Posts with the label Thoughts
Showing posts with label Thoughts. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Thoughts. Show all posts
Mar 4, 2024
That Time I Paid Too Much for a Jacket, and then Complained About it for a Really Long Time
THE FACTS ARE THESE:
- I needed/wanted a black jacket.
- I am a cheapskate.
- I like shopping at thrift stores.
With those thrilling facts as a set up, I will now reveal to you that I one day found myself at the local thrift store, trying on jackets. There were several that a really liked. But something must have gone horribly wrong with their pricing sticker machine, because they were expensive. Like $40.00. $40.00! For a used jacket at a thrift store! Well, as I said, I'm a cheap skate, and I wasn't having it. So while they looked amazing on me, I hung them and their expensive pricetags back on the rack.
Except there was this one. Black with faux leather accents. That was really exactly what I was looking for. And it fit perfect. It made my skin look brighter and my IQ higher. But it was $30.00. Still a ridiculous price for a thrift store. But I wanted it enough that I thought I might try haggling a bit at the register. Not something I've ever done before, but why not give it a try?
So I took my overpriced jacket, and my son took the crappy little porcelain music box he wanted to buy up to the register to purchase our wares.
The music box had no price tag on it. I make my kids do their own haggling, so he said to the man at the register, "This doesn't have a price tag. So can I get it for $0.50?"
Register man called a manager over for approval, and the manager said, "This is a nice little music box. We'll sell it for $2.50."
My son had $1.75 to his name. He said, "Oh. I can't get it then."
They said. "Ok." and set it aside, confident that some other compulsive hoarder would come along and buy their dumb music box. I rolled my eyes and told them to add it on to my purchases, because I thought they were being lame.
But then it was my turn. I said, "Thirty dollars seems like a lot for this jacket. Is the price flexible at all?"
Register man said, "Of course!" and called over the same manager who doesn't know how to accurately price things. Manager looked the jacket over, checking the seems for secret veins of gold, and said, "I think we could do $20. No, $25.00. Yes. $25.00."
This is where I should have said, "How about $15.00?" since that was the far upper limit of what I was willing to pay for a used jacket with no recognizable label. But instead, I rolled my eyes again, and said, "Fine." and took my jacket lined with diamonds and my son and his music box and we went home where my son immediately ripped the musical mechanism out of the music box and threw the porcelain cat on the porcelain log away.
You probably think this story is over now, because how long can a person drone on about crap they found at the thrift store? but you are very wrong.
Because the next thing I did was get the jacket cleaned. I bought it at the thrift store. I don't have a clue what sore of hijinks that jacket got up to before I brought it home with me. I wanted to wash all that hijinks off. The label said Dry Clean Only, so I took it to the local dry cleaner, signed the little form promising that if the item was ruined I would not hold them responsible and went about my merry way.
A few days later I went back to pick it up, excited to start rocking my new black jacket. But something wicked had happened at the cleaning facility, and my faux leather sleeves were now stiff, flaking, plastic sleeves. I would never be able to wear it to the library or a funeral, for it was far too noisy.
Did I complain to the dry cleaning cashier. No, Brown Bear, I did not. I had signed the waiver. I could have yelled at her, but what good would it do? In the end, I knew I still would have walked out with a trash jacket they wouldn't take responsibility for. Besides, I am pathologically nonconfrontational, and so I said nothing and took my garbage jacket home.
It has been about a year. That's how long it took for me to come to terms with this, and not fly into a fuming rage every time I tried to write about it.
But here is the thing. The people at the Thrift Store, while they might suck at pricing things, and suck at haggling, they didn't deceive me in any way. They offered a used jacket, at a ticketed price. And I paid. I am the one that paid the price. Even before I sent it to the dry cleaners I was so mad about how much I paid for it that I felt a little sick. Who is the moron in that scenario? Me, that's who. The dummy who paid a price she didn't want to pay for something that no one was forcing her to buy.
And whose fault is it that my jacket was ruined at the dry cleaner? Well, the dry cleaner, obviously, but that is why they make you sign a waiver. Because stuff like that happens, and it probably happens all the time.
What is the moral of this story?
Do you know? I don't. Maybe it is not to be such a cheapskate. Except if I was a TRUE cheapskate I wouldn't have paid $20 to have it professionally cleaned.
Let's check back here in another year, and see if time has lent me any wisdom.
But, since I mentioned it, why does WISDOM sound like WAS DUMB?
Why did I buy that jacket? I don't know. I was dumb. I wisdom.
You have to admit its problematic.
Dec 24, 2021
Scary Things I found at the Antique Store - Christmas Edition
Welcome to the Christmas edition of "Scary Things I found at the Antique Store"!
Christmas is almost here, so let's dive right in!
My kids are always asking me to get an Elf on the Shelf. That is never gonna happen, but I did tell them I'd buy them this:
That's the kind of elf that crawls in through your ear and pours tar in your soul. Maybe with that sly little face watching them everywhere they go they will finally be inspired to stop fighting with each other.
The best way of spreading Christmas cheer is singing loud for all to hear. So why does this choir look so terrified?
What's that? You say it's the nutcrackers? Ugh, you guys are such babies.
Wait . . . what in the name of sunflowers is this?
Gah! Is it a CLOWN? I guess there is a reason that people are more of afraid of clowns than they are of terrorist. THAT is how you strike terror into people's hearts, right there.
Hey, look! It's a Jack-In-the Box!
Or . . . Package Girl?? Um, I don't . . .
How about some Santas?
How would you like to run into him and the weird mound of hair he is carrying in a dark alley upon a Christmas Eve?
Or perhaps this guy:
"Me and my Taffy Eyebrows see you when you're sleeping."
Oh, this one's kind of cute:
Though apparently those trees are growing right out of his belly.
No wonder he looks so uncomfortable.
And this one's just mad. "Those dang reindeer keep eating all my cookies!"
I guess we'll just wrap things up with a family friendly vintage Christmas Card.
Let's open it up and see:
Wow, real classy Santa. As usual.
On that note, we bid you adieu? I don't know why I put a question mark there, but I'm leaving it. Merry Christmas!!
May 20, 2016
Bracing Insight from the Diary of A Normal Girl
In spite of the problems with this: including the fact that I don't have a daughter and even if I manage to have a granddaughter someday, she will be too busy colonizing another galaxy or fighting off the sentient robots to read my journals, there is one more major problem: These journals are filled with completely useless, ridiculous nonsense. I've read it. It is mind numbing. It is boring and tedious. Someone should have slapped me upside the head. Who would ever want to read that drivel??
YOU, THAT'S WHO.
Because I spent years of my life filling those journals with my deepest, most heartfelt and secret emotions and I am not going to let it go to waste. Lets take a look at one of my earliest journal entries, shall we? (Some punctuation and spelling mistakes have been corrected to aid with comprehension.)
April 17, 1988
I'm 10 now. I turned 10 sixteen days ago. Through March we had roadshow rehersal on the 30 and 31 of March. Last Tuesday we bought a new Toyota Corrola from my grandparents. It's really nice. I found out how to make the back seat go forward and make it stay down. Faralee and G.B. know too, but know one else! Dance show was on April 8, 1988, and it was a good one. I left my ballet shoes there, but I have them back now. We got the Gremlin lisensd and we got it inspectid. It's noisy, the Corrolla is very quiet. We named all our cars.
The Subberbans name is "Godzilla".
The Nova's name is "Little Red Riding Hood".
The Corrola's name is "The Limo".
The Gremlins name is "Gismo".
There you have it. This is only my 3rd journal entry ever (the 2nd is one line long and reads: "I'm in thired grade now and I'm eight and 2/1.) and what I thought was worth sharing was not anything about my family or the town I lived in, but the names of our cars. You're welcome, posterity! May this information change your lives for the better! (FYI: Faralee and G.B.--more accurately known as Gaea--are two of my younger sisters.)
Besides that, this is actually a pretty newsy entry for me. Just wait until I hit middle school. You're going to want to gouge your eyes out. Stay tuned!
May 4, 2016
More Toys for Bots
Thanks for coming to the toy review on my blog. Today we are looking at a brand new toy that has just hit the market, the very cool X-Robot!
Also known as the X-5 Robot, it comes loaded with all kinds of built in features. Lets take a look at them. Come on!
Woah, woah woah. Slow down. Left AND right? Forward AND backward? What kind of out-of-this world, futuristic space toy is this? How much do they really think kids can handle? FOUR DIRECTIONS? I don't know. One Direction seems to be working pretty well for that funky boy band and all their loyal fans. Adding 3 more directions might just make some poor kid's head explode.
But wait, there's more. It ALSO dances to the sound of gun fire. Just like One Direction would in an Old West Saloon. I'm not sure anyone can handle this much Super-Dazzle. It is hard to Grow Up in Happiness when you have to dance away from bullets.
On the other hand surely there are still places where a kid can go to watch real Robots dance to the exciting sounds of real gun fire these days. A place they can go close to home to see the artillery boogie without being overstimulated by all the different directions that they would be exposed to with this toy. Buyer beware. It may not be a good fit for all kids.
Apr 15, 2016
St George & Zions
Back in January we went on a vacation. We were tired of being cold, so we planned to go to St. George, which was supposed to be like 3 degrees warmer than here. We would be there 3 days, and two nights.
I told the boys to pack a bag, listing the things they would need:
2 pairs of pajamas
3 or 4 pair of underwear
3 pair of socks
3 pair of pants
3 shirts
and 2 pullups for Colin
Pretty straightforward. I also warned them that it would be cold and they needed to be prepared. They happily ran off to pack and proudly brought their bags back out to me in no time. Before we left I went through their bags to make sure they had what they needed. You know. Just on the off chance that maybe they were missing something. Just in case.
The Contents of Harrison's Bag:
2 pair of socks, and several additional socks that had no mates.
2 pair of shorts
2 T-shirts, one of which belongs to Colin
1 pajama shirt, belonging to Colin
1 sweater
11 pair of underwear
The Contents of Colin's Bag:
6 pullups
1 pair of underwear
1 pair of socks
1 T-shirt
1 pair of pajamas
When I saw what they had packed I had to start writing it down but before long I was giggling so hard I could barely dictate it to my phone. And so instead of repacking for them like I had intended, I just packed ANOTHER bag, with all the things they were missing. I had considered just letting them live with the repercussions of their actions, but sheesh, Colin is only 5. And I know my children. Not having a shirt to wear if some stain type situation had happened to the only one they had with them would have led to a Full Metal Meltdown.
When we got to the Hotel the boys found some drawers in the TV Table next to the mini fridge and gleefully dumped their bags into a drawer each. All was well.
All was well, that is, until the next morning when it was time to get dressed. I was still lazing about in bed (I think it was all of 7:15 am at this point) listening to my little boys' conversation.
"I only have one underwear! I forgot to get more!" Colin said in dismay.
"I have a lot of underwear." declared Harrison proudly. "You can use some of mine."
"Thanks! But that is my shirt, Harrison! It is too small for you!"
More rummaging ensued and Harrison said "Oh no. I only have shorts to wear."
"I don't have any pants at all!" said Colin.
I was snickering into my pillow at this point. It was all happening just as I had foreseen. And when Harrison said, "Wow! We are really bad at packing!" I burst out into a loud, "HA HA HA!" and then they jumped on me. Vindication! We don't get a lot of emotional validation as mothers. Sometimes a little vindication is the best you are going to get.
And because I ALSO packed them the extra stuff they needed, we had us a real swell time.
See?
I don't know what this place is, but I totally want to build a village like this in my backyard.
I told the boys to pack a bag, listing the things they would need:
2 pairs of pajamas
3 or 4 pair of underwear
3 pair of socks
3 pair of pants
3 shirts
and 2 pullups for Colin
Pretty straightforward. I also warned them that it would be cold and they needed to be prepared. They happily ran off to pack and proudly brought their bags back out to me in no time. Before we left I went through their bags to make sure they had what they needed. You know. Just on the off chance that maybe they were missing something. Just in case.
The Contents of Harrison's Bag:
2 pair of socks, and several additional socks that had no mates.
2 pair of shorts
2 T-shirts, one of which belongs to Colin
1 pajama shirt, belonging to Colin
1 sweater
11 pair of underwear
The Contents of Colin's Bag:
6 pullups
1 pair of underwear
1 pair of socks
1 T-shirt
1 pair of pajamas
When I saw what they had packed I had to start writing it down but before long I was giggling so hard I could barely dictate it to my phone. And so instead of repacking for them like I had intended, I just packed ANOTHER bag, with all the things they were missing. I had considered just letting them live with the repercussions of their actions, but sheesh, Colin is only 5. And I know my children. Not having a shirt to wear if some stain type situation had happened to the only one they had with them would have led to a Full Metal Meltdown.
When we got to the Hotel the boys found some drawers in the TV Table next to the mini fridge and gleefully dumped their bags into a drawer each. All was well.
(someone isn't too happy about taking turns.)
All was well, that is, until the next morning when it was time to get dressed. I was still lazing about in bed (I think it was all of 7:15 am at this point) listening to my little boys' conversation.
"I only have one underwear! I forgot to get more!" Colin said in dismay.
"I have a lot of underwear." declared Harrison proudly. "You can use some of mine."
"Thanks! But that is my shirt, Harrison! It is too small for you!"
More rummaging ensued and Harrison said "Oh no. I only have shorts to wear."
"I don't have any pants at all!" said Colin.
I was snickering into my pillow at this point. It was all happening just as I had foreseen. And when Harrison said, "Wow! We are really bad at packing!" I burst out into a loud, "HA HA HA!" and then they jumped on me. Vindication! We don't get a lot of emotional validation as mothers. Sometimes a little vindication is the best you are going to get.
And because I ALSO packed them the extra stuff they needed, we had us a real swell time.
See?
Do you see that happy skip of Harrison's? That is a boy in his element. He would happily climb on rocks and explore caves ALL DAY LONG.
I don't know what this place is, but I totally want to build a village like this in my backyard.
Colin took that picture. And I think maybe upside down really works for us.
Thanks for stopping by!
Oct 8, 2015
Blurb Review
This review is not sponsored by blurb. It is not even sanctioned by them. They don't even know I'm writing it. If they did they might send me a message saying something like, "Please don't review our products on your dumb blog. Thank you."
But we had a REALLY long (apparently boring) conversation at my brother's house today about where we all print our photo books and I really wished I had one of my books there to show off. So this post is mostly for Arlene and Faralee, who wanted to know if I was happy with my photo books.
I always order from Blurb. Ever since I found them I have used them. One of the best things about them is that they are all about self publishing books, so they don't charge as much for every page over 20 like most photo-book sites do.
My books are usually about 100 pages, and cost around $50.00 with the hard cover. I always wait for a sale, (I've signed up for their email list) so for my most recent book, including $4.99 shipping, I paid $47.39. It was 104 pages long. I assume that is a good price, but now that I think about it, I haven't really researched photo book pricing in several years, so who knows?
Let's look at it in detail, shall we? (I decided I didn't want you Yahoos knowing my last name.)
Aw what a charming family. Really good at smiling, that is what those people are.
This book was ordered in a hardback with an image wrap, meaning they print your image directly onto the book cover itself. It is super nice. Really my only complaint is that they always have a hard time getting the label on the spine centered.
But these are the sort of difficult, first world problems that we will just have to learn to deal with.
They have several photo templates available, or you can just drag and drop the pictures where you want them, then re-size them as needed. You can choose from several assortment of text and photo layouts, or you can put text boxes anywhere you want, use the fonts already installed on your computer, and just personalize the heck out of it.
I know they have some borders and patterned paper you can use for backgrounds, but I have never used them, so I can't tell you how cute they may or may not be. After years of hard-core scrapbooking I am perfectly contented with the simple, minimalist look of my pictures on a white background, and just some fonts for decor.
Their customer service is great too. I think their policy is that you have to notify them within 15 days if there is a problem with your book. I ordered the above book last year in November, and then wrapped it and put it under the Christmas tree without even looking at it. And then when Christmas rolled around and I finally did open it I found that about 20% of the fonts had printed all wonky, and some of the words weren't even legible.
I figured I had missed the "Error Notification Window" and so I just didn't worry about it, but it has always bugged me and finally last month I decided to order another copy of the book. I sent them an email first telling them what happened, wondering if it was just an error in printing, or if the font itself was a problem. They responded saying they were having a problem with some fonts at the time, but they had since corrected the problem, and then gave me a credit on my account that could be used to order a replacement book. That was nice.
So that is all I can think of. What else needs to be included for a thorough review? Beats me. This is all you are getting. Good night.
But we had a REALLY long (apparently boring) conversation at my brother's house today about where we all print our photo books and I really wished I had one of my books there to show off. So this post is mostly for Arlene and Faralee, who wanted to know if I was happy with my photo books.
I always order from Blurb. Ever since I found them I have used them. One of the best things about them is that they are all about self publishing books, so they don't charge as much for every page over 20 like most photo-book sites do.
My books are usually about 100 pages, and cost around $50.00 with the hard cover. I always wait for a sale, (I've signed up for their email list) so for my most recent book, including $4.99 shipping, I paid $47.39. It was 104 pages long. I assume that is a good price, but now that I think about it, I haven't really researched photo book pricing in several years, so who knows?
Let's look at it in detail, shall we? (I decided I didn't want you Yahoos knowing my last name.)
This book was ordered in a hardback with an image wrap, meaning they print your image directly onto the book cover itself. It is super nice. Really my only complaint is that they always have a hard time getting the label on the spine centered.
But these are the sort of difficult, first world problems that we will just have to learn to deal with.
They have several photo templates available, or you can just drag and drop the pictures where you want them, then re-size them as needed. You can choose from several assortment of text and photo layouts, or you can put text boxes anywhere you want, use the fonts already installed on your computer, and just personalize the heck out of it.
I know they have some borders and patterned paper you can use for backgrounds, but I have never used them, so I can't tell you how cute they may or may not be. After years of hard-core scrapbooking I am perfectly contented with the simple, minimalist look of my pictures on a white background, and just some fonts for decor.
Their customer service is great too. I think their policy is that you have to notify them within 15 days if there is a problem with your book. I ordered the above book last year in November, and then wrapped it and put it under the Christmas tree without even looking at it. And then when Christmas rolled around and I finally did open it I found that about 20% of the fonts had printed all wonky, and some of the words weren't even legible.
I figured I had missed the "Error Notification Window" and so I just didn't worry about it, but it has always bugged me and finally last month I decided to order another copy of the book. I sent them an email first telling them what happened, wondering if it was just an error in printing, or if the font itself was a problem. They responded saying they were having a problem with some fonts at the time, but they had since corrected the problem, and then gave me a credit on my account that could be used to order a replacement book. That was nice.
So that is all I can think of. What else needs to be included for a thorough review? Beats me. This is all you are getting. Good night.
Aug 7, 2015
Harrison Is Always Listening
In the car today Harrison told me the parable of the 10 virgins.
My favorite part of his story was when the foolish "grooms" who ran out of oil asked the wise ones to share their oil with them, and the wise ones said,
He said, "I want to teach you a lesson about being prepared. This is a TRUE story." And then proceeded to tell me about a wife's husband and 10 grooms, 5 who had extra oil for their lamps and 5 who didn't. Besides a few details, he got most of it right. If you are unfamiliar with the parable of the 10 virgins, here it is in video form:
"I love you and you're great, but I don't have enough to share with you."
He is so gifted at ignoring people, that most of the time I just assume he isn't listening, so when he drops something like this on me, it always blows me away.
May 31, 2015
13 Reasons I Love My Husband
Today is my wedding anniversary. 13 years. 13 long, long years. And even after all this time, I love my husband. And I figured it was time I told my loyal readers why:
1. He doesn't like sports.
This was one of the things I was looking for in a husband, and I never stop being happy that I found it.
2. He can fix anything.
Every time he fixes something for me I wonder how people who don't have him around survive?
3. He is always prepared.
I am somewhat less so. And honestly it makes me a little lazy, because I know with him around, I don't have to be. I never carry a knife or a flashlight because I know he always has one.
4. He doesn't care that I don't know how to count.
LIST COMPLETE!
4. He doesn't care that I don't know how to count.
LIST COMPLETE!
Feb 9, 2014
No news is good news, so Here is the news
I read in the Ensign a couple of months ago something that I can't quote, but the gist of which was this: You get a lot farther with your own problems if your spend time taking care of someone else's.
It stuck with me, because my frame of mind is usually, "I have my own life to deal with, I don't have time to help anyone else." Which is a pretty sad outlook, really. It is hard to STOP feeling that way though. But when someone needed some help packing up boxes today, and someone else offered to watch my kids for an hour, I knew this was my chance. So I went and helped. Really no big deal stuff. wrapping glass in newspaper and putting it in boxes. It was an enjoyable morning, getting to know a couple of ladies a little better.
Then I picked up my kids and came home to get Harrison ready for school. And guess what? I got an email from the architect with the plans attached including the final changes we have been waiting for.
Are the 2 things related? Absolutely they are. Does that mean that every time I go out and lend a hand to my neighbor I will come home to find my problems fixed? Of course not! But it turns out that sitting at home and cursing people and stress eating and chewing on pens wasn't doing me any good.
And since I've spent the day trying to figure out how to help this women get the rest of her stuff moved quickly, I've had less energy to spend stressing out about my house and the things I have no control over. Go Figure.
Now, as far as the house plans go, we still have to wait for the architect to finish them up. Do all the elevations and stuff that we are paying him crap-loads of money for. I don't know how long this will take. Probably a month, if history has taught me anything. Will I be able to let it go and just go out and serve everyone with nary a thought for myself. Ha, unlikely. But maybe I'll be just a little more willing to help next time someone asks, and that ain't bad.
Jan 16, 2014
It's a Brand New Day
Out of the blue, and for no apparent reason that I can see, I suddenly feel like blogging again. I don't know why. And I don't know if it will last. It is totally possible that I will write every day for week, get bored, and quit writing again for another year. We'll see.
But blogging is different now, don't you think? Google Reader is dead and with it went the links to all my blogs and I just haven't found the energy to find them again. I don't read blogs anymore. Except my mom's. Cuz she's special. (And the reader I use to do it it is this one: NextReadr. It is great. You should check it out of you don't yet have a reader you like.) Does anyone read blogs anymore? I'm gonna say no. No one is reading. Which is perfect for me. Having an audience makes me nervous.
Blogging is different and I am different and it felt like time for a fresh start, so now the blog is different too. Earth Shattering, I know, but you'll get used to it.
So, why am I here? Well I'll tell you. And I haven't written in 9 months so there are a lot of words stored up in my fingers dying to get out. This might be a long one. You better hold on to your boots.
Every time I want to write about my house or post pictures about it and complain about the state of my poor kitchen, I am overwhelmed with a sense of crushing guilt. Some people have real problems. I mean, I have real problems too, don't get me wrong, but my kitchen isn't actually one of them. It is just stupid. And a stupid kitchen never hurt nobody.
So please internet, just keep in mind while you are reading this that I am grateful to have a kitchen. I'm grateful to have a house. I"m grateful for my blessings and know that they are many. I'm also glad that soon I will have a DIFFERENT kitchen, and hope that it is OK that I am using my money to pay for a new kitchen and not to feed people in 3rd world countries.
Or does the fact that I feel guilty mean that it is NOT ok?
Whatever. It is too late for guilt. Events have been set into motion that cannot be undone.
Ha. I wish that were true. I feel like every single step of the way I am Conan The Barbarian pushing against that giant wheel with all my might and nothing will ever happen if I don't keep pushing.
Let me lay down the series of events for you:
We were married May of 2002, and moved into a tiny little apartment. We loved it. Though it was a bit crowdy:
A block or so away from our apartment was a cute little house for sale. We fell in love with it. We took several tours of it and started making plans for how we were going to fix it up. Cuz it needed lots of work. New Roof, new water main, new everything. They were asking $80,000 for it. We offered $60,000. They declined. And we decided the amount of work necessary wasn't worth paying more than that for the house. So we gave it up. But by then we had the bug. We wanted to buy a house. And we wanted one that we could fix up. What the heck would we do with a house that didn't need any work done on it? Just move into it and live in it like a couple of idiots? No Way!
So then we found this one. Richard wanted brick and we wanted a yard and this house had both:
But blogging is different now, don't you think? Google Reader is dead and with it went the links to all my blogs and I just haven't found the energy to find them again. I don't read blogs anymore. Except my mom's. Cuz she's special. (And the reader I use to do it it is this one: NextReadr. It is great. You should check it out of you don't yet have a reader you like.) Does anyone read blogs anymore? I'm gonna say no. No one is reading. Which is perfect for me. Having an audience makes me nervous.
Blogging is different and I am different and it felt like time for a fresh start, so now the blog is different too. Earth Shattering, I know, but you'll get used to it.
So, why am I here? Well I'll tell you. And I haven't written in 9 months so there are a lot of words stored up in my fingers dying to get out. This might be a long one. You better hold on to your boots.
Every time I want to write about my house or post pictures about it and complain about the state of my poor kitchen, I am overwhelmed with a sense of crushing guilt. Some people have real problems. I mean, I have real problems too, don't get me wrong, but my kitchen isn't actually one of them. It is just stupid. And a stupid kitchen never hurt nobody.
So please internet, just keep in mind while you are reading this that I am grateful to have a kitchen. I'm grateful to have a house. I"m grateful for my blessings and know that they are many. I'm also glad that soon I will have a DIFFERENT kitchen, and hope that it is OK that I am using my money to pay for a new kitchen and not to feed people in 3rd world countries.
Or does the fact that I feel guilty mean that it is NOT ok?
Whatever. It is too late for guilt. Events have been set into motion that cannot be undone.
Ha. I wish that were true. I feel like every single step of the way I am Conan The Barbarian pushing against that giant wheel with all my might and nothing will ever happen if I don't keep pushing.
Let me lay down the series of events for you:
We were married May of 2002, and moved into a tiny little apartment. We loved it. Though it was a bit crowdy:
So then we found this one. Richard wanted brick and we wanted a yard and this house had both:
And it certainly needed some work.
As you might think it WAS a little terrifying inside, but our eyes were so full of stars and paint chips that all we could see was potential and we bought it anyway. Because we are completely delusional.
We moved in and spent our first night in the house on Christmas Eve 2003. There were no ghostly visitations or anything. Turns out it is just a regular old crappy house, not the haunted kind.
So then we started fixing it up. Worked on it every night when we got home from work. Worked on it all day every Saturday. Went to Friend's, Family's and Neighbor's houses to shower and use the bathroom.
Eventually we got the bathroom and kitchen working and then we slowed down a little. Started working on it only on Saturdays. And then we had kids and things slowed WAY down. And here we are 10 years later and the house is not done. We NEVER thought it would take this long. If we had any idea it would take this long I don't think we ever would have bought it. But we're here now. 2 kids and 70 pounds later.
About this time last year I started to despair. We were making pretty solid plans to tear off and rebuild our kitchen. And I started to think it was impossible. The amount of work that needed to be done and the amount of time we had available to do it were at complete odds with each other. How were were ever going to do this alone? Especially when I really started working to finish the upstairs bathroom and it took SEVEN MONTHS, a whole brand new kitchen just seemed like a crazy dream. I tried to keep it to myself though, cuz what choice did we have?
But on June 17, 2013 while we were eating breakfast, Richard said in the middle of the night he had an epiphany. We were never going to be able to finish this house by ourselves. And he really wanted the house to be done by our 10 year anniversary. So we decided to hire someone else to finish it. Hallelujah!
In July 2013 we found a contractor. Our Neice's Father-in-Law. We were happy, but first we had to have the plans drawn up so he could give us a quote to see if it was an amount the bank was willing to give us. It took about 5 weeks, but the architect finally gave us the finished plans and we discussed them with the contractor and it was going to cost WAY MORE THAN WE COULD AFFORD. We then spent the next several months reworking the plans, and waiting to hear from the architect and the contractor and then reworking them again then waiting again until we finally have a a remodeling plan we can afford. But it means we don't get a garage and Richard will have to do all the electricity and plumbing, and we have to finish all of the existing house ourselves. Yea.
The next few months passed with more waiting and more calling and more emailing copies of plans and more waiting and here we are, January 16th. Our 10 year anniversary of moving into the house has come and gone. But we are just waiting for the architect to finish the final copy of the plans, and I think our Contractor is meeting with the architect right now to finish them up so maybe we will be able to move onto the next step sometime soon. I never would have guessed this part, the BEFORE part, would take 7 months. If you decide to build a house or an addition, it is something to keep in mind. Try to estimate how long you think it will take, and then times that by 57.
You'd think all this waiting would make me a patient person but no luck on that so far. Which I think means there is no hope for me.
This is probably enough for one day. I've got more words, but maybe I will save them for tomorrow so as not to overwhelm your tender minds. But I'll be back. And least one more time. Tune it tomorrow to find out of the contractor called us. Who knows? Stranger things have happened!
And of the song from Dr. Horrible's is not still running through your head, it probably should be. Here You Go.
We moved in and spent our first night in the house on Christmas Eve 2003. There were no ghostly visitations or anything. Turns out it is just a regular old crappy house, not the haunted kind.
So then we started fixing it up. Worked on it every night when we got home from work. Worked on it all day every Saturday. Went to Friend's, Family's and Neighbor's houses to shower and use the bathroom.
Eventually we got the bathroom and kitchen working and then we slowed down a little. Started working on it only on Saturdays. And then we had kids and things slowed WAY down. And here we are 10 years later and the house is not done. We NEVER thought it would take this long. If we had any idea it would take this long I don't think we ever would have bought it. But we're here now. 2 kids and 70 pounds later.
About this time last year I started to despair. We were making pretty solid plans to tear off and rebuild our kitchen. And I started to think it was impossible. The amount of work that needed to be done and the amount of time we had available to do it were at complete odds with each other. How were were ever going to do this alone? Especially when I really started working to finish the upstairs bathroom and it took SEVEN MONTHS, a whole brand new kitchen just seemed like a crazy dream. I tried to keep it to myself though, cuz what choice did we have?
But on June 17, 2013 while we were eating breakfast, Richard said in the middle of the night he had an epiphany. We were never going to be able to finish this house by ourselves. And he really wanted the house to be done by our 10 year anniversary. So we decided to hire someone else to finish it. Hallelujah!
In July 2013 we found a contractor. Our Neice's Father-in-Law. We were happy, but first we had to have the plans drawn up so he could give us a quote to see if it was an amount the bank was willing to give us. It took about 5 weeks, but the architect finally gave us the finished plans and we discussed them with the contractor and it was going to cost WAY MORE THAN WE COULD AFFORD. We then spent the next several months reworking the plans, and waiting to hear from the architect and the contractor and then reworking them again then waiting again until we finally have a a remodeling plan we can afford. But it means we don't get a garage and Richard will have to do all the electricity and plumbing, and we have to finish all of the existing house ourselves. Yea.
The next few months passed with more waiting and more calling and more emailing copies of plans and more waiting and here we are, January 16th. Our 10 year anniversary of moving into the house has come and gone. But we are just waiting for the architect to finish the final copy of the plans, and I think our Contractor is meeting with the architect right now to finish them up so maybe we will be able to move onto the next step sometime soon. I never would have guessed this part, the BEFORE part, would take 7 months. If you decide to build a house or an addition, it is something to keep in mind. Try to estimate how long you think it will take, and then times that by 57.
You'd think all this waiting would make me a patient person but no luck on that so far. Which I think means there is no hope for me.
This is probably enough for one day. I've got more words, but maybe I will save them for tomorrow so as not to overwhelm your tender minds. But I'll be back. And least one more time. Tune it tomorrow to find out of the contractor called us. Who knows? Stranger things have happened!
And of the song from Dr. Horrible's is not still running through your head, it probably should be. Here You Go.
May 11, 2013
The Diary of an Infertile Woman
This is a somewhat fictional account based on my experiences. Lots of the details, dates and names have been changed, because I felt like changing them.
Beware: The contents may not be appropriate for all audiences. If you don't feel comfortable with the words Sex, Sperm, or Mucus, you may not want to read it aloud to your 6 year old. Also, it is LONG. Sorry about that.
January 1: So this is it. We have been having unprotected sex for a year today and now we are a officially an infertile couple. We have a doctor’s appointment tomorrow. With a specialist. I don’t want to go. I don’t want to see some stupid doctor. I don’t want to deal with this. I’m nervous. Can’t I just get pregnant so I don’t have to deal with this? Ugh. I hate facing my problems. But Richard is sick of me moping around and figures we ought to see if something can be done. Humph. Darn him and his decisive actions.
January 2: Well, we had the appointment with a fertility specialist. We told a man we don't know all our most intimate secrets: Yes, we have been having unprotected sex for over a year. Yes, I get my periods regularly. Yes, we are pretty sure we are doing it right. Richard was cracking jokes like he discusses his sperm with strangers every day. The doctor reviewed our test results with us, pointing out the problems and discussing options and treatment in a very soft, pleasant voice, but what he was really saying suddenly hit me all at once. This isn't a fluke or a quick fix or a simple problem of intimacy. We can’t get pregnant. We can't get pregnant. Not without some really serious intervention and the chances are pretty crappy even then. The air in the room started to feel thick. My ears got heavy and I couldn't swallow. I had to dig my fingernails into my palm to keep myself from falling right through my chair into the hole that opened up in my heart.
How can something be wrong? I’m healthy. I've always been healthy. And I want kids. People get pregnant all the time that don’t want kids. Shouldn't those who want them get them? All I want to do is be a mother. How can this be happening?? I feel like I have been betrayed by my body. I've had to deal with the pain, inconvenience and anxiety of a period for over ten years and it was all for nothing? I can’t seem to think anymore. My hands are shaking so bad I can barely type. What are we going to do? What am I going to do?
January 27: Ok. So we are infertile. Whatever. That doesn't mean we're sterile. Who does that doctor think he is anyway? I went to the library and checked out several hundred books on fertility and read them all. Now I’m not sure if the source of our problem is a vitamin C deficiency, hormones in our chicken, not enough breaths of fresh country air, or my choice in laundry detergent. I guess I'll have to read some more. Richard tried to convince me that all the girls he knew in high school who spent all their free time reading were not the ones who ended up pregnant.
February 12: We started a cleanse that I am really hoping will boost our reproductive systems: Beet Root and Molasses. I, for one, am really excited about this! But I think Richard might want to kill me. It is clearly a testament to how nice he is that he is both eating the beet root and not complaining about it. We have also started a vitamin regimen, and a very strict exercise schedule. We are going to have the most well functioning bodies the world has ever seen! I am not ready to give up yet!
February 28: Got my period. I don’t know how long it is supposed to take before my body starts functioning like the perfect machine that it is supposed to be, but I am starting to suspect the cleanse was a dud. Stupid beet root. I wonder if Richard would be above going to a witch doctor?
March 3: Am I being greedy? My life is good. We have so much. I love my husband. Shouldn't he be enough for me? Shouldn't our love be so complete and all consuming that I never need anything more? I really, really love him. But it’s like there is this whole separate compartment of my heart set aside for loving a child. Because it is not getting used it is dying from the inside and spreading to the rest of my heart like a disease. And it seems wrong for me to feel this way. Which makes me depressed. I am such a mess.
August 29: Our case worker has told us that we shouldn't just wait to be chosen by a birth mom, we should actively try to find one of our own. It's a good idea, but we're not really sure how to do that apart from approaching pregnant women on the street. And I don't think they would appreciate that much. Richard suggested going to a local bar and buying drinks for young girls, but I told him that wasn't even slightly funny and smacked him on the arm.
August 30: Saw not one but TWO teenage girls buying pregnancy tests at the store today. I spent several minutes nonchalantly following them around trying to figure out how to tell them that I wanted it if they didn't.
September 26: Still waiting. Our case worker likes to remind us that this can sometimes take up to 3 years, so I am trying to be patient. And I am failing fantastically. In my head I know that we have not been in the adoption pool long, and that waiting is part of the package, and that it won’t be forever. My heart, on the other hand, thinks that it already has been forever. And it is not interested in listening to reason.
October 18: Went out to dinner with my college roommates Every month I listen to them talk about being pregnant and giving birth. Which is fine. Just because I have a problem shouldn't mean they have to watch everything they say. Tonight, however, someone said, “There is nothing worse than being pregnant.” I wanted to punch her in the face. I still want to punch her in the face, but I really try not to do that to my friends anymore.
Beware: The contents may not be appropriate for all audiences. If you don't feel comfortable with the words Sex, Sperm, or Mucus, you may not want to read it aloud to your 6 year old. Also, it is LONG. Sorry about that.
January 1: So this is it. We have been having unprotected sex for a year today and now we are a officially an infertile couple. We have a doctor’s appointment tomorrow. With a specialist. I don’t want to go. I don’t want to see some stupid doctor. I don’t want to deal with this. I’m nervous. Can’t I just get pregnant so I don’t have to deal with this? Ugh. I hate facing my problems. But Richard is sick of me moping around and figures we ought to see if something can be done. Humph. Darn him and his decisive actions.
January 2: Well, we had the appointment with a fertility specialist. We told a man we don't know all our most intimate secrets: Yes, we have been having unprotected sex for over a year. Yes, I get my periods regularly. Yes, we are pretty sure we are doing it right. Richard was cracking jokes like he discusses his sperm with strangers every day. The doctor reviewed our test results with us, pointing out the problems and discussing options and treatment in a very soft, pleasant voice, but what he was really saying suddenly hit me all at once. This isn't a fluke or a quick fix or a simple problem of intimacy. We can’t get pregnant. We can't get pregnant. Not without some really serious intervention and the chances are pretty crappy even then. The air in the room started to feel thick. My ears got heavy and I couldn't swallow. I had to dig my fingernails into my palm to keep myself from falling right through my chair into the hole that opened up in my heart.
How can something be wrong? I’m healthy. I've always been healthy. And I want kids. People get pregnant all the time that don’t want kids. Shouldn't those who want them get them? All I want to do is be a mother. How can this be happening?? I feel like I have been betrayed by my body. I've had to deal with the pain, inconvenience and anxiety of a period for over ten years and it was all for nothing? I can’t seem to think anymore. My hands are shaking so bad I can barely type. What are we going to do? What am I going to do?
January 10: Cried for the last week straight. Last night Richard made me dinner, cleaned the house, did all the laundry and bought me flowers. He's so nice, especially since I know this isn't easy for him either. I really should try a little harder, for his sake. But I don’t know how to deal with this. Unless crying counts as dealing. If it does, I'm dealing with it like a pro.
January 27: Ok. So we are infertile. Whatever. That doesn't mean we're sterile. Who does that doctor think he is anyway? I went to the library and checked out several hundred books on fertility and read them all. Now I’m not sure if the source of our problem is a vitamin C deficiency, hormones in our chicken, not enough breaths of fresh country air, or my choice in laundry detergent. I guess I'll have to read some more. Richard tried to convince me that all the girls he knew in high school who spent all their free time reading were not the ones who ended up pregnant.
February 12: We started a cleanse that I am really hoping will boost our reproductive systems: Beet Root and Molasses. I, for one, am really excited about this! But I think Richard might want to kill me. It is clearly a testament to how nice he is that he is both eating the beet root and not complaining about it. We have also started a vitamin regimen, and a very strict exercise schedule. We are going to have the most well functioning bodies the world has ever seen! I am not ready to give up yet!
February 28: Got my period. I don’t know how long it is supposed to take before my body starts functioning like the perfect machine that it is supposed to be, but I am starting to suspect the cleanse was a dud. Stupid beet root. I wonder if Richard would be above going to a witch doctor?
March 3: Am I being greedy? My life is good. We have so much. I love my husband. Shouldn't he be enough for me? Shouldn't our love be so complete and all consuming that I never need anything more? I really, really love him. But it’s like there is this whole separate compartment of my heart set aside for loving a child. Because it is not getting used it is dying from the inside and spreading to the rest of my heart like a disease. And it seems wrong for me to feel this way. Which makes me depressed. I am such a mess.
March 16: I figured since the library and its wisdom failed me as far as fertility cures go, it was time to turn to the wisdom of the internet. And boy did I find some good advice:
- Rub the belly of a pregnant woman. (That seems like a service they should really be charging for.)
- Drink the same water as someone who is pregnant. (Tomorrow I will be sneaking into my local Lamaze class and going to town on their water bottles.)
- Pluck the feathers of a hen during the new moon, and then spread the feathers in a circle. Have intercourse on the full moon feathers and you will conceive. (Also, you will get feathers up your bum.)
- Capture a little dirt from where your man of choice man has walked (without his knowledge) and bake it into a cake that you both eat. This will ensure that you carry his child. (And will ensure that you both eat dirt, which adds excitement to an otherwise boring meal.)
- Stand in the rain in view of a rainbow for a full 10 minutes. Sleep with the wet clothes under your pillow for two weeks and then wear them again during intercourse. (And what man isn't into moldy, smelly, wrinkly clothes?)
I read these to Richard over dinner and he almost choked in his broccoli he was laughing so hard. He thanked me for cheering him up and I told him we'd just SEE who was laughing after we tried the rainbow trick. That one is gold, I know it is.
April 4: I just had another conversation with the old lady next door about our disturbing lack of offspring. She tried to convince me again that children are a joy, worth all the sleepless nights and messes. I wanted to say something obnoxious, but instead I just nodded a lot and told her in solemn tones that she is probably right. Despite what you think, Nosy-People-of-the-World, I do not have to tell you my business if I don't want to!
April 25: I cannot seem to make myself schedule another appointment with the fertility specialist. It just seems so bleak. And I cannot continue hoping every month. Every time I get my period I die a little. Every time I hear a baby cry I nearly start lactating. I’m tired of waiting with no end in sight. Today we started to talk a little about adoption. Just as a possibility. I've been thinking about it for a while but haven’t brought it up because I thought Richard would hate the idea. But he doesn't. He was even a little enthusiastic about it, much to my surprise.
April 29: My Period is a day late. I am never late! Maybe just considering adoption was all we needed to do!!
April 30: Got my period. When will I learn to quit hoping?
May 2: I heard a lady say 3 times today that she gets pregnant every time her husband looks at her. Apparently he is so fertile it is actually coming out of his eyeballs. Maybe they could channel that fertility like a laser beam into a bottle and sell it on the side of the road. I'd buy some.
May 4: Called the adoption agency and set an appointment to meet with a case worker. No commitment. Just to see what it is all about.
May 8: We went in for our meeting at the adoption agency today, and while we were there I felt a peace I haven’t felt in almost a year. By the time we walked out the door we had a packet of paperwork in our hands. I guess we are going to fill it out and see what happens.
May 9: Started filling out the paperwork. Holy crap there is a lot of paperwork. I feel like we should have been warned.
June 23: Have I mentioned that there is a lot of paperwork? Surely this rivals the physical pain of childbirth. They want to know everything: How I feel about myself, how I feel about my husband, how much money we make, how much money we spend, how I feel about how much money we spend; our hopes, our fears, and what wonderful parents we think we will be. We have to get fingerprinted and have background checks and document nearly every moment of our lives. Will it ever end?
We are supposed to write a letter to our prospective birth parents, including a section all about the wonderful traits of our spouse. I finished my part of the letter, writing all about Richard in just a couple of days, but I could not get Richard to sit down and do his. So I finally decided to write it for him. If he wasn't going to toot my horn, then what choice did I have but to do it myself? "Elesa is the most amazing person I have ever met” I wrote,”and without her in my life, I wouldn't have the strength to go on living. She is beautiful, and kind and loving. She is smart and funny and the best dancer ever. Her grace and intelligence daily bring me to tears. She is just so totally awesome!!" I proudly read the letter about myself to Richard. Within an hour he sat down and rewrote it. Reverse Psycologied!
June 30: We have started telling people that we are planning to adopt. I’m not even sure when we made the decision, but it just all feels right. And everyone has been so nice and supportive. We have gotten a lot of unsolicited advice on how to conceive, as well as awkward questions about our intimacy that Richard find hilarious. I had a more graphic conversation about “tips and tricks” with my aunt than I ever wanted to have with anyone. I can’t figure out why sex is mostly a taboo subject until you’re trying to get pregnant, and then it's everybody's business.
July 9: The past few weeks have been crazy busy. We've gone to a bunch more interviews where we've tried our best to seem both charming and responsible. We've put together picture collages of all the educational and fun things we do together. Then they came to our house. They claim they are mostly checking for safety, not cleanliness, but it seems like cleanliness can only help us at this point. We cleaned deeper and more thoroughly than we have ever cleaned anything before. Richard kept telling me that our case worker wouldn't get down on all fours and check behind the toilet, but what if he did? So we just kept cleaning and I guess it paid off because our case worker was satisfied. I was hugely relieved. And exhausted. And then Richard made me cookies and we turned off our brains and watched TV the rest of the night.
July 27: We just got The Letter! We are approved for adoption!!! The last three months have been exhausting but it is over. They have given us their stamp of approval and all we have to do now is wait for someone to choose us as the future parents of their unborn child. What could be easier?
August 28: I have never known impatience before now. Has it only been one month?
August 29: Our case worker has told us that we shouldn't just wait to be chosen by a birth mom, we should actively try to find one of our own. It's a good idea, but we're not really sure how to do that apart from approaching pregnant women on the street. And I don't think they would appreciate that much. Richard suggested going to a local bar and buying drinks for young girls, but I told him that wasn't even slightly funny and smacked him on the arm.
August 30: Saw not one but TWO teenage girls buying pregnancy tests at the store today. I spent several minutes nonchalantly following them around trying to figure out how to tell them that I wanted it if they didn't.
September 26: Still waiting. Our case worker likes to remind us that this can sometimes take up to 3 years, so I am trying to be patient. And I am failing fantastically. In my head I know that we have not been in the adoption pool long, and that waiting is part of the package, and that it won’t be forever. My heart, on the other hand, thinks that it already has been forever. And it is not interested in listening to reason.
October 18: Went out to dinner with my college roommates Every month I listen to them talk about being pregnant and giving birth. Which is fine. Just because I have a problem shouldn't mean they have to watch everything they say. Tonight, however, someone said, “There is nothing worse than being pregnant.” I wanted to punch her in the face. I still want to punch her in the face, but I really try not to do that to my friends anymore.
October 31: This afternoon we had a routine visit with our case worker. We made small talk for a bit. Then he smiled and handed us an envelope. Inside was a card. A birth announcement with a sweet, handwritten note inside: “My name is Amy and I have chosen you to be the adoptive parents for my baby. He is due December 10th.”
I bawled. Richard and I hugged each other and cried and I thought I might not ever be able to stop. I can't believe this is really happening! Oh, great. Now I am crying again.
November 5: Pregnant ladies claim they have the corner on brain-deadedness, but I believe that it has more to do with expecting a child than it does with actually being pregnant. Ever since we read the card from Amy my mind has shut down. I can’t complete a sentence, I've burned several dinners, and started running over people with my shopping cart. There is always just this other thing to think about that is so much better than anything else that is going on.
November 6: Tomorrow we are going to meet Amy. How do we prepared ourselves for something like this? How do we dress for something like this? What kind of clothes say “Fun, happy, successful couple who will be loving parents, competent teachers and perfect examples”? I think I am expecting too much from my wardrobe. What if she changes her mind??
November 7: Today we met Amy. And I don’t think either of us have ever been that nervous before. About 5 minutes into the meeting, though, the nerves were gone. Amy said she knows we are the right couple, and she is sure this is what she wants to do. She is nothing that we expected and everything we need. There is a tangible bond between her and us. It still doesn't feel real to me. She is due in a month. My brain doesn't know how to process this.
November 17: Richard and I wandered happily around Babies-R-Us for a good 2 hours today. Then we went to the mall and I tried on some maternity clothes, just for kicks. Tomorrow I am going to try nesting for a while.
November 26: This is my last childless Thanksgiving. I don’t think I will miss it at all. But I am glad for all the time alone with Richard. And it is so fun to watch him get excited for this. He has built a tiny little work bench in the nursery, because it is never too early to learn to use power tools!
December 17: Yes. It is the 17th. Amy was due on the 10th. No baby yet. But she emails every day to keep us posted. The doctor says he doesn't think it will be before the 22nd, so we might as well keep busy till then. Thank goodness for Christmas to keep us occupied. Well, mostly occupied. Sort of. Sometimes. I cannot wrap my head around the idea that next week there will be a baby in our house. That we will be parents. And the suspense is killing me!
December 21: He's here! He's here! Harrison was born this morning at 4:00 am. He weighs 7 lbs, 11 oz, is 19" long and healthy as can be. We're on our way to meet him right now. We're going to meet our baby!
December 21: We just got home from the hospital. Amy seemed so excited for me to hold the baby. Our baby. Our Harrison. We all exclaimed and cooed over Harrison's every wrinkle. Seeing that tiny baby in Richard's big arms was almost more than my swollen heart could bear and I nearly broke down again. We never wanted to set him down. But after a couple of hours we kissed him and her and said our goodbyes so that Amy could have as much time as possible with him without us in the way.
December 23: Placement. It was over so much quicker than I expected it to be. We exchanged gifts and then Amy held Harrison one last time. She told him she loved him and then started sobbing. Part of me wanted to yell at her just to keep him, that we couldn't put her through this. Then she braced herself, looked at me, and said through her tears, "Here you go, Mom", and placed him in my arms. Then she hugged me hard, told Richard and I she loved us while we both cried and said we loved her too, and then she was gone and we were left alone. With Harrison. I still can’t believe it. My joy is overwhelming, but my heart breaks for Amy. I hate that my happiness came at the cost of so much pain for her. I know we didn't do this to her, and I know if it weren't for us she would have just picked someone else. But I feel like we took her baby away and it is killing me. How can I be so sad and so happy at the same time?
December 25: We are parents. I am a mother. The waiting is over and the real adventure is ahead of us. We waited so long, and hurt so much and suddenly he is here and our lives are different in every way. That hole in my heart is gone. The hole in our lives is gone, filled in an instant by a baby because of a girl with the guts to give him to more.
I feel like I've been holding my breath. Watching everyone around us breathe and wonder why that basic bodily function was denied me. I wanted air so desperately that every inch of my body was screaming for it and I couldn't understand why I didn't just pass out.
And now, suddenly, we’re parents. We brought him home and put him to bed and while I fed him in the middle of the night it hit me that it is my turn. That this is real. I took a deep breath and oxygen seeped into every inch of me and I finally know what peace feels like. And I know what joy looks like because I am holding it in my arms and staring into its sweet face.
And this is only the beginning.
Feb 13, 2013
Wednesday
Stupid Responsibilities. Stupid Valentine's day. I just want to get that silly room drywalled, but Richard needs to put in the faucet stuff for the bathtub and a 2nd sink first. And there is just no time. If I don't do something, we won't even be able to paint on Saturday.
I really try not to fret about stuff, but this kind of stresses me out. Every minute I feel like I should be doing something else. Like right now for instance. Now that we are so close to being done with the bathroom it feels farther away than ever and if we don't hurry and finish it it is going to set back the rest of our plans for the entire year!!! And Ruin The Rest Of Our Lives!!!!!
But I've got valentines to put together, and dinner to make and a treasure hunt to come up with, because it wouldn't be valentine's day without it.
Still, there is good news. We turned the water back on upstairs which means I can use the washing machine again. Hooray. Laundry. Now I get to spend a few hours folding clothes tonight. Colin is happy though, cuz his Superman shirt is clean. And I guess it is nice to have clean underwear again. We sort of put off turning the water back on, because it means one of us (me, because I am trying to be nice for once) has to crawl through a small hole down under the house, into a den of daddy long legs to do it. I've never really been very afraid of spiders, especially not daddy long legs, but it turns out if there are enough of them they can be scary after all.
But I'm glad I have a house to crawl under. I'm glad I have running water to turn on and off whenever I can work up the nerve. I'm glad I have clothes to wash and an indoor electrical washing machine to wash them in.
And on that note, I will go make dinner. Because while I might be able to eat cookies for every single meal, my kids need protein and nutrients and what not. Soilent Green it is! Bye.
I really try not to fret about stuff, but this kind of stresses me out. Every minute I feel like I should be doing something else. Like right now for instance. Now that we are so close to being done with the bathroom it feels farther away than ever and if we don't hurry and finish it it is going to set back the rest of our plans for the entire year!!! And Ruin The Rest Of Our Lives!!!!!
But I've got valentines to put together, and dinner to make and a treasure hunt to come up with, because it wouldn't be valentine's day without it.
Still, there is good news. We turned the water back on upstairs which means I can use the washing machine again. Hooray. Laundry. Now I get to spend a few hours folding clothes tonight. Colin is happy though, cuz his Superman shirt is clean. And I guess it is nice to have clean underwear again. We sort of put off turning the water back on, because it means one of us (me, because I am trying to be nice for once) has to crawl through a small hole down under the house, into a den of daddy long legs to do it. I've never really been very afraid of spiders, especially not daddy long legs, but it turns out if there are enough of them they can be scary after all.
But I'm glad I have a house to crawl under. I'm glad I have running water to turn on and off whenever I can work up the nerve. I'm glad I have clothes to wash and an indoor electrical washing machine to wash them in.
And on that note, I will go make dinner. Because while I might be able to eat cookies for every single meal, my kids need protein and nutrients and what not. Soilent Green it is! Bye.
Dec 16, 2012
Re-thinking Christmas
For your viewing enjoyment here are some pictures of Christmas trees we have had over
the years.
2004
2006
2009
2010
Those trees were fine. But I
always wanted something GRAND. Beautiful
and sophisticated and Glamorous and Breathtaking. And I couldn't ever do it. My favorite trees at the Festival of Trees
were always the ones with huge ornaments and beauty and grace and a touch of
whimsy. And I bought a few huge
ornaments, but it was never good enough. I
just couldn't accomplish what I envisioned.
And it seemed to be made worse by
my unfinished Family Room, which made me very angry at the room for not being done yet. Stupid Room! It was ruining Christmas!
Richard has long preferred colored lights on a tree. And as inflexible as I am, I finally gave
in, even though they are neither sophisticated nor grand. We have adopted this new method of
compromise when it comes to our tastes and opinions, since we both have
them. We take turns. This year we’ll decorate the tree the way HE
likes it, and next year it is my turn again, etc., etc.
So we put colored lights on the tree. And then started hanging some of our many Christmas balls, but after just one bag full Richard said that was enough. Really? I've got a giant box full of these things. That is all you want? Yeah, he said. They are all just too fancy for him.
So we put colored lights on the tree. And then started hanging some of our many Christmas balls, but after just one bag full Richard said that was enough. Really? I've got a giant box full of these things. That is all you want? Yeah, he said. They are all just too fancy for him.
So then we pulled out the little box of ornaments from down at
the bottom of the Christmas tub, the ones that never get used. The ones that didn't fit into any style or color
theme I ever had going on. The ones I
got from people on my mission. The ones
Harrison made in school and in church.
The ones that have been given to us as gifts in Christmas past. And as we hung them I realized how sad it is
that I've never used them before. I've never even hung my own son’s handmade ornaments on the tree because they didn't match. My dumb stuck-up tree was always
too full of itself to let those who were different into its little clique. What an arrogant, elitist tree!
Then I started thinking how fun it would be to finally make
some of those great handmade ornaments I've seen on pinterest. And how cool it would be to give the boys an
ornament each Christmas as a memento of the year. And with all these personalized, unique
ornaments, our tree could grow with our family and act as a cone-shaped
scrapbook of our life together. Maybe,
just maybe, my tree shouldn't be a symbol of style and sophistication, but of
our family.
This feels very right to me. And was probably obvious to everyone else, but it has taken me 10 years to get here. And I like it. It sits warm deep in my belly and makes the coming holiday feel simple
and exciting. So now I’m thinking the
colored lights might stay.
But now I’m also stuck with Richard having the ultimate say
of what goes on the tree for the rest of the year. Do you think I could talk him into letting us
put a paper chain on it? Maybe a string
of popcorn?
Colored lights are pretty homey, aren't they?
And sometimes they make your house look like a Sci-Fi Disco
Party.
Dec 11, 2012
A Single Act of Kindess
I want to say 2 things.
1. SNOW.
Right? Do you ever think, “Oh, its snowing. I guess I'm not going anywhere till Spring.” Yeah. Me too. Snow should be enjoyed from inside the house sitting in front of a fire holding a mug of hot cocoa. If that means I am turning into an old lady then fine by me.
2. Sundays are rough. I was gonna make a joke about how maybe that is just me and all of you probably find
it very easy and relaxing, but what is the point? Sundays are rough sometimes and everybody
knows it.
My husband is in meetings all morning so I’m getting the kids ready by myself. Which is fine. Except that I’m still not that good at it. And even with church starting at 11:00, and even if I give myself plenty of time to get ready, just getting my boys dressed and out the door is harrowing, at best.
My husband is in meetings all morning so I’m getting the kids ready by myself. Which is fine. Except that I’m still not that good at it. And even with church starting at 11:00, and even if I give myself plenty of time to get ready, just getting my boys dressed and out the door is harrowing, at best.
This particular snowy morning as I tried to get my boys clothed in a timely fashion my 2-year-old was furious with me
because I insisted on putting his socks on his feet, instead of on his hands where he wanted them. How can they be Batman gloves if they are on his feet? And THEN I had to go and put his belt on his pants, of all the horrendous places,
instead of around his head like a Batman mask.
How could I be so cruel?
Fighting with him is exhausting, and all the while I was still
trying to get the 5 year old to put his own clothes on which was only made
difficult by the fact that he wouldn't stop jumping on the couch. YOU try to get dressed while jumping on a trampoline sometime. It isn't easy. When they were finally dressed and it was
time to put my own shoes on I was ready to crawl into bed.
Knowing that I've first got to scrape the snow off my car so
that I can head to church to wrestle
with my boys for over an hour isn't a really strong
motivator, so I was just trying to bear myself up for the battle ahead as I
grabbed my bag and keys. Then I heard
Harrison shout from outside, “Mommy! Someone’s
helping us!”
I stepped outside to see the man who lives across the street
cleaning the snow off my car. He had
been out shoveling his driveway, had seen that we were getting ready to leave
and had simply helped.
I was very touched, and thanked him and he said, “Aw, you shouldn't have to do this in your church clothes.” He finished cleaning off the car while I
loaded the kids into their seats. And
then I thanked him several times again and we were off.
Obviously I had not been in the best
mood. Obviously I was going to be
horrible company and was not going to get anything out of church and everyone
was going to end the day miserable. But my friendly neighbor changed everything when he decided to do something nice for me, just for the heck of it.
The power of a single act of kindness. It is huge. More far reaching than we are capable of seeing. I could say lots of other things now about its hugeness and far-reachingness, but I want you all to go home and think of your own things to say, and then find someone to say them to, cuz I have to go to bed.
Thanks again nice neighbor! I'm still in a good mood. I think you brightened my whole winter.
Thanks again nice neighbor! I'm still in a good mood. I think you brightened my whole winter.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
