Elisha: I can’t sleep. Too many scary thoughts.
Me: Choose nice thoughts.
Elisha: [more rambling excuses]
me [going back to Hulu and the Castle episode with the baby that is totally cracking me up]: Fine. Diaper’s clean. Snap up the baby’s onesie.
[He does. Tries to come over and watch with me.]
Me: Nope. Now snap closed his jammies. You’re not doing anything anyway. “Can’t sleep,” remember?
E: I don’t want to snap his jammies closed.
Me: You can do that or go to bed…
E: I’ll go to bed. [Walks off.]
Jay and I are still trying to see if we can get away without putting up a tree this year.
I held the kids off with “wait till Daddy gets home [from Antarctica],” and so far the delight (and work– we restarted schooling) of his return has kept it out of mind.
We parents would be fully content with no seasonal rearranging.
Since taking in a baby at the beginning of November, I’ve had a few people ask how they could help me out.
The consistent answer I’ve settled on is giving me time to write.
That is, if I trust you enough to watch my kids (and I am pretty particular on this), and the “you” is also willing to watch a baby, I will have you here, or drive to your place, then tuck into a corner somewhere and write for an hour or two.
The funny thing to me is how people respond.
I had two different ppl volunteer for this, and others who shrug and roll with it, but a couple people hesitated, or offered and alternative before I insisted there was nothing I needed more.
My guess was the fourth kid (and being a baby) was a sticking point. But I saw another commonality between hesitaters.
Best I can read them, they’re all extroverts. Asking for help to be alone has got to seem like raking snow: “What’s the point?!”
~ ~ ~
One of the things that went wrong while Jay was gone (other than crazy weather– slick roads, -30, and two huge dumps of snow that I had to personally shovel while the surprise baby slept– and the water pump dying and needing to be replaced) was that my dishwasher also died.
So for the past month my inefficient self (and my wonderful mother, weekly while Jay was gone) has been hand-washing all our dishes.
Replacing said dishwasher is tricky, b/c it’s the portable type you roll from its waterless resting place to the sink where you hook it up for the wash cycle.
New is over $600, so I’ve been watching Craigslist for a month praying for an adequate replacement.
And that prayer was answered this week. Another family replaced their old portable DW, and put this one up as free. Jay said he wouldn’t have paid money, looking at it, but it WORKS!
I just loaded my third batch of dishes, and I’m finally guessing my source of unexpected margin.
I’m trying to decide if this is the first time this year I have both a settled baby and dishwasher that works.
Know what’s interesting? Running into grown-ups with kids your age who knew you when you were little.
They remember things you don’t.
And what they remember is interesting, because it was writ large enough to stick in their brain all these years.
Today I spoke with a woman who remembers me as a very detail-oriented child who liked things *just so*, very orderly.
And that sparked some long-buried memories about my child self that still has echoes today: I was never orderly in the clean-room sense of the word, but even now I have categories for everything, and (for example) out of hundreds of books in my home I can put my hand on exactly what I’m looking for in less than a minute.
I don’t like detail-management (which makes life tough for a homeschooling mama of three) but I relish precision.
And somehow these truths have coexisted for over 30 years.
Jen Sparks: I ran into the father of a primary school friend yesterday. Apparently, he thought I’d never have kids, as I was “too much of a free spirit”. Wasn’t quite sure how to process that one. I never thought of myself as a free spirit.
Me: Jen, I see your spirit “free” in its resistance to being put down. I see your spirit unwilling to accept the you-diminishing roles other people have tried to write for you– whether in church, relationships or even body image.
You are a formidable woman, and six kids only underscores your great strength.
Jen: I’ll be over here trying not to cry…
~ ~ ~
Equal opportunity snuggler.
New blog post at Untangling Tales.
“In any dark time, there is a tendency to veer toward fainting over how much is wrong or unmended in the world. Do not focus on that. There is a tendency, too, to fall into being weakened by dwelling on what is outside your reach, by what cannot yet be. Do not focus there. That is spending the wind without raising the sails.”
For all the times you say, “This world is starting to scare me,” and “It seems like things are just getting worse and worse,” remember that We Were Made for These Times – cling to the Cross and stand strong!
(The rest of the article from The Unbounded Spirit –> http://bit.ly/1dRMrIi)
“A depressive person sleeps less, and the nighttime becomes a dreaded chore that one can never achieve properly.”
(from, A First Rate Madness, by Ghaemi)
So well-said! I laughed out-loud in the bookstore.
Appointment-making has never been so soft and cuddly.
Just passed 70K on the Novel I started last month. My goal: finish the first draft– the whole of the first draft– by the end of Christmas break.
Huge thanks and kudos to Jay for making this possible.
“I’m a lesbian. You’re talking about all of this love and mercy. What does this mean for me?”
I answered, “It means the same for you as anybody else.”
For all I don’t know, I am confident that nobody gets a separate gospel.
~ ~ ~
Becky Miller: That made me burst out laughing.
Me: YES! Me too!
~ ~ ~
You need to read this.
The Good Samaritan with the plow truck was working across the street again today.
I grabbed the braided loaf out of the freezer and ran it across the street to him.
Poor guy seemed to think I was asking him to do it again, but I said my husband was home and we have a snowblower now, this was just a thank-you.
Backstory for you new folks– we had a 10″ snow dump less than a week after Jay left for a month in Antarctica. I was shoveling like Crazy– 3 HOURS!– when this old guy drove across the street and took over. 5 minutes and things were clear.
My New Year’s resolution is to write ‘2014’ instead of ‘2013’
My year-end letter is up at Untangling Tales.