Frugality isn't just a knack for saving money. It's not about how often you can rinse and reuse your plastic baggies. It's not about saving a nickel on gas or buying the super duper discounted canned goods and day old bread. Frugality is a state of mind. One can be frugal and spend $50 a week on groceries while throwing out those baggies after only one use. One can even spend $75 a week. My point that I'm trying to get around to making is that it's really about the quality of your life that matters.

The bottom line is that if you're squeezing every last cent until they beg for mercy, but you and your family are not enjoying yourselves, it doesn't make sense to do that. Unless, of course, circumstances force you to that. Even then you can find a few things to make life better. Pick a wildflower and put it in a vase. Check out a stack of library books with pretty pictures and immerse yourself on a virtual vacation or a Learning Experience to improve your mind.

Right now this minute I'm enjoying an indulgence. I ordered a scented candle in this month's melaleuca package. It smells incredible. There's some scented lotion in the bathroom for later tonight; I'm going to feel like a pampered princess when I go to bed tonight and I DON'T FEEL GUILTY. My check is supposed to get here any day now.

My husband says that I should get some sort of part time work because it would increase my self-esteem and improve my general mood. He doesn't mean that I should go back to work just because of the money, but that's a concern as well. My solution? I'm building my business as a part time job. It's a combination of online survey sites, email clicking programs, blogging, and melaleuca referrals. The melaleuca takes less time and effort to get a check. Yeah, it may only fill the gas tank once a month, but that's something with the price of gas being what it is these days. Not every site on the 'Net that offers those Money-Making programs is a scam. I've got merchandise and actual check stubs to prove it. Be suspicious of the ones that promise you an income that can rival a full time job just by sitting on your ass- those are obviously meant for the desparate housewife. But there are ways to do it if you're flexible and willing to accept the smaller checks right off the bat.

Let me take a minute to share with you the best part I've found about our use of these products: all I had to do was switch who I paid for the stuff. I'm buying a safer product that costs less and I can get money back on it. Isn't that a good deal? And the out of pocket was what I would have let us spend for a dinner for two and a half at Denny's.

Besides, it's my blog. Nobody's forcing you to read this. Although I value the time you spend dropping in to browse... hint, hint, hint.

In this month's box: the candle (home-baked, english pound cake flavored). No Work Daily Shower Cleaner. Sun Valley hydrating body lotion (ginger citrus). Antibacterial soap (mint flavored, smells like a candy cane, good for guys and gals). Ibuprofen. Prespot Laundry Treatment (I've raved about this one several times in the past). MelaBrite laundry detergent. All this fulfills my monthly commitment to buy, I got it for less than what I would have spent at Target. The laundry detergent is the concentrated form that means a smaller bottle =less bulk and weight to haul back and forth from the laundromat. It's safer. It's smells fabulous. It raises my quality of life because I feel like I can indulge just like everybody living off of credit card debt.

So my goal for next month is to enroll four people. Just four people. If you're one of the four I'll personally refund your enrollment fee if you stay with it two months. That's an easier money-back deal than you'd get as a dissatisfied customer! All you have to do is try and like it!

All right, all right. I'll get off the soapbox now. My spiel for the day is done. I've got a baby sweater to knit.

Something I really have come to like about using the melaleuca products is that I can get so much more done. One of the unexpected benefits is that it reacts to my El-Cheapo nailpolish by -get this- removing it while I'm cleaning.

The kicker here is that it only comes off when I immerse my hands in the stuff. My preferred method of scrubbing is to mix it up at twice the strength they recommend. More is better, right? So after five or ten minutes of scrubbing and rinsing and wringing out a damp cloth my nails are back to their virgin state, my hands feel like they've just been moisturized, and my floor is clean.

There are certain things that will not be explained. Certain questions that I've learned not to ask. One of these is the above-mentioned hand transformation. Another one of these is why legos sprout legs and skitter across the floor to land under my bare feet every time I walk from the living room to the kitchen.

Today Our Heroines went to the Pediatrician's office. We had a danish when we got there. I let her free-range around the waiting room. She had a LOT of fun with their toys. I'm expecting her to demand a caterpillar tunnel any day now. She's almost twenty pounds now. I'm so thrilled with that. My daughter almost weighs as much as a sack of dog food.

Granted, she's more wiggly and a hell of a lot better smelling than most brands of dog food, but still.

This morning I stopped rummaging around for a sweater that might fit her and it occurred to me that hey, I can knit, I knit all the time. Wouldn't it be better/easier/saner of me to dig out my sweater patterns and just make her one? I can make it a little bigger in the shoulders. She'll grow into it. I can't believe I'm turning into every other mother on the face of the earth. And that somehow I've picked up the notion that I've turned into Frump Woman just because I'm a SAHM.

Lately I've been wondering if Tiffany will ever start to a) talk and b) stand up on her own and start walking. She's got the cruising down yet oddly she doesn't want to put any weight on her own two feet while either walking or holding our hands. I've tried to make it fun. I've really tried. I've tried bribing. I've tried playing silly games and singing songs. So far there has been zilch interest.

I tell myself to be patient. Just because other babies her age do this ALL THE TIME is no reason for her to need to do it yet. Even adjusting for gestational age. I think that the reason for parents to get so crazy over competing is due to the Experts. There's a whole range of sites that will provide an expert opinion on everything going from permissive to discipline-centric. Stay at home moms are ripe for their traps because our children are the only things that we're being graded /judged on by our peers that really deeply matter to us. We want to point at our kids and their trophies. We want to show off their talents and how wonderfully intelligent they are. We want to parade them through the streets so people will tell us what good mothers we are. That just because we don't earn a paycheck we're contributing to society.

I'm not being graded on my child. If I were, I'd get a solid B, because of where she started and how far she's come in 16 months. But I'm running out of time because that stops counting when she turns two years old. That's when she's supposed to be all caught up, and there are hundreds of small children out there waiting to show us up on the big stage of Life.

It's a new game show: The Stage of Life! Come on down! You could win this fabulous washer dryer combo or a full academic scholarship for your kids to the Ivy League School of Their Choice!

We'll get June Cleaver to show the prizes. And Marge Simpson to award the "Best Effort" certificate. I can do a clean house or a happy child or a tidy mind. Well, I can manage two of the three. Pick two. Because if you left the choice up to me I'd say let the housework go to hell and be happy. This explains why I haven't scrubbed the kitchen floor in three whole days. Obviously the Cleaning Police will show up at 2300 tonight in order to arrest me and throw me into Messy Housewives Anonymous.

agh. The hell with it. Tonight I'm slipping into bed in my new flannel jammies and I'm going to knit until my eyes close.

Naptime started easily enough. She got sleepy, I put her in the crib, shut the door, and she immediately sat up and started playing. It was quiet playing. That's fine by me. After a while she stopped... fell asleep. When I went in at the end of naptime I saw the brownish fluff stuffed in the corner between the rails and the mattress.

Being of an inquiring mind I asked her, "What's this?"

Then I saw the remains of the pillow.

She had ripped open the corner and pulled out all the stuffing. Love-ly. What a mess. At least she didn't consume any of it- that would have been an even larger mess to clean up. And so we come to the philosophical question of the day:

Did I really birth a puppy?

The link to my amazon book sale is here.
Stop by, check it out, you know the drill. New stuff has been added this week; a couple from Jennifer Roberson's Cheysuli saga, and I scored four Elminster books (Forgotten Realms) which will be posted for sale as soon as I re-read them. Cause, you know, I need something to do in the middle of the night when I can't sleep.

Still achey, still hormonally challenged, still not popping positive on the pregnancy test. However. I'm still dealing with all the stuff I had in the beginning of the last pregnancy. ALL of it. We'll give it another week and then retest.

Right.

The Toddler is asleep, finally, having lost the daily battle of Night-Night. I've eaten massive amounts of dark chocolate. I'm about to settle in for a nice, relaxing, evening with knitting and lots of reading.

This has been a truly odd couple of days. I've been emotionally all across the field. Large parts of me have wanted to scream and rant and rave, and other equally large parts have wanted to crawl into a closet and hide from the world. I don't know what the hell is wrong with me this week. Maybe I'm pregnant. Who knows. I certainly won't for another couple of weeks.

And next week brings with it another underway period. A whole week of solo-wrangling. Then the Boy comes home. We'll have an anniversary- three years we'll have been married. Three whole years. That's pretty impressive for someone who never sustained a relationship longer than 3 months before I met him.

Another night in which I couldn't settle my mind to sleep. Am I becoming of one Those People? The wives that cannot sleep if their husband is away? I used to be one of Those People, but then the Boy enlisted and I got over it.

Lack of sleep means that I'm cranky this morning. Extra cranky, and a bit of a headache (still) and I want to go back to bed and sleep. So I'm drinking water and eating a piece of whole wheat bread instead. The Toddler is set up in front of PBS kids, and I don't feel bad about it enough to take her away from the tv. Sure, it's an electronic babysitter. I need one of those myself, so why not her on occassion?

My insides are still churning. Twisting, turning, and if I wasn't completely confident in the effectiveness of my Pill I'd think I might be pregnant again. Wouldn't that be crazy? I'd want a second opinion on that. And the verdict in writing. And I'd insist that somebody else be the one to tell the Boy.

It turned into a spontaneous party around here last night. For reasons known only to the PTB, our lives were "invaded" (in that nice way) but a young family who needed some help settling in out here. They had moved with just the stuff in their car, and that's it- and their son is the same age as my daughter. So it's no biggie, we helped run them around to a decent housing complex, and bought them lunch. Things will go well for them.

Then simi and her husband came over for dinner in the evening. I made ziti, and bruschetta, and we had fudge. It was so absolutely lovely. Simi gave me her fudge recipe and I may just be forced to make a big tray of it this weekend. My chocolate/sugar fixation continues this week. I guess all that ice cream last weekend only eased the thoughts a little.

And here we sit. I'm awake at an early god-forsaken hour of the morning because I can't sleep. But I can knit, and I can enjoy the Boy's company on the other side of this big dark living room, and I can go back to the blankies and cuddle when I'm done checking my mail.

Soon, right? Soon we'll have a walking, talking toddler running around here making all our lives chaotic. In the meantime, she's all mine.

Orders at last. His NTL date is Feb 14, 2007. I'm going to be moving again. But we've had nearly two years at this address. I'm definately spoiled.

hormones or phased by the moon?

The past week has been -interesting. Either my Pill is jumping up and down on my remaining ovary, or it's shacked up in my glands and sending out for margaritas. Either way, I'm not complaining at the moment.

The Boy is not complaining either, in case you were wondering. /smugness/

But there's been all this other wierdness. Breakthrough bleeding. Unexplained bloating. Strange dreams. And then the thing with the yarn. A sign? Is my biochemical self trying to communicate? I don't care particularly one way or the other just now.

Damn, but it was a fun week.

quote of the day

"Cheating on your wife when she's imminently due home is a bad idea. Doing so when she's on her way home from church is just plain rude."

When I mentioned to my Boy that I felt Red Foreman from That 70's Show was the ideal spouse and father, he told me that I had finally slipped over the deep edge.
"No, wait," I protested. "Hear me out."
"Alright....."
"He's gruff, yes. He's unsentimental, uses the word "dumbass" a lot, and is authoritarian. BUT."
"Go on."
"He's a real father. A real husband. When the shit hits in any serious situation, he handles it. He supports his wife and shows his love for her in real ways. He backs her up in front of the children. There's not a lot of glamour or glitz about him, but he supports the family, pays the bills, and doesn't bitch about the stuff of life that is an underlaying reality for all families."

The rent still has to be paid. Cars need to run. Food needs to be in the house. We may never be rich, and we may never have disposable income, but our needs in this family are met. The other day I said to the Boy that I was tired of being poor. He looked back at me oddly and said, "but we aren't poor. I remember poor. We're making things meet and have a little extra for the planned indulgences."

So there. How's that for a slap of reality? The ends are meeting. We may not have a load of extras to afford trips to legoland or the zoo every weekend, or go out to eat all the time. We do have everything we need. Nobody calls us for collections. We can hold our heads up in the leasing office because we've never bounced a check or been late by a day. In an economy where so many people are still living check to check and can't quite manage that- I can know I'm doing something right.

Now I'm off to tidy up my nursey/bear pit. Again. The Toddler Wakes. She must be placated. At least for a little while.

the knittingiest lady

An older gentleman of my acquaintance tells me that I'm "the knittingiest lady" he's ever seen. He also says I remind him of his wife, which sounds a lot nicer than it sounds. From what I hear of the lady, she's quite the Wonderful Wife.

This morning while running errands I had to pick up another pound of black yarn for the big blankie I'm making my friend simi. As I passed through the yarn aisle my brain was snagged by a certain shade of baby yarn in a variegated soft color scheme. It's mostly blue and green but there are hints of pink and lavender in it. I had to buy two skeins... for a full-size baby blanket. So somebody is having a boy. It's not often that I come to this sort of "directed" purchase, and every time I've ever had the spirit move me this strongly over baby blankets it's been finished just in time for the baby.

I swear, the majority of the time I haven't even met the mothers of these children until I'm almost done the blanket. It's wierd. Seriously wierd. I don't mind too much though; it's not like I'm stockpiling baby furniture, or hoarding slivers of soap. I'm serving a purpose by using knitting to quiet my mind and center my thoughts. It's meditation. It's prayer. It's a really good way to lower my blood pressure and deal with insomnia. And at the end, after I've WORN OUT a pair of aluminum needles -yes, I actually wear them out, between the speed of the motion and the clenching in my white-knuckled fists some nights- I have something to show for it besides a bad case of tendonitis in both wrists.

Somebody's having a baby. They're in my thoughts tonight.

It's Friday already?

It's not supposed to be Friday yet. I have barely noticed each day of this week as it went by. I suspect it's something to do with a federally mandated holiday, because I've seen more of my husband this month than I have in the past 7. (Hah! A Joke!) And we just spent a very long evening trying to get the Toddler to understand that just because Daddy's home it does not mean that we all get to stay up late and play.

I was talking to him earlier about how empty my arms are starting to feel, now that the Toddler is venturing into independance after so many months of needing my constant attention. He blurted out, "Just because she's going to go to preschool is not a reason to have another baby!" I thought that was cute, true, and very sad all at once. I know it's not a reason to have another baby. I just thought that, you know, we could think about having more little feet in the future. Say, in the next year or so. I'm not THAT greedy, I'll settle for just one more baby. Maybe two.

It's frightening how much I've grown to love being a mom. After all the nightmares getting here; all the second guessing I've done of myself. After all those months of endless depression. All those months. All those very LONG months. He doesn't want to do it again. He doesn't want to see me do it again. If he ever would, he wants a signed statement from my doctor to the effect that I'll not be as sick and unhappy. I just want a signed statement that I'll be able to go into labor with the next one. That I'll deliver close to term and be able to leave the hospital with a newborn instead of a bunch of balloons in my hand saying that I've had a girl but no baby. People try not to look, but they do, and I know they were wondering.

agh. Enough of this. I'm going to eat some more pizza and get in my jammies.

sometimes you feel like a nut

Tonight I'm going all out. I'm drinking a wine cooler. I bought a lottery ticket. Wow, I'm like, rich, or something. Living dangerously. Woo-Hoo.

Tiffany's asleep. She fell asleep in my arms again; I kissed her when I laid her in bed and tucked her in. She turned her little face up to me and smiled. Sweet Girl. Mommy loves you. Mommy fell in love with you a long time ago, and falls all over again every night.

I'm looking forward to the weekend. I've got my Boy home with me Four Whole Days. That's four whole days I don't have to send him to work before dawn. Four whole days in which we can be a lazy stay-at-home family. If there's anything better than that, I don't care what it is. Right now, I'm content.

The weather outside is a cool 64 degrees right now. There's a light breeze, and the sky is overcast. But that will burn off and reveal a bright shiny sun in about two hours.

I mention this because it's such a contrast to what is in other parts of the world. Somewhere this morning is torrential rain. Somewhere people are praying for rain. Somewhere there is snow, and somewhere it's so hot that you could fry an egg on the rocks. What a difference. And here I sit in paradise, looking fondly at my Toddler as she crawls around making sure that the printer didn't move during the night. Or that any of her toys are missing.

Sometimes we forget just how lucky we are to have a quiet life. Over in the big sandbox I know there are mothers of children her age who will never see such a quiet and well-regulated morning again. I've got a kitchen full of food, and all I've got to do is turn on the faucet to get clean water. That's pretty good. And for all of this I still whine and bitch about how I wish we had more. So today's goal is going to be to start thinking about that. I'm going to start being grateful in a quieter way. I'm going to get back to making preemie blankies. Give something back to the community.

drowsing by the fire

I'm drowsing by the warm glow of the tv tonight and trying to kick myself in the pants. That's pretty hard to do when you're not double jointed. Or, you know, my own identical twin sister. Thing is, I need to get my contact list built and the e-spiel sent to them. This is going to be a one-time type thingie, it's not like I'm planning on spamming these people to the ends of the earth. I just find it's easier to communicate over the 'Net than face to face or on the phone. I just- have a Thing about real-time communication sometimes. It takes more personal energy than I feel it's worth.

So I'm going to use the e-spiel method. It's everything I'd say to the person if she were here with me, but in a written form. I really hope this works out at least a little bit like I want it to. Cause I could use the morale-boost of knowing that I might possibly succeed at this.

Toy Toy Toy!!!!!!

It has arrived in the mail. I've been waiting for this book for a whole three weeks. Oh, I'm so not going to sleep early tonight!

...self-directed eye roll. So the Spanish Influenza, aka the White Lady, is one of my historical favorite things. It's not really that different than ordering the entire Time Life Civil War collection. Except there are far fewer books available on the Spanish Flu.

confessions of a sugar junkie

Yesterday I went to Albertson's for some baby food. As I walked from the juice to the baby aisle I had to cross Ice Cream Land, and I impulse-bought a carton. It was caramel cheesecake. It was delicious. I finished the whole thing before the sun went down this evening.

For some reason this weekend has been one carb and sugar loaded binge for me. I don't have any urge to eat anything good for me. Say, like dinner or lunch or even a halfway decent continental breakfast. Make it deep-fried and sugar-coated. I also picked up a box of churros while I was out. That lasted only slightly longer than the ice cream. For those of you who don't know, a churro is a waffle-like stick that is rolled in cinnamon and sugar and fried. And it's crispy and it's good and it is so addictive that I'm trying to tell myself that Costco won't carry it. I may stand a chance of not having this in the house and eating my weight in them this month.

I don't usually binge on sugar like this. Shades of the past, family history, and all that. I'm remembering the stories of my great-grandmother and her mother, dying of diabetes before insulin therapy was available. Chocolate really can kill you. When I was about 10 I worked out that since diabetes ran in the family and I would likely be "catching it" I'd better learn to live without 3-inch frosting on my cupcake.

The upside to all of this is that I lost my sweet tooth by the time I was twenty. Except for sporadic candy forays, and the sugar binge, I don't go for really sweet things anymore. The downside is that occassionally I find myself bingeing. My eating "thing" mixes it up with the sugar "thing" and they go midieval on my ass.

A big thank you to the buyer of today's featured selections on Amazon! You made my day, and I know you'll enjoy your purchase. I loved that series.

fall cleaning

We're going through the stacks this week, and more books are up for sale through Amazon in the "used books" categories. If you're a sci-fi fan, I've got a first-print edition of "The transition of titus crow", which is near-mint. I'm sure you can find a bunch of other neat stuff over there. Consider the used book market when buying stuff: it's cheaper than new, it helps out other people -whether they're trying to raise a little extra cash by selling their stuff, or running a side business out of their spare room. And you know that the books are going to be the same whether used or new. It's not like the ending changes.

I could also make a point about reusing our consumable resources, but I'm a woman who happily embraces disposable diapers and all things plastic and easily replaceable for infant/toddler byproduct handling. Not an Earth Mother. Just a Mom.

little susie homemaker

my flatware arrived today. All but the tall drink spoons. I ran the whole lot through the dishwasher right away and am not even waiting for them to cool. Using dishtowels wrapped around my hands I plucked my gleaming stainless steel treasure from the dishwasher and I'm carefully polishing each piece thoroughly dry before putting it away in the cherry chest with antitarnish lining.

I'm rich. So rich. To have this, this whole thing of Good Flatware. Complete, all at once. I'm humming to myself and feeling like there is not one thing that could make tonight's happiness more complete.

nothing better to do

...than to sit here and feel sorry for myself. HAH! I can clean! I can cook! I can tidy up the drifts of dirty laundry in the bedroom into a neater pile! I can put the Toddler down for her nap.

Well, at least I'm trying to put her down for a nap. She has other ideas. Although she has grasped the "lay quietly in your crib" portion. I wonder if it's too soon to start teaching her the meaning of "Mommy's tired so you need a nap"? Mommy has been awake since 4 this morning, talking to Daddy and trying to get some more sleep. This however is a duty day, which means Daddy's Day Off. Mommy is here trying to stay awake until a certain Small Someone falls asleep. Then I will take a nap. It will be a good nap, a fine nap, a nap the likes of which have not been seen in this house in at least a week.

Now that I'm finally fully back on my feet after the Flu From Hell that knocked us down, I'm feeling back in control of the household. This involves cooking. This involves grocery shopping. This involves other related things that are too boring to name. It feels -empowering. Strange, because a year or two ago I would never have considered housework to be empowering.

It takes all kinds, right?

why I love Amazon

Because no matter what book I'm craving, no matter if it's out of print now or hard to find, somebody will sell it to me and it will end up in my hands in about two weeks. Talk about instant gratifications as far as books go...

...moving right along I find that rampant stupidity does not actually go away with motherhood. To which I submit myself humbly to the Dead Fish Award, which is better known as the People Who Should Be Slapped Upside the Head With Dead Fish Award. What did I do? I forgot that I should just take all the pills in today's compartment at once. I should keep out one of the sedatives and take that later before bedtime. So this is why my head spins a bit and my mouth feels like a lizard crawled inside it to die.

No worries. I've been this stupid before. Just not in a Long time. Long, Long, time. And tonight is beer and pizza night; every Friday that we can afford it we have pizza and I watch the Boy drink a 6 pack. This is okay. I can be very happy about it. I just wish that he'd get off a bit early this afternoon so that I can crawl back under the blankets and hide.

My Little Pirate? She's doing well. The disparity in pupil sizes from right to left is still reminding me of late night cartoon network programming. I keep expecting her to start twitching and plotting to take over the world. So far nothing- she's a crafty imp. The falling over herself seems to be going away a bit. I have mostly stopped worrying that she's totally blind. I just worry that she's going to pick up an anvil and drop it on my head.

the things I see when I don't have a gun

A caption on the tvguide channel that started, "follow a blind alligator through the streets of Miami"

I swear to G-d I'm not making that up. I saw it. Scrolling across my screen. And I'm so very afraid of this... I'm going to have to go cuddle my stuffed animals now.

shiver me timbers and blow the man down

We're embarking on a Pirate theme this fall here in Chez Fireflower. Or should that be Casa de Fireflower, given our proximity to Mexico? Anyway. The verdict is in from the eye doc that while her eye looks good in regards to mucus and tearing, she isn't responding as well as he would like. It's still too early to tell how much sight she has, given that she's not talking yet. Aside from "juice". Which doesn't tell us that much about visual acuity but is pretty darned cute.

Instead of trying to patch her good eye he's going to use a certain type of eye drop. This is supposed to dilate the eye and cause the same effect as patching, without my needing to go out and buy up the available black onesies to match the patch. (get it?) Although I'm not looking forward to putting drops in her eye twice a week it sure beats the hell out of forcing prilosec down her throat twice a day as we were doing this time last year. And so I salute her, my little pirate baby. We'll go back to the doc in three months to see what she sees then. We'll see if it's a lazy eye or symptomatic of something far worse -that's 'worse' to a mother's eyes, not 'worse' as it will effect her 'quality of life' which is something I've heard way too much about lately.

Argh. Me Little Pirate Baby. Show Mama the Booty. We'll run a black diaper up the flagpole and start cutting throats. Or at the least poke them in the eye and steal their noses when they won't give up the booty.

technical difficulties

Apparantly last night's link to the amazon site didn't work; at least, I'm unable to actually see the link that I know is supposed to be there. So for all those fans who actually care the title of the book is:
Mommy laid an egg
Author: Babette Cole

And it's still really, really funny.

So we're off to the doctor this afternoon, and I am starting to feel a little nervous about it. I just want this whole thing over, I want the Tiffany to take a nice long nap tonight, and I want to wake up when she's 19 and off in college. If she's anything like me that's when I'll really have to start to worry. Before that- not so much.

my brain is having technical difficulties with life. that's why the title for today's entry... This is subject to change without notice and I'll let y'all know how things go when I have some clue about it.

back in the saddle

While perusing the books available in the library this afternoon I encountered this gem.


You need to read this. Especially all the DotMamas and the IndieMamas. Really. Pay particular attention to the diagrams of how babies are made- I recommend this book for us as parents who need to laugh, not necessarily as the book you want to use to teach your kids about the birds and the bees. And buy copies for your best friends. I'm still laughing.

I wonder if dinosaurs always wore UPS uniforms when delivering babies?

silver and gold

Talked to some old friends today. The same set that mentored me into this lifestyle, who smoothed the way into being a success as a Naval Wife... And it feels good. It's good to hear from them. It is almost as good as Tiff going to bed easily for us. Sort of as good as when the Boy came home from PAC.

To keep in touch is a good thing. Like the old rhyme I learned in girl scouts, lo these many eons ago- Make new friends but keep the old. One is silver, the other is gold.

Staying in touch though the country lays between us. Staying in touch with people even if a world separates us. It's not easy. What's easy is to let people keep going their way. Easy, but lonely. Keeping in touch is hard, but it lets you catch up with little explanation. You don't have to reintroduce yourself. You don't have to learn new faces and new histories and new stories. These are the people who know you, the people who know where we come from and love us anyway. And we don't have to say many words.

midnight blogging

I’m sitting here in the middle of the night, again.

I feel better in some ways and nicely loopy in many other ways. Since the Munchkin is asleep and likely to remain so, and the Boy also, and I’ve got the whole place to myself in this frantic rush of energy and cool ideas that won’t seem quiet so affordable in the cool light of morning.

Drinking my water. Got such a dry throat that water needs to be drunk in large amounts to keep me functioning in the world tomorrow. So I’m sitting on the Net because where else am I going to be when my brain is in that silly loopy stage of medicated fatigue and I can’t quite turn my brain off yet to go back to sleep.

I’ve been sleeping for days now. That’s what it feels like. That I’ve been asleep for days. Emerging only one every couple of hours to grab a bottle of water and growl at whoever asks me questions. And even though it was just what I needed then and thanks to God that I had that option for the first time in months…. I felt only a little bit guilty over asking for the help. I woke up to get another drink of water tonight and ended up on the computer. There are worse things. I fully intend to sleep myself out in the morning. I fully intend to make the most of this now, while I can, because hey- these things aren’t going to come again.

There was an article in Redbook a few days ago that I happened to glance at. It dealt with all those work at home projects, the scams and the real ones that are out there- but since they are real they don’t promise lots of money and there aren’t all that many openings, and it’s a different sort of approach from one that I understood works with MLM. Tomorrow I think I’m going to start looking into this sort of thing. In addition to getting ready for my first craft show. In addition to watching my food and medication schedules and all that- cause I have a goal to be able to figure out how to work my penny-saving and little income from survey sites and blogging into a reliable check every month to pay my car note.

And hey, with all the sickness this week, I’m sure that I’d be in worse shape now had I not been using the ecofriendly cleaning stuff all over every surface in the house. I was a mess, everybody else was a mess, and yet- the house doesn’t smell like the normal post-body fluid explosion mess. You know of what I speak, the stale vomit, the excrement-covered sheets, towels, nightthings. My house may be a tornado disaster area, but it’s a sweet smelling one. And a home that I’m happy to be caring for.

lost in the living room

Remember what happened here back when the ship left on deployment? The sickness, the extruding of bodily fluids out of every possible orifice of my and the Toddler's body? The laundry that threatened to take over Detroit?

Well, it's back. Love-ly. Except it seems to have gone on fast forward, and I'm not so sure that made it better or worse. That summer cold I posted about- it started the puking late Tuesday night. About 90 minutes after that I was in shock and the Boy was calling the paramedics. And the progression of the illness went just like a fast forward button over the whole thing. 12 hours through puking, total lower-body-fluid loss of control, fluids and iv drugs. The works. Then I came home and slept.

The Toddler- she seems to have fared better than I did this time around- thank GOD for small favors. She slept through the ambulance taking mommy away, and didn't seem to realize I was gone until I walked through the door yesterday. Of course then she was a mess for the rest of the day and all night; her tummy hurt, she got clammy and a little bit shocky, and then she had two seriously massive UGLY diapers. But- no puking. And she's tolerating fluids well, and had a nice long nap after those diapers. So. And me? I lost a day out of my life. Literally. I don't have a clue how today became thursday, because the last I knew it was tuesday morning. The house is a wreck.

When I had gotten home last night the Boy sits across from me and we're catching up on how things went on both ends. And he says to me in a wierd sort of voice, "this place *was* clean this morning." By the end of the day, of course, the whole place looks trashed; I hear this happens with small children. I couldn't stop myself from laughing and pointing out that I say the same thing to him every night when he comes home. Cause at the end of the day- well, parents know what I mean and I don't know if anyone else will believe it. I didn't get a chance to clean last night. It may not get cleaned until tomorrow. I'm perfectly okay with that. As long as I get a nap this afternoon.

the littlest things

It’s the little things in life. Those little things that can make you or break you. This morning I’m munching on banana bread and warm rice pudding. There’s a crime drama on in the background, and periodically I break to play with the Toddler for some really in-depth giggling.

We’ve got little summer colds. So little that it doesn’t even qualify except for the tickle in my throat and Tiff’s hacking cough. So we’re staying in, mostly, and hiding from society. Who needs other people when you’ve got cable? And broadband? And warm rice pudding?

We had naps already, and it’s not even 11. This is so out of the ordinary for her that I know she’s sick. She went down without a fight, without a whimper, and I didn’t start whimpering until she started making noises to get back up. Medicine. And a spoonful of sugar. And when Daddy gets home I’m going to ask him to cover so that I can go back and sleep a bit more.

I’m SO glad he’s home from PAC now. I’m so glad, and not just because it means that I get a break this afternoon.

the littlest things

It’s the little things in life. Those little things that can make you or break you. This morning I’m munching on banana bread and warm rice pudding. There’s a crime drama on in the background, and periodically I break to play with the Toddler for some really in-depth giggling.

We’ve got little summer colds. So little that it doesn’t even qualify except for the tickle in my throat and Tiff’s hacking cough. So we’re staying in, mostly, and hiding from society. Who needs other people when you’ve got cable? And broadband? And warm rice pudding?

We had naps already, and it’s not even 11. This is so out of the ordinary for her that I know she’s sick. She went down without a fight, without a whimper, and I didn’t start whimpering until she started making noises to get back up. Medicine. And a spoonful of sugar. And when Daddy gets home I’m going to ask him to cover so that I can go back and sleep a bit more.

I’m SO glad he’s home from PAC now. I’m so glad, and not just because it means that I get a break this afternoon.

the quiet mind

It's something between zen and praying, I think. You hear about it a lot- quieting your soul. Seeking inner peace. That's something that I as a mother am striving for all the time. Along with my crinolines, pearls, and the ability to wear pumps while vacuuming...

Anywho. I was laying in bed during Tiff's nap trying to do this. It worked great. I didn't sleep, but I feel as though I've slept for three hours, and I'm completely refreshed right now. That, and I took a NoDoz when I got up. That probably has a thing to do with it as well.

So why is it that I don't sleep, crave sleep, and pump my body full of stimulants to avoid sleep all at the same time? I whine about insomnia and chronic fatigue. My friends are sick to death of hearing about it. And yet... I still do it. There's got to be a middle ground out there. I'm looking at the quiet mind for a solution. I know there won't ever be a permanent solution. I'm hoping for something a little more permanent than the scotch tape and rubber band macguyvering that I've been accustomed to.

Silver Patterns

This is what happens when mothers and daughters find things to bond over. For years and years we'd wait for the quarterly Betty Crocker Catalogue to come in the mail. As well as the umpteen stitchery and needlework catalogues we were on. And when they'd arrive we'd sit down with cookies and cups of tea and leaf through the pages. We picked out my silver pattern, my china pattern, both everyday and formal. We decorated my future home with pictures and linens and all sorts of knickknacks. It was always "someday".

Last week my mother called. She had gotten the official last catalogue of the Betty Crocker company. They're discontinuing their boxtop point redemption program and the catalogue. That's right- after all these decades, they're not doing this anymore. The stock that's left is ALL that's left. Ever.

And my mom? She gave me her credit card info and told me that now is the time. This is the last and final chance to get stuff. That entire stainless steel pattern of servingware that I dreamed of and drooled on over the years... the chest with the anti-tarnish lining to store them in. All mine. In a short time the UPS man will bring a large package to my door.

That was the day after I had a sober moment, reflecting on my shoddy bargain-discount-basement flatware, that only has 6 settings, that is all bent and dinged and cruddy after only 4 years in use. I thought to myself, this is really time to replace this. And how am I going to manage that in the next year? Well, now I can do this. Now I don't have to think about it anymore. And I'm very happy for that.

99.9% sane, 100% organically grown

...I mean, think about it. I can't really claim to be an inorganic lifeform, no matter how detached I feel from reality sometimes. Isn't that another symptom of my mental illness -and how I hate saying that out loud. Detached. This isn't really happening to me; there's really another woman out there who's living my happily ever after life and raising this child. My daughter is a changeling gifted to me by this other woman. Because this other woman is perfect and wonderful to have produced This Happy Child, and that's nothing to do with me.

Of course I know that line of reasoning is faulty. But that's how it feels inside, sometimes. I just have to remind myself that Tiffany is my daughter. That those china blue eyes came from my blood and that she will share in my legacy. I only pray that I can leave a better legacy for her than my father did to me, in terms of managing this illness, on the flip of the coin that she will one day feel this depressive shadow weighing her down.

My Boy tells me that I'm 99.9% sane. That's it's just that .1% of the time that something little will trigger off the insane parts of me. The short circuits that I still haven't tracked down and tried to hotwire back into place. Most of the time he can rest secure in the knowledge of my sanity. I can be the partner he needs and expects and deserves. It's that other bit that still worries us. That other little bit that will need managing and watching and leashing for the rest of my life.

Do they even make a choke chain for this sort of thing?

meditation on yarn

yarn over hook, slip, yarn over, pull through, twist, twist, and slip the last twisted loop off the hook to leave one lonely loop left. That’s how the blanket gets made, how double crochet sets in… how my mind goes happily blank while I’m working on the blankie.

It’s wonderful, that empty-mind feeling. Meditating, or praying, or just Being there. It makes my blood pressure drop to a steady even rhythm and it is just like the feeling I’ve found can be had by rocking the Munchkin to sleep in my arms in the evening.

All is calm, All is bright…

Mean Mommy Strikes Again

It’s a cruel life when you’re only fifteen months old. When Mommy insists that it’s bedtime, when your eyes won’t stay open more than a minute, and when the sun is setting. So cruel. I predict years of therapy ahead of this child.

Dinner tonight was wonderful. One of the few times in the past year that we’ve gone out to eat, at a nicer restaurant, and Tiff is finally old enough to start grazing off of our plates. She had a great time. She just wanted to crawl around and explore all the other tables. Mean Mommy and Dastardly Daddy thwarted this plan. When Mean Mommy took her on a walk to see the fish tanks and to go to the bathroom, she made her break for it while my pants were down. Luckily no one tried to enter the bathroom at that point, and she couldn’t figure out how to open the big door.

In other news, it’s Payday. (Sound of angel choirs from above in heavenly chorus) Yay. This means that I can fill the gas tank, and buy toilet paper, and lots and lots of feminine hygiene products. Life is good. Laundry has been done this morning by someone other than myself, and that means that right now although my head hurts and I’m cranky I am considerably less cranky than if I had to wrestle the Toddler, the shopping, and five loads of laundry to the Laundromat and back.

She’s still determined not to go to sleep. Really determined. She’s going to give up soon. I know this. And then we’ll all have ice cream sandwiches.

Reviews

I owe you several Reviews, since my brain’s been away from the desk this past week. Let’s see. For the first owed review we’ll do the Sultan’s Seal, by Jenny White, who I discovered on the new book shelf at the library about two weeks back.

What’s it about? It’s a murder mystery. Is it any good? Sorta. I had a hard time getting through the rapid changes of perspective, although normally I’m really good at that. Of course, 0200 is not the best time to be trying to follow a book like this so that may have been my own fault.




The second owed review is that classic tale of struggle between Man and Cow. I talked about it when I reviewd Thud! last month. The book lives up to the hype, and I had a lot of fun making the Hippopotamus sounds. My Boy says that the part that really creates imagery for him is that of Commander Sam Vimes of the City Watch, battling his way through an underground cave, screaming the words to the story at the top of his lungs.

Personally, I’d have agreed with the dwarves. There are cows down here? What? Who IS this man?

All on a summer's afternoon

I'm working on the present for my secret santee through the AltMama gift exchange. It's great- I had originally found the yarn for this project in a clearance bin, and bought it solely because it was soft and felt really good through my fingers. It's going to work up equally lovely. Although it wasn't the right shade for a baby blankie, and there wasn't enough for a sweater, and I had no idea what I'd do with it- just goes to show the power of the stash.

Tiff's asleep. I took a long nap, the Boy is still taking his nap, and Tiff is napping peacefully. My Other Mother is outside reading a book in this gorgeous weather. I'm taking a knitting break to write this and to catch up on some doing nothing stuff. When everybody wakes up will be soon enough to figure out what we're doing the rest of today. I'm guessing it involves getting out to do the recycling. And, possibly, the park.

In other news, what's going on with the greater world out there? Huh? Tell me- what started all this hate and revenge-taking and the thought that violence will solve anything? Who hurt who so badly that the only way they know to deal with it is to dish out the same and greater levels of pain and terror. It's not going to work, you know. Unless they finally go and nuke the hell out of all of us. Only if the whole world is blasted back to subsistance will we stop the cycle of blowing each other up. Will that really be better?

Isn't there something else we could be doing? Getting along? Baking brownies? Golf? Cause it's breaking my heart that my daughter will grow up in this world.

Friday. Home again in time for the weekend.

Has it really been a whole week since my last meaningful post? Wow. Just goes to show where my priorities are, I guess. I got the home ready, and homecoming went as well as expected, and I'm tired. Last night the planes were so delayed and backed up that our Girls arrived three hours later than expected. We got home about midnight and to sleep about 0200. Then the Toddler slept and woke and groused about how she didn't want to stay in the pack'n'play because, well, you know, there's a Party going on! And there's so much to do! And she might miss something!

This trip I'm determined to show my guests a better time than just the inside of my living room and the grocery store. I mean it. I will. My energy levels are higher, I have my brain back, and I have motivation. I can be a grownup again.

In another 6 months or so the Toddler will be walking and talking in real sentences and my life will never be the same. In another 6 months or so the Boy gets new orders and God only knows where we'll end up. That's all right. We'll make the best of it.

Missing Her

My baby is somewhere on a plane that's been horribly delayed. I want her home again. I want this very badly. I want her in my arms NOW. And not even the thought that here I am with my last baby-free hours before me makes me feel any better.

What did I ever do to him?

Sid Meiers has a lot to answer for. Namely, his concept for the Civilization games, which have my Boy so engrossed that his Homecoming went like this:

get off plane, kiss wife, drive home, order pizza. While pizza is being dished up he had to get out his laptop, hook it up, and install the new expansion pack/download the patches already available. Spend the next couple hours playing. Wife goes to bed alone, not greatly surprised.

Wife wakes up in the morning. Boy wakes up. Coffee and breakfast are made and the computer goes back on. Where it's been for the past 7 hours. He just told me that he's taking a nap now.

So yes, I accept it. I'm a Civ widow in the manner of golf and football widows everywhere. But hey, at least I have physical possession of his body even if his mind's a million universes away and five feet to the left. I knew this was going to happen. I even preordered the game for him so that it would be here the minute he got back. I just- well- I hoped that I'd get a little more cuddle time in before the computer went on for this long.

In other news I'm going to take my melaleuca education up to the next level. Now that I've conclusively proved that the prespot stain remover will make the ickiest coveralls smell like clothing again. You don't know from ICK until you've smelled a pair of coveralls that have been worked in, sweated in, worked in some more, and stuffed into a closed seabag for three days.

my depression ate my homework

No review today. Not because I didn't read anything. (Hah, as if!) Because I can't get my brain together for more than a few minutes all told right now. My hair feels all greasy and limp against my head. In 24 hours I'm going to be with my Boy. Emotionally I'm so confused right now that I don't know whether to laugh or cry.

There's got to be a better way than this. There's got to be a way to get past the borderline trait for "intense relationships, fraught with drama". Not that we crave the intensity that much, we just seem to need it in order to function. We've never learned how to cope with normalcy.

I ask myself how this is going to play out in the next week. How am I going to try to make our homecoming more "interesting", how will it work into the movie script constantly playing in my back brain?

I need to watch more old movies. I need to immerse myself in that Donna Reed, that perfect suburban housewife fantasy. That's the drama I want to be playing out; I want to be a good wife and mother that everybody can admire and say "there's a woman with all her shit together." I want my life to keep looking less like Girl, Interrupted and more like Shrek.

Um.

Without the green complexion and the gingerbread frankensteins, and all of that...

daydream of the gilded twilight
purple streaking through the clouds
splintered shards of scattered sunlight
catching on the moon and stars
waves tumbling across the shore
carries my prayer upon the tide
be well my love, my heart sail safe
calm seas bring you home again

Brain Glue

For years and years I used to take a miniscule dose of a certain anti-psychotic drug. It was barely even the minimum dose considered effective, that's how tiny it was. My shrink never took me off it; every time we tried I'd have a major relapse. So I stayed on this tiny little dose for four years or so, and when I moved out on my own and was able to stop all those relapses and medications I stopped this one.

In the past week I've come to realize that I want to be numb. "I want to be sedated" is no longer the name of an old song. I'm standing closer and closer to that emotional borderline edge, and wishing that I could just find something to make all of the emotions go away. It's tempting to escape back into my prior behaviors, which to say the least were not healthy. But I've just got too much to lose by that. When I look back at where I came from I'm amazed that I've got a healthy marriage, and a healthy mother-daughter relationship forming between me and my Girl. The odds are greatly against it. So literally, I've got too much to lose by going backwards and suffering a relapse.

So this morning when my shrink asked, "what can I do to help you?" I looked at him and said, "sedate me." Meaning, of course, that I wanted some miracle drug that would make everything easier to handle. I wanted a Mothers Little Helper. Not so much to make me sleep through everything, just something to make the transitions easier to handle. So I won't do anything to screw up the good stuff. We had a talk about that, and a talk about that long-ago miracle pill that worked so well for me. Turns out that the drug I used to take is so old-school that the pharmacy didn't even carry it anymore. So I've got the next generation.

My previous shrink called it brain glue. I don't need much, I just need a little something to cement the loose shingles in my brain so they don't come off in the rain. Now I'm on brain glue 2.0 and we'll see how it does. And why is it that the most powerful antipsychotics are some of the smallest pills?

At last, the Quilt...

Legacy Star

The quilt (coming soon)

Apparantly the Net is having PMS tonight. I'll try posting this tomorrow. In the meantime, Sarah, I've emailed this to you. And according to my Boy, it got sent out three times.

Can you tell this is a big thing for me?

I'm currently about halfway through the "set" of the Legacy Star quilt. The applique that was giving me such trouble is finished. Yay. Now we're onto the fun that is bias-cut triangles. That make squares. And not just any old squares, but very specific squares that when fitted all together in a big happy family will resemble something pretty. I'll post a picture when this thing is done. I'm running low on motivation this afternoon.

Maybe it's cause I've spent all day in the house. My normal pattern of making up an errand to get out was broken, and I decided to take a nap instead of doing laundry. So sue me. I've still got three days before Homecoming. And what's the point of cleaning before the Wonderful Cleaning Lady gets here anyway? Tonight I'm likely going to sit up late sewing. So right now I'm being a bit -okay, a lot- of a slug. But a Cute Slug, as the Boy reminds me. God, he always makes me laugh. I was laying in bed earlier, trying to convince myself that I wanted to get out from the blankies to make lunch, and it occurred to me that I can barely remember what's it's like to have him living in this house. I mean, I sorta remember, but it's such a distant memory. I guess that means that it's time for him to come home. Or I'll forget why I married him in the first place.

Hah. Not likely. He's still got the nicest eyes and the warmest hug I've ever known.

loosely woven words

I started writing this out the other day, and while it's not in finished form yet I thought it would be neat to post up what I have so far. Since I haven't contributed much of my free verses lately.


knit one purl one
row by row marking lonely hours
breathing steadied thoughts are still
rocking late into the night

jade rimmed eyes painted with gold
have seen six months come and go
steadfast stubborn heart holds fast
waiting on her man

the wide cold sea has taken him
ships underway at dawn
while she slept a kiss left on her pillow
fingers clutching sheets grown cold
silent tears come and go
mostly in her heart hidden deep
sunlight slipping through the shades
cool green boughs bringing thoughts of peace and rest to a torn faith
love letters fly through cyberspace
sealed with a kiss
speak of home, of work
they could be between any salaried career-man and his woman
words floating on the surface
anyone with eyes could read the meaning
a message felt and heard so deeply
it cuts through their hearts every moment
every day of PAC
when did she learn serenity
to wear a calm face when her heart breaks
acceptance of things she cannot change
learned in a harsher school
borne now for love instead of fear
Love is patient. Love is kind.
It is not proud.
waits patiently for her man to return
cooks, cleans, keeps ready.

hold tight to her faith and vows.

ACK

I hate applique. I really, really, dislike it. My dislike for this is only a little weaker than my dislike of spinach, which despite the hype generated by Popeye the Sailor Man never gave me super powers.

It's proven to me that I must be growing up some more. My biggest problem with applique is that of patience. I just don't have the endless patience to sit there and carefully needle-turn under the seam allowance, place countless tiny invisible stitches, and spend upwards of one half hour on one half inch leaf. Yet, over the past two days I've successfully appliqued four flower blocks. Today, if my patience holds out, I'm going to be applique-ing the final, center block of this piece. Which is a complex piecing of many little bits of cloth, several of which are a dark olive green that does not show the water soluble blue marker to good effect. Which may be a problem as I'm sort of counting on that marker to give me a seaming line that will result in a flower with recognizable leaves, calyxes, and buds. Instead of the Creature that Ran Amok in the Produce Aisle.

That would make an awfully cool quilt though. All the best creatures from the b-grade horror flicks. Tentacles of shiny silver lame, carefully stitched down against a matte black background. Something tells me I should stop this post now, before I get into trouble.

career mommy

As somebody who's spent an inordinate amount of time struggling with mental illness, I'd have to say that this has been an interesting week. Culminating with my group session this morning. At which some really deep things came out and for the first time in months I felt as though I really weren't backsliding. Or being judged by these people, even a little bit. And my inner therapist rose up from the mires of my subconscious, and lo- she was inspired.

Once again I got the "you should be a therapist" comments. And you know, when I do go back to graduate school I'm going to be getting a MLSW. That's a given, the only question being when do I go ahead and do this? Maybe I will do it when Tiffany's older, in school, when she's in college, when little green men land in an Iowan cornfield and give us the formula for cold fusion...

I hesitate. I'm almost to the point where, mentally and emotionally, I can finally put myself aside long enough and far enough to do this. Until I can honestly say that yes, I can set myself aside from my clients' internal hurricanes, I would be doing them as great a misservice as I'd do myself. That's going to be enough for now.

Sunday Review

This week my brain took a bit of a vacation from the type of book that requires thought. I don’t mean that as a denigration of this author or of the books- I love her books, and I love her style. They’re great. I can’t get enough of it. If Terry Pratchett is the heroin of my funny bone this lady is the chocolate to my PMS days. I call the harlequin-type romances “brain candy” because they’re all the same under the veneer of “names have been changed to protect the author against copyright infringement”. There’s a type of mystery novel that falls somewhere in the middle.

A mix of comedy and mystery, short and sweet, I can read one of these babies in about four hours. It’s pleasantly numbing, because there’s no hard violence or sex or reality. Real-life situations, but nothing to over dramatize it. It’s definitely not Grisham or Steele, but it’s a damn good book. Oops. That should be “darn good book”.

This week’s selection is the second book in this series. The first one, Crewel World, was not available at my local library when I was there on Friday searching out stuff to distract me from cleaning. If you’re new to the series, read the first one first if you must, but if you read Framed in Lace first you can rest assured that the name of the murderer is not revealed (from book one). You know what I mean. You’re intelligent people. So go out and read a book, darnit!

Hah!

I'm watching the Today show, and they just ran a segment on stain removers. At the end of the segment they announced their pick for best product, and said that for all of the products shown you wanted to wash as soon as you got home, and that you definately didn't want to let it sit.

To this I say, HAH! My stain remover (melaleuca) can be sprayed on and then sit in the laundry hamper for two weeks. Without fabric damage. And the stain comes completely out. This is a godsend for the stay at home mom with the toddler with the staining and the smearing of food into everything and the carrots in my bra... don't ask. I don't want to know. Selective memory, right? Where is the repression when you need it?

Am I falling into the old trap of the chronically depressed? "I feel great, therefore I must stop taking my medication, and everything will continue to be great." Don't worry, Mom, I'm not going off the prozac. Or the supplemental vitamins.

I say this because I've spent a great deal of time over the past two days laying around trying to nap. Is this a result of the heat wave? Or is it delayed hormonal PMS? Or is it something more insiduous- that I'm feeling sluglike and lazy in my current baby-free home?

Pssst! I've unlocked the baby-latch on the kitchen sink cabinets. Am I living dangerously, or what? I do start to feel more like a person, though. And now that I've had a second nap today I begin to wake up and get motivated. Must be the heat wave, because this second nap was that half drugged feeling with heavy limbs that you only really get when you're three degrees too hot for comfort and there's no breeze.

Oooh. Tonight, I sleep good.

blogity blogity blogity

This morning I woke up with no idea what I wanted to get done today. That's not precisely true. I know what I want to have done at the end of the day, it's just not realistic to expect a publisher's house sweepstakes team to show up on my doorstep. Especially as I haven't entered their contest in the past 6 months.

I'm putting together a packet on Melaleuca. That's the ecofriendly non-toxic cleaning stuff and home products that I'm now using. Inexpensive, good for the environment, and the "standard" promise of extra savings, cash back in your pocket, and financial freedom. That's a lot to expect from a bottle of soap or a lipgloss.

Seriously, though, I didn't really expect much out of it. But a month after I enrolled as a new customer I referred two other people and got a small check, just as promised, all according to their paperwork. So it's legit. And I'd be buying all this stuff anyway. So if anyone's interested, let me know where to send the packet. It's informational. No pressure, no followup sales inquiries.

my new crush

I baked bread today despite the sticky hot weather. Still, it's nothing like the summers I had growing up. More importantly, I went to costco this morning. And Target, even though we're not really supposed to go there (according to the PC police). I went, despite the PC police, because I read a review of a product in Redbook this month and I thought to myself, "Aha! Finally, my problem has been solved. I must go right out and buy this product."

My problem is that of chunky thighs. I doubt this is a unique problem, given the number of women out there who complain about it. My thighs are thin enough that they don't rub, except just at the top where they meet. That part gets sticky and hot and prickly and ICKY in the summer, to where I want to wear long pants all the time just to control it. I've been lusting after bicycle shorts in the private parts of my mind, because they promised such control of that icky-sticky thigh situation. Despite coming in bright, lurid colors. The color thing is why I never actually followed through and bought any. So I went to Target and picked up a pair of mid-thigh shaper underwear. They cost almost as much as my bra: a lot. But I figured it was worth it once to see, and if it does work I can happily lounge around in my sundresses, flowy skirts, and feel like a nicely modest little woman. (me-directed eyeroll).

I used the chart on the package to figure my size, sort of like with pantyhose. Then I went home and wrestled my chunky mega-monster thighs into this garment. It was brutal, although that's more likely due to being brand new and fresh from the package. Plus it's humid and extra sticky outside today. But as soon as I got them settled and adjusted properly... oh. my. god.

I'm in love. I'm going to take care of these expensive shapers. Yes, indeedy. I'm going to rinse them by hand in gentle laundry detergent every night, and drip dry, and follow all the manufacturers directions. Where have you been all my life? You smooth my chunk out so that that six-inch span of thigh no longer rubs when I walk. You eliminate panty lines- not an issue that I really have, but it's nice to know that you do this. You even squish some of the extra flab from my left hip up to cover the incredibly wierd profile of my radiation-stunted flank and waist, making it more even and less wierd.

raindrops and lemon drops

I woke up to the hot sticky swelter that I used to be way too familiar with. Didn't I move to SD to get away from this kind of heat/humidity mix? Oh, wait, no I didn't. I moved here to be with my Boy. WHO ISN'T HERE TODAY. /sigh. At least I've got him on the Net. Last night we had a really great exchange, which went something like

"I'm SO drunk right now" me
"You're a cute drunk." him
"I'm a cheap drunk" me
"I love you too, now go to bed" him

I'm paraphrasing a bit, but that was basically how the conversation went for three hours.

So how do I cope with this sludge of a day? I don't want to run the AC for the next three days, cause I'd rather not have a $100 electric bill this month. Normally it's only 20 bucks, and I'm so thrilled at only paying 20 a month for my gas/electric, that the prospect of paying anything more makes me throw up a little in the back of my throat.

It's off to the library. And the pool. And I'm going to spend a lot of time laying still in whatever patch of breeze I can get. And in the in between times when I can't manage it, I'm going to have to turn on the AC. It's not going to kill me.

Lucky us- we'll only have this weather for a few days at most. Back east we'd have this weather for a few months straight.

coming home

When I first came here as a bride, I remember landing and being hot and sweaty and tired from the trip. The emotional punches of reuniting with my Boy and leaving our first real "home" town. The places where we met and courted and fought and made up- those places will not be easy to return to, if indeed we ever can. Aside from sentimental reasons, there is no way we'd ever go back and it would cost a lot of money to do that.

Last night the plane circled high above the city. We landed in the velvet darkness and as soon as I could pick out the outlines of palms I knew I was home again. As much as it felt good to go back to my childhood home, it felt better to come back Home here, where I'm a grownup again, where I'm running a household and have the wonderful chore of spring/summer/fall cleaning before my Boy comes home again.

Two more weeks and he's here again. Two more weeks and I'll see my husband. He'll see our daughter. And me, of course, because I'm important as his wife, but I know I'm taking a bit of a backseat to the Toddler. I should. If only for a few moments. I wouldn't love him nearly as much if this were not so.

on the road again

Mixed feelings about traveling are such a pain in the neck. Literally. Last night I slept wierd and woke up with a stiff neck on the left side. So the month in PA is up and I'm going home tonight to my cozy little apartment in San Diego. Where the humidity is less than the heat index, and where the skies are clear and blue after 9 o'clock in the morning almost every day of the week. On the return flight, I also find that I am not dealing with a small child. Which makes me both happy and sad. Happy, because I can get through security without acquiring fifteen new bruises from the car seat and the child, juggling one over the other and God help me if I drop either. Sad, because without my lap warmer on the airplane I may be cold. She's better than a blanket. All cuddly and warm and soft. Also, I don't get priority boarding without her.

I do, however, get to amuse myself for the whole flight. I don't have to worry about shushing her through take off and landing; we won't have diapering emergencies or feeding emergencies to deal with. I will get to sit back and watch the inflight movie and relax. Maybe I'll take a nap. Either way, it's going to be different and I fully intend to enjoy this trip to the hilt.

Sunday Review

Wow. Just, wow. I didn't think it could get better than the last one, but it did. I've now read this book four times in the past week, each reading finding some new little thing to get into... between the political satire, the social humor, and the just-plain-wierdness.

Go. Read this. Go now and read this. You need to read it. Really.

around and around we go

A boring day here in the rain capital of Telford. I'm getting thoroughly tired of rain. The people back home may have a point- rain sucks. This is worth canceling school over. This is worth calling in sick for work over. But it makes the grass this pretty green color, and I don't know a single person on this block who has sprinklers on their property, and there are colored blooming things called "flowers" coming out of the dirt.

Tomorrow is more gatherings of people to come and see the Toddler. They make little cooing sounds and flirt with her, and she flirts right back at them. Does me a world of good to see it. The only prob with it right-now-tomorrow is that I'm still feeling hormonal and miserable. Gee, wasn't this supposed to clear up by now? I'm going to have a serious word with my Pill if it doesn't shape up by next week.

...better living through modern medication? That's what it seems like. Fortunately for everybody around me, I'm not in the insane hormonal state right now. Just the achy and whiny hormonal state. I'm not sure that it's better, but at least the jury would be more likely to convict.

so happy I could FITB

When I wrote this, I intended the title to be sarcastic. But now come to think of it, maybe it's not. I am actually pretty happy today. Aside from the bloated, whale-like, puffy body. Tiff fell asleep in my arms tonight; she reached out for me at bedtime and she cuddled down and went to sleep. So trusting. So happy. How did I get so lucky?

How can I be thinking about pushing my luck in the motherhood department?

I'm going to go read instead. I'm going to curl up with needlework, and a book, and alternate between the two because I still can't figure out how to do both, aside from audiobooks which are great but I don't want to listen to one of those right now. I'm also going to stuff my face with garlic-flavored bagel crisps.

Yeah. That's going to make everything better. Not.

It will, however, make my evening feel better. The carbs will create a warm fuzzy feeling inside, and my fingers will be happy being productive on something pretty, and my head will swim with the images of new places and people that I haven't read about yet. I heard from the Boy today. He is continuing to be well. I miss him more than ever. There are just too many miles between us; even so it feels like there's not even a wall separating us when I hear from him.

deniability

Denial is a powerful thing. It makes it possible for so many things to happen; as long as I didn't have an actual Homecoming date it was possible for me not to miss him with that soul-crushing intense Loneliness. Now I've got a date. Now I know exactly how long it is- mind you, it's not long at all. A very manageable time, in military terms. But for some reason my brain has turned to mush at the thought, and my stomach is a quivering ball, and I want to curl up and cry and cry because I miss my Boy.

Sunday Review

This morning I sat in church and prayed for both inspiration and strength. With Homecoming about three weeks away (our own personal homecoming, not to be confused with the Ship's Homecoming, or any movements thereof), I face once again the hard part. Giving back control.

In three weeks I stop being the head of the household. In three weeks I will turn over that responsibility with a happy heart to my husband. It's hard to do that and not load it down with conditions. Mostly, because I'm a control freak. I need to feel control over certain specific things in our lives to keep the rest of my shit together. Fortunately for our family, the things I need to feel control over are things that I'm good at and that he doesn't want to deal with. That's a happy coincidence. So where do I draw the line in the sand and turn myself back into a properly happy shipwife? Where do I remember that no matter what time has passed and what has changed in each of us, we pick up where we left off? But we can't, really. The world didn't stop when we parted company the night before deployment. We didn't stop. We kept growing and changing. While I was able to work and practice my parenting skills, he hasn't. While he was able to remember what it's like to be free of caring for a child 24/7, I haven't. Which brings me to today's book.

Priority Parenting.

We'll be in trouble if we make Tiffany the center of our lives. We'll be in HUGE trouble if we rely solely on our roles as parents to come back together. There's going to be a really big period of adjustment when he returns. There's going to be growing pains and all sorts of friction. One of the things I've learned in this book is that we can't use her as an excuse to avoid those conflicts.

It's a lesson worth learning.

amazing or crazy?

I'm stealing today's title from a piece of spam I just saw in my mailbox. Call it my fee for reading my mail. I know that my brain isn't working just right tonight. It's been a long day. I'm dangerously hormonal right now. Also, I bought more yarn at the store today. Let's see, how many projects does that make that I'm taking back to SD with me, and I've got how many that are in various stages of completion? I lost count, that's how many. Although I am almost positive that I still own more books than crafts, so that's a happy plus.

Although, we had 18 cartons of Books when we moved from coast to coast. This number has gone down slightly since then- but we've also accumulated lots of other things. In any case, I'm currently not worrying about it. That's one more thing I don't have to think about tonight.

I'm still going to lay awake feeling bloated and craving pizza, though.

Off in the hinterlands

A fun trip through the back country roads and the wilds of Berks County, where live the wild and heathenish people who- gasp- still farm. With, like, tractors that are smaller than a barn. And real cows. Grazing placidly in a meadow, where black yappy dogs run around to wag their tails and sniff the visitors. We took Tiff to Reninger's farmer's market, and the Wooden Bridge dry goods store, and the Bestest Cheesesteak Shop in the state, and then we went to the Kutztown U bookstore. Cause our commemorative t-shirts had worn out.

I tell you, I really don't need more needlework on my pile of Stuff to Do Before I Die, but they had just enough packages of an embroidered southern belle with parasol and flowers and a big swishy skirt (packs of quilt blocks, doncha know?) that I could get them and squirrel them away to make for Tiffany for when she's older. The first rule of needlecrafts is that if you once see something that's completely perfect for you/someone you love, if you don't buy it there on the spot you'll never see it anywhere for the rest of your life.

I'm feeling, well, happily domestic at the moment. Not sure why. Maybe it's the sweet baby-head smell I got to cuddle this afternoon before she took a nap in my arms. Maybe it's that time of month and I'm all hormonal and stuff. Maybe I should shut up and just enjoy this moment while it's here.

another day

Once again I'm sitting here mildly concerned with the goldfish cracker budget. It's almost payday, which is why I'm stressing. No matter how well we do it always seems as though the money is spent before it hits the account- not spent in the overdrawn sense, spent in the promised sense. At least we're still in the black...

I'm excited about the current promotion with my "wellness products". If I enroll four people this month there's a bonus that would take care of two whole car payments. I think that there's one person in my immediate contact list that would be interested, but I'm trying so hard not to get my hopes up about it. At any rate, I can definately say that this stuff is worth my time and energy in using- free of fumes, SO worth it when it comes to cleaning up baby-byproducts. I don't have to wait until she's contained in another room to use it. And should we have another baby sometime down the road, it'll be better for him/her in the preemie sense.

If anybody reads and wants to know more about these products, drop me a line. I promise I won't pimp them to you, I'll just answer your questions and try to help.

once upon a moonbeam

Once upon a time in a land far, far away from California, a stubborn little one year old girl fell asleep. Or at least that's how the story should go. If I had my way, it would be written in permanent ink on the crib so that she'd remember it. Given our luck, she'd slurp the ink off and make a permanent stain on her chin.

Take one stubborn little girl, one stubborn mama, and one stubborn grandma. Sprinkle in a smidgeon of patience, a heap of giggles, and a plate of ravioli. Stir. Gently rinse with warm water. Wrap in a blankie and tuck into bed with a kiss. That's how it should go every night, like a story. Not like a three ring circus of Mama moaning "I'm tired." and Grandma taking a well-deserved nap before she rises again to wrangle the toddler so that Mama can go back to sleep and nurse her sore tummy.

Through it all I see the shining eyes of my baby girl, and I hear her giggles as I fall asleep, and it makes me smile no matter how achy or crappy I feel.

Pool!

Today Tiffany was introduced to the wonders that is a swimming pool in southeastern PA in July. Love at first splash. At last, a place where she can splash her fingers and tootsies in comfort without her mother screaming at her to "Get that out of the toilet!!!"

I use three exclamation points here, because, as Terry Pratchett once pointed out, using four or more constitutes a diseased and deranged mind.

We had a wonderful time playing. A wonderful time that will be eclipsed by tonight's wonderful time sleeping. She's going to sleep SO GOOD now that she's tired out, and I'm going to get some much needed early bedtime myself.

If she ever stops wailing... not my fault. The tv is having a personality crisis this week. The little gizmo that controls the volume is busted. Periodically it goes off and raises the volume to MAXIMUM sound, thus startling the heck out of anyone in the house. This is able to be corrected about 50 percent of the time. The other 50 percent, the only two options are to wait it out or turn it back off. I was nowhere near the tv when it did this, five minutes ago. I did not wake up the baby. Therefore, I feel no desire to get off the Net and soothe her back to sleep. Besides, she's nearly asleep anyway. It's more a protest at this point.

(Quick- babies everywhere unite! Raise your picket signs and sing songs of solidarity. Let's end the oppression of bedtime!)

Surprisingly enough, Mommy doesn't need a nap at this point. A heating pad for the cramps and a gallon of herbal tea for her anxiety-ridden stomach, but not a nap. This is a good thing.

Virtuous me

Virtues. I got em. Somewhere. Today at this minute it's hard to keep that in mind because I want to jump up and down and up and down. I keep repeating "Patience is a virtue". This is my theme song for the day.

The retreat this morning was very cool. Much needed, and I didn't know how much I really did need to go completely quiet and still the restlessness in my heart until I was sitting by the pond and watching dragonflies cruise for snacks.

I'm going to go cuddle my toddler now. It's bedtime. I love her.

Sunday Book Review

For this week I read "Help! I'm being intimidated by the Proverbs 31 woman!". Otherwise known as That Woman. It was a really funny book and helped me clarify the things that I should stop fussing over.

I'm not going to be a perfect wife or mother. I'm just human. Everybody here is human, and we've all made mistakes, and if we're REALLY REALLY fortunate we'll never see those mistakes on the 6 o'clock news or the Jerry Springer show. At least, that's my constant prayer when I look down at my toddler's big blue eyes and realize that Um, WHAT THE HELL WAS I THINKING when I thought that motherhood was such a great option.

It is, though. She's still in the Mommy is God stage, and I hate to disillusion her of it but we're going to have to at some point. Otherwise I'm going to have a very critical sitdown with the priest after Sunday School one of these years.

Take joy in your imperfections. They mostly just irritate me, but I'm trying to see the bright part in them. They make me who I am. They make me more loveable than Martha Stewart's Public Image. Best of all, it's why my Boy fell in love with me and continues to do so on a regular basis.

thought for the day

Just because a person is 29, doesn't mean they're too old for their mothers to arrange a playdate for them. It just means that it's nice when the 29 year old in question is consulted first.

*I was, and I did, and I am. And I'm looking forward to my playdate tomorrow.

life in a bubble

I recently found out that due to current politcal events, the combat-designated hazardous duty zone that my husband is currently in is actually safer now than certain other parts of the world. This explains why I haven't heard much from him the past week beyond, "everything's fine, I'm alive"

I could think of it as a drawback to being unplugged from the 24/7 cable newsfeed and the always-on Net connection. The realities of dialup at my mom's house mean that I live with once-a-day checking of email, my Net habits are greatly curtailed, and I don't watch much more than 2 hours of tv at most per day. This is not a bad thing. It's good for all of us to unplug from time to time and just enjoy life. Play with your kids. Watch them grow. Get your butt off the living room floor and out into the grass in the shade of a tree. Especially when the summer's here, and the weather's perfect for going outside, and even more especially because these days are all too short.

In a few short weeks I'll go back to the daily grind of Knowing. I'll be reading the news everyday instead of deleting the emailed highlights that I get from the Washington Post and never even logging onto CNN. I'll be aware of the risks facing our armed forces in a way that only life in a military town/community can make you. It's not just some Thing on the news, when I'm home in San Diego. It's the Thing that may mean that my husband will be away for a lot of the next several years. It's the thing that may mean that he'll be in harm's way, and that communication will be severely restricted.

It's the Thing that means a lot of other women's husbands will be shot at and may never EVER come home again.

A good friend of mine reminded me of the Shipwives' wisdom last night when she told me to enjoy my bubble for the time being. The political reality will be there when I come back. The peace of mind that comes with being able to sleep at night and not worry that my Boy comes back safe... that's all too easily broken sometimes.

there I was, ravioli in my hair and entering a second childhood

When I was young and my mom babysat for my cousin Emil, she would often read us stories and fill in our names for the names of the characters. One of the favorites at the time was the Tale of Two Bad Mice. When I was reading to Tiff this afternoon we got to that story, and I automatically started saying "the Tale of Emil T. and Mary E." And then it hit me. Now that he's a proud daddy, is he going to start remembering this sort of thing? I wonder if he'll do the name switch for his little girl. Him and I are, of course, too mature and grownup to be two bad mice.

Our daughters, however, are not.

oooh, I know what I'm getting her for Christmas this year. The tale of Kathryn M. and Tiffy A.

gourmet on a budget

If you're like most of my readers, or most of the people I know, you get awfully tired of finding new and creative ways to stretch that grocery dime. Here's something I ran across on the Net a while back, and modified it to fit my personal needs and tastes. I haven't run the numbers, but I think this could be made for a family of five or six for under .50 a serving... and the best part is that it's extremely yummy.

tomato-basil pasta

1. boil some pasta
2. dice 1 to 2 tomatoes, depending on how many you need to feed. For dinner tonight I used 1.5 tomatoes, and there were three people with leftovers.
3. to the diced tomatoes, add a handful of fresh basil, chopped.
4. if you put steps 2 and 3 in a plastic bowl, you can then add 2 Tbsp olive oil, and 2Tbsp red wine vinegar, snap on the lid, and shake vigorously.

you could probably do step 4 in a large ziploc bag as well...

then spoon the results over your cooked pasta, sprinkle with parmesan cheese, and eat.

If anybody tries this at home, let me know how it worked for you.

rain rain go away

Back home we pray for rain. We love it and fear it and see it in a rosy light because we so seldom get it. Here, it's different. Here, it's getting wierd. Here, it's getting to flood stages, to the wierd place of wet air and wet grass. I'm not used to the grass being green at this time of year anymore. I've grown accustomed to it being brown and crunchy in most places, with the sprinkler circles of bright, bright green where the only water hits.

I am glad for the rain. I missed hearing the rain sounds on the window in the middle of the night, which soothes me back to sleep. Tiffany has never really known it. And yet... I long for the desert and the mountains and the ocean that I can see and smell all in one breath.

Happy Fourth

When Daddy comes sailing home again, hurrah, hurrah
We'll take the yellow ribbons in, hurrah, hurrah!
See them dancing in the street
Daddy will sweep Mommy off her feet
And we'll all be glad when
Daddy comes sailing home again...

feels like a munday

Well, at least it started out that way. Now all of a sudden my mothers are here and have taken over with Tiffany, and I've been temporarily given a vacation. I'm not complaining just yet. When I'm done here I'm going to have lunch. By Myself. Without a small person gnawing on my kneecap. oooh. I must have done something right recently.

Tonight is the Gestational Birthday Party, complete with tiki torches and hawaiin leis. And grass skirts. As you might surmise, it's a luau theme. I don't know how it happened, I was on the other side of the country when this was planned. I'm trying to keep my nose out of it, and will have a wonderful time.

And if this Tired Toddler decides to be up with Mommy trying to play every two hours tonight, she may end up being shipped priority mail to her Daddy, who will be informed that it's His turn now to get up with her in the middle of the night.

tales from the living room, Part One

"There comes a time in everyone's life when they finally say to themselves, I need a diorama."

"Okkkaaayyyyyy."

"Yes. Especially when reading certain scenes. You can just feel the dramatic tension and it would help set the stage for later in the plot."


...This is someone I love. Names and certain details may be changed for the protection of the reputation of those involved.

Sunday Review

I'm taking a dive back into Terry Pratchett this week. The blend of comic satire and really funny stuff is perfect for lightening my mood and keeping my frame of mind perfectly in harmony with vacation time. And isn't summer vacation the time for reading? Let us not let our brains turn to mush with endless repetitions of the same plot with crappy dialogue and stale humor. At least, not without a good reason for doing so.

Thud! was a very good read. So good that the stanzas of "Where's My Cow?" have gone through my brain nearly every day since I first picked it up last year. I've even ordered the spinoff picture book of "Where's My Cow" for Tiffany. My evil plan is to evesdrop on her Daddy reading that to her when he comes back home. I picked it up again on impulse at the local library because I knew it was good, it was THAT good, and I wanted an easy read that wouldn't strain any of those brain muscles late at night. I have to admit, it was even better than I remembered. That doesn't happen often for me.

So pick up your own copy and settle in for some laughs. It's worth it.

nothing but blue skies

It has been a gorgeous day, proving once again that even SouthEastern PA in late June/early July is one of the most beautiful summery places in my life. The smells, the sounds, everything on the street where I spent my first summers are familiar and sing to me fully of home. I've slipped back into my childhood like it should have been. Like I'm putting on an old sweater and a pair of jeans that are fit for nothing but rags.

This time, I get to share it with a giggly girl. This time, I'm the grownup. This time around everything is still bright and sunny. The pessimist in me asks how long before I cry; I'm telling her to shut up and go away. I don't want to think those thoughts right now. I want to feel young again. I want to turn my face up to the cloudless sky and get a sunburn. It's good for the soul.

Baby!

My cousin's family just delivered their first child. A girl-child. A Wonderful, Beautiful, Little Girl. Kathryn Marie. Welcome to the family!

back at the ranch

We have arrived in PA. The flood waters rise, and abate, and bridges are washed out. I see a lot of people not being idiots. They realize that the "Road Out" signs are there for a reason. Even though the flight was horribly delayed, I'm happy that it's over. The Child is finally asleep and may just let me get some real rest tonight. My head hurts.

Selective amnesia. That's what it is. The same process that keeps me from remembering in detail all the most horrid things of my life kicked in to protect me from the memory of the humidity here. The pollen. The enormous amount of creepy crawling things and blooming things that make my sinuses weld themselves shut in an effort to protect my lungs. At least, I have to assume that's what they're doing.

but we're doing good. We're doing real good right now. Bring it on, Kinfolk. I'm ready for you.

the toddler strikes back

Ever since we woke up this morning it's been GO GO GO for her. Into everything implies that there was a corner of the house that she hasn't already been. Climbing over stuff. Like Mama. Climbing up, pulling down, dunking my kotex in the toilet, and spinning the toilet paper roll are just a few of the things that she's been doing today.

I did finally manage to wrestle the laundry over. It's now clean, and shoved into the hamper where it will remain until after Tiffany's safely in bed and asleep for the night. I have to fold and put away and pack for our trip. Is it so wrong to want a few more hours in the day? We have just a few errands to do outside the house as well, but I don't know if I want to do them just yet.

Soon, now, I hope she'll be getting tired. Her snuffling is a bit better today. I'm trying to get her to drink lots of fluids and take cold medicine to dry it up, because the last thing she's going to want is to get an ear infection on the plane tomorrow. I'm looking forward to getting off the plane in PA. Where my Mama will make it better, and give me a hug, and take care of my baby so that I can sleep.

Thought for the day

Nothing says "Mother Love" like chasing a snuffly toddler around the house to wipe long drips of yellow goo from her nose. This can be likened to the love it takes to not throw up at some of the more interesting deposits left in her diaper. The next time you talk to your mother, or your primary childcare provider, or biological parenting unit- thank them for this love. Because, honestly, you couldn't pay me enough to do this for anyone else.

Sunday Book Review

The Copper Crown was the initial work that introduced us to the Keltic world, as envisioned by Patricia Kennealy. I first picked it up not expecting much, but because I liked the cover. Five pages in, I was hooked. This led me to picking up the other books as they were published, and I’ve managed to keep all of the series through annual moves and a lot of disorder.

It’s a remarkable book that lets me see it like a movie. She’s managed to create the world all over again with a complexity that I don’t find in many other series. I don’t know how she manages to be left off the list of epic writers. I can be completely transported into her novels, and there are two books in the series that never fail to break me down into tears every time I read them. And I’ve read them so often the spines are creased and the covers heavily worn.

So pick up a copy. They're getting harder to find since the book has been out of print for a while, and she never got around to writing a lot of them... but there are 8 books available of this glorious series, and you'll get a whole new world to dream of.

i wonder as i wander

Preparations for the child’s gestational birthday party are continuing. Tiki torches have been set up. A palm tree has been acquired. For reasons unbeknownst to me, the official party planner has decreed that it will be a luau-themed party. I think it has to do with the 12month hulu outfit and grass skirt that my mother bought last summer. All that remains is to show up with the child- that’s my ticket to the party. If I try to show up without her I think there will be a mob with torches and pitchforks coming after me.

My brain is going to turn into mush in a short while. My Boy is coming home in 6 weeks. That’s, like, SOON. Much sooner than it was when he left, on Valentine’s Day. Which is a crappy way to spend the day- I wanted to throw up at all the commercials. Which also may have been a result from the stomach virus that we all had that week. Fun. Not. But my brain. Mush. Yup. It is a well known Mary phenomenom, that when big Events loom I develop a sudden regression to four years old. A little girl excitedly jumping up and down and bouncing off the walls with my joy. This is not appropriate behavior for a wife and mother. Not if I’m trying to convince people how sane and ready for another baby I am.

I’ve been spending a lot of time online in the past two days. More than usual, which for me is still a lot. I want to laugh at the online survey questions, the ones that want to know in what group are the number of hours you spend online in a week. Um. 16+? At a minimum.

And what have we learned from this? Kids. They suck your brain. The brain that I used to have I had to share with her, which means that at least a third of my pre-mommy brain is gone forever. This is likely the reason why I don’t remember where I left my shoes or my hair clips. I wish I could blame my hatred of pantyhose on this as well, but I’m afraid that I never did like them much. Except for a pair I wore once, to my eighth grade graduation ceremony. Because my legs looked like a models. Abso-fucking-fabulous.

I wonder if I could get my legs to look like that ever again?

One Tired Toddler has morphed into Two Wheezy Cough Toddler. Lovely. She woke up coughing and as soon as we settled into the rocker with a bottle and some cold medicine, the tv blew a fuse.

While I know that this won't kill me, I'll admit that it felt that way as I envisioned a whole five days without living room tv. Then I remembered the set in the nursery. So I dragged that out, hooked it up, and now we've got a smallish tv nesting on top of the dead one. The warm glow of kids PBS is soothing to my spirit, and the prospect of the ability to share my day with my electric nanny is comforting. Although what that says about me, that I need the nanny for myself- I'm not sure. Tiff can take or leave it, she really doesn't notice the tv much. Her mother's the raving drooling lunatic wandering around craving her media fix.