Presence

Ok, so, back to it. Onward and upward. Just because something is hard doesn't mean it's not worthwhile. So, Buying Hiatus, Temperance Mission whatever you want to call it, I need to be responsible and accountable. I don't live a champagne life. Period. Simple. I live a Good Will life.

But I do have an amazing life should I choose to appreciate it. I have wonderful in-laws. A husband who truly loves me and wants what's best for me. A beautiful and bright little girl. I have plenty and beyond. I'm just too stuck up too see it. Or I forget or something. And yes, everyone needs, "something to make the waiting sweeter." But I don't have to be spoiled.

Also, I will do better with pictures...as in, get some. Notice my anorexic arms and fluffy baby. Not so much the case anymore. And don't worry, I'm not anorexic. I was just breastfeeding 20 times a day. No joke. She was a piranha. :) Good thing too because I was always worried she wasn't getting enough. Also no joke.

I want to be present for my kid's life. And read and do things. Have adventures. Live my life. Live my life. I want to connect with my husband. And not just after the kiddo's in bed. Always. While doing chores, while running errands, when sitting in silence. Always.

I think I'm sort of a germ-a-phobe. Which probably means I'm a flaming germ-a-phobe. So I'm gonna try to nip that in the bud (or full blossom). Like, for instance, I don't want to go bowling because I don't want to put my feet into nasty shoes. But I love to bowl. Baby step answer....take old socks and throw them away! Genius. :)

Last but not least, pray for day shift. I'm such a zombie....

Temperance My Ass

:) So, epic fail. I went to the store to buy stuff, and I got a lot of stuff.

Also, and here's the clinker, I spent money we don't even have. We do, because it's in savings, but we don't because it's savings. And I'll pay it off when we get paid, but in the mean time it's a negative balance.... And it's not the first time. But it super stresses me out.

So, most blogs are about actual topics and are written by real (or imagined) experts. Recipe blogs, crafting blogs, health blogs, frugality blogs. Tips and successes! Whoohooo successes!

Yeah, not so much this one. This one is more like a confessional blog. Like, I wish I were into quilting and crafting and cooking and budgeting, but I'm not. And I really don't have any expert advise to provide to anyone. Also, I hate being frugal. I like Starbucks and this really good and really expensive salami I found at the grocery and wine and Jolly Pumpkin beer and dark, dark chocolate. I enjoy my budget busted. It's just how I roll.

But also, I don't, because I want to pay off debt (student loans) and save for the future and save for a house. And in a way, I feel great discouragement because living on one modest salary doesn't allow all of the above. It's either Aldi (and you might say, "But they have wine and dark chocolate!" and I'll promptly reply, "Have you tasted them?") and Good Will or Meijer and American Apparel. And as of late I've chosen the later because I'm tired and need "something to make the waiting sweeter." But it's at the expense of paying off debt and saving. It's hard to motivate myself for such a far off and intangible goal. How can I be happy to drink crappy coffee and eat shitty food while working a very stressful night-shift job and caring for (being able to do nothing to help) my sick husband and doing perpetual laundry and dishes and providing food for my family and all the physical care of a little one. How can everything in life be hard and unenjoyable? And I know that sweet, little, African children have it far worse--they have no parents or food and are mutilated and abused. So, how dare I complain. But I do. I do complain. Because this is not an inspirational blog, it is a real one. And I really do complain. And I really am thankful. Thankful for Simon and our house and my little girl and provision. I just need "something to make the waiting sweeter."

Update

Happy:  New car with better gas mileage (2000 Honda Accord, holla!), plumbers and their backhoes are finally gone!, Christmas is a comin' and the goose is gettin' fat, Vicki's/slave dilemma solved (girls at work threw me a surprise party and got me gift certs!!!--sweethearts), microwave died (no more scary radiation and I didn't have to make that call!).

Sad:  Car payment & a smaller car, shoddy workmanship on the basement waterproofing--still leaks, have to dump 10 gallons of beer, Caribou Slobber tastes like green acid.

The boy continues to fail in health. Boy, that sounds nice, doesn't it? What I want to say is, "The Lord continues to not heal him," with a bitter tongue. But I'm a human and he's a human and how much suffering can one person take? Why, Lord? I don't mean to be an ungrateful and bratty kid, but why not help?! I know he will eventually. But my boy is desperate, on the edge of despair.... And we will continue to love and serve you. God you are wise beyond our wisdom. Also, you love us. This is what I hang my hat on.

Buying Hiatus:  I was all wrong there. It's not that I need to not buy anything. It's that I need to not be a selfish stuff-whore. In buying, as in every other facet of my heart, I want and seek the best for myself. Wrong. I cope with life by getting everything I think I need. I justify and budget shift until I get what I want. Then I'm "happy." But I'm not really. So, the Buying Hiatus is being revamped and renamed:

Temperance Mission. In all things, temperance. Contentment and patience. I need a garlic press, wait to find one at Good Will, right? Not research the best and have to have it. I used to be rich--rich people buy only the best. Now I'm poor. Poor in spirit. And I can be truly grateful. Thanksgiving (the literal holiday, the the verb) opened my eyes. I was sad and disheartened. No thankfulness in my heart for any material thing. But an overwhelming thankfulness for people. For my husband and my daughter. For my parents-in-law and coworkers. People matter. Things don't. It's true. And when that's true, the dollar store Christmas-tree skirt you're given is perfect and amazing. And holding your feverish daughter is gift. And grape-flavor Tylenol is just right.

So, Temperance Mission.

And I can't say that I'm not thankful, in a bazaar way, for our suffering because it changes me. In a good way. Even though I brink on bitterness.

Hard

To be alive. To struggle. To fight and lose. Consistently. By degrees. To lose a little. And a little. And a little. But to remain alive. Is this life? Our slow death? We constantly fight to improve and grow and gain strength and wealth, to find time. We can't be dying from the time of birth, because all our hopes and dreams are born with us. But in our growth we lose. Gain and lose. And then at some point just lose. And what does it mean for us when the growing stops? Or maybe it doesn't. Not really. But at some point the losing overwhelms the growth. And death wins. The grave swallows us. And not our souls. But our bodies for sure. And not forever, but certainly for real. The moment of death, the transcription of ourselves--from one form into another. Or maybe not. Maybe we are immediately just as we always should have been. Human bodies, souls untouched by sin. But where are we? And where are we with regard to all who are left still dying? Parallel universes?

Sad. Broken hearted. Crushed in spirit. How much suffering is too much? Uncle, right? Uncle, Lord.

Update

Our house will never be miraculous and my social justice/stewardship/political/healthy living values are going to make us broke. And I'll of course never buy cute panties at V's because there's no way they are made without the help of slaves.

Ugg.

Also, the Subaru's transmission is really shot now.

Corn Terrifies Me! (Holy Health-Nut Rant, Batman! Half Retraction)

So, watched an informational show (how it works or something) about corn. It was terrible. And terrifying. Did you know GMO corn kills monarch butterflies? Yes. It does. And the place they grow this corn? In a deep, dark limestone cave because if the GMO strains get out they could wipe out all the corn in the US. Then it'd kill all the livestock (cause they're all beefed up on corn). Yeah, Science, that seems like a good idea.

So, I'm on a mission to avoid all corn. And I've been disturbed by the meat industry for a long time, but now I've got the balls to buy meat raised with integrity. (I've vaguely heard these things are not good, but I need proof, not just vagueness and opinion.)

So, I take back what I said about science and GMOs being a good idea. But I am still fascinated by it. I love microbiology. And I would totally be an agricultural scientist if I could even though I think it's sort of evil.

*NOTE: The show was not even crazy-leftist propaganda, only informational.

Also, Wal-Mart really is bad because it is subsidized by the government and isn't free-market at all. Plus, (like most big stores) they are notorious for poor treatment of humans (like outsourcing for the lowest price even if the people making those clothes/toys/shoes/etc. are slaves and abused). I hate human trafficking.

Trenches and Tubals

Sooooooooooooooooo. I sort of suck. I was all scheduled for a tubal ligation this morning and I cancelled last minute. I couldn't go through with it. I don't mean to be so fickle, but I couldn't imagine how it would actually feel to be permanently sterile until it was actually going to happen. My fatal flaw. I can't know how I'll feel about something until I'm in the throes of it (and I sort of have a feeling lag--days sometimes weeks late). Simon is really such a saint about it. We talked a little yesterday morning when I got home from work and then some more when I woke up and decided we can't do it yet. Both of us still want more kids. Whether or not we'll be able to have more kids is another story, better told years down the road. Not today. So, my doctor and the surgery staff will just have to suck it up.

In other news, I want some Vicky's bras and panties. Sick of slacker boobs. Also, who doesn't like a cute bootie? Waiting for the semiannual sale which my coworkers tell me will be in Januar.

So, the house search is still on. NOTHING remotely good. The in-laws just paid to waterproof the basement though, so our place is possibly going to be much nicer soon. I'm going to scrub that nasty basement and we'll have to make a couple trips to the dump, but I'm thinking we could paint the walls to brighten them a bit and totally increase our living space. The basement won't be anything pretty, but we can move Simon's work bench down there and I could set up an Art Area and organize all my attic (inaccessible) totes. And I really want to move our bookshelves down there. The flying-toast dining room could use a little extra space. Gosh, now I'm getting excited. Simon says he still hates our house, but I think a couple of changes could be miraculous. I need to rearrange our living room too--so not cozy. Also, I want an antenna--for television. I'm wasting my whole life not watching Ellen! What sort of a person does that?!

I really need to figure out how to get pictures on here--this blog would be sooo much better with pictures. Not even kidding.

So, cute story:  My kid was standing on a chair, smashing her face on the window, watching the plumbers run their backhoes all around our house, pounding on the glass and waving; and then she turns to me and says, with the most heartfelt excitement, "I wanna go play!" Who doesn't wanna go play in all those dirt mounds, kid? Who doesn't?

On Hops and Homes

So, the buying hiatus is going well. I've resisted temptation on all fronts. My blessed mother-in-law did give me 50 bucks in an envelope saying, "I never get you anything, go buy yourself something." So I did drop that like it was hot. But it doesn't count. You can't put every damn penny on debt. Besides, in two years when debt is gone, there'll be no money for spending because a loaf of bread will be 20 bucks (or, for all the DIYers, 5 pounds of flour will be 60!) and a tank of gas $150. Am I optimistic or what?! But it's true.

So, I bet you're dying to know what I bought?

The suspense killing you?

Well, I blew it all on beer. And beer paraphernalia. I got a tee from a local "American Public House." That's what the shirt really says. How cool is that? And one Hoptimum and one Fat Head Oktoberfest (for Simon) and we split what I thought was a Left Hand beer with hazelnut and apricot, but I can't remember the name or find it on their website, so the Hoptimum may have done it's job. Also, I got a special edition Jolly Pumpkin saison--iO Red Saison. Sooooooooooo excited about that. It's been cellared for my birthday (in our super cool cellar called a refrigerator). And Taza chocolate.

Amazing how fast $50 can go. :) It was the best day ever. Oh, did I mention, my saintly mother-in-love took the kid for three hours. So that whole time of buying bliss me and the mister had each other all to ourselves. :)

House search. Well, we're going to see two on Wednesday. Nothing too promising, but who knows. We're almost ready to buy anything at all.

*Funny Story: So, I'm in the kitchen peeling ridiculous eggs--losing half the whites, and making toast. The kid has been crying since she got into her chair for lunch because A) she fell asleep 15 minutes before we got home from our walk (5 minutes ago) and should not be awake right now and B) I'm not holding her. So, Simon's at the table "buttering" (because we really use coconut oil) the toast that's already done. You have to understand. We have a very small dining area. Because it is also our study. Also, it is the only carpeted area in the whole house. Seriously. F-ing dummies. Anywho, out of the corner of my eye, as I'm chipping away at these eggs, I see toast fly. Then I hear mumbling and a moderately concealed "fuck" (mind you, I've heard my husband cuss like maybe twice) and see a purple balloon get whipped across the room followed by more toast and a couple of red crocs. Apparently he tripped on something. Ohmygosh, I still can't stop laughing. Funnier still: the kid's been randomly stumbling around the house saying, "Oh, oh, ohoh, oh." :) Priceless.

I think if maybe a good sized tent became available we might avail ourselves.

Wednesday Tuesday

So, all day Tuesday I was thinking it was Wednesday. It just seemed like a Wednesday I suppose.

So, anyway, Tuesday. What a day. Wow. The kid was possessed. She cried, quite literally, all day long. I thought by the end of it she must be sick or in pain. But I really don't think she was. She did say her knee hurt, but she also has a bruise on it and she tells us those hurt so we kiss them. Also, if you have a bruise or a wound (or a zit on your face) she'll say, "Ooooooo, ooooooo," and point to it and give it a kiss. :) So, she cried all day. And usually when she cries I can say, "What's wrong." And she'll tell me or mime it to me or in some way communicate the problem. Tuesday, no. Tuesday she just looked away and kept on crying.

No idea.

Except maybe she was growing mentally. Because she all of a sudden, that night, started saying things like, "I can't reach it," and "No, I need you." Versus the usual gesturing and whining.

We were supposed to bottle beer Tuesday, but by the end of the whine fest, we were both so whipped, we just crashed. So we've settled on Friday.

So, yesterday, I folded and put away 5 loads of laundry. Never in a million years would I have ever believed myself capable of washing and not folding or putting away so much laundry. I would have had a conniption. I sort of like the new slacker me. :)

I'm really wanting donuts and Fruity Pebbles. Not together. But they keep popping up in my mind. And cream of wheat.

I don't think there's really anything of substance in my mind tonight. I'm going to go read now.

Hugs and kisses.

And Nosferatu. Just drink it. Preferably on tap with your lover.

When you're no longer a productive member of society, what are you?

Heard a great Sara Groves song on the radio yesterday morning on the way home from work: Eyes on the Prize. I cried. Came home, showed it to Simon and we cried together. So fitting for life right now. It's a good song.

He's so tired. So worn thin. When do we get help? When does God intervene? It's not human help we need. We get the things done we need to. But how long can someone just get worse. How can you live in so much physical pain for so long? With no end in site and never any reprieve? Do you just suffer until death? But with no death in site? I know it sounds morbid. It is.

And we have our bright little A. And honestly, I don't know how much hope we'd have without her. We sure would have a lot more time together, but it's weird how we didn't enjoy each other so much pre A. I crave time with Simon now. Crave it. Just a date. A couple of hours at the bar or coffee shop. Just to look at each other and be, together. It's weird how having a kid makes time together so rare but so gratifying. And life is unbelievably harder since having a kid, but not necessarily in a bad way. And no one can tell you how your life gets better with a kid--it expands your heart and mind and life. And the joy you get from the funny way they say a word or a mannerism, immeasurable.

We don't have the same sort of life as a family with all healthy people would. I'm not complaining, and I wouldn't change it. Because our values have changed, and what's truly important has crystallized. And productivity is worthless. And Christ and grace have become paramount. And that is beautiful no matter how hellish the rest is.

But sometimes you feel judged and sometimes you are.

La Grippe Ah Ha

So, consumption. Curious that. My need to get new stuff. It's like an obsession. Which is weird because I don't buy a lot of stuff. I just want a lot of stuff all the time. But the stuff I want changes, but I think about it all the time. It's like between whole foods and new stuff I keep my head busy enough to not be restless. But it's so damn boring and un-fun and not creative. A slow and continual lulling of life to sleep. Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.

:|

I don't really have anything philosophical to say about consumption except the excess here is gross and unwarranted. I'm going on a buying hiatus. No new stuff for a year. Wow. I just scared myself. And get the grocery budget in gear. The only luxuries will be good coffee, good beer, and good chocolate. Everything else goes rock bottom. (Also, we need a new car and are looking for a house, so even though those seem like deal breakers, they actually don't count. Nice when you make up your own rules.)

Hmmmm. Wow. I really don't want to do a buying hiatus. But I do. Be more intentional. Live out my passions; not buy stuff made by sex slaves; not fritter away my life by keeping my head out of the game.

...

So, my boy. I'd really like to talk more about his life and struggles here. I'm not sure how to work it all in. It's like a 200 page book of Hu Flung Pu. So I'll start now and work back I guess. A reverse chronology.

S is 35 years old. He's got sandy blond hair, pretty good looking face. But seriously, he's a stud. Oh, but I was telling you about heath and stuff. So, actually 2011 was a good year--diagnosis of Small Fiber Neuropathy, and we found a bunch of really great friends. Simon was able to stop scrambling and start to face all the destruction being chronically sick and debilitated created over the past 20 or so years. Doesn't sound great, but it was great. Lots of emotional pain and regrouping from realizing you've lost not only function and time and money, but huge pieces of yourself along the way. And being left with uncontrolled pain screaming in your face all day long. But good because it's very good to know your enemy. And very, very good to have friends.

So, we'll leave it at that for now. My buddy is a sick-o. But he's got me! And A! So at least he's got that going for him. ;)

Holy Health-Nut Rant, Batman! aka Thankfulness

So, the kiddo turned 2. Wow. Amazing. I've been very heart-y about it. Not in a bad way, just really loving and appreciating that girl. :) She had an amazing birthday--2 hours at the park with her buds, a party with the fam, a kitchen set, a bike!, a tutu (that she adores), and many other toys and a boatload of clothes (her grandparents spoil her rotten). We are blessed.

So, cutest thing ever: While listening and dancing to Tiny Dancer, A turns to me when Elton says, "ballerina" and points to her chest and says, "me" with the sweetest little smile and brightest eyes and her little head nodding. :)

So, I was kinda dragging my feet with the whole sterilization thing. You have to make it sound as bad as possible and call it sterilization. Tubal, Essure, tubes tied--these are all too innocent and nice sounding. Anyway, I was dragging my feet. It's a hard decision. I wish I didn't have to make it. But I've made up my mind. I know it sounded like I made up my mind before. But I guess I hadn't totally. But I have now. My lovie-butt is doing bad. B-A-D bad. I can't put him through all that again. Don't get me wrong--the kid is awesome, but physically kids are not something S can swing. He loves 'em, but you can only do what you can do. And I'm the luckiest girl in the world to have my little A. And my S.

So, I've switched to liquid Castile soap for pretty much everything except laundry detergent and I know there's a cheap/Dugger way to make that stuff. I'm trying to simplify life as much as possible. Live as cheaply and as easily as possible. Buy as much premade stuff as possible while keeping certain standards and not going broke.

And I was thinking. Thinking about all this homemade, old-school, non-GMO shit we've all swallowed and wondering if it's all just a crazy fad. Like, what if pesticides don't hurt you? What if it's better that starving Chinese people have a hearty rice crop that doesn't die with drought or from infestation? What if science is good? What if the modern science is a conspiracy premise is a conspiracy? Hmmmmm? We know it's not true that organic foods have more vitamins and minerals than their pesticide-filled (tongue is firmly in cheek) counterparts. Though organic proponents say otherwise (lie about it). Also, borax is a pesticide. A dangerous one--can hurt you if you ingest it. And having it in your house raises your exposure to pesticides about as much as eating non-organic food. All things become poison in too great a quantity--food even. Even pure, organic, whole foods. Too much fruit and your GI goes poop crazy. Too much protein and your body chemistry is thrown out of whack. There is this idea that older is better. But is it? Is it just different? Is it better that women and children died all the time because there were no hospitals and medications to stop bleeding, detect fetal distress? Better that you had to make all your food from scratch, spend all your life working to survive. We work to survive now, well, half of us do (bitterness?). But not in the same way. Our concerns are far fewer. We work and then our work comes to an end. We don't have to physically slave all day from sun up to sun down. We have time to play with our children to rest in our loved ones arms. And we are a rich and lush country--in Africa they slave to survive, not us. Most people don't have the luxury of being so fussy about their food and what they will and will not put into their bodies.

And plastic. Plastic is wonderful. It is not evil. How is it worse than glass or metal? None break down in a landfill, all take energy to make, all pollute. If anything, our biggest sin is excess. We can skirt around the issue and blame refined flours and GMOs and plastic and vaccines, but it is our consumption that is disgusting. And the fact of the matter is that America is still a pretty great place. Because people come to our hospitals and doctors (for our science) from around the world when their children and parents are sick. And we have a great life expectancy. And any Ugandan would spit on us to see our pooh-poohing of perfectly good and nutritious food. And we don't have slave-labor or reject anyone the medical care they need. I read an article a long time ago in National Geographic about societies who live a long time (And that's another thing, why the f are we so concerned with our diet and health? If you're not 400 pounds and smoking crack, you're probably doing pretty well for yourself. What is the point? We all get old, we all die of something. And don't say quality of life because I work in a hospital and there are "healthy" sick people and "sick" sick people and healthy people aren't excessive and entitled and sick people generally are, but everyone still eats at McDonald's once in a while. So what's the point? Do you really want to live to be 100? Is that the greatest accomplishment you can’t think of?). Anyway, in this article, when an old lady was asked how to live a long and happy life, she answered, "Be thankful." And there was a picture of her and she was holding her husband's hand and was smiling and there was happiness in her face. And I don't say any of this to judge. I'm saying this to myself. Because I waste my life thinking about things that don't matter. And miss looking into my daughter's eyes and dancing with her and holding Simon's hand because I think somehow it's better for us that we eat no process food, and all the planning and thinking and work that goes into it wastes my life which technically isn't mine to begin with.

And then there is this gluttonous consumption of stuff. Which I will address next time. Because I'm sure I've lost everyone by now. :)

So that's the scoop. How amazing would it be to get as much joy from a Wonder Bread P.B. & J. as from a free-range roast and organic vegetables and hot, home-made, whole grain, sourdough bread with fresh butter? How it could set your mind free. Thankfulness.

*Note: These rants are for and to myself and not meant to condemn anyone.

The Evil Pill

It's evil, so that should be it's urban name. "The pill" is just too benign, too innocent. So, I'm off it and things are looking so much brighter. Nothing like a little synthetic hormone f-ing with your system to make you close to crazy. :)

So, it's been too long. Update: Still looking for a house, no keepers just yet. There are tones of beautiful and cheep houses in the even smaller, rural towns surrounding my tiny rural town, but those towns lack our amazing Catholic culture and we have a really, really nice park--well two or three really, and I like our grocer (even if I can't afford to shop there) and A's grandparents are here....

*Side note, I'm not Catholic, but I should be. I'm probably never going to be, but I really like the saints a lot and also the churches are gorgeous and they have lots of candles and stuff. Just plain cool.

No new car yet, but our Subaru seems to be running like a champ; i.e. the transmission hasn't exploded yet! Notice how I name drop. Like to mention we've got a Subaru whenever I can. Also, she's tan. And a wagon. Are you jealous yet?

So, Simon's doing bad, but we're just off a three day (Subaru) stretch. Tomorrow we have a date! Sooooooo excited. :)

Ohhhh, we brewed beer! Caribou Slobber from Northern Brewer. They are awesome.

And I ran once.

So, there. That should bring us up to speed (Subaru). Well, also, one foray into possible day-shift employment, but that ended up being a dud and I'm sort of happy about it because it was at a different hospital and I love my hospital and my boss.

Later, bitches! I'm having "alone time" with my buddy--kid's asleep, dude is showered and we've got some decarbonated Infinity Grand Cru that really needs to make its home my belly. ;)

Honestly

Sometimes life's just hard. And I hate to complain, but there isn't enough lamenting and honesty, so I also hate to withhold the truth.

I struggle. With money and time and passions. There never seems to be enough to get ahead. Not time or money. And I feel like a failure as a provider because even though we have enough, it's just enough. And then I think of Africans with nothing and I'm just discontent as a rich American. But as Americans, we are far from rich. And I'd like to buy free-range meat, but a dollar more a pound is too much. And I'd love to get out of this hell-hole of a house--the walls are eating themselves from moisture (and this is after repairing the brick and mortar and completely re-plastering the walls and dehumidifying) and the basement is crumbing and moldy and fills when it rains and it's tiny. I think the size gets to me the most because there isn't enough room to live let alone breathe (again, according to rich American standards). But I'm stressed and tired from working third shift and being a nurse is exhausting mentally (sometimes physically). And I'm an introvert and never get alone time. And I'd love to can and grow a garden and make quilts and knit and embroider, but practically I only get through the basics. And I think if there was enough money to pay off debt (school loans) and save for a house and car and not just make it, I'd feel better about not doing the extracurriculars, but it just seems like nothing good happens. And I need new clothes because apparently after breastfeeding and turning 30 (almost) your hips get bigger and your boobs smaller so I have no pants or bras. But we also need a new (to us) car (our 14 year old Subaru is on her last leg), so I feel remiss buying clothing. And then there is Simon and his pain. And I do nothing for him. I help him in no real way. He suffers and there is nothing I can do to lesson his physical pain. And I know that the Lord loves us, but I feel He doesn't care about our daily life. And I know it isn't true, but I'd like Him to show me that. And I know it's an arrogant child that asks for a sign, but I think that's what I'm doing. I pray, but I don't ask Him for good things because I'm afraid. Afraid of nothing good ever happening and what that means. Not that God isn't God, but that He doesn't help us in this life. And He has helped me. He's given me Simon who is an amazing husband and rescuer. I would be dead if he hadn't come along. And He's given me peace and joy in life. And I don't believe in prosperity teaching--it's a lie and damaging. But this is my heart.

And this song, "Oh, God," is a really good comfort:

http://marshill.com/music/albums/already-not-yet

Lions

If you are what you eat, I want to eat lions.

That's all for today.

:)

Mold Rights

So, we've got ourselves a weeeeeeee bit of black mold in the basement (and in the coat closet and behind the bookshelves and in the bathroom). I was sufficiently freaked out because everyone knows black mold comes alive at night and eats your babies. However, I did a little research, and I think we're going to be okay. No abductions imminent.

To spite the mold, we are looking for a new house. Actually, just pretty sure 630 square feet and no garage, a wet basement, and VERY limited storage will drive a person to distraction in a little under 1 month.

We've been living here for a total of 6 years now. (I say total, and there's a long story in that, all for another day.)

So, the look is on. No keepers yet, but I've got my hopes up and eyes peeled. We've gone through 7 houses, none too pretty. One was in nice shape, had a nice garage and basement and attic, but the main floor was, well, depressing as hell--tiny and claustrophobic. As sort of a main floor dweller, I wasn't impressed.

We're also currently looking for a car. A nice Honda Civic or Accord or the like preferably. I want good gas mileage and no breakdowns. Our little (meaning huge) Subaru Legacy wagon has served us dutifully--the thing's been a trouper. But last week, she started flashing "oil at temp" and was apparently trying to signal us to say that her transmission's on the fritz. After the weekend in the shop, the mechanic (or rather the coordinator) calls (good luck talking to a mechanic) and says, "We can't get the light to turn on, so we don't know what's wrong." "Whatdya they think she's just gonna open up to anybody?! She doesn't even know you guys." On the up side, the light's off and she's running. Not so great = the transmission could explode at any second (we only know it's the transmission because my husband's a whiz with cars, a whiz I tell ya!). And another thing, whose genius idea was it to make it impossible to fix a car without the computer saying what's wrong!?! Engineers! :/

P.S. I didn't just leave all the mold everywhere. I left it in the basement (hey, it's got to be free to incubate somewhere--mold rights), but the rest has been sufficiently bleached, vinegared, tea tree oiled, and scrubbed. Just so you know. I'm not a complete slacker.

My Kid is a Genius

Right. So, not trying to make you feel bad about yourself, but it's true, my kid's is a genius. Today she picked up the letter "T" and said tee. Then later, a "G" and said gee. The same with "C" and "D." And I say to Simon, "And it's not like those letters even rhyme!" And he's like, "Yeah, not at all." all sarcastic like. And I think sometimes I don't have a brain. But, anyway, she said them differently. I know she did. And it's all due to Sesame Street! Because I don't teach her a damn thing. Well, not true, but not book smart stuff. I just teach her how to be crazy and hormonal like a good woman should be. Baaaaaaaaaaaa.

So, on an entirely different note, I'm thinking of getting the Essure. Well, more than thinking, actually, I am. Not that the Mr. and I wouldn't want more kids, we'd both like 2 or 3 more really. But Simon's not doing well and the degenerative nature of SFN doesn't really make it look like things will be taking an up-swing for him. There is also the unknown genetic factor of SFN. Is it right to have a kid because you want one with the knowledge that they may be very, very sick? Is it better to have lived and lost, than to have never lived at all? I wouldn't judge anyone who chose differently, but it's a factor in my decision. It isn't in Simon's ironically. But anyway, Essure it is.

In the mean time, they put me on the pill (which I'm against for a million different reasons--psychoses being a big one, the possibility of a fertilized egg not being able to implant in my thinned uterus being paramount). But they said I must so they can know my cycle is regular. Again, baaaaaaaaaaaa.

So, I've accepted that we're a family of three. And I'm happy to be so, but honestly, I'm also so sad. No siblings for the kiddo, no more little cuddle buddies for me. No sons. But I have my Simon and my amazingly beautiful and bright and crazy little girl. I can't say I'm not totally blessed. Lots of negatives there, ending in a positive--just like life.

Up next: Houses and Cars and Black Mold

Moron Awakening

Dude, last posting was verbose! I'll try to tone it down a bit this time.

So, I had an awakening last Saturday. I'm at this party, right, and I'm mingling with the Regs, and this 2-year-old comes up to me and says, "Hi, I'm Elaine, I'm two, I'm gonna sing you a song. Twinkle, twinkle, little star...." And I'm like, "Whoa, who let this baby in here?!"

JK. It was a church party.

Anyway, for reals, I'm like, "Whoa, this kid is one month older than my kid. My kid doesn't talk, but holy-hell, her brain is not where I thought it was." Her comprehension and intelligence is like quadrupled what I thought it was. I mean, when someone just stares at you and blinks her little eye-lids when you talk to her, you think 1 of 2 things: 1) "Awwwww, she's not understanding me." or 2) "I must be the biggest moron in the world." I had been leaning toward 1, now I pick 2.

P.S. I promise to start adding pictures soon! This post would be soooooooooo much better if you got to see the little "you're an idiot" face.

I Lied

I lied. I'm not going to do "introductions." How's about you just get to know us through reading this blog.

Ah ha! See, now I've got you. Who doesn't want to know me and my little fam?!

So, phew! Rough start today. Well, second start. I worked last night, so technically I started my day at work. And that was alright. But then I came home from work and slept and got up and that's when things got screwy.

I was sooooooooooooooooooooo tired this morning, unusually tired. But I had to eat some leftover grilled chicken (which was amazing--I will share the recipe sometime) because I was thinking about it all night at work and drink some orange juice because it sounded good (hmmmmm, actually sounds really good right now too, damn! I hope I'm not preggo). Anyway, I dozed off nursing the babe (yep, I nurse my almost 2 year old) and consequently got to bed later than desired. So far, not so bad.

The little one usually comes in to nap with me around noon and did today as per usual, but today she was wired and ended up keeping me awake for a half hour before climbing out of bed. She did pull the door closed on her way out, so that was nice. 1:30 she was back and fell half-asleep and was the wiggliest worm I've ever met! I kept waiting for her to fall full-asleep, so I could sneak out and pee and take some ibuprofen--killer lack of sleep headache--but she never did. Finally, I just take the plunge and tell her we have to get up.

Yikes. That didn't go over well. So now I'm mad. Too tired to deal with wining and clinging (which is excessive when my Paczek is tired). And the best way I can think of to keep from screaming like a banshee and throwing everything in the house away (sort of my coping mechanism)--pick on my buddy. Hey, yeah, that's a good idea. Add insult to injury and blame the husband. After all, he did bring the kid in to nap, twice today. Grrrrrrrrr.

So, after assuring him he ruined my life and making him promise to never bring her in to nap, ever again, after 1P (because that's obviously the problem here), I feel guilty. Turns out he had a terrible night, didn't sleep at all from pain, and was feeling desperate for a break. And to be perfectly honest, the kid is a great napper. Every day about 12:30/1 she's out for the count. Who would think she wouldn't nap?

Well, after apologies, I think, hmmmm, TV! TV is just what my kid needs (we all need). So I go to put a Peep in, and am met with intensified distress cries. Really?! My child has never refused TV, ever. She's a total junkie. I tell her all the time it's going to rot her brain, but she doesn't even care. Turns out she doesn't want to watch Peep, but settles for Classical Baby which is promptly shut off because someone can't listen and pushes every button on the dvd player/tv/receiver. Arrrrrrrrrrrrrrggggg.

Somehow the boundary setting turns my kid happy and all of a sudden we're all sitting together on the couch and she's happy to play with her purse and bracelets and I'm happy to lie there sipping my delicious black gold (Starbucks Sumatra). And I haven't hurt Simon's feelings too badly (even though I also shimmied in a scold for not fixing my nose retainer and another for being such a softie with the kid). And then my delicate little princess thinks it'd be fun to climb onto the top of the couch and jump on me. Which may well have been fun, but also spilled my coffee. :(

Oh, well. All's well that ends well. Simon wouldn't agree, but I've got no short or long term memory at all, so I'm generally pretty happy. Anyway...

Wadsworth: "And to make a long story short."
Everyone: "TOO LATE!"

I ended up taking the kid outside (she was in heaven) (me too to be honest), Simon got a tiny break, and then I headed into work.

See, fascinating, right? ;)

Focus

So far this blog has had quite a shotgun approach, but I've got bigger dreams for it. I admit, I've been using it in a very cathartic/journal-like way. I clear my head with writing and attune my thoughts (which otherwise stay a hot mess). Its original function was...honestly, I have no idea, it was 2006, who can remember that long ago (looks like my second post points to boredom). Also, I kind of kept myself pressure-free with the time commitment I gave it (no posts for 4 years!). I always had in the back of my mind that this would be a blog about being a good wife. Specifically how to help your hubby when he's got a progressively debilitating, chronic illness. I'd like to continue in that vein, but now we've got the kid, our little Paczek. So, I'm thinking more living as a family with chronic illness. It is truly amazing how invasive the tendrils of illness can be in a life and a family's life. I know Mr. Simon tires of always being the reason behind our decisions and plans, but I don't mind so much. He is my Romeo and I can't say that I mind one bit "missing out" on certain experiences or events to be with my boy.

To that end, my next posts will be introductions to the fam. From there, we shall see.

Hello, 60 Minute Neighbors

I am excited for tonight. 60 minute IPA, guacamole, babies, walk, laundry (Excited for laundry? Yes, somehow I am.). Mostly excited, happy to be spending time with my family. I was thinking the other day. What's the point? What's all this rushing around and working and thinking and busy-making for? Who cares? Why do it? What's the point? And not the point of the work so much as the Point. And I think fellowship is all there is. Relationship. Why go to work and make money and keep yard and home nice and improve health? There is stewardship. And working hard and simply is Biblical. And making merry while you work. Joy in the process. And that's the redeemed side of work I think. Because work is our curse, and takes us away from the ones we love and, at times, what our hearts most want. But time with family and friendily--that's wholly meaningful. There is fulfillment in a completed task. The fulfillment of obedience and perseverance. But at the end of the day you're left with still more tasks to complete. And I think the fulfilling part, if it isn't pride, is the joy of pleasing God. Obeying him, pleasing him.

I want to be a doer only. Not because I'm oh-so-obedient, but because I shy away from relationships, especially deep ones. They scare me. But also, I think they are essential. I'm ok with just my two bubbies, but throw in a few more and I start to wriggle. But then you have to consider why we're still here. If the point is relationship, and God loves us, but Paradise has not yet been restored; we'd better get busy. I'd better get busy. And open up my heart. See, maybe the work isn't all bad. Maybe the work all leads to relationship. Explains why sometimes I don't want to "do" anything or get involved (even though I'm a get-up and-go-type). Once you do something, you open the door for relationship, then things get sticky. Ug. That's a wholly different can of "past" worms.

Oh, well. Onward and upward, right? No time for being prissy and keeping your hands clean.

So grab your bubbies and a brewski and get yourself to work self!

Ethnic Slur

Hello. So, I've decided the Paleo is stupid and expensive. I'm still into the idea of eating more meat. Just not into the idea of eliminating entire, delicious food groups. Just doesn't make sense. Even if I'd look like a Cheetah. Rather be a Polack. I can say that. I am one.

So, not sure how the babe is doing. Mr. Simon babe that is. I've worked the last two nights and that makes for little time for interaction. When I get up, he's shot and needing a break from little Babe, and I try to get a little quality time in with her between baths and laundry and cooking and dishes, which means quick pecks and communication grunts between him and me. I know he's not the worst, but I can tell he's in the red.

I was thinking, I really should get a blog emphasis. Instead of just meandering along. Maybe that is my emphasis. But I'm not aimless, just without blog focus.

I've been so delighted by my baby lately. She's such a little joy. Really, truely, wholly such a blessing. A fulfilling gift. I never thought I'd have a little cuke in my care, and let me tell you, I'm so happy to have. I think I was in a constant state of elation for like her entire first year (and of terror of SAD), then I got really tired. And discouraged. And disheartened from life. And I enjoyed her less and that is a shame. But the Boy and I have done a lot of talking and have come to some good conclusions about our life and our goals and hopes and dreams and I've got a lot of peace and a lot of joy back. And calm. And she brings us a lot of joy.

In a superficial twist, the Kid will be 2 soon and I've been trying to decide what to get her for her birthday. I want it to be magnificant. Not just a good birthday, epic. I want to buy her a million toys and some dresses (she loves dresses) and German Muzzy. Mr. Simon says we shouldn't because she'll never remember (and it's not in the budget). And he's right, she won't and it's not. But I still want it to be an epic birthday. I want her to feel celebrated. And so does he. It's amazing really how much of our actions are dictated by the unhealthy or unpleasant parts of our past. I felt unknown and uncared for on my birthday. My reaction is to buy a bunch of stuff and call that caring, but that's not the heart of it. Giving a gift that someone truely will love, big or small. Being present, with that person, and actually loving them. That's amazing. Caring enough to put time and thought into making the day special for them, in ways that they will feel love and care and know that that they are known. That is what is important. Not stuff. But stuff is fun too. Though it matters less than the intent. And the perfect present given without love feels like hate. Still, the Kid is in serious need of some toys. She's got mostly baby stuff! But I will try temper my reactive impulse to buy the whole store in an attempt to fully love my Kid. Why can't she have real love and affection and great toys too? Baaah. God help me. I come from a long line of Polish excess.

Brownies

Mmmmmm, these are good. A 10 really. Moist but not overly wet. Nice crackly top. Made with cocoa, so they're cheap, but all the intense goodness and complexity of a brownie made with chocolate. I'll post pictures later. A name too. Oh, and they're dairy-free!

The Mort Noire (I hope that doesn't sound like a package of Asian noodles, I don't speak French)
4 large eggs
1 cup white sugar
1 cup brown sugar
3/4 cup melted coconut oil
1 1/4 cup cocoa
2 teaspoons vanilla
1/2 teaspoon course sea salt
1/2 cup white flour

Preheat oven to 300 degrees. Grease an 8 inch square glass baking dish with coconut oil.

Beat eggs until light yellow and fluffy. Add both sugars. Mix. Add remaining ingredients except flour. Mix. Add flour and mix.

Pour into prepped pan and bake for approximately 45 minutes. Toothpick test. You want moist crumbs clinging. Not full on batter, not clean. Moist crumbs.

Cool on wire wrack. Eat. Best the next day.

Lord Raise Me Up

"The earth is the Lord's
and the fullness
thereof,
the world and those who dwell
therein,"
Psalm 24:1 ESV

"The earth and everything on it,
including its people,
belong to the Lord.
The world and its people
belong to him."
Psalm 24:1 CEV

I feel compelled to confess and worship the one who made me. I'm terrified of being like the crazy Christians who pronounce their own truths and create their own realities of the Lord and for their lives. But God is the Lord, and he is terrible and wonderful. And I am his. And even though "my heart is like wax; melted within my breast," and I feel bent low with sorrow, the Lord is my God and he will one day will raise us up from the ground.

Uh, Paleo?

I'm tired. I feel like I don't give the kiddo the life she deserves. Not enough play time or learning time. I just muddle through. I'd love to take her to parks more and swimming, and do little learning lessons. I love to take her outside and kick the ball. She's such a spirited little thing.

On a completely different note. I've been reading about the Paleo Diet. Sounds great. And delicious. Except I will have to have dark chocolate and beer. The rest I'm pretty fine with. Oh, and the occasional sourdough bread. I have to admit, I haven't read the science behind the diet, just that it's the idea that it's better to eat like cavemen. Which, of course, I don't believe existed. Naked Adam and Eve, yes. Cavemen, not so much. However, the idea of lots of meats and veggies and some fruits and nuts sets well in my mind. I'm not so snobby or restrictive to say no to some enlightenment though. Coffee, chocolate, tea, beer, alcohol. What's the difference between butchering and cooking meat with seasonings and fat or growing and fermenting and/or roasting seeds/pods/beans/leaves? Also, this is a no grain thing. I believe the idea is that agriculture is not good. I understand slightly (crazy corn, wheat, soy production ain't so cool). But vegetables and fruits are agricultural crops. Some grains grow wild. The idea that grains are difficult to digest makes some sense to me due to my pathetic digestive system. Rings true. But I have different ideas for the cause of that--The Fall, entropy, etc. Not so much monkey ancestry and that agriculture is evil. Actually, the more I think of it, this Paleo Diet makes no sense at all. I think I just like the idea of excessive amounts of meat and fat. Mr. Simon would definitely like it. I think I'll kind of do it. Lots of meat. Plus vegetables. And chocolate, coffee, beer, and other fermentables. I think what really caught me was the more lean mass/greater energy/better digestion schtick.

Boy update: Still bad. Have some help with the kiddo in the form of a Saintly G-Ma. Thinking of sending her to her Auntie's too. Oh how I hate the idea of sending her away. Silly, I know. It's to relatives who love her for hours in days not boarding school or something. Still hard. But this is supposed to be a boy update. Went for a massage. Got appointment scheduled with SFN specialist (finally!) (it's taken 9 months and we won't go until November--she's apparently very good). Wondering if alcohol is making him worse, but our midnight brewskies keep him going too.... What to do. Sleep has been a great help. He's in need of a sign or wonder. Starting to see God as good because we know in our heads that he is, but not one to intervene or help in this life. Hope is dwindling, none left for this life. Not sure how to help.

Do you love how I speak in sentence fragments? It's like a telegram.

So, here's the game plan for this week/month/whatever. Get The Kid to the sitter (Aunt), swim lessons (for The Kid), more massages and sleep for Mr. Simon, more meat for me. :) I think I'm going to start putting some recipes on here too. Maybe starting with my Deep Magic Brownies. They're pretty good. Tune in next week. But if this is going to turn into a food blog, I need a camera. Hmmmmmmm, what a devilishly good scheme to get my camera...

What to Do

So, my boy's doing bad. What to do. He needs a break. Something's gotta give, right? What to do.

So, I'm thinking, babysitter one day a week. Massages at least twice a month. Les Paul. Marshell. Music room. Reading chair and "end tablet." Curtains and nice afternoon light. Two hours of peace once a week. Why is there no time for rest? Always just hury, hury; busy busy. He needs more rest.

Maybe it's me. I'm a little stressy. Too restless, too ancy, too bored. (Huh, and I wonder why my kid's a kinetic wonder.) Hmmmmm. Yeah. And everybody knows it's the ladies who set the tone. It's like a dog whistle and we're all dogs. Maybe. Maybe not so bad. But I've been a little edgy and nervous since the babe showed up...she's a doll, but I think I may have an unwarrented, irrational fear of sudden death. Not sudden infant death, sudden anytime death. SAD.

So, the scoop. The game plan. The low down. More R&R. More Bill Withers. More cigars. More Dogfish Head. More camamile, chocolate, adult fun. And presentness. That's the clinker. How to be here. With my boy. With my girl. And at peace.