky enough to be able to stay home and spend quality time with both of my boys.  Evan is such a wonderful sweet baby and Gavin is over the moon to be a big brother, and he is such a help! We are all still adjusting, but I also don’t know life without these two – it’s a profound sense of completion. 

On January 7^th, as it most always does here in Langley, it was raining.  As I gathered clothes off the floor, I noticed they were soaked.  I then realized, the bedroom had a flood.  While we are on the second floor, when it rains, water comes through the roof, down the outer wall and onto our floor.  After moving the furniture from against the wall, the smell and sight of mould overcame me.  My heart sank and my stomach knotted.  Here was my newborn baby, sleeping in a bed above mould.  The anger started and of course I phoned the landlady’s son (she speaks mainly Vietnamese and the communication barrier is sometimes too great for me) He in turn, phoned our landlady who came down, towel dried the carpet, ignored me as I pointed out the mould, cranked the apartment heat and left.  I heard nothing from anyone after that. 

January 11^th, it continued. I had given the landlady time to find a solution but I hadn’t yet had an update.  I gave her son a call again to find out what he intended on doing.  He was under the assumption the problem had been fixed.  I firmly reminded him of the disgusting mould and the fact that the flooding occurs every time it rains, which in January is literally every day.  He sent his brother in to steam clean the room.  This was done, but did not clean the mould, or fix the roof.  When I asked yet again about a repair and more permanent solution to the problem, he told me they would take care of it – in the summer.  At this point I looked to moving (we also have carpenter ants and still no working door buzzer)

Earlier this week, the bottom of the wall began to deteriorate.  The paint is bubbling and peeling, the drywall is soggy and crumbling away and the mould growing more rampant everyday (yup, its still raining!)  Sure enough, after all my phone calls, the towel drying began.  Both the landlady and her son(s) refuse to acknowledge the mould and the extreme health and safety issues (did I mention the “condemned” fire extinguisher we have?)  Again I hear it won’t be looked at until at least the spring (doesn’t it rain then too?) So I waged a new battle – war really.  The Tenant Resource and Advisory Center, Fraser Valley Health, and the City of Langley all informed me that I am able to sue the landlady for: a portion of January rent for the unuseable space, if not all of January rent, moving costs, emotional stress, any incurred cleaning costs and February’s rent. I also need not give notice when we do move (at least not the 30day standard)  That’s the news on the “home” front. 

If I rewind back a week, there is also a point at which my “personal life” began to deteriorate.  It should be no news (if you know me) that I hate the city, I hate everyday the traffic, lack of greenspace, the rush of people…need I go on? A combination of all this and topped up with some PPD and adjusting to my expanded family and it’s new dynamic, led me to collapse, ironic given the state of the apartment.  I received a text early one morning that simply let me know that my marriage was over. Just like that. After a few texts and one emotion-packed conversation it was sorted out. Well, not really, I still don't understand. His reasoning was that I am not happy, although it had never been an issue before, I had never told him I wasn't happy.  He knows I hate the city and therefore I should leave.  Take the kids and go to where I am happy. Would he follow? No.  Was he coming home then? No.  A road trip is in order. I'm homesick, I have PPD, and way overwhelmed with the stress of the house.  Knowing that I am returning "home" and going to see my family has brought a "band-aid" to the pain. I know that being around my loved ones and talking things out will bring some good things to light.  There is a plan in place and with the help of my family, I know I can follow through. 

I plan to blog about this trip as well as the rest of my "den-life" as a MamaBear, as I set out to recouperate, rejuvinate and rediscover. Thank you all for reading, I welcome any comments, critiques and advice you may have to offer.