An Open Letter to the Idiots who run the Commissary:

I've heard many fabulous things about you. Supposedly I could save oodles of money if I shopped for all my household needs in your aisles. I could get my tires rotated. Happy, smiling people in pristine white shirts will bag my groceries and personally take them out to my car when I'm done shopping. I've heard that I could swoon from the savings on my final bill.

However. I call the Big Bullshit flag on you.

True, your prices are a smidgen lower than the Walmart Supercenter down the road, which is almost the same prices as the FoodCo and the local non-chain markets. This might tempt me to shop in your hallowed store. If not for the fact that you are closed on Mondays.

All I wanted was some cheese and a gallon of milk. It was on my way to fetch the Boy. It would have taken me exactly the ten minutes I had budgeted into my afternoon trip, thus letting the Toddler out of the car for a bit of moving around. And helping keep the sun out of her eyes since she still refuses to wear either sunglasses or a hat.

Could I shop for my needs? No. Because you were closed. It's not like Monday is even a religious holy day. I can see the wisdom of the shortened hours on Sunday, and that you close for holidays. WTF is Monday? Is it a new holy day? Is it a holiday sanctioned by the federal government? Is the convenience of closing on Monday part of your dastardly plan to drive me nuts?

Also, let me take a moment to let you know why I do not like you in the first place. I greatly detest the part of "employing" baggers who work solely for tips. This means that the baggers who happily take my groceries to my car demand cash for the service. It may, in your official wisdom, mean that I should give them a "tip" amount. I have never seen it happen or heard of it happening, and you'd better believe the wife network is pretty damn big. Forcing tips negates the whole point of my savings in your Big Ol' Party Palace.

In short, I am returning to my policy of not patronizing your facility. Even if I bag my own groceries, I am forced to hand over a tip in the guise of "appreciation". If Monday afternoons are the only day of the week I can get my family and schedule slotted into a ten minute run into the store for milk, I'm damn well going to shop at a store that will be open during NORMAL business hours. Note, I'm not asking that you suddenly start opening your doors for customers before 9 AM, when most markets open at 7. I'm not asking that you stay open late. I just want a frigging gallon of milk for my little girl, without fuss, without having to schlep my tired body out to the store at 5:30 when EVERYONE else is doing the same thing.

Above all, I do not want to be a victim of legalized mugging. These days nobody has much extra to spend. A two or three dollar tip to your bagger is ludicrous. Especially in that parking lot. If I try to hold to my principles, I'm given at a minimum dirty looks and cursed at in a foreign language. If I give in, there goes my husband's lunch money for the next day. So fuck you, Mr Commissary Running Idiots. I'm not believing any more of your hype.

How is it possible that I'm sitting here drinking my tea and idly watching the birds out the window? There's a ton of stuff to do today. In addition to the normal chores, I want to clean out the mudroom area. And put away some laundry from the dryer.

Laundry may quickly become the bane of this week. There's just so darn much of it. I did a bunch this weekend, then another two loads yesterday, and then the Boy cleaned up his corner of the bedroom and came up with another two loads. Wow. That's all I have to say, just, Wow.

The fritatta I threw together on Friday turned out spectacularly better than I had hoped. I was hoping for something at least edible for one meal. I turned out with a pan full of quiche consistency, savory, FOOD. Not just edible, but Food Quality edible. I blame the Food Network for this. I fell asleep on the couch once while they were running a marathon session of egg and cheese dishes, and this is what happens. They brainwash unsuspecting women while they're worn out by wifely duties.

Please note: wifely duties no longer means what it used to mean in a biblical sense. These days it's more about making sure the oil is changed regularly, there's always milk and bread in the fridge, and clean underwear for all every day. If I ever ran for office I'd get so much done. Any housewife would kick butt in office- especially if they've ever been a housewife. Toddlers are much more unforgiving and intolerant than reporters. For one thing, they're armed with poop, pee, and strained carrots.

Wait, wait, don't tell me.

For some strange reason people are starting to read this site. Or else one person is out there hitting the refresh button obsessively. Does this mean that I've got readers? Or does this mean I should start looking over my shoulder whenever I leave the house.

Yesterday I went down to the Kings County Swap Meet. It was fun. A bit disconcerting, especially when I was signing in as a seller and the guy running the booth said that yeah, he knew I was coming, because "friends" of mine had told him to watch for me.

Friends? I have friends? When did this happen? I was so used to being an anonymous member of a community- in Maryland, in San Diego, I was fairly anonymous. Just a face in the crowd. Easy to hide. Easier not to make waves or attract notice. This is what small town america is really like.

I mentioned my intent to do the swap meet to two or three people. It seems that these people have Connections. Is this like the rural mafia? Is there a committee of like minded women out there building a file on me? Young wife, child, affectionate husband, dresses appropriately. She still hasn't planted her garden, but her trash is out on the curb every Friday and she hauls her recycling over to the trailer so she can reclaim the CRV on every redeemable container. Plus: no yappy dogs, no loud music, her garden is a mess but the family is neat and she tends to pay cash.

The scary part to this is that I grew up with the mennonite mafia. Same sort of file, same sort of informal "know everything about everyone and never forget it". So far the only difference I'm seeing is that I'm not being asked "Are you related to...?" every time I walk out the front door.

Hmmph.
Should have moved here sooner.

Another stress-filled and hair ripping day. Her Ladyship only went to sleep two hours ago. She's now sleeping. She had better stay sleeping until Mommy has some sleep. If not, I foresee nothing but nasty things for my future.

Stress only rises higher when you haven't slept. Hormones are raging because of the meds my doc put me on last week, and they are not expected to return to sanity any time in the next three weeks. Also, the Boy had a pretty tough day as well. This adds up.

Not to anything neat, either. Our sanities were both in the tail end of rational this evening, we had an almost fight ending with the Boy going out to get a beer. When he got back he told me that the thing he was most upset over now was that he finds it impossible to be an asshole. He presented me with a cherry garcia ice cream novelty. I presented him with a shoulder full of tears and some long hugs.

There are days when I wonder what century we inhabit emotionally. For another couple our "age" what we would expect to see would be a screaming match ending up with him drunk and me crying and then giving him the cold shoulder. Concluding with hurt feelings and resentment all around. What are we waking up to in the morning? Perfect harmony and understanding following our before-bed hashing out of the problem and negotiating a fair solution that doesn't trample on either of our feelings.

Feelings. Nothing but..... feeeeeelllllings.

I'm a bit punchy at the moment. I haven't slept. The nap I sorta promised myself this morning was preempted by Cranky Toddler and PoopFest '07. Then we had to run out to the DMV. Typical government rationale- because he showed up two -TWO- minutes past the time (due to the time spent parking the car and standing in line) the driver's test had to be canceled and we were told to come back another time.

Hence our double mad moods. Because that was just the last straw for both of us. We are, however, very proud that we did not take it out verbally on each other until we were ready for the settlement of the issue. Also, we both kept the hot buttons out of it. When we were hashing out relationship ground rules many moons ago we agreed to keep a disagreement on topic. Don't bring in the minor or side issues. It doesn't have anything to do with the topic, the fight, and has no purpose other than to hurt the other.

And for some crazy reason we respect ourselves and each other too much to screw this up.

And now we are possessed... just in time for the full moon. Which obviously has been in effect today.

It seems that the phone line, without even being within ten feet of the cord that would connect it to a phone capable of dialing, has been making 911 calls all morning. This perturbs me.

Not as perturbed as I was when I was rudely jolted out of my almost-nap this morning. I am pleased to report the local cops are very nice, kinda laid-back in this particular situation, and are all-around nice individuals. They believed me when I told them I had no knowledge of how this happened. They also did not issue me a citation.

If they had, I would have cried.

Calling the phone company was an exercise in frustration. What happened to having the call centers staffed by local people who both knew the area, could connect with you on a human level, and didn't make you jump through touchtone menus and interactive ones. The touch tone menus I can cope with. I even like them, in a wierd way. They are the creepy cousin that you run into about once every ten years; harmless but creepy and they're still Family. Interactive menus that fake being humans? That just raises my blood pressure and makes me want to have sharp words with the human that I eventually insist on being connected to.

I do appreciate these things in some ways. When I actually have the sort of simple problem that they are made to handle. But they are NOT made to handle the complicated problem of a demonically possessed phone line. I was routed through all sorts of strange and unknown tele-systems to finally be connect back to the local office and repair facility, which I knew was the one I had to talk to in any case (so why can't I just be able to call them direct to deal with the problem? Why do I have to wade through a tele-spiel of menus and buttons and fake people that takes at least twice as long as talking to the local human who can fix the problem?)

End result: I made her laugh. Demonically possessed equipment of this magnitude is a whole brand new problem that she has not seen in more than twenty years of working that desk. She understands my problem. We both laughed and swapped funny quips and short anecdotes. My blood pressure went down and I felt listened to and taken care of.

People. I'd be willing to pay the extra nickel on my bill to get rid of the stupid runaround. And you know what? It would cost the companies less in hate mail, provide jobs that pay a living wage, and keep those jobs in the communities that need them. It's a simple concept, but I know it will never catch on.

Four loads of laundry and it's still not all done. When did the laundry start multiplying in the corner? I was sure it was all under control... Then the Toddler (again) started getting naked at random moments. This morning she did it twice; both times necessitating the complete changeout of bedding. I gave in to the need to run her pillows through the washer as well; no sense in letting her sleep on them after she's peed on them, right?

Duct tape. Even with the duct tape, she can sometimes wiggle her way to freedom. We're really focusing on keep the diaper on, since she still shows about as much interest in the potty as she does in the bathtub. As in, none at all. Negative none. Count my blessings; she hasn't started screaming at the potty's approach like she does with the bathtub.

I'm still getting things in order for this weekend. I think we're going to try out the local swap meet/ flea market. Set up a blanket, it will get more foot traffic then a pathetic attempt at yard saling. I just know deep down that if I try to have a yard sale it will end up like most of my attempts at throwing a party or gettogether. Me, alone, all cleaned up and with plates of food but with no one to share them with.

I'm trying to fold a basket of laundry this afternoon and my inner tightwad is fighting my inner sensibility. The question is: do I keep some toddler outfits that are getting too small, since they are not that badly worn and Tiff can still fit into them? Or do I set them aside for the rummage sale [for the same reasons as previous]. Which way am I going to leap? She has other outfits, pretty and newer ones that are big enough to a) fit her now and b) fit her next week. It's not that she doesn't have decent clothes.

Inevitably this question will come up more and more often in the next years. I think that for today, for this load, I'm coming down on the side of the tightwad. No, the sensibility. No, the tightwad.

Or maybe I'll just challenge myself to a rousing game of rock, paper, scissors.

Could I use an extra couple hundred dollars? Sure. Who can't these days? According to my spam-box I could name my price on an instant cash loan.

The key word here being "loan". Do they also advertise the interest rates on these things in big letters? Do they tell you about the penalties in as big type as the offered cash amount? Nope. As much as from time to time we feel a hard crunch, I am not desparate enough to contact these people. The delete key is my friend.

Along with other items of interest, yesterday was Palm Sunday. Lots of palms, lots of singing. It begins Holy Week, culminating in Easter. Where the Large Bunny comes to resurrect spring, Jesus, and high gas rates. Also, afterwards it will be okay to use a white purse and shoes again.

Words heard upon leaving bible study this evening... "Ooh! Dinner!" as a churchmember raced to scoop up a dead pigeon in the gutter.

Now, to put this into perspective, she meant it was to be dinner for the small herd of feral kitties that live out her way. Non-diseased, freshly deceased, and the like. It still sounded wrong when it hit my ears.

Another moment that was just wrong was when I walked into the house to have the Boy look up at me brightly and say, "I know that she didn't electrocute herself, because she's still alive."

Statements like that... payback. Payback for all the times I throw out those sort of comments at others just to get a sick thrill out of watching them go "huh?" Payback for the warped sense of humor that I delight in every day of my life. I gave him full marks for that.

In the meantime it's been another weekend accomplished. When I get offline tonight I'm going to hang up my knitting needles and snuggle down into bed. I'm also going to work on that elusive thrill, Sleep. Tomorrow is another day, another week, another chance to work on expanding my social life (such as it's not) and maybe, just maybe, leave the house a bit. I'd leave the house more except for two things. One, the lack of self-confidence in my own worth and personality to go out and join other like-minded individuals. Two, the intermittant strange health problems I experience. The second part may or may not be in my head, but it's real enough to make me literally pass out cold for several seconds if I overdo things. And no, I haven't seen a doctor about it yet. Maybe next week I'll be brave enough to make an appointment.

After a long week of chores and not-wanting to do them, and procrastination, is there anything sweeter than giving in to the desire to bring home a big bucket of chicken and eat damn near the whole thing? Too much that should be done. Not nearly enough motivation to do it. Story of our times.

Has this really changed all that much since our grandparents’ day? Doubtful. Chores are one of the inevitable events of our lives along with death and taxes. One would think that the available resources to cope with this had come around in order to compensate. Not so. We’re stuck with the same challenges, and the techonology that was supposed to come up to help us deal with it has only moved the time crunch around.

The doctor says that no it’s not just in my head, but that the female shit that’s been keeping me all hormonal and weepy and non-cycling doesn’t sound that serious. He’s jumpstarting my hormones again. Of course, NOW the damn medical professionals have decided to listen to me about this. We compromised. Since there are no complications at this time, we’re just going to do the course of provera and leave it at that.

I REALLY hate my feminity at times. The rest of the time? Love it.

Fun in the tub, also known as the Wet Toddler Contest.

When you are a passenger in the car there are so many things that never catch your eye otherwise. Occassionally this is in the category of "strange, but wierd". One day we were driving past the goat dairy and I happened to look over. There was a huge pile of what looked like shit. Or some other organic shit-colored substance. This was not a small pile. Nothing delicate about it. Nothing discreet. Just a large pile of the stuff smack dab in the middle of the pen.

Still, I reminded myself, this was a dairy. A goat dairy, which implies goats in large numbers and by extension the inevitable product of all goats.

The part that really caught me though, was that every goat in the herd was gathered around it with heads up and tails perked. Attention riveted to the pile. Were they waiting for some sort of sign? Was a diety manifesting from the pile? Had they suddenly realized why indoor plumbing was such a hot commodity amongst their two-legged keepers? I was waiting for the Second Coming to announce itself right there in a goat pen.

Then we drove past it. My mind still boggled at the sight of all those goats with full attention at the pile. Out of sight, out of mind.

Traffic court went well, despite the angry face Tiff gave the judge when we took our places before the bench. She glared at him over the top of her hash brown patty as though she was ready to fight anyone who dared take it away from her.

All in all, the entire thing went better than I had any right to expect. I now am the proud owner of 4 points on my base driving record. In real terms this doesn't mean much. It's not reported back to the state, it has no impact on my insurance rates, and only if I rack up 12 points within 12 months do any penalties accrue. Basically it's a slap on the wrist and an instruction to watch the happy feet.

Does anyone know if it's bad to mix yeast with the salt and sugar and flour as a bread-mix? I want to make a few baggies of premeasured bread stuff to store in the fridge so that my baking days will go more smoothly. I have to admit that I haven't baked any bread since moving in. Bad Mommy. Bad, Bad, Mommy for neglecting her family and buying bread from the store. (I am writing this sarcastically, so don't flame me for being too self-righteous here) Also bad mommy for trying to eliminate a nap today until the toddler is actually ready to lay down and sleep without the fussing and whining. My excuse is that I want to try moving it back and maybe cutting it out altogether until we reach the happy place of sleeping through the night. That will be a happy, happy day around here. I'll dance around in my underwear, that's how happy I'll be.

It’s hard to comprehend the logic that makes me apologize for buying a pair of shoes. While I felt bad about those, I didn’t think about returning them as much as I thought I should return the shirt that leaped into my shopping cart on the way to the checkout. When I told this to the Boy, he started laughing. Then he instituted a new rule: every time I feel guilty about buying something for myself, I have to buy him a beer.

So I’m not returning it. And tomorrow? I am *so* buying that length of fabric that I was thinking about buying for myself last night. Or… I’ll just go ahead and finally place that Big Order at Keepsake Quilting.

Tonight we all traipsed out to the Superior Dairy Company, which has got to be one of the coolest places that I’ve found since moving here. It looks like a big old-fashioned soda parlor from the street, all big windows and bright white walls. When we were handed our ice cream I was bouncing the Toddler on my lap. The first thing she did was to reach out both chubby hands and grab at the whipped cream on top. It wouldn’t come up in her hands so well, and neither would the ice cream underneath. This was problematic, but then she figured out how to get mommy to feed her spoon after spoon of runny, sweet, high-calorie goodness.

Thank goodness for wet wipes. And for beautiful early summer-like days when we can go out and do this. It’s a wonderful time.

Foundation piecing is pretty cool. It helps to focus my mind, to clear my brain, to create a lot of tiny little pinpricks over my fingers where the needle nicks it. But... it makes me feel so good to be able to create a neat little pieced block, with lots of little triangles, and the finished product looks a lot harder than it was to create.

Now. If only laundry and dishes were this much fun.

It seems the pain of the temperate climate has caught up with me once again. This would be the horrid pain that specialists have told me is all in my head, cause I'm an addict, I'm not to be trusted, and of course I've got to be making the whole thing up because there doesn't seem to be an explanation for why the whole of my body aches so badly it's hard to move.

Tonight for example, let's throw this out there so that internet strangers can all make fun of my delusions. Tonight I didn't get up and swap seats with the Boy when I picked him up from work. I couldn't let him drive home because I was not sure that if I got up I could fold myself back into the car. We get home, I manage the initial bedtime routine. I end up with a mega dose of motrin and damn near pass out after taking a Very Hot shower. Heat sometimes helps. Then I sat down to watch CSI with my husband; only made it part of the way into the episode before I fell asleep on him.

It's 10 at night, I can't sleep anymore because the initial exhaustion has worn off and I'm still in agony. I don't want to lay in bed tossing and whimpering. So what am I doing? Housework, in small enough movements and motions that I look like some sort of fricking robot with a rusty gear. But hey, at least I may go to sleep tonight with a clean kitchen. Less work to look at tomorrow, when I'm probably going to wake up with the same problem again.

money, money, money. It makes the world go round. It buys shoes. It fills my spam folder with hundreds and thousands of offers- get rich now, make thousands every day, increase your attractiveness to the opposite sex. Personally, I think I'm attractive enough to the opposite sex. At least I'm not getting any complaints.

How tempting is it to fall into the money trap these days. Instant credit is out there, personal bankruptcies are multiplying at every new pay period. All those check and cash advance stores at the local minimall. It's hard to keep up. It's also very tempting. Instant gratification. A concept that comes easy to my generation. I know people whose parents never taught them the hard and fast way of living solely within their means. Those people are skating disaster. Even me, I fell into the trap when I got out on my own. Easier to order out than to live on ramen and spam at home. Easier to go to the movies to escape poverty than to sit around thinking up cheap ways to entertain myself. And now I'm a housewife without any sort of big paycheck. What can I do to feel productive? How do I make myself feel that I'm contributing in a meaningful way when this society seems only to value our productivity as it relates to the bottom line of the tax return?

So I'm doing the melaleuca, and that has a small return in hard cash every month. It would be more if I could enroll more people (hint, hint) and those people in turn could help enhance their bottom line. Trading stores, that's all it is. Get your household supplies and such through them instead of target or walmart- it's cheaper, works better, and is not chock full of poisons for my family and myself. I also run ads on my blog, and Adbrite actually does pay me every month unlike the Adsense program which drops a large random portion of it's participants without a viable system or actual proof of misdoing. And then there's the online craft store, Etsy. That is a help too; it's led me to several small commissions.

In the end it all comes back to money. I want money to make our lives easier. I want to be able to have everything I've ever dreamed of, I want to be a two income family on one paycheck. That's not an easy goal. I'll settle for living a decent lifestyle on the one income; it means I can enjoy my daughter while she's young and still thinks I'm all-powerful. It means that I can enjoy a life that a lot of other mothers would love to have. I'm not coming down on working moms by saying this because I truly believe that we're all working moms. If I had a wonderful career I wouldn't hesitate to put the Toddler into a good daycare program and go back to work tomorrow. But this is what my husband and I wanted for me to do, this is what we're happy doing, and more power to us for making it work. In the end all anyone can do is to find something that works for them and go with it.

mommy guilt. Always the mommy guilt. I should do more, I should have the immaculate house and scrubbed, happy child. I should have freshly baked cookies on a plate with a doily every afternoon. I should have my hair perfectly coifed... What a load of baloney.

Am I being brainwashed by the image of a perfect world or what? I focus on the short list every day; the stuff that must get done. When I sit down in the morning to make the list, I put the top priorities, the nice things, the chores that I've got to work into the day. This way I stand a chance of getting my butt off the couch and getting something accomplished. This is a good thing. This keeps me from blog-whining about how my house is a mess, my life is a bigger mess, wah wah me.

In the spirit of sharing EVERYTHING I'll share today's list. Fold laundry. Put away clean dishes. Vacuum. Alterations as needed to Toddler's Clothing. Clean off the table. Pick up floors in bedrooms, dust. Shower. Wash hair.

Seems simple enough, right? It is. Up until the Toddler decides she needs to be in the middle of the whole thing. That's generally when I fall apart on things. Fortunately for me she's decided to play in her room today.

Tonight's menu: brats with potatoes. I've got most of it already made, but last night we were heavy on the brats. Today I'll fry up a few more potatoes to put in it, and it'll come out just fine. Lunch is fruit and tuna salad. And somebody... meaning the Toddler... is going to be unpleasantly surprised by a nap real soon now.

There are days which pass too quickly, and days that don't seem to pass at all. Which is this going to turn out to be? I had intended to try and shorten Her Ladyship's nap today; given that she doesn't like them, it took her most of the day to take one last week, and it was just a hassle. And then she comes to me this morning saying "sleepy". Who am I to tell her that she's not sleepy?

So I tucked her up in her crib with a blankie and her stuffed animals. She's not sleeping. I hear her happy babbling. But if I try to remove her from the crib she's going to have a meltdown. I am convinced that she only does this to confuse me. Isn't that the purpose of small children? Confound and confuse their mothers. It doesn't matter when I go in there, I'll find a naked child proudly smiling over the top rail, her sheet soaked through and her diaper and wet clothing thrown over the side.

There's a reason I haven't taught her how to make knots yet... she'd use that knowledge to tie the clothes to the sheets and break out. Better save that skill for later. Say, when she's eighteen and Daddy takes the car privilege away?

One of the things that you do not want to see first thing in the morning is a set of flashing red and blue lights in the rear view mirror. It tends to wipe the cobwebs out of your brain immediately. Heartrate jumps up, brain goes into panic mode: What did I do just now? Why wasn't I paying attention? How long have these lights been following me?

It could have been worse. Apparantly if I had been going just a bit faster I would have been "reckless" and taken to jail. (The part about how I was going no faster than everybody in the evening hours goes can be left out, as it doesn't apply). My number came up this morning, I was the "lucky" winner of being the example to all the other drivers on base. A lesson to me. I'll take the lumps, pay the fine, attend whatever disciplinary measures come my way.

But will it change my behavior in any great form? Probably not. Not in the long run, when I get tailgated by irritated people for going only five miles above the limit. When I get honked at for failing to pull off on the shoulder and make a right turn on red at every legal -and not so legal- opportunity.

it seems that yesterday my average readership tripled. Thank you! May I also take this small opportunity to remind you to support this site? And the Goldfish Cracker Fund?

Have you ever wondered what goes through the mind of a small child? She was being put to bed last night when she looked straight up at her Daddy and interrupted his song. Of all the songs he sings to her, she chose one word out of one verse to respond to.

"Goat?" she says, hopefully. "Goat?"

Of all the things that an unsuspecting person runs across in lullaby singing, of all the objects that are bought for a sleepy child if only she doesn't cry but hushes and goes to sleep. She picks a goat. Obviously I'm instilling the farm values into her. Or she spent too much time hanging out down by the pier and listening to sailors bitch about their commands.

Either way, she's obviously inherited her parents' twisted sense of humor and fixation on the oddest possible thing in random sentences. This is the sort of behavior we've modeled for her. She may be destined to be a stand up comedian. Or a politician. Or even, in our darker thoughts, a fundamentalist.

When I don't know what to cook I like to throw stuff at the pot and see what happens. Last night I started with a pack of saffron rice, added about half a pack of cooked, crumbled bacon, and a couple pieces of swiss cheese. It was a success.

I hate having to open a partial pack of bacon and then have it sitting in the fridge for days staring at me. Accusing me of wastefulness when I just don't feel like dealing with the cooking, the draining, the pan full of hot fat that I can't reuse for anything we'll eat. My solution? A sharp scissors. Now, I realize that this doesn't sound like much of a solution yet so bear with me.

I open the package, separate the slices, and cut them up into pieces. About five or six pieces per slice. Half goes into the pan to fry as is, half goes into a freezer bag. The scissors is easier than using a knife to cut the bacon cause of all the fat that makes fingers slippery. Plus if the bacon's any good it has the sort of fat that doesn't want to cut easily. I fry up the pieces, then I drain them into a colander under cold running water. The water helps the fat go down the drain, without clogging everything up all to pieces. It also rinses excess fat off the bacon. The bacon remains crisp and nicely juicy, but not swimming around with lots of extra stuff.

The Toddler remains, as always, against this whole "nap" concept. She wants me to be sure and mention that mommy is mean, making her take naps and not letting her run around naked in the dirt all day.

Today I became a great-aunt for the first time. My niece just had her baby, and I'm feeling kinda on the fence about it. I'm glad that she's okay, I'm glad that the baby is born into a family that loves him. I'm a bit sad that she didn't get to experience all of this after high school, after college, after marriage. It wasn't my decision though, so I'm going to smile and wish them sincerely well, and go on with my life.

I'm enjoying my day off. It's been a long time since last week. I didn't know how long it had been. Right now I'm struggling against taking a nap. I don't want to waste a moment of this time.

I'm being silly. And nutty. Kind of like a fluffernutter.

what happened to this week? no, really. What happened to it? My last post here was Tuesday, it's Friday now, and there's a toddler eating dirt out of the planters on the back patio. gotta run and corral her again. toodles.

A yummy meal

We had this for dinner last night and it bears repeating.

1 head of cauliflower, 2.22 at Walmart, cut into florets and boiled [bring water to a rolling boil, add florets, cook about 5 minutes]

add 2 cans of ham -I used the hormel stuff, comes in the same size can as tuna fish. So I'd say it was about a cup and a half. It was on sale for a dollar a can. Works for me.

toss with a jar of classico alfredo sauce. That's it. We had bread and butter on the side, and it was yummy, and it did not involve pasta. The whole pot cost about $6, which is a pretty good thing. It comes out to maybe 6 or 7 good sized bowls.

Saving.

Saving energy, saving water, saving money. It seems that everything these days costs all three; there's no real solution that would make everybody happy. We don't live in a magical fairy world where everything comes free and easy, despite how it may appear. Flip a switch and you've got light. Turn on the tap and there's unlimited water. If the water doesn't appear, or if it's other than crystal clear, odorless, flavorless, and plentiful- call your congressman and utility company and raise holy hell that your rights as an American have been screwed.

Truth is, it's not actually a right. The utility company supplies water, for a fee, and the water comes from somewhere. It does not magically appear in the faucet. Every municipality has their own supply, the plants are all different in how the water is treated. Sometimes quality depends on quantity, sometimes on the geography of the surrounding country, and sometimes the water just plain comes from an undesirable source although it's drinkable.

Case in point. The town I grew up in, Telford, had "good" water. It came clear and tasteless. Or maybe it's just that I was raised to believe that's how water tastes. Whenever we had to go into the city, or to an area where the water came from a city source, it tasted metallic. Still drinkable, but it tasted absolutely foul. I've moved several times since then. Water tastes different no matter where you go. Now we've moved into a rural area where the water smells of sulfer. It comes out of the tap with a slight sediment- when it's hot it's all cloudy for a few minutes, then it settles and turns clear again. The sulfer smell is significant. I don't spend as long in the shower as I used to, because of this. But... it's clean. It's not going to hurt anyone, it just smells bad, tastes funky, and not even the brita filter we use can remove the taste. We've taken to flavoring big pitchers of water with lemonade mix, or some drink mix. The Boy has brought up the idea of just buying all our drinking water in big gallons. I'd rather just flavor it all.

Energy bills are going to be higher than they were. I had gotten used to living in a place where we didn't have heat or central air- because it was unnecessary except for a few days in the winter or summer. Consequently, our electric/gas bill was about 30 bucks a month. Now we're back in the temperate zone where we can expect the hundred or so we used to pay back east. Plus, we've got a house now, which will run to more; and a toddler... it all adds up.

How to economize? How to lower the bills and save water which will be in short supply every summer? I don't know. I suspect that the answers lay in my childhood, in the lessons my mother taught me that she learned from experience and from her own mother. Waste not, want not. Use it up, wear it out, or do without. Shun the disposable economy that lives on credit and sells easy living. Yes, it may be easier, but you'll feel better and appreciate it more if you work harder for it.

I read an article yesterday about dish detergents being forced to reevaluate their formulas. It's the phosphates. Apparantly, the phosphates are getting in the water and killing stuff, or something. Which makes me reflect on yet another happy thing about melaleuca: no phosphates.

I don't have to feel bad about cleaning my kitchen or doing dishes, or anything in my house because not only are the products non toxic but they're non-toxic for the stuff around me too. And so I get to pat myself on the back and rack up those Good Mommy points that are more precious than gold.

The sucky part of today was the inability for me to rest at all. I've been awake now for a long time, and I've promised some date time to the Boy for when the Toddler falls asleep, and I'm starting to feel a drag. Of course it could also be due to the Chill Pill I had to take after her Ladyship's bathtime this evening.

O.M.G... tried a thought that had been raised by my mama group, I put her in the toddler tub inside of the big tub, on the hope that her resistance was due to feeling too overwhelmed by the big tub. Well, it didn't help. The screaming was worse. Again, with the screaming. And the clawing. And the scratching and pulling and the screaming. And did I mention the screaming?

Tomorrow will be better. Tomorrow there will be less screaming. This will pass into history as just another developmental stage and that will be a better memory. And in the meantime maybe I'll just have a lot of cups of tea, and count to a hundred in my head.

I sometimes feel all lonely and upset and depressed that I'm the only mama I know, and that I haven't made any friends here, or that I don't even know anybody except the lady at the realty who rented us this house... then I start thinking about the good stuff I've gotten done since moving here. Let's face it, I've had worse problems than not being completely unpacked and not knowing anyone.

So here's a short list of the Good Stuff:

the Boy is having a good experience in his new post. 'Nuff said.

the rent is paid, the utilities are being sorted out and on schedule to be all caught up and on a payment schedule (x, y and z on the midmonth, a, b, and c on the end of month)

I know where all the major shopping spots are that I need to know: the walmart, target, three grocery stores to suit my budgetary needs, the NEX gas -yay for gas that's nearly 20cents below the in-town average-, the Costco, the postoffice, and the bank.

We have on demand digital cable. This is a first for us, and I'm enjoying being able to get CSI fixes without having to attempt to remember that a) it's on tonight and b) find a blank tape and set the vcr, and then try to remember to watch it later. Instant gratification is not always good, but here it's crucial.

We have a washer and a dryer. In the house. Not coin operated, does not require me to leave the house lugging baby and laundry. Again, 'Nuff said.

Actually, the washer/dryer thing would be a reason to rejoice all by itself.

Tiff is sleeping through the night again. I'm sleeping better again, without the help of modern chemistry. The Boy is sleeping better, although he still has this weird idea of getting up before the rooster in order to play his games. He is also on the verge of once more getting scolded for expecting that his desires and plans for the day can overrule Tiff's plans for the day. I have to cope with it, and I'm not allowed to melt down, have a smoke break, or otherwise do other than deal with her needs and desires, so why does he get to do it? All this, and he gets to go to work during the day. Real work. Out of the house. Bah.

I still have it better than him, no matter how much I get jealous of his out-of-home experiences. We'll work it out. I'll be more understanding, he'll be more accomodating. Could be a hell of a lot worse.

Finally! My spring sale is going on over at Etsy.com (here) and I (finally) got the time and light to take pictures, measurements, and upload the listings. I'm hoping for a clean sweep of my shop from this, because that will give me a bigger incentive to craft for the next Big Sale. Ideally, I'd be doing a sale every three months or so.

I'm so psyched to be having a day off again. Now that we've gotten mostly unpacked and moved in, the Boy has told me that today I've got to take the time off. So here I am, sitting on the bed, with several screens open as I'm trying to surf between four sites and watch sitcoms. It really makes me feel good since we woke up this morning to find a naked unhappy child in the nursery.

It seems that some time during the night she got hot. Being the child of both her parents, she worked her way out of her nightie. Then pulled off her panties. Then she pulled off the diaper. And then, not to be confined anymore by the strictures of society, she tossed her blankets out of the crib. She also did what normal biological things do. Luckily for all of us, she decided not to smear her poop all over her body. I'm not so surprised, her daddy likes to shed his clothing at night because his body turns into a small furnace. Good for the winter when it's colder, not so good for apartment living where the washing of bedding is a problem. Yeah, we end up washing the blankets about every other week, or we should... and now that we have a washer in the house I'll likely start doing that.

Any case, go check out my sale. And then curl up with a book or hobby and enjoy the day. It's been a long, hard winter for everybody. Let's make it a bit more bearable.

There I was, minding my own business as I motored down the highway this afternoon. I had just picked up the Boy and he was making googly eyes at Tiff in the backseat. We were all just sitting there and I was a little tired when I noticed something a little odd about the car that was behind us. It looked awfully familiar.

Now I've smiled fondly whenever I see a car that's the same color as my old car. You know, the one that was stolen twice and broken into god only knows how much before I finally let the insurance man total it out last spring? It was a deep cherry color, not the bright young red but more the red of a fruit or a wine when the sunlight shines through it. I slowed down a little to let the car pass me, because that's the kind of gal I am.

As it passed I saw the carmax sticker on the left bumper. Hmm, thought I, that is the same placement as the sticker was on my old car. Hmm, thought I, this car has the same peculiar roof arrangement.

It can't be, I told myself. I sped up to pass it, just to convince myself. Along the right side were the same scrape marks and unique lack of paint on the passenger side. It struck me as insanely funny and I couldn't stop giggling.

What are the odds that several hours away from where I signed over the papers on this car, it shows up on the same stretch of highway at the same time as I did? The mind boggles.

Another day, another sink full of dirty dishes. As I sprayed hot water over the sugar ant convention in our sink I supressed an urge to giggle maniacally.

How, exactly, does one giggle maniacally? It's really quite easy. Imagine that you're a goddess, looking down from on high and smiting the ungodly heathens below. Or that you're smiting the infidel enemy invaders. Either way, it can be both fun and mildly alarming to your loved ones. My husband is used to my little insanities by now. Just as well, because I am tired of coming up with new and unique ways to hide it.

One of the things common to those who live with borderline personality disorder is that they view life as a non-stop drama. We script out soap opera-ish fantasies in our heads that cast us in the role of whatever psychologically damaged hero/heroine catches our fancy. We'll watch tv and movies and rewrite the whole thing in our head to accomodate our fantasies. This can seem at times more real than the world we're moving through. A constant temptation is to try to bridge the gap by taking as much of the inner dialogue into our real life relationships as we can get away with. I think this is why so many of us are alone- we burn out the ones who care for us, we overload our friendships and destroy our romances because nobody can ever live up to the constant drama and playacting that goes on.

Not that I'm saying this is deliberate. Far from it. Most of us don't realize what we're doing or how much we're doing it until it's too late. It took me 10 years of therapy to both realize it and to learn how to avoid doing it. It took almost losing the Boy I love and it took breaking my heart to give me the incentive to learn. Now that I know how, it's still hard sometimes to avoid the drama. I crave it almost as much as I crave the addiction of self-injury. As much as I crave control over my body and food intake. I look at my husband, I look at my daughter, it lets me find the strength to keep it together. I will not bring my daughter into my dramas. I have that much pride. I won't let things get bad enough that I have to give her up, even temporarily.

I've chosen to be a grownup. Sometimes I hate it. Sometimes I love it.

Monday. I had a decent day today. I cooked a real dinner for my family, one in which real Fresh Veggies were used. And leftovers from the fridge. It was cool, it was frugal, it was delicious.

Now if I could only transform this ability to the rest of the house... to the unpacking of boxes. The putting away of clutter. The disposal of trash.

Unpacking has hit a wall; I got so far before I got sick, and that was it. Nothing more has really been done to date, although I do have nifty new appliances to show for it. We've got sugar ants in the kitchen (those little black ones) and twice a day I'm out there scrubbing and spraying to get them gone from my sight. I don't know where they're coming from. Maybe the drains? In any case this is a normal bug thing that I can deal with. We're living out in the country now, and sugar ants are a normal thing to have in the spring and summer when the ground wakes up. Tomorrow I'm going to get some ant traps and see if that helps the problem any.

I'm almost finished knitting the thistle shawl. It's lovely and warm and soft, and I think it's going to sell pretty quickly. I'll post pics here when I'm all done.

Bath night is becoming one of my more dreaded weekly events. Tiffany does not like baths any more. She used to like them. She used to love playing with her toys and the washcloth in the water, splashing around and exploring how things feel and taste and all of the usual things. One day a few months ago she woke up and apparantly decided to not like baths anymore.

One day her bath was fun and exciting. The next day she screamed at the sight of the tub and tried to climb into my shirt. Now her baths are once a week at most, because it seems so traumatic to her. I hate doing this, even though I know I have to. She needs her bath, I need to help her through this, and even though I'm sure it's just another developmental thing the screaming is starting to get to me.

So I'm treating myself to a super-long internet session tonight to make up for it. I finally caught up on some of my message boards. I've caught up on the online survey sites I belong to. I've spent some time talking to the Boy. I'm going to log off soon and kick back on the couch with my knitting and some tv.

I just wish. Oh, how I wish. That the Toddler would stop screaming at bathtime and return to the happy bright child that I know she is.

Thursday. Is it a Thursday? I've lost track of the days of the week again; this has happened more and more since I started staying home with Tiff, but I thought once she started her schooling stuff that it would get easier.

I'm nuts, you know, referring to it as "schooling stuff". She's 22 months old, for goodness sake. Not even two. Not even potty trained, although I want to start thinking about it and the Boy says that we've got to wait until she's talking and walking on her own. A little voice in the backbrain says that if we wait for that she may decide to never talk or walk. And what happens if she does have speech or physical delays relating back to her early start in the world? What happens if she decides to not talk until Kindergarten? I'd really like to have this done by then.

My cold/sinus issue/allergy problem continues unabated. Today we've gone from yellow snot to green snot to bloody snot to aching pressure back to yellow again. This means, in short, that whatever the heck is going on in there is draining nicely and that I'm on the road to recovery. Disgusting as it is.

I hereby nominate the Boy for sainthood, as he has listened politely to all my nonstop babbling about the quality of my bodily fluids and constant low-level ickiness without complaint. He has willingly shouldered all Toddler care as I have asked him to over the past week. He has hugged me when I've been feeling particularly fat and ugly, and offered his clean spare pair of sweatpants so that I can feel non-bloated and un-ugly for the evening. Despite his unwillingness to flout hospital regs and provide me with a cheeseburger and strawberry milkshake during the day and night leading up to Tiff's birth (when I wasn't allowed anything more than ice chips, cause they were expecting an emergency c-section at any moment) I will stand by the love and admiration I feel for his love for me.

This counts WAY more than flowers and candy ever could.

Still sick, unfortunately. I'm almost to the point where the meds have worn off long enough for me to grab a nap, but I don't know if the Toddler is going to extend her own nap long enough for me to grab a nap. Could that sentence have been more of a runon? The answer, of course, is YES. Let's be glad that I'm fully medicated today.

Another couple of boxes have made it out of the family room and over to the unpacking area. This time I concentrated on the Toddler's stuff- toys, clothes, bedding, the odd assortment of my sandals and flipflops that she's made off with and hidden in the closet or under her crib... do I want to know how some of these have made it there? No. I have some semblance of sanity regarding this. Especially as this is one more thing that whispers to me, "puppy." I have given birth to a small puppy, she's obviously not human because she's been eating off the floor, loves being chased around by a barking Mommy, and chews on the furniture. And shoes. If she can't get a good piece of furniture to gnaw on, she goes straight for the shoes. It makes me shudder a little; I know where most of these shoes have been, and it's not hygienic.

On the other hand, she might still be part monkey. The hairless spider monkey she resembled at birth is making a comeback appearance. This week she's started climbing up on the chairs and couch by herself. Last night she gave up trying to convince me to put down everything I was doing and grabbed her blanket and bottle. She made a nest in the recliner, and glared at me over the top of her bottle. This kid has quite the Tude. It would be a full blown Attitude, if she could use enough of her words to make her point. Right now she's continuing to settle for meaningful glares and facial expressions.

It's awfully cute, though. *sigh*. I have to remind myself that we shouldn't have another baby. I try to remember how bad the last pregnancy was, how much I want to settle in the new house before I'm landed on bedrest for most of a year. Cause if the docs don't put me on it, you can bet your binky that the Boy will insist. Remember, girl. Remember how bad it was at the end. Be happy that you've got a healthy daughter and settle all your energy on accepting that the family should now be complete.

I can't seem to get my gut to agree, though. Still. It leads me to wonder how much in denial I am about my health issues. How much I am starting to feel that as long as the Boy loves me and the Toddler reaches out her arms for Mommy I will be immortal and immune from all disaster. Pretty big words for someone who's sniffling, snuffling, and who can't seem to shake the sinus headache beginning to build up behind my eyes.

It's been a while since I've been so fired up about cleaning my house. Maybe it's the mint-scented soap. Maybe it's the tub'n'tile stuff and the tough'n'tender stuff that makes it such an easy proposition- no more lugging big buckets of splashy and dirty water from room to room. Now I can just spray, wipe, and maybe if I feel like it go through one more time with a damp rag just to wipe one more time. Heaven. Anything that makes my job easier and safe to do while the Toddler is awake and running around.

So today has been declared laze-about day. We're all in various stages of sickness again. There is something about moving that makes everyone here sick- the week before and the two weeks following are generally spent in a state of stuffiness and ickiness. Tempered with the appropriate cold medications. The Boy is recovering and almost on the far end of his germs, the Toddler is one day past the hump of congestion (that magical point where the stuffy can't breathe feeling is transformed for a few hours into a searing pressure pain in the sinuses, and then begins that slow leak of thick yellow discharge). And me? I'm beginning the slow road to that sinus pain. However, I'm still on my feet and my hands smell all minty. That solves a lot of my issues.

It's hard to unpack and settle into a new routine this time. Harder than before in some ways, easier in others. Making the move from apartment living to a house is... interesting. Not bad-interesting, just interesting. There aren't any dumpsters now to stuff with the debris of unpacking -and refill three times a week- so we're rationing out how much can go out front on our one day of trash pickup. There are the settling in growing pains- a drawer that fell apart when I tried to open it. Knowing that I can fix it any way I damn well please instead of going back and back to the leasing office and try to get them to fix it properly on a timetable that suits me. Knowing that hey, for the minor and major repairs I can just call in a pro on my own, and even though we'd have to pay for it at least it would be done "right" and the way we need it to be done for our own sakes. All in all I like living in a rented house instead of an apartment. And not just because I can park in my own driveway and walk barefoot in my own yard without having to check it for broken glass, used condoms, and cigarette butts.

Operation House Hunt 2007 was a resounding success. Now we face the unpacking, and the boxes of stuff, and sorting out all the stuff that we meant to throw away before we packed but never got around to from the stuff that we actually use and want to keep. It says something about me that I’d rather throw out the stuff now than do it before the move. Maybe because now it’s all sorted into manageable hunks, sealed away in little mini-capsules of crapola? Maybe because now every last thing must be gone through and dealt with. There’s literally nowhere for it to hide.

The Toddler is enthralled with her new backyard. Mommy lets her go outside and play, and doesn’t hover over her taking things away just as they begin the long journey of exploration and tasting. I wait until she tries to come in and then take it away. Yesterday I pried from her mouth a rock, a piece of old candle, and the crumbs of stucco that came off the side of the house where she had started to lick it.

Don’t look at me like that. I don’t encourage her to eat the house. But the stucco is all in very good repair, it’s relatively clean, and it can’t fall on her. And as far as that goes, if I let her taste the house freely in the beginning, she’ll lose interest a helluva lot quicker than if I play keepaway. The main advantage to having a fenced in yard that I’m using now is that I can let her out, check on her every three minutes or so, and then go back inside without interrupting her.

The Boy rolls his eyes and calls me farmgirl these days. He’s asked how I like moving here from the “big city”. (I love it, btw) He tells them that I’m planting a vegetable garden. Heh, I haven’t started it yet. I’ve started the seeds in little cups and planters, but I haven’t dug up the beds yet, and I haven’t christened my new gardening gloves. These things will come. I choose to believe that deep down he’s really enjoying having me play in the dirt and do these things. We’re gonna make this house a home. I plan on leaving my stamp on it. Wonderful freedom.

What a week. No, really. We've now finally got moving dates, and moving in dates, and driving dates, and make out dates, and flaming dates, and dates with honey... no, wait, that's something different. As much as I'd like to be able to link the food thing to the moving thing, I can't make it work.

Next week will be equally insane for me, although I won't be able to do it near a computer. Here's hoping that there's something else to keep me busy. Like, say, working on the stuff for my show in March. So hugs to all the frazzled people today. Hugs to sick mamas and tired tots everywhere. I'm going to curl up in bed with pizza tonight and take some more sinus medication. My goal? To be able to breathe laying down tonight.

It's been quite a full holiday season. This morning my mom went home again to PA, and the three of us left here are settling back into a sort of uneasy truce before the Great Move of '07. The timeline for this is tightening up. We may be doing it as soon as this friday or as late as next week. I just want this done. ASAP. So that I can start settling in all happy and cozy in a nice house for the next four years.

ooh. I can just taste that. Being able to stay in a house that long. I'm already feeling spoiled by having been at this address so long.

We've finally got some words worked into the Toddler's vocab. "walk" is one of them. So is "me". She also seems to have grasped the concept of "no", as she loves shaking her head back and forth vigorously while laughing at me.

I love her to pieces. She's so happy that it hurts, but it's a good hurt for me. I like seeing it, and I like making her laugh. However I still hate the idea of moving. I really hate the deal of packing and unpacking and leasing and getting our application approved... I wish it were over already.

So to compensate for this I'm knitting more socks. And a baby blanket. And a grownup bedspread. And I'm designing a dress, which I may just go out and buy the yarn for this afternoon. Crafthappy? Possibly.

Ever start a project that turned into something with a life of it's own? I could blame this entirely on that I am reading knitting books and websites right now. I could attempt to blame it on my love of soft and sparkly and shiny and all the brilliant colors that yarn comes in. That would be just wrong... I started out to make a hooded towel, but then it acquired heathered grape-purple stripes, and the next step in my head is to pick up a border of cream and maybe a real thin edge of blue when it's all done.

And that's cool. So I'm knitting and lusting after fibers and dreaming of some lacey and cobweby creation of lace and fluffyness, silk yarn and mohair and smooth alpaca, with some teeny glass beads and a bit of gold sparkle. I'd hang it on the wall and call it art.

i'm dreaming of socks. Warm, fuzzy socks. I think I'm being helped in the sticktoitiveness with the holes that are rapidly expanding on the socks I threw out last night. My stash of socks is finally wearing out, and now that I can turn a heel I'm dreaming of all the fun thick and WARM socks I can turn out over the next month.

Also: hooded blankets. I'm modeling it off hooded towels; but this will be toddler/small child sized and in some fun colors. How often have we swaddled our babies up in those warm towels post-bath and wished that we could just swaddle them in something similar for nighttime? Especially if you've got a swaddler on your hands...

ah. the knitting calls. See you tomorrow.

Socks and retail therapy. A recipe for a happy mom tonight. Also it helps that I didn't have a nap today and instead stayed busy enough that I'm now really tired. Dinner was my famous pizza pasta. The toddler slept for three hours and then woke up and screamed for most of the next two hours. Now she's asleep again.

I'm not makng much sense beyond sentence fragments at the moment. But I'm busily converting a pattern for crocheted socks into a sort of hybrid that involves crocheting the cuff and leg, and then half of the heel, then sliding it over to double point needles and knitting the rest of the heel, the foot, and the toe.

Right now I have a nice thick tube of crocheted ribbing, and it's cushy between my fingers. And I'm going to bed now.

g'night.

Merry Christmas to everybody. I sincerely wish everyone everywhere some peace of mind and family and just an all-around good warm fuzzy time tonight. Of course, reality is what it is, and I'll take the closest thing to warm and fuzzy that I can get. In our house this means that my Boy and I sat and heckled my mom on her Holiday Family Calls. If we had not been so well fed on her roast beast and yorkshire pudding, if we had not been so happy and content to have both her and the Toddler here and had not had such a good time the rest of the day- we would not have been happy enough to heckle.

My project to keep my fingers calm this week is: socks. Yep. I'm digging through the book of crocheted sock patterns one more time, and I've almost completed my very first sock. I am so flushed with triumph and giddy girlish glee that I'm trying very hard to NOT go right to the yarn store in the morning and rummage through their $3 sale bin of needles in order to find a couple pairs of double points and learn to knit socks instead of crocheting them. Yes, I'm intimidated by double point knitting. Yes, I'd prefer to slog through the dance that is crocheting with a really tiny hook and sock yarn [which is thinner than a standard business rubber band but not nearly as tiny as the number 10 thread or the steel hook I use for lace]. Whew. Can you tell I've had some eggnog this day?

And really, since I'm focusing on the knit and crochet arts this year to help my nerves settle into a calm and focused Motherly Attitude, this is good for me. It's just the sort of fussy work that requires detail and slow breathing. I can literally feel my blood pressure lower while I'm working. If I keep at it, I can easily learn the basic pattern by heart by the time I finish my third pair, and then I don't have to balance the book on my lap every five minutes. I'm starting to dream about sock yarn. About all the different colors they come in. About all the glorious things I could do if I could switch to making all our own socks.

Before everybody chimes in to tell me that I'm not THAT broke, that socks are less than a dollar a pair at walmart and are these days practically a disposable item, that hardly anyone even bothers to darn their socks anymore because they're so cheap- well, I can counter with the fact that making your own socks from cotton or wool means that they're precisely to your measure every time. That they may actually last twice as long as the storebought ones. That they feel cushier on your feet and keep your tootsies warm in the cold winters.

I know, I know, I'm in San Diego right now where it doesn't get cold. But next year we'll be up by the desert and I hear it gets downright nippy in the desert in winter at night. I can't sleep when my feet are cold. So POOH on you. Nyah.

Besides which, even though I'm only part way through my very first sock, I can feel so calm and content when I'm working it. It scrunches up nicely into my project bag or purse. It's fine work, fussy work, and a simple stitch; and that's probably what I need most right now.

validate my reality, world

After an incredibly emotional day which I can only justify to myself by saying "It's Wedsnesday", I've got 20 minutes left before I go to pick up the Boy.

I wasn't, but it seems that the ship broke, so they can't go underway today like they wanted to. The captain tried. Bless his heart, he tried. But you really need the steering column to operate a ship that size.

So the Boy gets to come home tonight and play with the toddler, and I get to cry on his shoulder about how depressed I am, and tomorrow morning my mommy is arriving on a big ass plane and will Fix Everything.

Note: I don't care how she plans on fixing Everything. I suspect it will involve crying on my shoulder and hugging the Toddler. In any case, my mommy will be here and that will lighten the load I carry by just enough that I hope I'll stop having this meltdown moments.

There is nothing like an inconsolable child to make a mother feel hopelessly inadequate. The shell she learns to wear against the clueless comments from strangers and the sometimes unhelpful suggestions from family and friends might work against grownups in the outside world, but when it's down to a game of one on one with your flesh and blood pre-verbal toddler who refuses to eat, sleep, or be comforted... that's when I feel totally and completely lost again.

It's only a day like this has been to send me back emotionally to the state I was in when she first came home from the NICU. The thoughts running one after another. I don't deserve her. I can't handle or care for her the way she needs. She might be better off with another mother, or at the least without me in her life. My Boy would be better without such an useless woman bound to him by a piece of paper he probably never wanted to sign in the first place. I don't deserve the emerald he married me with.

I know that these thoughts are flawed on a basic level. I know that I just have to keep breathing and get through minute by minute and this night will end. The bad case of the Icky Feelings and Snuffles that Tiff has had these past days will end, and she's going to smile and giggle and play chase-the-mama with me again. She'll reach up those precious little arms and hug me. She'll stop screaming and trying to throw her little body against the floor and walls.

In a lot of ways I've learned from the seventeen months she's been home. If I think back to the colic and the reflux (and the two of them coming together after a growth spurt when the prilosec stopped working) I can see that I'm just reacting to the situation and the tears. Right now? This is nothing. She's only been truly inconsolable for 30 hours now. I got a full 6 hours straight sleep last night before having to cope with today. I know that I'm about as exhausted as she is right now, and that once my dinner starts kicking it's way through my system I'll start feeling better- I haven't had a chance to really make myself eat anything today apart from a handful of wrinkly grapes. This is entirely because I'm depressed and not hungry.

Tomorrow will be better. I know it will. As long as I lay down now and close my eyes and try not to think how totally black and dark the nighttime seems to be.

Saturday. Date night. This has become our tradition, following the Friday Beer and Pizza night. Except that last night we didn't have pizza. And only the Boy drinks beer. But I treated myself to a wine cooler, and that went down very well. So tonight I may make my herbed cheese bread; I just have to remember to buy some cheese when I'm out of the house this afternoon.

The Toddler is really cranky today. I haven't seen her out of sorts for so long now that it's a bit of a shock to me. As a mother I've become incredibly spoiled by having a child with such a good temperment (sorry, Sarah!) and since it followed her refluxy and colicy months so quickly and steadily I've come to know a lot of peace. Of course I have to ask myself how much of it is that she's bright and has learned that if she's happy and content Mommy doesn't have a Little Moment?

Not that my Moments are nasty. Not at all. But they lead to frustration and a few snapped words and Tiff being sent to play in her room while Mommy tries to crawl out of bed.

Some days are easier than others. That's all I'm saying here. And I'm not going to argue if my good days are starting to outnumber the bad ones again. Whatever, you know? I'll take it. I'll welcome it. And tonight I'm going to be snuggled up with the Boy on the couch watching musicals and munching on cheesy bread. Fun.

Why is it that on the days when I am able to leave Tiff with the Boy while I run the recycling over, there is no line and I can walk right up to one of two working machines and get to business? On the days when I have a cranky toddler in a stroller as well as my two big bags of bottles and cans, there is a minimum 30 minute wait. Today I got a whopping $3.12 back from our CRV tax. I exchanged some of this for a bag of mixed garden vegs (14 oz, frozen, $1.98). When I got home I let them thaw out in a big mixing bowl.

For dinner I boiled some angel hair pasta (half a box that was bought at .80) threw it with the veggies, and the last of the shredded mozzarella (2/3 cups of a 4 cup bag bought at $4.00).

Pasta, 40 cents. Cheese, 66 cents. Veg, 1.98. The meal cost a total of 3.04 and will feed two hungry adults and a toddler. Not bad, is it? I've been trying to work in one meatless meal every week to try and save a little money. I think this counts as a healthy and successful dinner.

In other news the Goop attacked Tiff again, she's been suffering a clogged nose and serious Goop of the eye today. I feel for her. A lot. I wish I could take it for her, and I find myself looking forward to the surgery next week just so I don't have to pick the Goop off her anymore.

It's so easy to say that if only something were different you'd be happier. If we had more money, I'd be happy. If I had a white picket fence and a split level four bedroom house in the country, I'd be content. I'm waiting for my ship to come in and the day to come when we can afford everything our lifestyle really needs; it occurs to me that I'm being silly. Because my ship already did come in.

The USS Lollipop has come in. There is one more underway, just a day or two, before the Boy transfers off and gets to stay home with us for four whole years. That's Four. Whole. Years. In which I don't have to say goodbye, retain a valid power of attorney in case of sudden departure, or raise the Munchkin by myself indefinately. In three weeks he leaves his current command. Since we've been a navy family we've moved, been apart, come back together countless times, had some rocky financial times and a baby... I could say that it's already been a lifetime and I can't remember life before all this was in my world. We have full medical. I don't have to worry about how we're keeping the roof over our heads or afford the early intervention services that the Munchkin needs.

If everybody stopped living in the world of what-ifs and if-onlys, they'd likely be a lot happier. They'd definately be living less on credit and more on Reality-Land. I told the Boy yesterday to let me keep living in dreamland for one more week. Then it'll be time to stop fantasizing that we'll win the lottery or stumble across a suitcase of unmarked bills; time to give up the daydream of moving into a five bedroom victorian gingerbread house in 8 weeks. Time to work out what our budget will allow for, what our new cost of living is going to be; time to work out when/how I have to go back to work to afford all of this.

Without our dreams we lose hope. Lost in the crunch of everyday humdrum life and seduced by the constant ads and media blitz- I see the people around me rushing from paycheck to paycheck and unhappy most of the time. I can't do much about that. I can do something about my own attitude. I can teach my daughter to know the difference between having and not having, and that she doesn't need to be a designer label to be somebody. If it weren't for the daydreams of someday striking it rich, of the princess living happily ever after, I'd sink back into the trap of depression and find little reason to ever try to climb out.

So I'm going to dream. I'm going to spend tonight thinking about how I'll spend all that money when it falls into my lap. I'm going to decorate our dream house and make friends with neighbors that exist only in my twisted brain. Tomorrow I'll be a grownup and live in reality-land.

love, life, and dishes. The trinity of my existance this week. What in the world is so overwhelming about a dishwasher of dirty dishes that need to be run? Honestly. It's not hard- a 5 year old could do it. Insert dish soap. Close door. Turn dial to "on".

And yet that's what I'm struggling to convince myself to do this morning. We have decided that base housing is not going to be an option in our next move. This means that we're home hunting again. Operation Move-in 2007 has now begun. And since I'm going to be doing this around the rest of my life and my on again off again depression struggles- this should be fun. No, really. Fun.

Especially when you consider that every time we've moved since we've been a couple we've done a clear upgrade. Yes, the rent goes up commeasureately. This will be the first time in 6 years that we're looking at moving to a lower-cost of living area. Of course, our housing allowance is also going down- it's cut by about 600 dollars. I can't quite wrap my brain around that one yet. I'm hopeful.

Cautiously optimistic shall be my motto for the next couple of weeks while we're hunting. It's not a bad motto. It should be part of my mood on a more frequent basis. I really need to try to be positive about this.

I got a frantic call from the Boy this morning saying "Please. Tell me some good news." So, alright. I told him that I got the Toddler new sleeper jammies, feet built in, and she's going to be pissed that she can't strip them off as easily as her socks and pants. Whether or not this becomes of more angst to her than the part where I installed a baby gate in the kitchen to prevent her from rummaging through the dishwasher, climbing into the oven, and exploring the trash can? Who can say.

It seems that his split pay hasn't been paid. Again. And since we are short of funds again (why, oh why, couldn't I have held onto more money from last payday?) he wanted to make sure that we got the majority of his paycheck which was to be direct deposited in our bank account. The atm next to the pier is, once more, non-functional and even when it works is a bit wonky.

To celebrate these things I'm making calzones for dinner and he will have beer tonight. The toddler will have some calzone, and none of the beer. This will, no doubt, cause her even more baby angst as she becomes convinced that her parents are just two big people intent on ruining all of her fun.

"Sky and Sand" has been finished and is now for sale! First come, first serve. Check out this and other fun crafts on Etsy.

Ever since I was little I've loved fibers. Especially visiting the higher end yarn shops- you know the ones. The ones where the cheapest skein of yarn is about 6 dollars... but they have soft mohair. Fuzzy fibers that feel like angel's kisses. Eyelashes, and metallics, and wools, and silks. I saw one skein today that made me drool and dream wistfully of owning it. I wouldn't make anything with it. It's too pretty for that. I'd just put it in a drawer and take it out to fondle every now and then. It was gold and red silk with cherry red glass beads spun into the twists. It was also 36 dollars. For less than a hundred yards. But it was so pretty...

I very seldom indulge my fiber lusts. For one thing, I hate having to go into a store and leave again without picking something out to take home. It's expensive. For the amount of knitting and crocheting I do the acrylics are my best choice. They wash and wear well, and they're easy to work with, and even though they are the plain jane next to the glamorous yarns they fit my budget well. Today I made a special exception to my rule.

There's one yarn that I fell hard for. It's a mottled sky blue with bright gold accents. The yarn is a ribbon-like one; about the width of a very narrow flat satin ribbon. It's smooth in my fingers. It was even on sale. On large needles it'll work up quickly; I'm making it an accent scarf. I'm not going to keep it, of course. My joy is in the creating of this; I wouldn't know how to wear it and I don't have the fashion for it.

But it's pretty. That's all that counts tonight.

Ever since I was little I've loved fibers. Especially visiting the higher end yarn shops- you know the ones. The ones where the cheapest skein of yarn is about 6 dollars... but they have soft mohair. Fuzzy fibers that feel like angel's kisses. Eyelashes, and metallics, and wools, and silks. I saw one skein today that made me drool and dream wistfully of owning it. I wouldn't make anything with it. It's too pretty for that. I'd just put it in a drawer and take it out to fondle every now and then. It was gold and red silk with cherry red glass beads spun into the twists. It was also 36 dollars. For less than a hundred yards. But it was so pretty...

I very seldom indulge my fiber lusts. For one thing, I hate having to go into a store and leave again without picking something out to take home. It's expensive. For the amount of knitting and crocheting I do the acrylics are my best choice. They wash and wear well, and they're easy to work with, and even though they are the plain jane next to the glamorous yarns they fit my budget well. Today I made a special exception to my rule.

There's one yarn that I fell hard for. It's a mottled sky blue with bright gold accents. The yarn is a ribbon-like one; about the width of a very narrow flat satin ribbon. It's smooth in my fingers. It was even on sale. On large needles it'll work up quickly; I'm making it an accent scarf. I'm not going to keep it, of course. My joy is in the creating of this; I wouldn't know how to wear it and I don't have the fashion for it.

But it's pretty. That's all that counts tonight.

Tonight I'm sitting down with something that seemed like a good idea at the time and which still tastes good, but...

hot chocolate, heavily spiked with nutmeg.

It makes my tongue numb. And vaguely sleepy. Good night; I'll see all of you tomorrow.

Thanksgiving. Giving thanks. Thankfulness for the blessings we have.

This morning I had a Moment over a picture of a newborn baby and his mother. Again. In front of the Boy. I don't know why this is so emotion packed for me, still. I keep trying to talk myself out of it and I keep thinking that I've succeeded until the next Moment. I just don't know. Is it because there are still unresolved feelings from my first pregnancy? Is it something else that's deeper?

Why do I want to cry when I think about holding another baby in my arms and imagine that I have two children clutching my skirts? Or three? Why does the yearning come over me so strongly that it chokes my voice and infiltrates my dreams?

8 loads of laundry were done today. Does this qualify me for the Washtub Star of honor? I hope so. I should get a big medal with little stars for each extra load done. And the odd part? It wasn't even for two full weeks worth of stuff. It was all the bits and ends that accumulate in the corners around here. Helped, no doubt, by the toddler who likes to go into drawers and pull out all the contents.

Here's another nifty way to stretch the meat dollars in our budget:

you can usually find ground turkey by the pound in the frozen food section- sometimes I really have to look; Wacky Zacky is usually the cheapest option at $1.00/lb. Since ground turkey is next to tasteless either spice it up in the browning process by adding a few dashes of Mrs Dash or seasoned salt... or you can brown it with one roll of sausage (regular bulk pork) and split the results. Take one half of the mixture and use it in place of a pound of ground beef. This is especially tasty in italian dishes.

I really miss the old days when we could get ground beef for 99 cents a pound or even $1.50 a pound. This solution has decent flavor and is about as healthy for you as the ground beef- since the turkey is almost fat free and the sausage is fat full. I'm not a scientist so I don't know the actual facts and figures.

Tonights menu: Pizza pasta

1 12oz bag of penne pasta that I got for 80 cents
1 jar tomato sauce at .79
about half the bag of pepperoni (full price, about 3.99)
1 15oz tub of ricotta cheese -2.99
1 pound of the sausage-turkey mixture

cook the pasta, throw in with the rest of the stuff and bake at 350 for about half an hour or so. This is the dish that makes the Boy eat three bowls and then tell me that I cook too good because he has to work to meet standards.

Tonight's dinner in the new crockpot, which is so good I cannot stop munching on it.

take one package of boneless skinless chicken thighs (about one pound was 2.80)
one tub of chicken livers -1.84
*put in bottom of crockpot*

one can cream of mushroom soup
3 Tbsp flour
about 1/4 tsp black pepper

*combine these three and pour over chicken*

cook on high for about three hours. Then add one bag (16 oz) peas with pearl onions. Continue cooking for another hour.

I think this would probably work best for people who like dark meat and/or liver. It really doesn't come off as all "liver-ish" per the stereotype. The trick is to puree the liver -just chop it up in the food processor briefly before adding it in; this turns it into a pate when cooked thoroughly. Not overpowering. Just nice.

Will feed two adults and one Toddler for two meals -4 adult servings and two toddler servings. Total cost of this meal: $7.39 which is 3.69 for each dinner if served two nights in a row.

I'm waiting for the other shoe to drop. Again. After a week of horrible lows and wierd, twisted logical leaps in my depressed mind, I had a pretty good day. This was aided by the Toddler being all happy and bouncy and bright, and it is to our credit that she stayed up later than normal for us on duty days. Now she is reluctantly going to sleep. I can cope with that.

What I can't cope with, apparantly, is the thought that I'm a good mother and good wife. I feel like I should be one or the other and that both is some fairy-land ideal. It's not real. I know that it's not real. It has no basis in my personal reality right now. So why do I feel this way?

The only thing I know for sure tonight is that there are dishes that need to be put away and a funny book to curl up with. Tomorrow will bring it's own challenges and god only knows if it will be any better or worse than today. I can only go to sleep secure in the truth of the lullaby I sing the Toddler every night.

hushabye and good night, go to sleep little baby
hushabye and good night, go to sleep little girl
in the morning you'll wake when sunlight comes streaming
hushabye and good night
till morning is nigh.

There is something that seems fundamentally wrong about the yeast I just bought at costco. I came home and checked the jar in the fridge- you bakers will know what I mean. The little jar that you get that is about 4oz of yeast and you buy for about 8 bucks?

At costco they have red star yeast in a big freeze-dried brick. 32oz. $3.24.

I swear, I'm not going to argue with it but it seems WRONG. So this is a big savings for the thrifty housewife. 8 of those little jars = 1 brick so 8*8 is a lot more than $3.24

So to celebrate this huge saving I bought Tiff a giant plush hippopotamus chair. It's soft and her size.

want to know what's cooking up today? Here you go. Try it at home for a tasty and comfort-food dinner!

herbed stuffed bread.

Take your favorite bread recipe, and after the first rising roll it out into a big flat pancake about 1/4 inch thick. Sprinkle with thyme, crush rosemary with your fingers and sprinkle that, take an 8oz package of italian blend shredded cheese (I used the mozarella and provolone blend that was on sale this week) and some cut up ham and layer that on top. Then roll it up like a giant stromboli. Or like a jelly roll. Pinch the dough shut along the seam. Place on a greased cookie sheet and bake in a 450 degree oven for ten minutes, reduce the heat to 350, and bake another 30 minutes or so until it meets the bread-being-done test.

We're going to have this with creamy potato soup, because I have a package of that on the shelf left from the summer.

Despite the sound of it, the bread really isn't much work at all. It would be even less work if I had a bread machine that would knead the dough through to that first rising for me.

Hooray for the three hour nap! The Toddler came out, appropriated my keys, and is now banging them against the front door. Do you think she's starting to make a connection there?

We got yet another possible commission. I'm happy. It's another little thing that makes me feel more productive. More like I'm doing something. More like I'm not a couch-sitting bonbon-eating soap opera-watching mental patient. Because mainly, well, I prefer cold case files and CSI.

Don't laugh. It gets me through. And whatever gives you the extra strength to get through the day is a good thing. It may get morbid at times but it's not overly graphic. There is a plot. There is far less bad acting and scripting than is found on other channels [I'm looking at you, MTV!] And when I was little my mom would watch Perry Mason in the afternoons while I was playing nearby. So there's a certain continuity to this, a bonding through the generations.

I've got to go and pick up the Boy in a few moments. It's going to be all nifty. We haven't seen him since this morning, early, before even the Jimmy Dean SunMan had gotten out of bed. There will be a kiss. There will be a tickle of the Borgmonkey in the back seat. There will be much laughing.

I'm going to do this weekend's donut baking a bit easier than I did last week. Actually letting the dough rest overnight in the fridge like the book recommends as best.

Yay me, I gave the Toddler a bath after lunch today. She still doesn't like having her hair washed. I suspect this is because she knows that this is what leads to having your hair combed, and she Really doesn't like that. We took a picnic lunch down to the pier this morning. The Boy had duty. He has an extra watch tonight because somebody didn't show up when they were supposed to, and that means that he won't get to sleep tonight.

Tomorrow. The sun will come out tomorrow. My Boy will be home tomorrow. The Toddler will be giggling again as we chase her through the house with the stuffed tickle monster. I'll bake. Likely, I'll spend a lot of time knitting and reading.

Sometimes this depression is like a big gray cloud over my head. A sack of rocks in my backpack. I know it's all in my head. I know that there's not an earthly reasonable reason for this to exist. I can't kick my ass out of the slump. The meds can help pull me out, but right now this moment they're not helping a lot. All I can do is keep telling myself that it gets better. It will. Tomorrow.

oh, I'm naughty. I'm going straight to the hot place. I floated a check this afternoon, and I went to bath and bodyworks and got myself the cinnamon bun bodywash/shampoo/bubble bath -3 in 1!- and I don't feel guilty. I also found a box of my favorite hair color for half price. And we ordered a pizza for dinner. And I still don't feel guilty.

It's hard to feel guilty when I've been wanting these things for so long. My afternoon out came early this week cause tomorrow's Duty Day. The Toddler is trying to convince me that she's really not sleepy and doesn't need to go to bed. The Boy is outside savoring a post-dinner pipe. I'm going to jump into the shower soon with my newly minted hair and come out smelling like Cinnabon.

I am then going to curl up with the Boy and my knitting and watch CSI Miami until I fall asleep. Still tired. Still depressed. Tomorrow I have to put myself back on the "don't spend money" wagon. But damn. I feel good about myself right now.

let's see... how do I do what I do? Hrm. In the past week I've done the following:

Sunday was sausage patties and rice
Monday was cheeseburger helper (made with generic helper mix and a pound of ground turkey, and half a bag of frozen peas)
Tuesday was baked pizza ziti (the throw it in a pot and forget about it version)
Weds was leftovers and apple fritters
Today is going to be sausage, cheesy orzo
Tomorrow is turkey helper-fried rice


To make this I bought 2 rolls of sausage at 1.50/ each
2 roll of ground turkey (frozen solid) at 1.09/each
16oz store brand frozen peas at 1.33
32oz ricotta cheese at 4.79
8oz pepperoni at 3.00
12oz ziti at .88
generic helper mix at 2.30
tomato sauce at 1.79
brand-name helper mix at 3.14
apple pie filling at 1.29
shredded cheese at 2.50
12oz orzo at .80
rice I count as a pantry staple.

now these prices are what I actually paid for these items, according to my household accounts, some of which were on sale a month ago and sitting in the cupboard until now. I prefer not to pay more than a dollar a pound for ground turkey, which is a great substitute for ground beef- at least half the price, half the fat, and I compensate for the blandness by adding a shake of Mrs. Dash or seasoned salt over it while browning. If I had stocked up the week before this trip I could have gotten more sauce for a dollar a can. By saving and reusing some of the glass jars that more expensive sauces come in, I can pour the canned sauce into a clear jar when I open the can; this lets me keep it nice for longer in the fridge. Unfortunately I wasn't thinking that week when I was in the store and so I paid nearly double.

Also pantry staples that I always have to have on hand, milk and baby cereal and such: milk I get 2 gallons for $4, a case of generic diapers for $20, and various other things.

I spent $120 on last week's grocery order. I ordered online, they delivered to my door, and this will feed us for most of the month saving one or two things. It's worth it, even though the delivery charge was $9, because it eliminates impulse purchasing. Plus, I got three flats of bottled water for the Boy to take with to work (at 4 a day it adds up) since the ship doesn't have running water or working plumbing right now. And all this delivered to my kitchen floor.

I recycle all our refundable materials. In CA this works out to 4 cents a bottle/can under 24oz. With the spare change from this I can run a "free" load of laundry at the laundromat every other week at $2.25. Or I can buy a pack of twinkies and a soda.

Another big hit in my household this week? Apple Fritters. The only thing I had to get that wasn't a pantry/baking staple was a can of apple pie filling. Oh, Yum. I used about half the can of filling in my batter, the other half-can is set aside to do this again later in the weekend, and it made a heaping dinner plate full of fritters.

And another big thank you to my mom, who taught me to cook, cleaned up my messes in the kitchen, and encouraged me to continue this by personally annotating the Mennonite Community Cookbook with all the family recipe variations.

Yesterday I superglued my fingers on purpose. This wasn't because of some psychotic break with reality, this was solely because I was tired of the little chewed up ends of skin by my cuticles. They fray and peel with the yarn constantly rubbing over it. Bandaids will not stay on at this point, because they too are constantly abraded by yarn. I went one step further- packing tape. That wouldn't stay on either. So I turned to an old standby for desparate times: superglue.

Superglue has the advantage of bonding instantly. It forms an outer, protective skin for my poor abraded flesh. It won't fall off, it won't allow further peeling of the skin to bleed. Those blood trails through the house... disturbing. Especially when you don't know you're bleeding and haven't a clue how long you've been dripping blood down your fingers.

The Boy also paid me a huge compliment last night. He says that if I keep cooking this well he won't stay within standards much longer and will have to get sent back to fat camp. Which is nice to hear- but I wasn't the one forcing seconds and thirds into his hands at dinner.

Dinner was a throw-it-in-the-pot and forget about it affair. A package of ziti. the two-thirds of a can of tomato sauce. Most of a carton of ricotta cheese. A handful of pepperoni. Bake until bubbly, or about 40 minutes at 350. And yes... it was good. The ricotta evened out the pepperoni bite. The whole thing blended nicely into my belly. The Boy is eyeing it with delight.

The Toddler, however, is trying to tell us that she doesn't want to go to sleep yet. Even though she's tired, and we're tired, and everybody needs a nap.

I got another blanket commission this morning. Thanks be! The karmic angel of Divine Intervention is lending a hand to us. This commission will cover two weeks of childcare for me to go to therapy. I'm thrilled. My Boy will be less thrilled, as it doesn't quite affect him as intently as it does me. But he's still happy about it.

Plus, the color scheme intrigues me. It's not a scheme I would have chosen for myself. Depending on the outcome I'll make a second one for my Virtual Craft Show. This gives me a little more hope for the next few months, that life won't be quite as tight as they've been. I just want to have a fudge zone in the budget again.

One of my favorite Virtual Friends commented on the grocery budget post, and I thought that my response to her response to my response to her question was worthy of a post all of it's own. If only for the sake of good grammar.

In regards to my $80 per month grocery budget. I certainly don't LIKE to do it that tightly. I think back fondly to the days when I could spend $60 or $70 a week to feed me and my husband. That's in addition to meals out. But now that I'm an at-home mom, things have to change. Some things get cut back, other things get cut out, and I embrace happily my early training in how to squeeze a dime. We don't go out to eat anymore. We've maybe gone out to a sit down restaurant once in the past twelve weeks. We've ordered in a pizza about four times in those twelve weeks.

This is part of the reason why I've got ads on my site. The only reason I put up one of those whiney "donate" buttons in hopes that somebody will drop a coin or two in the jar. This is also why I've got the online Etsy.com craft shop, the virtual book sale, and why I will happily contact you with information on melaleuca products and how they can make your life better (especially the stain treater, because OMG I can spritz the Toddler's stuff, throw it in the hamper, and get to it whenever with the full knowledge that I don't have to do anything else to get the stains out)

Maybe it'll get better in a year or so. I hope so. I'd like to have contacts next year, I'd like to go out and have a spree in the bookstore with my Boy. I'd really like to be able to order out for pizza once a week or be able to go to a restaurant once a month. I comfort myself with knowing that we're not living on credit. We're working our way out of the debt we accrued before he enlisted- when we did live on credit and check-to-check. We may be nearly always dead broke, but we're not getting further behind. We're actually started to pull out of it. Isn't that worth your support? If only by prayers and good thoughts- cause I firmly believe that those count for as much as cash when done in a believing way.

On Saturday I got up before dawn to bake. I didn't plan on it, it just turned out that way. First I couldn't sleep. Then, since the rest of the family was up I thought that I'd leave the bed and go join them. Then I was hungry. And what I was hungry for- donuts.

To paraphrase the great Homer Simpson "mmmmmmmm.......... donuts."

It took me the entire morning. Started at 6 am, and didn't finish frying until noon. But boy are they good.

I'm still mourning the loss of my ideal. Or I'm still trying to live up to it. Have't figured out which it is, all I know for certain is that I'm stricken with these wierd feelings that I've failed my loved ones because I'm not a classic 1940s housewife. It's scary. In my head I know that it's not right, and it's not logical and it doesn't make sense. In my heart I believe it. That's where the conflict comes from. That's where I need to be medicated until I can come to some sort of middle ground.

Next month the Munchkin gets to have a surgery to help correct the blocked tear duct in her left eye. This should help her vision problems a little bit, and that will be good. Also, she'll be under anesthesia for this surgery. That is good. I just remember the last time she was under anesthesia. So small, so completely limp under the drugs. It was kinda scary.

Today is shaping up to be a decent day. We'll see. In the meantime... there's plenty to do and play with.