My dad is still calling me everyday. Either he’s worried that now I’m going mental because I’m trying to unpack and my four little slaves aren’t very helpful; or he’s concerned that my house is trying to drive us out. I’ve made up with my house (I think). I possibility, might have caused or imagined some of the problems; or perhaps, it was satisfied with the blood offering from my husband. If I had known that all it took was a little blood, I would have slit a vein the first day! But if that’s what it takes there’s enough routine bleeding with four kids that the house should be fine for years.
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