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.