This is Jimmy. We started sponsoring him last month as part of our personal commitment to God. For many months, I had felt the urge to do something positive for someone else in this world, something that could make a real difference in the life (lives) of others, but I had no idea where to start. It wasn’t until I watched a video by Eric Ludy entitled, “Depraved Indifference” that my heart was touched. It wasn’t just touched. It was broken. I ached to take action immediately and it was right around Christmas, when the thought of how much we, as Americans, take for granted weighed heavily upon my mind and heart. God really spoke to me through that video, and led me to A Holy Experience shortly thereafter where I learned about Compassion International and the tremendous work they do for children all over the world. I knew almost instantly that I should begin by helping a child, because what, indeed, if it were my Nicholas there in the streets of Uganda? What if it were my Nicholas there without clean water, a steady supply of food, or access to vaccinations and medications that keep him disease-free? Well were it my Nicholas, I wouldn’t hesitate to give up every single posession I owned to help him. Well… Jimmy is God’s “Nicholas”. The way we love our children is the way we are loved by God, only a zillion times more! My heart was filled with emotion for this little boy and for his family in Uganda.

If I am to be a friend of Jesus, then I am asked to act upon the needs of others in His name. One single monthly donation could make a huge impact on the heart of one of God’s children in a foreign land, I knew that much was true, but I had no idea how much of an impact it would have on me.

Today I received my first letter from Jimmy. He drew me pictures and the sponsor donor relations worker wrote to me what Jimmy had to say. It goes like this:

Dear Angel Norman,

Jimmy Mugabe says praise God. He says thank you for choosing him to be your sponsored child. He loves his project because it has taught him to love Jesus, sing, praise, and pray to God. He says he attends Centreday (?) once a week. He takes breakfast and lunch from the centre. He says his family appreciates you for considering him as your sponsored child. May God bless you.

From your child Jimmy

My heart leaps every time I think of the letter, and of the little boy on the other side of the world who doesn’t know me from Adam but knows that I care enough about him to help.

On the back it says that his favorite color is red, his favorite game is soccer, his favorite song is “I love you my Lord” and his favorite food is posho.  His favorite school subject is drawing, and if he could visit anywhere, he would go to the zoo to see all the different species of animals. How precious is that?

From top to bottom, left to right: a house, a lady, a chicken, a mouth. a boy wearing a shoe, an eye with a lot of lashes, a pair of glasses, and a pitcher.

It was so cute because Mike was the one who read the letter first, as he was the one who checked the mail on his way to pick Nick up from school. He called me and told me all about it and read it to me over the phone. We both had lumps in our throats and tears in our eyes as he read. He told me all about the pictures Jimmy drew, and he said, “there’s this thing he drew by the pitcher that I have NO idea what it is. I’m not trying to be ugly, but honestly, it looks dirty.” So I tell him I’m sure it’s not two penises side by side like he thinks, and then I let him go to hop on FB and share my good news: I got my first letter from my friend Jimmy!

So Mike gets home, hands me the letter and says, “Look at that picture! I showed Nick the paper and the first thing Nick says is, ‘Nice glasses!’ Well I didn’t remember seeing glasses so I said, ‘Where?’ and he goes, ‘Right here. He drew glasses.’ And sure enough he didn’t draw penises!”

Not that we ever believed he would have. But you know, ours minds aren’t as pure as Nick’s I guess.

Still, how great my day is to have received such a sweet letter from Jimmy. I just adore him and his family and consider myself blessed to have the opportunity to reach out to them in Christ’s name with a love that spans oceans and continents!

It was three years ago this month that we started trying to have our second child. Two years ago that I started taking fertility drugs. One year ago that I was referred to a fertility specialist.

In the past few years, I have been absolutely torn apart by heartache, ripped to shreds by every birth announcement, completely ravaged by people’s questions of when were we trying for more or when would we give Nicholas a sibling. (‘Cause you know, it’s soooooo easy.) My friends have been afraid to share their joys with me, for fear it would hurt my feelings. (And this has happened even more recently– try last week when my friend told me that he didn’t want to upset me by telling me sooner that he and his wife were expecting their second child.)

I have struggled.

But I called out for divine intervention– and I got it. God helped me to resolve the situation by taking away my desire for something that has been, and may forever be, unattainable. I have felt completely at ease with everything since then. Peace has entered my heart… and I no longer yearn for a little baby to care for. In fact, I’ve kinda done a 360… I don’t know how many times in the past few months I have been downright thankful that I have only one child. Seriously. Like, a “HALLELUJAH!” kind of thankfulness, at that.

I bet Mike knows how many times I’ve made the comment aloud that I was glad I didn’t have to change diapers, worry about middle of the night feedings, or deal with the stress of having more than one child to cater to. I’m sure he knows because it breaks his heart every time.

He hasn’t said anything to me about it, but he doesn’t have to. I hear his little comments about babies we see in public, about how he wishes we had a little baby girl to put dresses and bows on, or the longing in his voice when he leans over to me and says, “I wonder if they would mind if I held their baby….” All these comments were made today, as a matter of fact, and that wasn’t the first time I’ve heard him say such things. Nick was invited to a first birthday of his friend’s little brother, and so we took him up to Chuck E Cheese. These people are our neighbors, and either their 7-year old (maybe 8?) kid is at my house three times a week or my kid is at theirs, but I barely know them. Sure, I know their names. And I trust them with my kid, so I know enough about their characters to make that call. But I don’t know them well enough to know their little baby. I don’t go and hang out with them or anything. (I would, but I just haven’t made much effort to hang with them, nor have they made an effort to come and hang with us.)

Nick loves the little brother so much, though, and tells me about him all the time. Just last week, Nick was with their family when Tristen (the baby) took his first steps. Nick’s mind was so blown that he got to watch a baby take his first steps that it was all he talked about today on the way to the party.

Mike wanted to hold the baby at the party. Mike just loves babies. I said, “Then ask.” But he never did because he was probably thinking the same thing I was thinking… I wouldn’t let some random person just hold my baby, so why would they? But Mike was admiring all of the babies in the room. Mike did the same thing at church, making comments about the baby grunts coming from the row of seats in front of us as a mother fed her child during the service.

Mike wants another kid. And I’m guessing his heart is broken every time I make light of that. Just like my heart was broken for so long by so many different things and people.

I find this terribly unfair, and not just to Mike.

So I finally feel okay with everything… I’ve finally resolved that if it never happens again, I’ll be okay (probably more than okay)…. and then the desire is stirred up in my husband? How unjust is that? I’ve been praying about it all afternoon and evening. How am I supposed to precede with things now? Am I supposed to give in to the will of my husband and keep trying, trying, trying only to just put myself back into that position to get hurt repeatedly? Or am I supposed to try and talk him out of his desire for baby 2? I literally have no idea how to handle this situation. I want so bad to just throw my hands up and be done with it all, but at the risk of hurting my husband’s feelings? After all, I KNOW what that heartache is like. I know how longing for a baby hurts so badly, especially when there’s babies or pregnancies all around you! I know what it’s like to want something so much, you physically ache for it. So how can I go “eh, he’ll get over it!” and turn my back to his pain when I have been there myself and he never, not once, turned his back to me?

It makes me sad, but I’m at a loss, really. I know it’s selfish but I can’t do that to myself again. And I love my husband and certainly don’t want to hurt him, but I can’t allow that kind of disappointment back into my life. Not yet. Not until I’m better equipped to deal with it. Three years is a long time to go through the roller coaster of emotions. I know that some women do it for decades. I know, but it doesn’t matter honestly, how long you deal with it… Dealing with it at all, no matter the amount of time you spend, sucks. I mean it literally sucks– it sucks the life right out of you. Ask anyone who’s trying to conceive what they feel like when they get that big fat no on their pregnancy test, and I promise you that if they say, “It’s okay. There’s always next time!” then they are in serious need of a hug. Or chocolate. Or a bottle of wine. It is NEVER okay to fail at trying to conceive, not in the hearts of those wannabe moms and dads, not until they are done trying in one way or another.

Some serious decisions need to be made around here, and I just don’t wanna deal with it right now.

Big. Fat. Sigh.

Rescue Lyrics

Read

here.

I can breathe a sigh of relief. This week is almost over.

Bouncing checks and upset stomachs can no longer get me down. Well, I suppose the latter could because I do feel that familiar ache rising up… but today is Friday, and I can’t be sick on a Friday. That simply would not be right. Plus, it’s a very special Friday- pay day. YES.

Of course most of the check is gone now, but hey! Whatevs.

Yesterday at the dentist office, I cried. I know it’s going to sound silly, but I think, you know, I was just having a tough week that was made even tougher when I woke up yesterday morning. That one tiny thing… hopping out of bed all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, having had nine hours of glorious (almost uninterrupted except for when Mike came to bed at midnight-ish and decided to re-make the bed around me… weirdo.) sleep. I wonder if my day would have been less chaotic yesterday had I slept till 11. Lord only knows. But, no, I woke up at 5:30 AM rarin’ to go. Took Nick to school and then came home and tackled some housework.

When I left to go get him at 1:50-ish, I decided to take a pee break before I got trapped in my car for the next half hour. So I used the bathroom, not seeing that the toilet hadn’t filled up from whoever used it last (Mike), and when I flushed it, the water rose and rose and overflowed onto my nice clean bathroom floor. “Noooooooooo!” I whined, grabbing the plunger and plunging till my hands hurt. The water would not budge. “Arrrrrrrgh!” I think that was the noise I made.

I sat my purse down on the coffee table and it tipped over and EVERY. SINGLE. THING. fell out onto the floor. Abandoning the toilet, I cleaned up my purse, grabbed my cigarettes and ran out the door.

I couldn’t take it.

Flash forward to 4 pm, and I’m telling the dentist that I feel really silly for bringing Nick in about baby teeth not getting out in what I deem “fast enough” for the three adult teeth that are working their way into his mouth as we speak. She says that he has inherited mine and Mike’s small jaws, and that if we don’t pull all three remaining baby teeth to make room for the four teeth total that will have to go there, we will be setting Nick up for failure. Okay, she didn’t say it like that. She said, “I know it seems like since he’s going to need braces anyways, it really doesn’t matter if his teeth are overly crowded now, but were he my kid, I’d want him to start with the best possible foundation….”

I hate when doctors say that. Guess what? He’s not yours, so shutup. No but really, it’s like that extra punch of guilt that you have to do something… that’s sort of like they’re saying, “If you don’t do this, I’m going to think you’re a bad parent, because were he mine, it would be done.”

Not that I would consider not doing it. Whatever my baby needs, my baby gets.

Bad parent? Not over here.

But I did cry then. I cried because it seems like Nick always has something wrong. Then Mike told me I was over-reacting and I told him to shut his face, that I would react however I please. Then he rubbed my hand and said, “I know what you mean. We’re always going to feel that way about him, regardless of what it is or how he was born. He’s been through a lot, but the worry is part of being a parent.” And I knew he was right, that I was being stupid, that after this week, I wasn’t just crying for Nick’s baby teeth and the sedation he’ll need to get them out…. no. I was crying for me. For everything that was weighing on my shoulders. For all the stomachache, the negative bank account, the ugly email I got about having a bounced check, the electric bill, the carb addiction, the argument, the feeling fat, the feeling ugly, the overflowing toilet, and the purse falling to the floor and breaking the figurative camel’s back.

And then the idea of them taking Nick to sedate him… and not allowing me to go in with him! It breaks my heart.

My mom took me to dinner last night, just us. We laughed, and ate until we couldn’t eat anymore. Then we went shopping and I made her try on like 17 different shirts. By the end of the night, I felt much happier thanks to quotes like, “Let’s eat until all these chips are gone!” and “I burped and vomit came up.” Not to mention that we spent her entire gift card on 4 shirts. BUT SHE’S CUTE IN THEM. And that’s all that matters.

I’m just so glad to say hello to Friday.

1. When somebody says they’ll do something for you, don’t listen. People don’t just do things for you without expecting a heck of a lot in return.

2. You should always make sure to include a little “breathing room” into your budget. Otherwise, you’ll bounce a check. (Like I did yesterday. Awesome.)

3. Keep your nose in your own business, and when people try to pull your nose over to their business, tell them your nose needs rest and to leave you be.

4. Don’t let people blame you for something someone else did just because you’re there and they feel like taking out all their frustrations on you. Just ignore those kinds of people, or fight back. But whatever you do, don’t just take it and enable their behavior.

5. Speaking of enabling– if you need something every single day to “function”, you’re addicted. I’m not talking about eating, or drinking water. Those are necessary to survive. But eating craptastic, carb-y food? Smoking cigarettes? Drinking diet cokes? Yep, addicted.

***

I feel like crap on a cracker this week. Seriously, crap that was just eliminated from somebody and then picked up and spread onto a cracker. Like a wheat thin, and not a regular saltine, to let you in on the visual that I have right now. It started Monday, when I got sick to my stomach and had to rush home and throw up, for no apparent reason. Month after month, I experience these bouts of sickness and not a single one of my doctors can tell me why. Am I already diabetic? Is that what’s happening to me? Sometimes I worry, because no one is bothering to look into this situation and I’m sick to death of feeling as sick as death multiple times a month.

Life wears me out.

So yeah, I bounced a check yesterday. MY BAD. It was an online payment, so not a technical check… but I was hit with a huge NSF fee and now I’ve got like $7 in my bank. You guys, I was only short $19 for the payment, and I honestly? thought it had already cleared so I didn’t even think there was an issue at all. But the weird thing about all this is that I had a dream about a week and a half ago that I went in the hole on my bank account. And in the dream, I was flipping out ’cause it got down to $-300 or something… and then BAM! in reality, it happened. Only except it was $-19… and instead of just rolling some money into my account from savings, I let it go since you know, we get paid tomorrow, and instead of letting me just be negative dollars, they recalled my last payment, which gave it back to me, and then they hit me with a fee that took all of it back. Thanks a lot, a-holes.

I have no idea how bad that’s gonna look on my credit report/financial record/whatever that matters when it comes to these things.

This week has just really sucked. And as far as I can see, it’s not getting better anytime soon because guess what I just got in the mail yesterday?

A $300 electricity bill.

GLORY!

Which would make me… $-293, assuming I didn’t get paid tomorrow.

Dreams do come true! I am living proof.

Taking the kid to the dentist today to have them look at his teeth situation. He’s got teeth growing in on top of teeth… like a shark, he’s got two rows of bottom teeth almost. (okay, so really he has only  two teeth growing in behind two baby teeth that aren’t loose yet, and the adult ones are pushed waaaaay back, so I’m worried, as usual, and just want to be reassured that my kid isn’t messed up somehow. Like, being half-shark). I hope it doesn’t cost anything, ’cause I can’t pay them, hahaha.

Suck it, life.

you’re going to think i’m crazy, but i already want to repaint my kitchen, dining, and living rooms. i am getting increasingly bothered by staring at the walls. they still don’t evoke that sense of cohesive warmth that i was looking for,and i’m thinking a nice neutral, like a toasted almond color– warm, but beige and boring– would do the trick. then i could more easily change out my colors whenever i pleased. that would make me happy.

of course this is where mike might interject and say that i am never happy. and okay, sometimes that might seem true. beige paint isn’t going to make me happy, he’d tell you. but i don’t know… in this case, he might be wrong.

maybe.

i would be thrilled with this latest yearning (i love to paint), but when i think about how it’d be three rooms plus a hallway, i feel sick to my stomach.

or maybe that’s just the milk i had this morning giving me gas. (seriously. me+milk=very bad smells.)

but first before i go getting all “time to change up the look of the house!”, i need to clean. this also makes me sick to my stomach. i have a to-do list a mile long where i’ve, um, sort of let things go a bit around here. my toilets haven’t been cleaned in a week, same for my floors. my kitchen sink is overflowing with dishes even though i just did a load last night… my countertops are screaming for some pine sol-lovin’. and my laundry is taking over my bedroom.

my beloved was-clean-for-about-a-week bedroom.

and then there’s the appointments. i need to schedule myself and nick for about 5 different appointments (only one of those is his, ha.) then i need to wrap presents for some birthday parties this weekend. i need to run to the store, i need to pick up my prescriptions, and i need to replace some lightbulbs that have burnt completely out and have been out for, let’s see, about two weeks now.

i seriously lack discipline, i know. you don’t have to tell me. this is one of the many reasons i get so angry at myself. i wait and wait to do things and then, what do you know? my to-do list grows and grows and snowballs out of control, and then i’m sitting at my desk one more surrounded by filth and thinking, “man, i should do something”, but doing something seems so overwhelming!

breathe.

yesterday at church, the sermon was on giving your best to God (colossians 3, verses 15-whatever), and of course, colossians 3:17 was read. it is my favorite verse. “And whatever you do, whether in word or deed, do it all in the name of the Lord Jesus, giving thanks to God the Father through him.” for me, it’s a gentle reminder that all my jobs, even the ones i hate, i need to be doing cheerfully. i need to be proud of the work i put into things, whether i get thanked on this earth or not, for God will reward me for doing my best at even my most menial chores. God will most likely not say to me, “Oh, Angel, congratulations on vacuuming your house regularly. Here’s a mansion.” No. We know that works do not get us to heaven… and certainly not vacuuming. but because i am a stay-at-home mom, because i’ve chosen this path for my life- the path of the housewife- i am expected by my Father to do my best. God doesn’t care if my house is clean or not, but He does care if i slack when He Himself knows that i can do better. He doesn’t approve of lazy attitudes. He wants us to give things our all– because although we should be obedient only to Him, we are responsible for and to so many people on this earth. i am responsible for Nick and this house and the overflowing baskets of laundry. i am responsible to my husband. it is my duty to make sure things are in order… and God smiles upon us when we do what we’re supposed to do, even if we think it sucks. He approves of the tiniest thing being done cheerfully and for His glory.

now i’m not saying that me having a cleaner house brings glory to Him. i’m simply saying that as a christian, i have to try my best to be my best for God. and part of that is doing what i’m supposed to do while on this earth.

i hope that makes sense. remember, i had dairy this morning. my lactose-intake might be affecting more than just my digestive system.

okay. enough procrastinating. on to getting smiles from God.

 

I have learned what it is in my last blog that’s missing from my life so far this year: creative expression.

All day long I’ve been fighting the urge to go out and buy new curtains and pillows for my living room, which for me is one of the many ways I choose to express myself artistically– home design. I found some a couple of weeks ago at a local store for really cheap, comparatively. They weren’t necessarily my style but they were more me than the current throw pillows on the couch, which Mike won’t let me do without even though he typically hates “embellishment” of that sort. Five hundred pillows on the bed! He’d sometimes murmur as he was climbing into our made-up bed. Ridiculous.

I’d pretend not to hear his complaints because 1) this is MY house and he is just allowed to live here and 2) he has no idea about style and 3) see #1.

But he likes the ones on the couch because the arms of our couch are skinnier now and not comfortable enough on their own to lounge upon. So you see, he needs pillows.

However, being the traditional, down-to-earth girl that I am, I hate our geometric print pillows and they have got. to. go. Need to replace them with something a little less masculine, a little more me.

I’ve been thumbing through some old Domino mags I have on hand. I miss that magazine, even though I never really loved it so much. Certainly not as much as I love Better Homes and Gardens, which I realize is very Granny of me. But I did find a lot of inspiration in the pages of Domino, and so I’m glad I retained 4 copies from 2006 to look through, even if their featured things are out-of-fashion now. Like I’ve ever cared about that, though.

I need to do something crafty here. I need to come up with some way to express myself without simply blogging, as I can scarcely find the words to even make any blogs.

Someone needs to light a fire under me so I can accomplish something good today.

On Friday, I felt like I deserved a reward for all the good I had done since the beginning of the year towards financial security. I decided that I needed new makeup, new wrinkle cream, and new hair. I know, quite a reward. May as well have treated myself to a day at the spa, too, eh? Or at the very least to a mani/pedi and maybe a shopping spree at my favorite clothing store? All joking aside though, I only spent about $60 the entire day… that’s not so bad, right? I mean, did anyone see The Middle last week? I could’ve bought $200 eye cream…

I’ve been feeling like something is “missing” the last few weeks. Missing from me I mean. My sister would probably quote Alice here and say, “You’ve lost your muchness”… and that’s exactly how it feels! I’m missing some chunk of me that I can’t quite put my finger on, and I want it back like yesterday. I feel as though I’m walking around in a fog waiting for something to do. I’m not depressed; in fact, I’m quite happy these days! But, still, I feel different. All work and no play, perhaps? I have been quite productive compared to this time last year.

So yes, I rewarded myself with some new mineral makeup. And some lipstick. Also some wrinkle cream which is just a glorified moisturizer that probably won’t even attack that one wrinkle I have. And then I borrowed my friend’s steam cleaner and cleaned the heck out of my carpets, and as a reward for that, I got a haircut.

I just went into StyleAmerica, y’all. It’s not like I paid $100 for this cut. So I go in, and the guy there is like, “Can I help you?” And I say I want a haircut and he goes, “Alright, I can do that.” And for this brief moment I was like, You’re not touching my hair! You don’t look near gay enough for my tastes! (I love a gay male stylist. They always, always know what they’re doing when you go in there and say, “Uh, just give me a style with layers…” like I always do. I’m not good with knowing what I want, I just pretty much put all my trust in my stylist and pray they get it right. Which is why I hate Supercuts. THEY NEVER GET IT RIGHT.)

Then he asks what I want. And I think, maybe I should be less vague than “haircut”. So this is what I say:

“Okay so like, I have really really fine hair…and it just lays there when it’s growing because it weighs so much and I have NO lift, which means no volume whatsoever, and it’s killing me! Now I don’t mind putting product in my hair and spending about 15 minutes doing something with it in the mornings, but spending any longer than that is SO not my thing! I can’t even begin to imagine having to do that. So basically I want like, a style that is a style when I roll out of bed, so that I can product-it and go. See, i used to have that stacked-in-the-back, longer in front style and I don’t mind that, but it is SO overplayed. Maybe a shaggy bob with layers? I am okay with losing a couple of inches but i don’t really wanna lose any more.”

He sat there for a second, probably trying to process that. “Okay,” he said.

I was skeered out of my mind to leave my hair in his hands. He didn’t try to talk to me at all the whole time, which normally I admire in a stylist, but this time it made me nervous because 1) I couldn’t tell if he was gay and I was worried about the fate of my style in some straight dude’s hands, and 2) I was wondering if he was one of those “hair artist in the making” types who kind of envision what they think you want and then design a style that they like instead and tell you afterwards what they did as though it was EXACTLY what you asked for. That’s only happened to me once, and eventually I did like the cut, but still. Beside the point.

So afterwards, my hair looks better (split ends gone) and feels much lighter. I was happy just with that. Forget how it looked (which was fine). I already felt better.

“Do you suffer from thyroid issues?” He asked me.

“Uh…yes? How did you know that?” I asked back. I mean, was it stamped on my forehead? ‘Diseased!’

He went on to tell me all about his sister-in-law, who has the same balding patterns as I do and who also suffers from a thyroid disorder. He used the term “thinning patterns” though, and okay, i guess technically it is just really thin in places but honestly it just makes me feel bald so I tell people I’mbalding. So we talk about my recent failed dye job (I dyed my own hair a dark brown, which btw, is pretty much my natural color, and for some reason, my roots came out reddish brown. The dye had no red in it– it was Nice n’ Easy Natural Dark Brown. Not auburn, not copper. So I have red roots and dark ends. Stupid.) He told me that it was the same sort of stuff that happened to his sister-in-law, and that it was all due to our thyroid issues as best he could tell. Of course, he’s not a doctor, he said, and that was really just his best guess. But he thought it a coincidence that we both have that issue. (And technically, she has it worse, ’cause her hair just breaks right off when he puts dye on it for her! Just breaks!)

So this is what I learned:

1. Hypothyroidism sucks.
2. I DID deserve a little lovin’.
3. The stylist was more than likely gay.
4. I loved the stylist by the end of my cut, hence why I believe he was gay. And if he’s not, he should be.
5. I will eventually be bald and then it won’t matter if I have wrinkles or not because I will already look ridiculous.

(Pssh. I’ll buy a wig.)

Question: Is there a smell more divine than onions (or shallots, in this case) and garlic saute-ing together in perfect harmony?

Is saute-ing not a word? My spell checker won’t even recognize saute by itself. Hmph. (Hmph is also not recognized, so you know.)

Anyways, the answer to the first question is no, at least from my point of view. It is simply heavenly. Makes me want to hop in the pan and bathe in it. Okay, not really, but it does make me hungry and that’s important because I’m making my signature white bean and italian sausage soup in time for some football today. I can hardly wait to scorch my tongue (it is always so super hot when it’s done, but, like, I simply cannot wait for it to cool and I always end up with a burnt tongue after eating it. It’s totally worth it though.)

I have busted my own balls this week on getting organized in the “outer rooms”, i.e., my bedroom, Nick’s bedroom, the office, the laundry room… Anything that isn’t in the main hub of where the family spends its time. So far, I’ve completed everything but the laundry room and the office. The office is half done. The laundry room needs A LOT of work. Basically, I need to do what I did to the bedrooms and just take trashbags into each place and dispose of half the stuff that’s in there. It’s all junk. You know, the other day, I left Nick’s room with two bags of toys to donate to the Goodwill. I simply did not care what was going into the bag– if I haven’t seen him play with it in a while, I threw it out. I left mine with 2 bags of clothes– all my clothes, none of that was Mike’s. I won’t touch his side of the closet. That’s his job, which he’ll never ever get to because he’s 1) lazy and 2) completely unaware that he doesn’t wear half of the things in there. I mean, he seriously wears the same four shirts all the time. Why keep the other 50 he has stuffed into our side of the closet? I don’t know. Mike says I’m the packrat, and I am A packrat, but I’m not the biggest one that lives here. That award goes to him. Anyways, I did the same with my clothes– if I haven’t worn it in six months, it left.

And if it was a size 2x or a size 20, it is gone too. WOOT. Never going back!

Okay, some of my 2x’s I had to keep, ’cause I’m still a size 18. But I got rid of a lot. And it felt dang good, let me just say.

It will probably bite me in the butt though because despite the days I worked out this week, I have gained weight… no doubt thanks to a visit from my kind and generous Aunt Flo. She arrived with a vengeance on Wednesday, a whopping 46 days after her last visit, and man, did she seem mad at me. Not only did she vex me with an unusually high, um, volume, but she also made sure that I ruined as many pairs of underwear as possible, if you know what I mean. And if that’s not enough, she has made me crave chocolate like nobody’s business. It has been rough. Like, the worst one I’ve had since the miscarriage episode, to the point where I wondered if I was anemic (Probably am). But that’s okay, because now it’s the weekend, and things are simmering down in that department. I’m slowly coming down off the raging hormones and snippy attitude I’ve been displaying. I’ve apologized profusely to Michael for my behavior, and like a good husband he said, “What crazy behavior?” Oh, you clever, clever boy. And I’ve been trying to make it up to Nick by letting him play his DS whenever he asks.

One day at a time, that’s all I can do.

Alright, the soup is calling to me. I can’t resist the garlic.

Nicholas has been having a rough week. Several nights ago, he woke up crying and spent about 3 hours trying to “cope” with some outer-ear pain. The little flappy bit that protects the ear canal was sore to the touch and the entire outside of the ear was red and he claimed it was “aching”, so much so that he couldn’t even lie on that side of his head without the pressure being too much. Oh, he cried and cried. For hours. We tried everything- a warm towel to lay on, a dose of his nighttime meds, and lots and lots of snuggling. I even had him in my bed with me, so I could constantly rub his head, back, belly, and even scratch his butt (the Normans are big fans of cheek-scratching!) for him, but nothing would work to calm him or help him sleep. Finally the acetaminophen kicked in and he slept (in his bed) peacefully.

The next day, his ear was fine. I watched him all day, waiting for a fever or a sign of any ear issues, and he had nothing. I was on the phone with Kristi who was once a dental assistant, and she said, “Has he got his six year molars yet?” I told her that at his last appointment, he had one molar arriving, so she had me check and sure enough, on his left side, the other molar had already broken through AND the top one was a tiny spike of a tooth that no doubt had been causing all of the pain and heartache the night before.

It pays to have professional friends. If anyone knows of a fertility doctor, a pediatrician, and/or a veterinarian I could be BFFs with, please let me know.

But this whole week has been rough on Nick. He still has what he calls “the coughs”. We just can’t seem to shake that mean ol’ cough or his friend, mr. head congestion.  We’ve had to get back to a normal schedule for school, which in itself is rough because no matter how much Nick missed school, he loves his DS much too much to want to leave it all day. So between being sick and having to get up SUPER early for school, Nick has not been having a good week. He needs a nap like every day but of course he can’t take one because then he’ll be awake till 11 or 12 every night.

Today when he came home from school, he asked first thing to play the Wii. I said no, of course. Then he asked to play his DS. Again, no, he may not. He has a zillion Christmas toys that I spent all of yesterday finding a home for in that room of his, so I told him he should play in there. He stomped around like a wild person till I told him if he kicked my wall once more, I would kick his DS straight into the trash can, and then he went into his room and said, “What am I supposed to play with in here?” I told him he could play with any of his toys. “What toys?” he cried. I told him any of his toys again, only this time with a bit of a yell.

So a few minutes go by, and I hear very little from his room. Maybe he’s asleep, I thought. Then a few more minutes go by, and I hear him gtting things out of his cleaned closet (great) and he comes to me and says, “Look where I am!” So I turn around and there he is… in his collapsible laundry hamper.

$200 spent on random toys for Christmas, and that’s just our part. Another $200 worth from other places, I’m sure, is all neatly incorporated into his toy storage bins and closet. And what does he choose to play with?

A hamper.

Kids are so crazy. Praising Jesus I only have one today.