The virtue of faith

So... this blog is very much overdue for an update. But you should thank me for sparing you an earlier post. Because it would have read along the lines of "blah blah blah... complain, complain, complain some more... my life sucks... 'nobody knows the trouble I see, nobody knows'..." and so on and so forth. However, now that I've taken some time to "process" I can hopefully articulate a few thoughts without resorting to venting.

While most my FB buddies know this, here's a short recap of the summer. I got pregnant, my grandma died, we went to California for the funeral, I came back, found out I was miscarrying, found out it was an ectopic pregnancy, went to great lengths to ensure that the baby wasn't viable any longer, had surgery to remove the placenta, which was still growing although the baby had died earlier. And then we finished remodeling our house in town. And then we went and remodeled a house out of town and moved into it a month after my surgery. We decided to move out of town because our neighbors were troublesome as regards to our kids. There you have it - mid-June through mid-August. It's fall now and definitely feels like it. The summer was over before I was ever cognizant of the fact that there was a summer.

During my self-pitying moments, I find myself thinking that it's just as well that summer is over as I would never like to live through such a summer again. But if I am honest with myself, that isn't true. I "lost" a baby, medically speaking, but I've gained my own little angel. A couple weeks back, we were visiting at a friend's house, and our friend, Patrick, began talking about a homily that Fr. Kellar had given. The reading had been about how Jesus said that it was better that Judas (his disciple who betrayed him) "had never been born." This is a very harsh statement and could make one wonder if it were better that certain lives had never been lived, that certain people had never been born. Patrick went on to discuss how Fr. Kellar had explained that this Gospel should actually give us hope. The reason being that Jesus did not say "never existed"; He said "never born." This is actually a message of hope to parents of children who were never born, who only existed for a short time in the womb. For once a person is born, they have a whole lifetime of choices to make, some which will be good, and some which will not be good. A person who is born can choose to live their lives as a Mother Teresa or as another Hitler. This isn't to downplay the beauty of living life in this world, of growing up, of making choices, and all that goes into being a conscious adult. However, in the intervening time between now and when I lost my baby, I've given this loss a lot of thought.

What I've come to realize is that I didn't "loose" a baby. I have a baby. She just isn't here with me now, but she exists. When I find myself thinking that I wish I'd never had to go through the miscarriage and surgery, I catch myself now. It's not true. Because of that experience, I have another child. Granted, I'll never see her in this life, but she is as real and as present as Greta or Joseph. The major difference is that she will always be perfect. She will never hurt anyone, she will never experience pain, loss, or suffering, and she will never sin. In short, she has what I aspire to, what I hope to help bring my children to - union with God in heaven. Granted, this is a nice thought, but it doesn't mean that I'm not grieving, it doesn't mean that I don't still experience moments of indescribable sorrow at her passing, that I don't wish with all my heart and soul that in spite of this imperfect world, I wish she could have been born and that I could have held her and watched her grow as I do Greta and Joseph. I wanted to give birth to my baby. But that isn't how things worked out and nothing I can say, do, or wish will change that.

When I was miscarrying, I prayed so hard that I would be given the faith to pray for a miracle, that my baby wouldn't die. "Faith the size of a mustard seed" and all. I took to heart "Ask and you shall receive, seek and you shall find." When it was obvious that the baby had died, but that I would still have to have surgery, I prayed that the pregnancy would be reabsorbed and I wouldn't need surgery. Well, neither happened as I had asked. For the first time in my adult life, I was truly faced with a crisis of faith. If God said all of the above, why didn't He answer my prayer? How do you trust someone who doesn't do what they say they will do? I have God's grace and my English major background to thank for getting through. Those words, "ask and you shall receive" kept whirling around my frustrated mind. A practice from analyzing English literature came back to me. You read every single word as it is written. Don't interpret just yet, don't assume you understand the author's intent. Just read what is written. Sometimes the most insightful notions came out of this exercise in class. Read "literally." On its face value, "ask and you shall receive" is just that. Nowhere does it say that what you asked for is what you will receive. Ah ha! Where faith and hope come in is when you believe that what you received is actually what is best for you.

I've always thought that you can learn a lot about a person by their struggles/crosses. I truly believe that it is through difficulty that people become better people. If everything was always perfect, no one would ever have the chance to "rise to the occasion," to exercise virtue. "Building character" is only done when said character is being tested. God knows us better than we know ourselves. He allows us certain sufferings that are particular to our given characters; what we struggle with is tailor-made to our personalities. It is exactly what we need to become the best person we can be.

To tie this monologue together, I realize that it was a good thing for me to go through this difficult summer. I'm not sure how or why, but I trust that it was right. And I'm still here, not too much the worse for wear. I'm still recovering emotionally. I go through bouts of depression and anxiety often. I struggle to be loving to and patient with my husband and children. But when that happens, I pray to my little baby, Faith, and by God's grace, I muddle through.

Falling off the wagon

Well, I certainly have fallen off the proverbial blogging wagon. Everything is fine, nothing life changing or catastrophic has occurred. I just got busier than usual and unfortunately, when you take a break from blogging, it's hard to get back to it. Kind of like when you don't talk to a friend for awhile and then there's that awkward, "getting to know you" again stage. But the longer you put it off, the harder it is to start.

So let's play catch up. First the kids. Greta is 2 and a half now. She talks more than ever and she never misses a thing. Words can't describe her and I'm too tired right now to try harder :) Joseph will be one year old next month. He just started walking this week and it's my prediction that he will never stop moving once he really gets going. He is such a tough, happy-go-lucky character. And he loves his mommy. His mommy loves him... except during those three times a night when he insists in waking up to nurse. I'm often as tired as I was when I had a newborn. Please God that this will end soon.

As for myself... well, I traveled a lot in October. Went with some friends to their "cabin" (if that place was a cabin, our house is a trash can) in Colorado. Just for the record, that is a very beautiful state! Then we went to Phoenix for a weekend with my mom, who'd come out to visit for a week. I flew home to Ohio with my mom and the kids. Ohio was lovely... exactly as I left it. Cold, grey, rainy, and I felt so at home in it. Seeing my siblings again was a treat. What I really miss about living far away from family is how much your family loves your children and how much joy you, as a parent, get from seeing your children loved as no one else could love them. After two weeks, I flew back with my dad and the babies. Words fail when I want to talk about how much I detest flying with the kids. Needless to say, we survived and had a delightful, but short visit with my dad here in NM. He left on Monday and I've been trying to get back to normal for the past week. It's odd how two weeks away from your husband will leave you with a period of adjustment... of getting used to each other again. I missed him. But he used wisely our time away and did lots of work on the house.

In my spare time (say, what?), I've been starting an online editing business. It's been fun to get back to the academic field. I edit college papers, some scholarly work from grad school acquaintances, and books from colleagues and former professors. Check it out if you're interested. MRS Editing

That's about it, friends. Show some love so I have more encouragement to keep this up :)

Oh, what to do when your child is two!

The "Terrible Twos," like many stereotypes, has been a bit overrated in my world. I actually like my two year old. (knock on wood) She is sweet, responsive, obedient, caring, understanding, and a whole lot of other things that I wish I was. (KNOCK ON WOOD) I keep trying to decide what exactly is supposed to be so bad about 2 year olds. Probably the fact that they understand so much, and yet are not quite capable of expressing all that they understand. Well, being the first time mother of one two-year-old girl, I can't speak with any confidence about patterns in childhood behavior. What I did want to share is my own experience with my 2 year, 4 month old daughter.

Truth be told, I LOVE Greta at this age. Totally my favorite age so far. She really is my little buddy at home. We are together all day long and I find myself looking forward to seeing her in the morning when she wakes up and after her afternoon nap. In between, she is generally very good and very busy. She really isn't a needy child. We've always let her and Joseph entertain themselves, so it's typical to see Greta sitting on the floor, reading a book to herself. Or she will be in the bedroom, periodically rearranging my underwear drawer. Or she finds her puzzles and puts them together (after a fashion). Or I'll find Joseph and Greta together, playing some game where Greta makes a funny noise and Joseph shrieks with laughter.

The real purpose of this blog post, however, was to talk about the ways I found to amuse Greta and teach her at the same time. I very much agree with Like Mother, Like Daughter that kids thrive on being useful. With that in mind, I try to include Greta and Joseph in my daily housekeeping activities. The down side of this is that you have to everything very slowly. If you're like me and used to doing 5 things at once and very quickly, this change of pace can be agonizing until you realize that you are not only doing laundry - you are teaching your child about colors. So you're really still multi-tasking :)

It seems to me that the developmental stage Greta is at now includes learning colors, learning commands, learning to identify objects, and learning to count. With that in mind, I try to incorporate these activities into whatever chore I'm doing. Here are a few ideas. Feel free to share your own. I'm always looking for more.


Washing dishes (she's sitting on a high stool next to the sink with me):
"Greta, pick up a fork, please."
"Greta, please put the cup on dishtray."
"Greta, where is the orange cup?"

Putting away dry dishes:
Hand her a  bowl and show her the shelf it goes on.
Sort spoons and forks (usually ends up messier than we started)
Hands me plastic cups/bowls, etc. from the dishwasher or dish tray.

Laundry (the best chore ever!)
Greta carries her little laundry basket to the laundryroom.
Greta sits on top of the dryer, while I hand her clothes, ask her who they belong to, ask her what color they are, and she drops them into the washer.
I pass clothes to Greta, who puts them in the dryer.
After a fashion, Greta hangs up small items on the drying rack.
Folding - not really! Greta passes clothes to me, tells me whose they are, and I tell her what they are ("Mommy's red shirt", "Daddy's brown shorts"). Not much folding gets done because Greta has to "fold" too. I've given up on having drawers of folded clothes. My kids are far too fond of reorganizing our drawers.

Making dinner:
Greta tells me, or I tell her, what vegetables and meats we are preparing.
Greta shreds lettuce, spinach, or kale.
With a dull butter knife, Greta will "chop" zucchini.
Greta will put vegetable parings in the trash (very useful skill and pretty time consuming).

Grocery shopping:
We shop at our local co-op for veggies, and the small size of the store makes it very kid friendly. Joseph sits in the cart, while Greta walks next to me.
I tell Greta what fruit or veggie we are buying. I hand it to her, while she counts them and puts them in a plastic bag.
I'll hand her milk or yogurt to put in the cart, and she tells me what they are.
When she takes things unasked off the shelf, I teach her the oh-so-useful skill of "put it back, please."

Tidying the house:
Pretty self-explanatory. I ask Greta to put a specific object away in a specific place. It doesn't work to tell her to "pick up your toys" because her attention span isn't very long, and I believe in asking for smaller tasks that she is more likely to succeed at. So I ask her to put her doll in her room, or to put her puzzle on the table. Then I thank her and ask her to do something else (or finish it myself).

Watching younger siblings:
Greta is invaluable. Joseph is almost 9 months and at an age where he is very entertained by faces and by interesting objects. If he's crying while I'm in the middle of something, I ask Greta to bring him a toy, talk to him, read to him, turn his music on. She never fails to quiet him (at least for awhile!). When he wakes up in his crib and begins to cry, Greta is the first to tell me "baby cryin'!" after which she runs to the room and climbs in the crib with him. Which invariably causes him to cheer up.

My general observations about my two year old are:
Kids at two are very eager to do things.
They understand way more than they can communicate.
They learn very quickly if they aren't overloaded with information.


My reciprocal action as a mom is to:

- Offer lots of opportunity to learn small, everyday living skills.

- Speak distinctly and clearly. I have a natural slur or accent where I drop "g's" as in "stayin' " or "goin' ". When Greta talks now, I hear this repeated back to me. Uh oh!
- Don't say things you don't want your kids to say. Case in point, I cuss when I'm stressed. Result? Greta may or may not occasionally say "sh*t" when she drops something. It's since been changed to "shoot", but still....!
- Be very patient. You aren't actually going to get much help from your kid at this age. Any help you do get will be because of lots of patience and work on your part. But the point isn't to have help... yet! The idea is to start teaching your child skills that will help them in daily living and help you around the house eventually. Why? Because they really want to learn now and they enjoy it. What's there to lose? Chores done and children amused.

Thank you, God...

for my wonderful family. For Josh, his constant, patient love. His perpetual sense of humor. His genuine care and devotion to our children. For the way he loves me on my bad days. The way he puts up with my overabundant energy and need to improve everything. His smile, his little gestures of affection and concern for me. For his hard work and motivation to support our family and give us the best life possible. Thank for you for those little babies of ours. Thank you for Greta's cheeriness. The way she greets every day with enthusiasm and joy. For her protectiveness and care towards her little brother. For her love for me and the way she never fails to cheer her mommy up when I'm having a rough spot. For the adorable way she wipes Joseph up when he's dirty, without being asked. For her independence and interest in everything. Thank you for Joseph. His beautiful smile that never fails to wipe away my impatience. For his strength and inquisitiveness. For his health and good appetite.

Thank you, God, for all the family and friends who have blessed our home with their presence in the past 9 months. I know I've complained a lot about the "invasion" but I am and will be forever grateful for the ability to share our family's joys with others. Thank you for the love and care they have shown my children and myself. Thank you for this wonderful life and help me to always appreciate it. Help me to find small things in which to rejoice, whenever I'm in the midst of stress or frustration.

This is not to say I'll never complain again, but it's good to remind yourself once in a while to "count your blessings."

Much Ado about Nothing

I was having a conversation with a friend recently in which she chided me for belittling what I consider my "problems." That was nice of her. It's always nice to hear that your struggles are neither as big or as insignificant as you'd be inclined to think. However, it touched a chord with me because I live in this perpetual state of thanking God that my issues aren't worse than they are, while occasionally feeling completely overwhelmed and unappreciated. Sound familiar?

With that fine warm-up, you must be on tenderhooks to know what I'm talking about. Ah, sorry to let you down. It's not that exciting. I am just so sick and tired of having people live with us. We have had one family member or another or several living with us since Thanksgiving of last year. I'm normally a pretty hospitable person. I love having people over and around. But I like them to all go home at a certain time. I'm neither an extrovert nor an introvert. I get energy from being around people, but I also get the energy to socialize from being at home and by myself. The problem with perpetual houseguests is that you can't really get away from them. For any of my readers who may have been a houseguest, no offense. I'm not talking about anyone in particular, just everyone in general. Besides, none of my family reads this blog anyhow :)

However, the good news is that the last of the Mohicans goes home this weekend!!! For the first time in 9 months, it will be just Josh, Maria, Greta, and Joseph here. I can't even imagine what it will be like. I suspect it will be a combination of honeymoon and sheer boredom. But I think I can deal with that. Yes, I can definitely deal with having the freedom to walk around in my pj's if I want to, let the kids cry once in a while without feeling guilty that someone else has to listen to them, not prepare dinner on time, not feel guilty about feeding people leftovers, not feel like the house has to be 100% tidy 100% of the time, have a good argument with Josh and not worry about possible scandal to possibly scandalizeable ears... oh, the freedoms we take for granted until we lose them!

Just an update

... to let ya'll know I'm alive and mostly well. Emphasis on "mostly." If that is even a word. We finally got hit again with our fair share of illness. I'm still getting over some mutant cold that has lasted three weeks now. THREE WEEKS! Of course, if I didn't insist on smoking through all of it, it might have gone away faster. But oh well.... In the battle between health and sanity, I always try to let sanity win out. You can care for children if you are sick, but you can't if you are crazy. And I've had more than my share of crazy days this month. Good God, what drama! We had to send my younger brother home to his parents because he was acting up again. That was an emotional ringer if ever there was one. Then my sister broke up with her fiance, who surprised us all with a visit at 1 o'clock in the morning. That was not pretty, to put it mildly. To top it off, because obviously family drama is not stressful enough, I got sick and a week later, both babies followed suit. Somewhere.... somewhere up there is a light at the end of this tunnel.

Well, this is me for the time being. Usually, I never have trouble coming up with a "topic" but that cold must have zapped a few brain cells because this is all I've got for the time being. Any ideas?

What am I doing here??

Ever find yourself asking that? I do, especially when Josh and I go out for any quasi-social event. Whenever we do this, I am very forcibly reminded that I am a mother. Life is really easy until you have children. Don't get me wrong... I wanted children very much and I dearly love said children. However, children are a lot of work! And they definitely put a crimp in one's social life. I think I am still in the "adjusting" part of life right now. I'm still too close to the time when it was all in a day's work to pick up and go out for an evening with friends, or to have friends over for after-dinner drinks. We thought nothing of it. Now... Good lord! It is a veritable circus to simply get out of the house and into the car. Going out with friends involves enough planning and strategizing to fill an instructional manual. And dressing up for and attending the annual Rotary dinner... I remain unconvinced that there is anything attractive or stylish that one can wear to nurse in. And what is the point of listening to a speaker when you have a whining infant in your arms?

Get the jist? Yes, I'm complaining again. It sounds bad to say that I'm sick of my children... because that isn't the problem. I'm sick of being tired and grouchy, of never catching up, of never feeling like I'm doing a good job, of constantly "adjusting." I hate adjusting. I wish this mothering business would simply figure itself out.

Here's the thought that keeps me going on the average day.

"What is my job in life right now?"
"To take care of my children and love my husband."
"Have I taken care of my children today? Are they healthy, fed, and happy?"
"Does my husband know I love him and most importantly, appreciate him?"

If I can answer yes to the last two questions, then I have done my job. I personally may not feel like I did it well, but my own feelings of success or failure are independent of whether or not I've actually done what I'm supposed to do in a given day. Of course, it's nice to have the satisfaction of feeling good about your job, but it doesn't always happen that way. I personally thrive off of affirmation and that warm, fuzzy feeling of  "a good well done." But there are good days and bad days and blah days. These feelings won't last. No child stays 2 months old forever, nor are rashes on a toddler life-threatening. Now if only it could be spring....

Cold Coffee Days

I have been trying to write this post for about three days. The only reason I remember it is because I liked my title. By "cold coffee" I'm not talking about that delicious beverage known to mankind as an iced latte, the perfect treat on a warm summer day. No, I'm referring to the unpleasant sensation of putting your lips in a cup of coffee that you have been carrying around all morning, only to find that the delectable, steamy coffee has transformed into something lukewarm and - to this coffee snob - nauseating. This now seems to happen to me every morning and it is not the most enjoyable way of starting one's day.

So back in time, when I had the leisure and the income to be a coffee snob, nothing would do in the morning but to start it off with freshly ground coffee made impeccably in my French press. My friend Megan and I would meet up in the kitchen at work, fill up the coffee cups, and smuggle the coffee-goodness back to our desks... and enjoy! The afternoon wasn't a proper afternoon if we didn't bring a cappucino or latte back from lunch. Josh and I might wind down our evenings with another cup of (properly made) decaf after dinner with dessert.

Are you gathering from this that I LOVE COFFEE? Because if you haven't yet, you should hone up on your reading comprehension skills. :)

Fast forward a few years and a few babies. I roll out of bed to the sound of Joseph crying and Greta chattering. My eyes are dry and bleary from being up 2 too many times last night. My clothes are damp and sticky from nursing in bed (you have to be a nursing mom to appreciate quite how nasty this feeling is). All I want it... silence and a cup of coffee. So begins the battle to reach that happy shore. I change Joseph's diapers, change his clothes, wash my face, change my clothes (showers come later)... all the while fending Greta off from my new dresser drawers. She is enamored with removing clothes from people's drawers and relocating them in various corners of the house. At this point, it becomes "mommy over baby." Joseph cries in his swing while I stumble into my messy kitchen (messy because El Husbandito made Greta breakfast and didn't clean up) and yes! start on the coffee. Then Joseph is rescued from his swing and nursed before his milk supply becomes contaminated with caffeine. Back to the swing with Joseph and off to the kitchen goes Mommy. But Greta apprehends the maneuver. She waylays Mommy and demands... never mind what she demands, but she demands in no uncertain terms. Mommy buys her off with a cheese stick or half a slice of bread. Ideally, Mommy would have politely offered her a carrot or a slice of cucumber, but "desperate times call for desperate measures." There will be no day without that illusive cup of coffee!  Ahhhh! Pour the half and half into the coffee cup, fill a bowl with cereal and milk, and run for it! Problem is, there is no place to hide from babies, so Mommy opts for the next best option. The kitchen table will at least guarantee that there will be no spills when Greta comes demanding her lion's portion. Which she does. Greta has an incredible ability to sniff out carbohydrates. And what is cereal but carbs? Believing that discretion is the better part of valor, Mommy agrees to share her breakfast with Greta. Just not the coffee. Please not the coffee, Greta!

At this thrilling junction, Joseph makes his presence felt with a few heart-rending screams. How can one selfishly eat breakfast when one's child is starving to death not 3 feet away? Now we are back to nursing Joseph and feeding Greta. And that dear cup of coffee is just sitting there, steaming its coffee life away. Joseph is asleep again. Quick! Put the laundry in before he wakes up. Empty the dishwasher and fill it up again because Lord knows that is complicated with a babe in arms. Where did I leave the coffee? Oh no... Greta has put her finger under a pot lid and is pushing down on it with her other hand... and screaming because it hurts. I rescue Greta and reintroduce her to the magic of her bookcase. Crap. Where did all this dirt on the floors come from? Better sweep it before Joseph wakes up. Time to switch over the laundry.

By now it is 11 am and my vagabond coffee cup has traveled the range of our house. The house is relatively in order, the babies are in order, and silence? Yes, I think I hear silence. Silence and a cup of coffee. That's what I was aiming for this morning. For the record, "silence" means "the absence of unhappy noises." I sit down at the computer, put that coffee to my mouth... ugh! cold coffee already?!?!

But on the bright side, the babies are peaceful and the house is tidy. You have to pick your battles.

One month survival skills

I've never been one of those people who can write well when there is a lot of noise in the background. Particularly music. I like music with a beat in its place - as when I'm cleaning house, playing with babies, anything that involves motivation. But for studying, focusing, I need quiet or relaxing, classical music. Unfortunately, neither of my kids care for classical music. It's not from lack of hearing it. I religiously listened to Mozart, Handel, et al. during their pregnancies. But to no avail. Greta was almost guaranteed to fall asleep in the car if we put rap on the radio. And Joseph is following suit. Right now, Greta is in bed, the boys are downstairs playing COD, and Joseph is in his swing. Here I am, trying my best to focus and writing something slightly intelligible. But at a cost. The only way I can get Joseph to lay quietly in his swing is to play my Celtic Rock station on Pandora. Not in a mute undertone. Oh no, he wants to listen to the lyrics. If all of a sudden, I start writing the random lyrics to "Black and Tans," you are forewarned. 

As I've assured myself numerous times in the past month, Joseph is the best part of this whole birth thing. What a crazy, stressful, trying month! It isn't right to call the month in which Christmas falls "a month out of hell," but that is sure what it's felt like. Mother in law drama, coupled with extremely cold weather, baby blues, visiting family, the holidays, and unending rounds of sickness have me completely wiped out. But I think, I really, really think that we are getting to the end of the tunnel (not the end of the rope). Everyone has gone home who does not belong here. The babies are over their colds. I'm not sick anymore. My brother, Daniel, has started school here in Gallup. He'll be living with us for the next semester. He's settling in well. Josh loves having the excuse to buy an Xbox and play Call of Duty "to entertain Daniel, Maria!" Oh geesh.

There was supposed to be a theme to this post, but as I go along, I'm finding that there isn't. And it's a pity, because I sit in bed ALL THE TIME nursing Joseph and writing awesome posts in my head. The problem is that once I sit down to write, I begin to suffer from major writer's block. I was going to write about baby blues, but I'm feeling good tonight and that seems very far away. I will say that we are NEVER going to have sex again during the months of April, May or June because I NEVER want to have a baby in the winter. I'm going stir crazy being in the house all the time and dealing with colds. But I have a tentative solution. I'm going to start working on my thesis again and leaving the house after dinner to do it. I'm going to make dinner, have dinner with the family, then pack up my computer and scoot over to Camille's and write for an hour. The boys can handle the babies that long, right? I hope so.

Joseph doesn't like Flogging Molly, so I have to cut short this riveting post.

Waiting, waiting, waiting...

Well, the long and short of it is that I am bored out of mind. These last weeks of pregnancy haven't been fun. Actually, this whole pregnancy hasn't exactly been a barrel of monkeys, but unless you are one of those incredible women who enjoy being pregnant, what pregnancy is? But lately... ugh! At least I didn't have anything to worry about health-wise earlier. However, since I came back from Florida, I've had high blood pressure, low red blood cell count, low sugar, tested positive for GBS... nothing exactly uncommon, life-threatening, or terribly serious, but all added together, definitely an annoyance in the extreme. But on the bright side, the baby seems fine. So it could always be worse, right? Keep reminding me that as these days drag interminably on. At first, I was freaking out because I was worried about having the baby before 36 weeks. Now that I've hit the magic 37 week marker, I want very much for him to be out. My midwife is taking it all in stride. The high protein diet she put me on, plus the assortment of "calming" herbs and teas are really working to lower that pesky blood pressure. I blame Gallup, again. I'm telling you, this place is slowly trying to kill me. Little girls from the cloudy midwest states were not meant to live 6,500 feet up in the air, where they can't breath and where their blood count drops deplorably. Because I don't have any of the other typical indications of preeclampsia or toximia, I'm blaming the high blood pressure on the high altitude and Greta. Kids are ones for getting your blood pressure up and keeping it there. The worst part of it all is that as of Sunday, I'm on "bedrest." Hearing that was like receiving a death sentence... for me, anyways. I am happiest when I am up, busy, doing chores, keeping things in order, and relaxing when everything is together. Thankfully, the herb supplements have been working to the point where my blood pressure stays low enough that I can get up, take care of most things around the house, go for walks.... the principle difference is that my mother in law is here to keep on eye on Greta most of the day. That is a huge help! I miss Greta, but this works out perfectly because I've also hit the point in pregnancy where I am tired-off-my-ass most of the time and it takes the biggest act of will to move anywhere, especially in the evening.

I apologize that this is such a sucky post. I am just absurdly tired, wallowing in self-pity, anxious, impatient.... God help me! And if I'm not pathetic enough already, I really wish my MIL would go to bed so I can spend some alone time with my husband, who I haven't seen all day. There. That is the pettiest thing imaginable to say at the moment, but whatever.

You can come anytime now, baby dear. Bring on the labor pains, the sleepless nights, the crying, the nursing, the baby blues... at least I won't feel like the girl who turned into a blueberry in Willy Wonka.

Upcoming Adventures

For lack of anything more interesting to write about (other than my latest pregnancy complaints, of which you have already heard too much), I thought I'd update you with our most recent travel plans. This weekend, we are going to be doing some recruiting for AMSL, our lawschool, in Phoenix. This is a big deal because my hubs loves Phoenix. No, he really, really loves this place. I teasingly call it the "center of the universe" because no matter where we go, where we eat out, what kind of overpasses or round-abouts we drive through, they are all ultimately compared with those in Phoenix. It is rather endearing at first. So to Phoenix we are going. The highlight of the trip for me at this point is staying in a hotel. I can't explain it, but I adore hotels. Nice ones, preferably, but I love staying in hotels. I think part of it is that we rarely did, growing up, so there is always the novelty of a new place and the sense of adventure, travel, exploration associated with it for me. And room service... nothing says decadence to me like being able to order food up to your own room! Am I betraying my hillbilly roots a little too much?

So after enjoying the opulence of staying in a Phoenix hotel and shopping in a swanky Phoenix mall (there is no better way to make yourself feel impoverished, sloppily dressed, and low-brow than shopping in a Phoenix mall), Greta and I are heading to Florida for a much-anticipated visit with family. I will be 33 and 34 weeks when I fly this time, but I'm not too worried because I flew during Greta's pregnancy at the exact same time in the pregnancy. And there were no complications. I'm not terribly excited about having a squirmy toddler on my vastly-reduced lap space for 3 hours and another 1 hour, but that's how it goes. Maybe in the off chance, the flight won't be full and Greta can be conveniently plopped on the seat next to me? That would be nice, almost too nice to hope for. So I'll be in the land of family, friends, and mosquitoes for about 5 full days, and then we fly back home.

After we get back, I'll be 34 weeks pregnant and our big plan is to fix up the downstairs bedroom for Josh's mom. She will be coming out to stay with us at Thanksgiving (37 weeks for me!). She's here indefinitely, mostly dependent on how she and I get along. I have a great mother in law. For one, she is an incredibly religious person, which will be good for getting us more regular about prayer time, etc. And Greta may learn that prayer is more than slapping your hand together at meal times. Ha! We'll see about that one! For another, she is a pretty quiet person, but not awkwardly so. You know how some people are quiet to the point where you find their company uncomfortable? She isn't like that. If there are things to talk about, we'll talk, and if there aren't, we are pretty content to leave well-enough alone. Finally, she adores Greta and Josh. Josh is her one-n-only child and Greta is her one-n-only grandchild. I guess I'm her one-n-only daughter in law, but somehow, one-n-only daughter in laws are not quite as endearing as their husbands or their children :) So overall, I would say that I am pretty darn lucky in my mother in law.

But even the best of mothers or mothers in law can cause a stir of trepidation in the hearts of their daughters when said daughters as immanently ready to deliver a baby. To be honestly, I have been FREAKING OUT about Mom's visit. Bear with me while you listen to the rantings of the slightly deranged pregnant mind. I'm afraid she'll spoil Greta. I'm afraid she'll upset my routine, poor though it is. I'm afraid she'll criticize the way I treat Josh. I'm afraid I won't be able to go in my room and yell when life gets "too much." I'm afraid she will want to make dinner. I'm afraid Josh will let her clean up the kitchen all the time while he sits and watches. I won't be able to exercise in the privacy of my living room because it won't be private... and she'll remind me that pregnant women should not exercise. I'm afraid her room downstairs will be cold. I'm afraid I will loose my temper, yell at her, and hurt her feelings. What if she thinks I'm spoiling Greta, or too hard on Greta, or too lenient with Greta? And... I'm afraid... I'm afraid.... 

There. I've almost made myself laugh. It's so unreasonable, and yet so real, too! When EVER in a woman's life is she less "at her best" than right before delivery and right after? And my mother in law will be living with me through these two worst times. Yes, I know she will help with Greta and the baby, but I don't really want help with either of them at this point. I'm worried that Greta will become used to having her own personal servant and will not like the change when Granmma leaves... and then I'm stuck with a spoiled kid AND a brand new baby. Borrow trouble much, Maria? And I won't be able to yell at Josh, at myself, at nothing at all without feeling like a completely idiot. It is so relieving to yell sometimes. Maybe it's because it stretches my cramped diaphragm. :)

So despite my complaints in this post, I am doing my best to be positive, not worry too much, and see the good in this situation. Besides, Mom hasn't seen Greta in over a year. Surely the good in that will outweigh whatever inconvenience (real or imagined) it is to me.

What to write about when you have 'baby-brain'

Don't worry, no one needs to read this post because it isn't going to be about anything interesting. I'm just starting to feel like a vegetable... a large, round one, maybe a tomato or a watermelon... no, too squishy for a watermelon... maybe a pumello... you know, those extra large grapefruits that don't taste very flavorful? Yes, I look and feel like a pumello. The thing with vegetables, or fruit, is that they don't have a mind to use and keep occupied. They just exist and that is the state to which I am slowly sinking. Simple existence. No real mental effort involved. I'm "celebrating" being 31 weeks pregnant today. Rather, I'm celebrating the fact that I have about 9 more weeks to go before this baby is born. Maybe only 6 more weeks if he decides to come 3 weeks early as Greta did. But I doubt it for two good reasons, one based on fact and the other on intuition. The fact is that the doctors probably screwed up Greta's due date because I had no idea when my last period was then. This time around, I know within 2 to 3 days when I conceived. The other reason is that I want so badly to give birth soon that of course it won't happen. Things always work out like that for me. Whenever I get my hopes up too much, I never get what I wanted. However, if I remain relatively noncommittal and complacent, then I'm more likely to not be disappointed.

(I have a sense this is a very ungrammatically correct post. But sorry, this is going to be as good as it gets. Save the judgment for later.)

So where was I? Oh yes, having this baby soon. So for the sake of posterity, how IS this pregnancy going? Honestly, it's been hard in the oddest ways. I'm physically fine. I've been ridiculously healthy and uncomplicated health-wise. Thank God for that. I'm not sure why, except that perhaps God knows I can't handle bad health on top of all the other drama that's invaded my life. But at our last midwife visit, the baby was measuring just right. He moves around a lot, especially recently. Tonight, he is trying to escape via my belly button. Greta used to do that, too, and it drives me crazy! My bellybutton is so sensitive. Imagine someone trying to poke it out from the inside! I don't remember Greta being quite so active. Right now, he is sliding his little legs under my ribs. Maybe if he gets his workout now, he will be tired when I'm ready to sleep. Tomorrow we have our next midwife visit, this time at our home in Gallup. Then we probably won't have another visit until I fly back from Florida at the end of the month. I'll be 34 weeks then. So yes, health-wise, this has been a great pregnancy. However, there's been a lot external goings-on that have not contributed to my overall peace and well-being. I have one particularly troublesome sibling who has been making my life hellish since April. God knows I love this sibling, but I've learned that I have some major emotional limitations when I am pregnant, and dealing with a sibling's "issues" is one of those limitations. After not talking to each other all summer (not my doing), I hear from him/her again this past month. The conversation and exchange left me so upset that I literally couldn't sleep for a week. That wreaked havoc on both our family life and my mental stability. So for the next few months, I am isolating myself and doing my best to live in my family cocoon. And it's not like there aren't plenty of battles to fight on the home front!

Greta has been "off" recently. Between some bad nights with an upset stomach and some really whiney days, I've almost forgotten what my formerly sweet, happy girl was like. She's definitely so much of a little girl now, and so much less the baby. If I wasn't pregnant now and full of my own discomforts, I would really be missing the dear, cuddly little person she used to be. I miss those quiet mornings lying in bed with her, watching her nurse, enjoying the still relaxation of a family at rest. At the same time, I appreciate that she can do more things for herself now... because Lord knows I don't have the energy to do it all. It's not that I'm wishing life away... it's going away, passing by on its own without my doing anything about it. And I'm too tired to do much more than nod as it passes. 

But not all moments are like that. Every day, Greta and I sit out in the warm front yard. Rather, I sit in the sun, soak up Vitamin D, and watch Greta climb on Tigg's dog house, scrape up leaves, pick up rocks, or step up and down the front steps. I love those moments. Time pauses for just a bit and allows me to absorb some of the beauty and preciousness that is my life right now. We usually sit there until Greta's Daddy comes walking home at 5pm. To see Greta run to the front gate, shake the gate, and yell, "Daddy" reconciles me to having a toddler rather than an infant.

As badly as I want to have this baby, I become sad thinking that these days with just Greta are numbered. As many of my mom friends have said, I do feel very much that I have the "raising one child" thing down pat. After one year and a half, one does learn a thing or two. However, I'm very nervous about dealing with two kids... and two kids of such differing ages. You know, it probably will not be as bad as I suspect because the "rule" works both ways. Whenever I think something will be really difficult, it turns out inevitably to be much easier than I suspected. Child birth was one such thing. I think the trick will be to lower all expectations and plan only one activity for the day, be it cooking, cleaning, laundry, etc. And be willing to give that up if other needs arise.

So that is my life and thoughts these days, in a nutshell. I need a relaxing activity to pass the time for the next two months. Anyone have any brilliant and not expensive suggestions?

Dog woes

Alright friends, I'm going to try to work this dilemma out before unburdening myself on my tired husband. To get to the point, this is the sob story about me n' our dog. "Our dog." I wish I could claim no responsibility for him, but that can't be the case. So here is the deal. My gut feeling is that we need to not own this dog anymore. He is a 3 year old, German Shepherd and black Lab mix, weighs about 90 pounds and has more energy than the atomic bomb.

Now, because I am trying to gather my addled and emotion-ridden wits together and prepare a cogent argument for Josh, rather than simply crying and screaming that either the dog or I are going, let's do this methodically. Why do people, most people, own dogs? Simple. For companionship, protection, or work. Most people keep dogs as companions. A companion dog, I imagine, implies that it spends time with you and you with it. You may even like the dog. I would assume that the dog would like you. So "time" is essential if the dog is a companion. Next, you have dogs for protection. Most dogs today function as an alarm and a deterrent. A thief in your backyard might think twice if you have a reasonably sized, barking dog making its presence known. I think it safe to assume that most people do not expect to keep dogs that would actually be capable of killing the said thief. So bigger isn't necessarily better. I don't know anyone who keeps a dog for work purposes, but I've seen enough Scottish movies to guess that in some places in the world, dogs herd sheep and other such critters.

Our dog falls under the category of protection. He isn't a companion sort of dog. He is too big, too strong, and too rough to do anything with. Literally, we do nothing with this creature except feed him. Josh pets him, maybe and lets him run around. But that's it. I'm not strong enough to handle him. I can just see it... me, my stroller, my pregnant belly and that asinine dog traipsing down the street. Not going to happen. However, he is a good watch dog, to his credit. Our house in Michigan was never robbed because of him. Two weeks after we left, the new tenants had their electronics stolen. He's a scary dog, I will say that for him.

Today the dog got out under our fence and tangled himself in our neighbor's fence. Our neighbor came over to tell me and I had to leave Greta, and untangle this stupid beast. He, of course, is not sitting politely and waiting. Oh no, he is running circles around me, jumping, pulling and tangling me. I can't even bend over easily to pick up a fork of the floor. Imagine trying to extricate a greased pig of a dog with a 7 month large belly in the way? Oh, it was a sight. By the time I was done and the beast was returned to his prison, I was ready to kill something. My husband came first to mind. We still have this dog due to his insistence that we need a guard dog.

So here's my fun predicament. How do I convince my husband that we do not need this dog, that it is unsafe for me to be handling this dog, and that a smaller, obedient, normal dog would do just as well, maybe even better for our family? If we had 100 acres, that is one thing. If we still lived near Detroit, that is another. If I wasn't always going to be relatively pregnant and carrying kids around, that might be another story. If Josh actually wanted to do things with this dog, that's yet another. However, none of these criteria are going to happen in the near future. So what's a nice way to tell Josh we need a different dog or no dog at all for awhile? Help, folks!

Why I love being a stay-at-home mommy

I'm writing this post in the aftermath of a very good day (pregnancy included), which followed a very bad day (blame it on the hormones). As I was sitting on my counter, eating chocolate ice cream, reflecting on how I ought to do the dishes but would rather take a shower, enjoying the carefree quiet of my house with Greta asleep and Josh at basketball practice, the thought struck me: "I really love staying at home." Caveat - it is the furthest thing in my mind to in any way bash, denigrate or put down mothers who like to work, prefer to work, or have to work. Ladies, my hat is off to you. I honestly don't know how you do it, but I respect ya'll very much for it. Especially you single moms. You are going to be lined up at the Pearly Gates way before I even apply for admission.

That said, I am incredibly blessed with a husband who is supportive of my being at home full time with our children, and that the said husband has a job which allows us to get by with only one bread winner. But even for that, there are times when I wonder if I'd prefer to go back to work, just for the extra income (who doesn't need that?) or the opportunity to do something other than watch my kid/kids all day. For better or worse, I come back to the same mental answers when I have this discussion with myself. Without further ado, "Why I Like to Stay at Home."

1) I am my own boss. I can't tell you how much I disliked answering to other people about work, or taking instructions. Maybe I put a good face on it when I worked, but I work so much better when I self-initiate projects. Home-making is one big exercise in self-initiating. My special talent is bossing other people around, or, as one could say more politely, "managing." As the oldest of six kids, I am really, really good at seeing things that need to be done and telling people to do them, or doing them efficiently and quickly by myself. Again, all good reasons why I should stay home and have multiple children.

2) I really like my kid. No, seriously, I do. Yes, I love her, but she is also very likeable. She is one of the main reasons why I'd like a lot of children because if there's the off chance that any of them may turn out as she did, my life will be very interesting if not hilarious. I always tell Josh that if I have to stay at home all day with one person, Greta is the one I'd pick. Now that she is walking and trying to talk, every day seems like an endless adventure with her. We literally do everything together, from going potty to making meals (yes, she is good at scrambling eggs). What I love about her right now is that she loves to do everything that I do, which makes menial tasks like laundry an adventure of the greatest proportion.

3) I love 'keeping house.' I'm not sure how this happened, but one of my favorite things is to clean and tidy my house... or maybe it's the pleasure of enjoying a clean and tidy house. Or both. I'm not sure. I know this joy may be short lived after the multiple children make their appearance, but I'm going to enjoy it while it lasts. My back up plan is to (shhhh! don't tell the kids) make them clean the house regularly. My mom did this, but she wasn't always strict enough about it and we found ways to weasel out of tidying. But the thing is, 'tidying' and 'cleaning' are two different things. People can learn to put things back where they belong (tidying). If my kids prove too dense to learn this, I may send them all packing to Singapore, because I will not live in a sloppy house.

4) Last but not least, I enjoy the (current) freedom in my life. It may seem oxymoronic to tie staying at home with your children with freedom, but there you have it. But it was my experience that when I was working, I had a lot less time on my hands. Yes, you wise mothers of many children can shake your head and tell me this will all change once I have 2, 3, 4, 5 or how ever many kids, but for now, it's true. Maybe it's not so much that I have more free time now, but that I can do what I wish with the time that I have now. My baby is older now, I'm not terribly pregnant yet, and life has slowed down to the point where we find freedom in our simple, daily routine.

"What I miss about going to work."

1) Making money (my own!). It IS nice to have spending money and to have the ability to spend money without a guilty conscience. I guess that is part of the sacrifice of a single income because with student loans, home loans, home expenses, and all that, there isn't money to throw around. Still, I don't begrudge myself the occasional shopping spree at Old Navy because really, it makes for a better day when you know you look nice :)

2) Dressing up. If there is one thing you should know about me, it is that I love clothes. Not expensive clothes, name brands, or anything special, but rather, the art of putting things together and making them "work." Really, dressing is an art form. Having grown up in a family where dressing was considered a utilitarian exercise - necessary, but nothing to be indulged in - my 'revolt' as it were consisted in an intense appreciation of properly coordinated outfits. I'm not talking about "matchy-matchy." Rather, it's one of those things that you 'know it when you see it.' Now, going to work every day is an excellent opportunity to put those clothes-coordinating skills to good use. Dressing well serves both the functions of necessary and enjoyable. Also, it was much easier to justify to my long-suffering husband that my purchases were a "business expense." Alas, now that excuse is no longer water tight. I might get away with pleading that case for nursing bras, but it is hard to extend it to pencil skirts and heels, which I couldn't comfortably wear even on Sundays. I still make it a point to get dressed at home (as opposed to staying in pj's all day), but getting dressed so as to wake yourself up in the morning is not the same as getting dressed to look professional at work.

On picnics, sleeping, and loving babies

I've been writing in this blog a lot more recently. It isn't really that I have nothing to do, as I often wonder. Perhaps it's that I have comparatively nothing to do, when looking back at the past 6 months. It's definitely because writing helps me to relax and unwind. Greta is happily asleep now. We were at an Italian picnic today and I ate so much food! I would say "more food than I could have imagined eating" but that is no longer true after being preggo with Greta. I ate an absurd amount of food during that second trimester. As in, more food than my husband. If you know him at all, you would appreciate what a feat that is. But this time around, I haven't been as hungry, or else too tired or busy to eat. I'm already to the end of the second trimester and I wouldn't describe myself as insatiably hungry. But today... I'd like to say I've eaten enough for three days, but I'm finding myself munchy again a mere 6 hours later. However, I was so tired after chasing Greta around in the sun while Josh played bocchi (sp?) ball. When we returned home, I fell asleep for about 3 hours. How decadent! Josh amused and fed Greta during that time. Being able to sleep so long and uninterruptedly is akin to heaven-on-earth.

I had a moment with Greta when I was putting her to bed. 3 hours of sleeping by myself and I found myself missing her very much. So I gave her a bath, lotioned her up, put her 'jammies on her, gave her a glass of water, and carried her around the room while we tidied it up. She isn't much of a cuddler, but recently has taken to snuggling on my belly. I suppose that the increasing squishiness of my torso makes it a desirable pillow. I also suspect that it is comforting to have the boobs nearby even if her mean mommy won't nurse her. :) Well, we laid in bed and she draped herself over my belly and fell asleep. Looking at her sleep, with her sweet, innocent, little face so restful and reposed, so utterly trusting and content, sent shivers of ecstasy up my spine. Her chubby little arm lay over my chest like a hug, her soft head nestled under my chin. Looking down, I could see my tummy bumping around as Baby Boy tried to make himself comfortable. All over, I could feel myself both giving love, security and peace, and receiving it. If I died just then, I could honestly say that I died perfectly happy.

Really, babies are such a beautiful gift. It is beyond cliche to say that, but it wasn't until I had mine that I realized the truth in that, as well as many other simple sayings. Like anything in life worth having, they required much work, self sacrifice, dedication, patience, and good ol' stick-to-itness. The rewards, like most things of this nature, are hard to put into human words or to describe with justice. Yet it's one of those things that you "know it when you have it." Maybe that's what is meant when babies are described as "miracles." A miracle is something not humanly possibly, something of God. Being of God, it beggars description. In my case, at least, nothing in my experience compares to the joy of one's children. Perhaps this joy is God's way of making up for the sorrow that children can and do cause you later... as is the case in my family of 6 kids. But even knowing this only makes my love for my babies more intense.

Love is a funny thing. I have this fear that I will not love my other children as much as I love Greta... while feeling like I'm doing wrong by Greta to love any other babies as much as I do her. Yeah, mothers are a special bunch! But as I lay in bed with Greta, thinking about this, it occurred to me that love is not something that has to be expendable. Love can be, and I suspect is, unlimited. Instead of running out of love, your capacity to love simply increases. So the more people you truly love, the more people you have in your life to love, the fuller a person you are. Think about it... the happiest people you will know are those people who have loved much. I think back to my early relationship with Josh. When we were first married, I thought I loved him as much as humanly possible. Then I got to know him better and grew to see myself more clearly. We stumbled down bumpy roads together, laughed together, fought together, and discovered more of ourselves in loving the other. In this process, my ability to love him increased. However, I think that this "ability to love" process is accelerated when you have children. For one, if you don't love them, find joy in the them, laugh over them, life becomes very unpleasant very quickly. Secondly, God made kids especially lovable. They're just that way.

Yes, did I mention that writing is relaxing to me? Well, it worked this time. Sorry for a long and rambley topic.

A nothing post

I'm just in a mood to write something, but haven't the foggiest what I am going to write about. So....

For the last few days, Josh and I have been 'nesting.' Oh yes, guys do it, too, only theirs is more obsessive-compulsive. He's been organizing the basement, which I swear to God will become his man-cave. With all the beer bottles down there, it already looks the part. Throw in some tools, a comfy chair, and a large ass TV and there you have it. I, in the mean time, have been "home making" upstairs... my territory. My kitchen is turning into a thing of beauty and joy forever and my bathrooms... well, I don't want to make anyone jealous :) The reality is that they are small, with no trim or floorboards, and the ceiling in one isn't painted. But they are mine and there is not one, but two of them. I have obsessed for my entire married life about renting or owning a place with two bathrooms. And now I do. Hence, joy and gladness.

Last night, we raided WalMart for furniture, and as usual, I came back victorious and slightly more broke than I went. I found a coffee table for 10 dollars. Granted, the top is probably paper, but it's sturdy enough and matches all the dark wood furniture in the living room. I'm living another dream here... matching furniture.

This week, after Josh finishes up another exam, we are moving Greta out of our bedroom. This is indeed bittersweet. I like having her nearby, I love watching her sleep, I HATE nursing her now. She is 15 months old and since pretty much the moment I got pregnant, it has been torturous to nurse her. Yes, she has teeth, but I think it's more because the pregnancy makes my nipples sore (sorry, TMI....). Ok, not just sore, horribly painfully sore. And I've put up with this for her good for 6 months now. Time to go, Greta. The thing is that she doesn't even nurse to eat, she nurses for comfort when Mommy is too tired or lazy to get up and feed her. This can be understandable because sometimes she takes it into her head to be starving at midnight, 3am, or 6am... all inappropriate times for small children to be eating, as far as I'm concerned. So hopefully, getting her into her own room will help along this weaning process. Wish me luck.

Well, the hubs is out of the shower and we have our midnight snack of ice cream to eat. I love that husband of mine!

The State of New Home Owner-dom

And.... we're in. Moved in on July 28th, if my foggy memory serves correctly. What a time. I think I have blocked out most of the ugly parts, leaving just a vague feeling of exhaustion and goose-bumpiness when I think back on the last two weeks of July. I remember crying my head off the first night at the house when all the boxes, tools, and appliances stacked in our bedroom and living room threatened to eat me alive. Luckily, Josh came to my rescue and cleared out our bedroom so there was some semblance of normal living in which to sleep. Ahh, those pregnancy hormones'll always get you.

Since that unpleasant 'first night,' things have gradually gone uphill. Not one day has past since that some project has not been completed. I have Dan and Zaz to thank for that. Eliza was on perpetual Greta-duty, to the point that Greta thought Eliza was some unpaid servant of hers. Daniel and I knocked out small and large projects together (do not say "that's what she said," Daniel! Thanks to him, this summer has been one long, ongoing, "that's what she said" joke). Our latest and last was to landscape the front yard and finish the new bathroom. Seriously, that boy has learned some major house building skills. Don't know what we would have done had the two not come out this summer. Thank God for the gift of family.

Now the kids have gone home and all of a sudden, life seems to be settling down. The house is far from finished, but it is livable... very livable. And in spite of it's unfinished-ness, I'm beginning to detect what I call "beauty spots"... areas in a room that make me smile, sooth my nerves, bring a sense of peace and rightness to my soul. It might be as simple as a plant in the corner of a room, near a window, where the sun strikes it just so. Or it could be the serene shade of green I've painted our bedroom, which remains lovely no matter what the lighting or time of day. Sometimes, it is simply a room put in order or a clean floor. But once beauty spots start appearing, my house becomes my home. Today we uncovered a few more beauty spots when we cleaned out the future Greta room/current guest room. That room had been used to stash clutter, but in honor of Josh's friend coming to visit tonight, we scrubbed all the paint off the floor, swept up the plaster debris in between the walls, hung a curtain over the closet, put up a few pictures, stuck a plant by the window, made the bed, and there you go! A snug, cozy, happy room with yellow walls, blue curtains and a white rocking chair stuck strategically in the corner, where you fall asleep smelling pinon pines and watching the pine branches dance through the shadows of the filmy curtain. I'd stay.

So the long and the short of it is that yes, I like my new house. In fact, I may go so far as to say I love it. Of course there is lots to be done, but maybe it's also the unfinishedness of the house that I love as well. Working on it, caring for it, making it more beautiful and homey appeals to something in me...which is why I've always concluded that "homemaker" was my vocation. Finally, I have a home of my own to "make"... quite literally, too! Good lord, to this day, I cannot look at the walls in my bedroom without thinking of puttying and sanding said walls. I guess it will be that way for awhile.

El husbandito is calling me to see what he's done in the basement, so I will leave you to your imaginings about what this dream house actually looks like. Stay tuned next time or some time after that for pictures.

Are We There Yet????

Nope, but the countdown until move-in day / move-out day continues. 7 days and counting. We are all so exhausted. Not just physically, which is bad enough, but mentally and emotionally. My brother has been a real trooper. He starts work at the house around 10am and usually does not come home until 9 or 10pm. My sister has been my life and sanity saver. She arrived just last weekend and already, I don't know what I did until she came. Basically, she's Greta's new mom. I've been working on the house from around 10am to 6pm this week; believe me, it is a long time to be away from one's baby! But I can do it because I know she has the best of care and I don't feel the awful, nagging sense that I am inconveniencing some non-family member. Josh... poor, dear, under-appreciated, hard working hubby... goes to his "day job" from 8am to 5pm, but stops by to run errands and feed his workers on his lunch break. Then he starts his night job on the house until 10 or 11pm. Between the boys and our friend Jeremy, who is our all-knowing supervisor/contractor/we'll-make-this-work-inspiration (who also has a day job and a wife and 5 awesome kids, one of who is brand new), the house is almost done.

We must have been crazy to do this. But that's God's fault. We agreed to buy the house back in April. Then our loan took ages to process. Then the government ran out of money to fund the loan. Then we applied for a new loan. Then the government printed more money. Then our mortgage person began working for a new company that required we re-apply for a loan. So we actually closed on June 30th, just squeaking by to qualify for the First-Time-Homebuyer's tax credit. So we've basically gutted and rebuilt this house in one month. All of this would be doable, if not fun, had we longer to work on the house. However, the new renters are moving in to our rental on July 31st. Oh.... joy. Hence, the 7 days and counting.

On the to-do list still? Prime the walls, paint, install cabinets, put in flooring, install new bathroom drain, install bathroom fixtures, replace old bathroom fixtures, compound/sand/texture/paint kids' room, put in carpet in bedroom, clean out basement, MOVE IN. Thankfully, we are only moving about three blocks.

So if you have any spare prayers or happy thoughts this coming week, send them our way. We are definitely going to need them. I promise to pay you back with lots of before and after pictures in the coming weeks.

Aches and Pains and Pregnancy, oh My!

I was formerly of the opinion that people should abstain from blogging if they have nothing of possible interest to blog about. Writing about how much the bones in one's ass hurt during pregnancy is about as bad as it gets in the ranks of "worst blog entry ever." But that's what it's come to. We have been SO busy lately and I have been SO tired that the only thing that comes to mind as a possible topic is the only thing on my mind right now, which is... the aches and pains of pregnancy.

I suppose this opening necessitates a word of explanation as to just why I am so busy, achey and tired (other than from the work of growing a baby). We finally (yay) bought a house. Buying a house is all well and good, typically as cause for celebration. In our case, it was a very long and out process. We started back at the end of March and concluded on June 30th. To make matters more exciting, it is a fix-er-up-er in the real sense... or at least we have turned it into one. But no. No, I could not live with wall paneling of the alternating white and dark wood variety. Just no. Nor could I live with a pink bedroom. Even more so could I not live with a bathroom with no ventilation and floor to ceiling mirror tiles AND carpeted floors. I suppose I could have survived the faux brickwork in the kitchen, but that would have been a stretch. The house also had minor issues, such as bad wiring. All in all, it was the best price for a nice little house with lots of potential. So much for the house. Josh and I are wanna-be handymen (women) so redoing it would not be a big deal except for the unforseen kicker - we learned on July 1st that we have new renters moving into our current house on July 31st.

That makes me extremely unhappy. If I hate moving, I hate moving quickly into unfinished houses even more. Wait. Isn't that what happened when we moved to Gallup? Ha. And I thought it was deja vu. On the bright side, at least we are only moving a few blocks away. Also, it won't be December this time.

All this to say that I have been assisting the deconstruction and clean up efforts in the past week. Hence, I feel like a very old, achey pregnant woman at the moment. The pain in my left hip makes me fall sometimes because I just can't feel my leg at times. I know... hie thee to a chiropractor and fix the pain in thy ass! I know, I know. My feet ache, I guess because I am fattening up for the pregnancy. But should an extra 5 lbs. make you feel this way? Somehow I doubt it. Just within the past week I have become insatiably tired. I mean, don't.want.to.get.out.of.bed. tired. I'll work at the house for two hours, doing something lame like sweeping the floors and carrying out wood scraps. Then I come home, get Greta to bed, and pass out for two hours. I used to be bright eyed and bushy tailed at 8am. Now I'm unconscious until Josh makes me get up to watch Greta when he leaves for work.

I know this won't last forever and I know the end results will be worthwhile, but I predict a rough month ahead. If you have any spare prayers or kind thoughts, send 'em our way. Ciao.

Mommying and Other Things

So I am supposed to be writing my masters degree thesis! Actually, I was supposed to be writing it over one year ago. But one year ago, I was having a baby, packing, moving, unpacking, packing, moving, unpacking, and settling in. Oh yes, I may not be a master of English yet, but I am most definitely a master of excuses. On one hand, I rather like being able to say to people who ask me, "what do you do?" that "I stay at home with my little girl and I'm working on my thesis." Somehow, I always have this half guilty feeling that staying home with my baby and growing another is not quite enough in most people's minds... probably just in mine. This thesis business justifies my cushy existence as a stay-at-home mother.

But the sad truth is that I really haven't been working on my thesis. I "read" for it, but that is nothing new... I am always reading a book and since they are all vaguely literary, I call it "reading for my thesis." Granted, there was a period when we lived in Florida when I ordered a bunch of books on motherhood and writing and avidly read for about 4 months. And then I finished the books and started on "Miss Marjoribanks" which has nothing to do with my topic. And that's been the story ever since. Yet that thesis is always out there, begging to be written, pervading my sleepless hours, worse for my conscience than the pile of laundry that did not get washed, or the dirty dishes left overnight in the sink. I put a lot time and energy (and money) into my master's degree; it would be a pity if I don't ever earn it from lack of having the gumption to write a thesis.

Two days ago, I had a rebirth of interest in this bugbear of a thesis. I wrote my adviser, said hello, let her know I'm still alive, and told her I'm still going to write a thesis. Her email back to me was encouraging. She has two children of her own and somehow manages them, a teaching career, and research. With the impetus of her words, I started rewriting the proposal draft I'd previously coined. I'm about half way through and getting to the nasty, researching part. There is just so much information available that it is always a chore to use it in an organized, succinct manner.

Now a new dilemma strikes. What to do with Greta? She suddenly decided to stop taking two naps and instead, have two cranky, sleepless times in the morning and afternoon. As I procrastinate and write this entry, she is trying to crawl out the window and play with "her" dog, to whom she just fed the pen I was going to use to take notes on my research. Sigh.... Now she has moved to her crib, where she is loudly  thinking over life and the delinquencies of her mother. I should be able to work because she is out of the room, but no, how can one work with a guilty conscience? My kid is crying. I'm supposed to do something about it, right? Sigh again..... The slightly ludicrous part of this whole drama is that my topic has to do with motherhood and art/writing, how the two compliment each other as two ends of the creativity spectrum (motherhood is physical creation, while writing is mental creation). The consoling part is that every critic on the subject is beset with the same struggles I'm having right now. Somehow they manage, and manage to create lasting works. My thesis does not need to be lasting, but it needs to be written at some point in time!

Anyone else? How do you do it?