marital eruption followed by AC and peace

This weekend was horribly hot and humid. I was hoping to not put our window ACs in until late June, at best. After an intense season of astronomical heat bills, I didn't want to jump into high, high electric bills. But so it goes.
Eamon seems to be very much like me in that he hates extreme heat and humidity. Poor boy was covered in heat rash after 3 days of 90 degree weather combined with 70-80% humidity. Vietnam hot. Where you sweat as you towel off from a cold shower.
Eamon was whiney and unable to sleep most of the weekend. He never whines. I didn't think he was capable. So he must have been truly miserable. Once we got the air in tho, he has returned back to Mister Mellow. Except for this morning when we were at Kate's house. We played outside and he became miserable again. He kept going back in the house and smiling at their wonderful central air. It was luxuriously cool in there. Outside, my boy cried miserably as if he were teething (which he's not, he's got all four 2-year molars now).
Sarah, on the other hand is very accomplished at whining but loves the heat. So at least one of them is happy.

In addition to the weather, we had an interesting Memorial Day. (no, not at all~ it was fairly awful) We had a Mexican bbq at my dad's house. I did all the cooking and sweat my ass off over the grill. The kind of sweating where you have sweat dripping down the backs of you knees in a steady stream. (I realize that part of my having issue with heat is my incessant bitching about it, but I just can't seem to be amazed at how HOT it gets.) On the way there, Greg asked what time my trial shift at the bakery was. I told him I wasn't going, I had called and cancelled. He asked why. I said I didn't want to sweat my ass off in a bakery for shite money and getting no sleep. He asked if I had talked to anyone about this before making a decision and I said yes. And then we didn't speak to one another for the rest of the evening. He was completely pissed but (later) admitted that he felt trapped because we were on our way to a family function where he couldn't discuss this with me. Instead, he drank 7 or 8beers, getting fairly drunk. This seemed fine, as everyone but me was having a few beers or margaritas anyhow. He was fine with my family, and cordial to me. But I knew he was pissed.
See, one cannot argue with Greg about shitty jobs or extreme heat or cold. He works outside all year long (but for good pay, at least). In the summer he's in 120 degree metal rail cars on 2 square miles of blacktop with not a tree around. In winter he's in the same metal rail cars that are iced over and freezing as the wind whips through the open rail yard. It's a losing argument for anyone but sewer workers and miners to discuss working conditions with him. And I respect that. I am grateful for him.
After dinner at my dad's house, we noticed my front tire of my car was flat. Completely flat. Greg told me to change the tire. All the men-folk thought he was kidding. I knew he wasn't. He looked at me and I knew he was thinking: If you're too good to work in a bakery, then fine. But take care of yourself. It's your car, you change the tire.
And my mouth said: "You're such an ass.." And my look said: Fine, I'll do it.
I saw my dad, brother and brother-in-law exchange looks. Really? He's making her change the tire? Hmmm.
My brother-in-law helped me and basically did the whole thing himself. It took 5 minutes.
No big deal.
We left soon after. Our house was 87 degrees inside. (The AC units not in yet) We all went to bed. Greg fell right to sleep but Sarah, Eamon and I were all sweaty and tossing and turning. The fan felt like a hairdryer on us. I finally fell asleep for about an hour and half but then was woken up by a bat flying 2 feet over Eamon and I in bed. Sarah had just come in our room to get in bed with us but then screamed and ran out. Just as I was covering Eamon with a sheet to get us out of the room, Fuzz the cat pounced on the bat. All the lights were on. It was 1am. Greg had to get up for work.
So I put the kids to bed in Sarah's room. I wasn't sure if Fuzz ate the bat or if it was stunned and hiding somewhere in my bedroom.
Greg and I had a nice argument in the kitchen at 1:30am. He was pissed that I didn't take the bakery job. I told him I would somehow bring some money in soon. Doula work. Hell, waitressing if I had to. But not working in that damn bakery. I'd much rather wait tables again and bring home half of the bakery paycheck for 6 hours of work.
At any rate, it was an awful night. I didn't sleep for most of it. And poor Eamon didn't sleep much either. He'd just wake up and cry miserably.
Blech.

So yesterday I went to an interview with an elderly home care place. This seems so much more up my alley. I'm actually a bit excited as I read over their magazine on emotional issues and health issues for the elderly. It's kind of the same passion as I have for midwifery. It feels good to have this reaffirmation that helping to care for others is what fulfills me. The woman was interested in my midwifery training and saw this an asset. The way their company works is that you get matched with a client, considering their needs with the hours you are available to work. So, much like doing postpartum work, you go for 3-4 hours a couple days a week and help them out. Granted, it's much less money that doula work. But that's all right. I hope this works out.
Greg didn't listen to me completely when I told him about this possible job. And in our argument he said he thought I'd be better off in a bakery than working in a nursing home with a bunch of scrubs doing disgusting work. No darling, not a nursing home. Individual's homes. People who can live on their own and can wipe their own bottoms.

I'm feeling much better now, although still really freaked out by not having enough money. I pray something comes along soon. A midwifery client, a doula client, a job helping the elderly. And of course, my trusty cleaning gig.

And I'm still waiting to sell my motorcycle. I've received at least 10 emails but no one has followed through. They usually just write: Is the bike still available? I write back: Yes it is. Let me know if you'd like to arrange to see it. And then I never hear back from them.

I'm off to go write childbirth education curriculum.
More up my sleeve on how to get rich at a snail's pace.