Where do they all come from?

Leigh wrote an important series on finding community recently (first post here), inspired by her feelings of loneliness in Nashville.

I could second most of that first post, except for the part about having any friends in the first place--something my husband and I have long lamented (I think I've mentioned before that we're both shy introverts, so making friends is not exactly easy for us).

But Jennifer left a comment that made me stop and think about my own situation a bit more:

You mentioned that you wouldn't notice it as much if your calendar was more full, and that's just the thing. People don't know they are lonely cause they've made themselves so busy. But the deep ache for community doesn't diminish with a full schedule. I make a living (as a yoga teacher) of asking people to lay on the floor and just be present with themselves and their thoughts. I hear, time and time again from people that this agitates them. To which I lovingly reply, "no - it just forces you to see the agitation that is already there, that you have perfected the art of ignoring."

Well. The DDH and I have long semi-joked about how we don't have any friends we can do things with, but it's always been as much joke as problem. Lately, however, I've been realizing just how deeply lonely I really am.

Something has forced me to "see that agitation" that I had "perfected the art of ignoring," and I think I've figured out what.

As an introvert, I lose energy quickly when around other people. As an extreme introvert (100% I and 0% E on the MBTI), I lose energy extremely quickly, and it doesn't take many people to do it. Telephone calls tire me out.

The office where I worked was one big room where the three of us had our desks. The CEO had his own office but was in and out of ours (and we of his), and other people were always coming through--contractors, clients, the IT guy, the UPS men. Though it was a small office, with few people, there was no getting away from them.

I came home completely drained every day. My dealing-with-other-people energy bucket was bone dry by every evening. I usually got home an hour or two before the DDH, which gave me enough time (most days) to build up just enough energy to deal with him, and no more.

I was lonely, I had no friends--but I also had zero energy to deal with any if I had them. The fact that my interaction-with-others quota was being exceeded every day masked the loneliness.

***

Then I started staying home with T-Rex. Most days, the only person I see is the baby, with the DDH for a few hours in the evening and the occasional encounter with a cashier. While there are some days when T-Rex's demands still manage to drain me (even the dogs take their share from that energy bucket, I've discovered), my dealing-with-other-people energy bucket rarely runs dry anymore.

While I was working, I thought I had friends via the internet. See, introverts also hate small talk--it's a big waste of our limited energy stores. And you don't need to small talk the internet. You can read blogs and leave comments and discuss the sorts of deep issues you might get into over an evening coffee date with a good friend, without all the hi-how-are-yous-nice-weather-we're-having-isn't-its.

So with my energy bucket empty and my discussion bucket at least somewhat full, I thought I was doing okay.

At first while staying home I spent even more time on the internet, until finally I realized--these people weren't my friends. I read their words and I wrote mine in the comments, but I didn't really know them and they didn't really know me. You. I don't really know you, and you don't really know me, and as much as we might enjoy our conversations, I can't call any of you up for a picnic in the park or a baby-free evening at a coffee shop. (Which doesn't mean I don't enjoy reading and commenting. You know what I mean, I think.)

I stopped reading a lot of the blogs. Or I would read them, but not comment. It just seemed pointless. And now I'm to the point where I have dozens of people liking my cute pictures of T-Rex on Facebook, but no one who will come to my house for a dinner party, even when I offer to provide all the food. There's no one I can talk to about my frustrations or work out a problem with.

***

This week I learned that New Mexico does not reciprocate with any other states for bar passage. In other words, the only way the DDH could ever work there is if a) he got a federal law job (unlikely, but always possible. maybe.) or b) he takes the bar exam again, which at this point he has sworn he will never do (and he's really bad at standardized tests, so that's probably a good plan on his part).

In other words, we will never move back to my hometown. We will never live near my parents or the friends who live there, who are still friends, or would be, if we lived close and our lives could better include each other.

I don't really know what to do about it. I've tried for five years to make friends here, but the one I succeeded in making moved away last month. It's hopeless, I guess. As an INTJ who's not that into Feelings, I don't really know how I feel about that.

But I think it's sad. I think how I'm feeling is sad.

Seven Months

We're having kind of a rough go of it lately.

T-Rex stopped sleeping through the night a couple months ago. He went two weeks never sleeping longer than two hours and mostly it was between sixty and ninety minutes. He was teething and we had started giving him Real Food, which seemed to cause him stomach troubles. We stopped the food and he's gone back to sleeping between two and three hours at a time. Which at first seemed great compared to one hour, but now is terrible, especially when he used to sleep nine hours a night. All three of us wake up angry and yelling over and over again.

T-Rex has gotten grumpier, too, though he only has the two teeth. He's quicker to get frustrated with being left to sit and play. He whines a lot. He's heavy and he's grabby and he's only happy being held while walking around. Which is an exaggeration; he's happy most of the time still. But he gets grumpy and he doesn't want to be held while you're sitting. He doesn't want to be held while standing still. He has to be moving around. I vacuum a lot.

In the middle of that, after the two weeks of basically no sleep, I got really sick. I had pink eye in both eyes, a sinus infection, and then two rounds of a stomach bug. I had a fever for a week straight. I would sit in bed staring at T-Rex while he screamed because he was bored of playing in the bed, and I would pick him up and stagger downstairs and it would take me half an hour to change his diaper.

I don't remember much of that week and what I do remember I'm not entirely sure is true. Fevers are like that, I guess.

We ran through our entire stash of frozen pumped milk sending T-Rex off to spend the day with his grandma or having his dad watch him overnight so I could sleep. When the stomach bug hit at the end of the week, I stopped producing entirely (not to mention was completely incapable of sitting up to nurse him at that point), and we had to give him formula. Apparently he made awful faces and refused to eat it at first, but eventually he did, and then he even slept through the entire night while at his grandparents' house.

He seems to be waking up because he's hungry, but our forays into feeding him Real Food mostly seem to give him stomachaches. I think my supply is still low from being sick, and it doesn't seem to matter how much oatmeal I eat or fenugreek I take. So I don't know. I guess we'll all just be tired and short-tempered for awhile.

I guess this is a lot of complaining. But if you could hear me saying this, instead of reading me write it, I'm not whining. It's just facts. It's the way things are right now. So it goes.

There are lots of other things to complain about, too: work, friends, church. But I'm sure it's boring enough to listen to my problems with the baby, so I'll spare you the rest.

At least I'm reading a lot. So there's that.

Here's a picture to make up for the complaining:

Eating eggs.

I am happy.

Do you remember the Roald Dahl novel Matilda, about the smart little girl whose abusive, neglected family situation led her to have magical powers?

Spoiler alert if you've never read it, but at the end, when she's been adopted and skips ahead five grades in school and is happy and loved and challenged--her powers fade away. They served her well when she was in distress, but she no longer needed them once everything was going well in her life.

Well, sometimes I feel like writing is that way for me. When I'm anxious and overwhelmed and depressed, I write a lot. All the time. The words come pouring out, processing all those Big Emotions.

But when I'm happy and content with my life...nothing.

And I'm happier now than I have been since I was a kid, I think.

It's not that I have nothing to say, but the impetus to put words on paper (or the screen) just isn't there.

But let me tell you how happy I am. For the last several years, I've doubted myself. See, I never had a plan for What I Want To Be When I Grow Up. Because I knew, I just knew, that I would stay home with my children like my mom did (in retrospect it was quite naive of me to assume that I was guaranteed a husband and children at all, but that's youth).

So I majored in English and German (with a history minor because why not?), which I enjoy greatly but which don't necessarily prepare you for any particular career.

I never expected to get married so early. I intended to go on to graduate school, maybe work at something (I had vague notions of a career in academia, I think). But I never put much thought into a future career, because there was nothing I was passionate about, nothing I really wanted to do despite being good at many things.

So, when the reality of finding work and working jobs hit, I was lost. I hadn't had a plan or a destination, and so I just sort of wandered aimlessly from job to job, all of which I was grateful to have at the time I had them, but none of which I ever enjoyed. And the longer I saw that future stretching in front of me, the more lost I felt. Apparently I had been wrong in thinking I would be a stay-at-home mom and everything would work out. Apparently I should have trained for something, because now I did nothing.

Eventually I ended up in the job I had been working. It was a very good job, making a reasonable amount of money, intellectually challenging, different and interesting and with a good title. But the boss is emotionally abusive. And it still wasn't really what I wanted to do.

I was downright depressed during my pregnancy thinking I would have to go back to that job (or any job, but especially that one), abandoning poor little T-Rex and, so far as I could see, ramping up my stress levels to eleven to no purpose except a financial one. \

(I still can't imagine how working moms do it, how they get up and get themselves and one or more kids ready and drop them off and go to work and are on on on all day and then go and get the kids again and come home and feed them all and somehow in there also do at least a minimum of laundry and cooking and housecleaning and quality time. I don't understand how they do it. I get burned out just thinking about it, and was spiraling deeper and deeper into a burnt-out depression contemplating that future while pregnant.)

Maybe if I enjoyed my job, if I had some sort of career ambitions or passion for my work or believed I was making a difference in the world, maybe then it would be different. But I didn't and don't.

Then somehow, miraculously, my boss agreed to let me work from home. I assist with some paperwork and record maintenance and other things I can do from my computer at home without being in the office. It's just a few hours here and there, but it pays our car insurance and some groceries and that's enough.

And so now I'm happy, truly happy, relaxed and content with my life, for the first time since college. I can keep on top of laundry and house cleaning. I get to nurse and play and watch my little guy all day. I go to exercise classes and funerals and all sorts of things I could never do before. I truck T-Rex around to grocery stores shopping the sales. I cook dinner. I pet the dogs.

It is still work--T-Rex is not really always a happy baby, and I still have a short temper. I'm taking seriously the responsibilities of having hot food on the table for us in the evening, of doing the various household chores that I used to split with the DDH.

But this, finally, is work I'm passionate about. Work I enjoy as well as excel at. The worst part of the day is the time I spend working for money, though at least I get to do it from home, when convenient for me.

Not everyone would be happy here. But I am. I don't know how long it will last; at some point my old boss is likely to get irritated and demand I either come in to the office or quit completely. At that point, if nothing has changed with the DDH's salary, I'm not sure what we'll do.

But for now, I'm treasuring this time, and I'm happy, and I'm sorry if I'm not on here much. I always wanted Matilda to be happy and have magical powers. Maybe I'll manage to make that happen in my own life.

This was a strange and rambly and not entirely coherent post, so here's a cute picture of T-Rex so it's not a total waste of your time ;-):

In a funny snow sack.

Intermission (T-Rex's Birth Story, Part II)

Read Part I here.

Friday, November 16. The DDH and I had been in the hospital for two nights, expecting to have this baby. But despite a slew of different cervical ripening treatments, nothing was happening. We were sent home and scheduled to come back on Monday to try again.

At this point, I was deeply depressed. I was experiencing frequent and painful cramps thanks to the second medicine the nurses used, so I was in pain, but to no purpose--they weren't contractions. They weren't helping T-Rex out into the world. I just hurt, for no reason.

The whole venture seemed pointless. Why had we even bothered? We should have just waited and left well enough alone. We had both missed two days of work--the DDH falling behind on his trial prep, me losing two more days of pay--and here we were, still sans baby.

I started writing Part I that day, but was too disheartened to finish it or post it. I wanted to curl up and hide. I hated still being pregnant, and yet I was scared of actually finally having this baby, too. I didn't know what to do or how to feel.

The DDH's mom took us out to a nice lunch on Friday, then we spent the rest of the day at home, miserable. A warm bath finally made the cramps go away, and we woke up on a beautiful sunny Saturday feeling better.

We went to the farmer's market. We had brunch. We spent an hour or so wandering around Bass Pro Shop, looking at talking fish and fancy dehydrators. We went to Target. We came back and relaxed at home.

We skipped church on Sunday, unable to face everyone's questions and comments. We met up for lunch with some friends who were in town on their way home to Iowa. We took the dogs to the dog park.

Really, it was a lovely weekend. We were able to deliberately enjoy this last bit of time alone.

And by Monday, we were ready to try again.

To be continued again...

When it rains, it pours. (T-Rex's Birth Story, Part I)

T-Rex was due November 12, but showed no interest in leaving. The doctor was concerned that he was starting to get too big and wanted to try and get things moving so a C-section would be less likely. We were scheduled to be induced on Wednesday, November 14 at 7:30 in the evening. Here's that story.

When Laura of the Hollywood Housewife announced her Day in the Life challenge for November 14, I thought it would be the perfect opportunity to photodocument the last day of our lives before T-Rex came along. You know. This is what the house looked like, where Mommy and Daddy worked at the time, what the weather was like and what we ate and wore.

So it started out great. I did a little photo tour of the house, photographed the dogs and the rabbit and the DDH dressed for work. I'll spare you all the boring photo details (though if you're curious about the famous yellow plaid wallpaper, check it out on Instagram, where I'm @ktindeed).

Anyway. Then, on my way to work, a big SUV tried to cross the four-lane road on which I was traveling. She made it across three lanes...but not the lane I was in. I slammed right into her rear passenger wheel-well.

I think I spent about two minutes sitting the car where it landed, screaming, before I managed to pull off onto the side street where her car had ended up, climb out, and start taking care of everything. I called work to let them know I'd be late and called the DDH to come rescue me, and neither of them could understand what I was saying--I was shaking so badly I couldn't talk clearly. My throat hurt for days from the screaming.

But, my ridiculous overreaction aside, everything was apparently fine. She had three kids in the backseat, and they were all ok. I wasn't experiencing any cramping or anything, so T-Rex was probably safe.


Everyone was okay, though her car was not driveable. Subie was in the shop for almost two weeks (that's the thing about Subarus. They're tough little cars and they last forever, but when something does go wrong, it takes an absolute eternity to get the parts--shops don't tend to keep them on hand).

I finally made it in to work after taking Subie to the shop and picking up a rental car. I then proceeded to work like mad to leave everything in order before I left, which I think I actually managed to do (except I think I might have left a flash drive of photos in my computer there, because I can't find it anywhere at home. Hmph).

Came home and putzed around putting everything in order. I wrote up directions for caring for the animals, made sure everything was packed for the hospital stay, that the guest beds were made up for when my parents arrived. Took a nap.

The DDH came home and we had a celebratory "last meal" at McAllister's, then headed off to the hospital--excited, nervous, but thinking that either way, this was it.

Yeah. As Mom told me later, "I knew when the wreck didn't send you into labor that there was no way you were having that baby yet." Sigh.

The nurse checked me into the hospital. I signed all the paperwork, donned the hideous gown, accepted the little IV valve in my wrist. I still was dilated not even to one. The nurse dosed me with misoprostol and said she'd check back in four hours.

We hung out in the room, watching Hulu. We napped. Four hours passed. Nothing. I was now maybe a one. The nurse gave me another dose. After waiting the requisite hour, we got up and paced around the hospital. I walked laps around the labor and delivery floor and then around the deserted main lobby. I set up an Instagram account and uploaded all my Day In The Life photos.

I was having contractions now. They were short and not super strong, but also really close together. When we returned upstairs, the nurse put the monitor on and said she couldn't give me another dose of the medicine yet because the contractions were coming too close together. Yet I was still only dilated to maybe a one and a half. This was getting frustrating.

We hung out some more. Tried to get some sleep. Eventually the monitor said the contractions were far enough apart and the nurse gave me another dose of the medicine. We did sleep then, for awhile.

Morning came, and another nurse, and ineffective contractions too close together. The DDH left to feed the dogs and get some breakfast. He returned with the news that some Amish people were having a bake sale in the lobby. We petitioned the nurses to let me eat (supposedly I was only allowed clear liquids this whole time), and they agreed. We trekked down to the lobby and bought cinnamon rolls and pumpkin bread and brownies (and some for the nurses as well).

This pretty much continued all day: mild, ineffectual contractions. Lots of walking. More doses of misoprostol. Continued lack of progression.

That evening, they decided to give me a different cervical ripening agent. This one eventually caused really severe cramping, but proved to be no more effective than the misoprostol. My body just was not in the least interested in giving birth yet. So they sent us home.


To be continued...

D-Day

Well, here we are. Today is T-Rex's due date, not that he cares. He still shows no signs of going anywhere.

I'm at work today and have a doctor's appointment this afternoon to see if there's any progress. If not, I guess I'll just keep working this week and we'll check again next Monday. They won't let me go too much over a week past the due date without inducing and are keeping an eye on the calcification of the placenta.

In the meantime, I'm getting really. tired. of people's comments.

Mostly, there's just only so much you can think of to say to someone at this stage in the pregnancy, and it's not all the individual people's faults that I'm hearing the same things over and over and over.

But on the other hand.

If the due date is today, why have people been making comments about trying to jumpstart labor for six freaking weeks already?

Seriously. He would have been premature if he had been born at the time people first started encouraging me to walk around a lot or jump up and down. He's just now due today, people. Why would I have been trying to get him out any sooner?

Also. Why does everyone keep telling me to go for long walks? Do they think I've been sitting on my butt for the past ten months? Maybe I've invested in one of those little motor scooters?

I'm still going to the gym three times a week, plus my Wednesday one-hour exercise class. I was going to Zumba until we switched over to weekly appointments at about the 35 week mark, because my appointments are the same afternoons as Zumba class. I'm still in the habit of parking at the back of store parking lots because it irritates me to drive around looking for a closer spot when I can just zoom into one farther away and hoof it.

None of this has bothered T-Rex in the slightest so far. I'm not sure why it's supposed to tell him it's time to get the heck out of Dodge now.

Yesterday, the DDH and I did two laps of the mall because we couldn't find the store where we planned to buy the MIL's birthday present. And then we took the dogs for a forty-five minute walk (in the freezing cold! where did that come from?) that evening.

Saturday, I weeded the entire garden (finally!) and dug up a bunch of potatoes (yay!). I've cleaned the laundry area in the garage, made sure the guest beds are ready for visitors, set up the playpen/bassinet upstairs, vacuumed the master bedroom.

None of this activity has encouraged him to come yet. So stop telling me to go for a long walk. And definitely stop telling me to jump up and down. That's dangerous.

Ok, end rant. Here's a picture of me at the fabulous forty week mark:

And the profile:

Wow, the picture quality there is terrible, even for me and my sad little phone. Oops.

Everything's ready. We're just waiting now. I'm still just working and doing all the normal stuff around the house I always do.

Wir machen jetzt eine kleine Pause.

I way overdid it this past week/weekend.

Work has been simply heinous. Seriously. I was fired last week, then unfired, but still subjected to a week of emotional torture. So here I am, patiently biding my time until T-Rex is born, and then we'll be evaluating our long-term options.

So between that and frantically turning the house from a construction zone into a habitable and hospitable abode for three guests, family and friends in town and baby showers and all of that, I am physically, mentally, and emotionally exhausted.

A few pics from the baby shower to tide you over until I can summon the energy to write an actual post:

Pretend I'm not in this picture, because I look awful.
But look how happy the DDH is!

Card envelope and wrapping paper handmade by the
DDH's aunt, who is disgustingly crafty.

Me with the hostesses, my MIL and
step-sister-in-law.

The DDH and I with our haul.

So many little baby clothes. So many little baby clothes with DINOSAURS on them.

He'll be very well-dressed. But really, I still need a carseat....


(The title translates, "We're taking a small break now." One of the coordinators of my study abroad program, a charming older British woman, said this all the time: for rest stops on bus trips, during orientation classes, whatever. Just imagine a high-pitched older woman's voice saying it in impeccable yet distinctively British-accented German. You can't possibly imagine it correctly. It was awesome.)

I am worried.

We have six-and-a-half weeks left until the due date. The DDH has made impressive progress on the nursery. Almost the only thing left to do now is paint, and we even bought paint.

I wish I were being as productive and making as much progress on my own projects. Mostly I'm just tired, and anxious, and freaking out about everything. And we end up eating fast food every night because I spend the afternoons curled up in bed instead of cooking, and I can barely drag myself out of bed early enough to make coffee for the DDH, much less get a chicken into the crockpot.

I'm worried because T-Rex measured a week small on Monday. The doctor isn't worried; he said there can be a lot of variation in the measurements based on how the baby is lying in the womb and the measurement is not that far off anyway. But it could be there's not enough amniotic fluid and he'll be brain-damaged. So I worry.

I worry whenever I don't feel him kick for awhile. Most days he's active, but some days, like today and yesterday, he's quiet, and I just don't know enough to know what's normal. And sometimes I worry when he is moving around, in case he's having some sort of epic death throes or something. So no matter what I worry.

I worry about what people think about the baby things we registered for.

I worry about sundry things at work.

I worry that I'm going to be a terrible mother, that I'll snap and yell and be tired because I will be and do all those things, and I guess in the end it won't matter, but I still worry.

I worry about balancing schedules and sending him to daycare and never being able to get anything done because if I can't keep up with it now, how will I do it with T-Rex around?

I worry that I complain too much. Because I do.

I don't really worry about traffic accidents or natural disasters or germs (though I do worry about the house burning down. I never got over the burning-lava-coming-down-the-chimney nightmares I had when I was little).

I used to get exasperated with my mother for worrying so much. She is a champion worrier, the kind who can't sleep if she knows we're traveling (and told me, when I was away at college, not to tell her if I were going anywhere until after I got back, because there was nothing she could do from two states away but she'd worry anyway, if she knew).

Now I'm exasperated at myself for worrying so much. But knowing everything will be okay and feeling it are two different things, and so I worry still.

Maybe that's just what parents do.

I am running out of steam.

No outfit post this week. Again. I've been terrible at taking pictures lately.

Do you know that feeling of having a lot going on, and yet never seeming to get anything done?

That's where I am now.

I seem to have appointments or meetings or events every day of the week. Multiple activities per day, even. I'm always checking something off some to-do list or another.

And yet.

The nursery still looks like this.

More sanding yet to do before staining and sealing.
And it would be nice to paint the walls at some point.
And move furniture in.

Which means the room across from it still looks like this.

Sigh.

And honestly, much of the rest of the house doesn't look much better. Every time one place gets cleaned up and improved, something happens and a different place explodes. We still have carpet and carpet padding on the front porch, because the DDH can't figure out what to do with it. He promised he would take it to the dumpster Sunday, and so I emptied out the back of my car...so now there's carpet on the front porch and my trunk organizer and spare grocery bags in the living room. Yay.

And of course the house is being inspected on Friday and the inspector has to take pictures of it inside and out. How he's supposed to do that when he can't even walk into one of the rooms and about half the doors in the house are off their hinges, I'm not entirely sure.

I have epic plans but I'm running out of time and energy to complete them. Work has been stressful and busy and I come home exhausted.

How, exactly, am I supposed to do all this and manage a baby, too?

Admittedly a lot of what I'm doing right now is organizing things so life will be easier once T-Rex is here.

Still, I do not understand how people work when they have baby-sized children. I am dreading it, and the dreading and anxiety and fear are draining me. I am throwing an incessant internal temper tantrum about The Way Life Is and can't seem to find peace about any of it.

Hmph.

On the other hand, I did the little orientation tour at the hospital on Monday and saw the Labor and Delivery Ward, the delivery rooms and post-partum rooms. It's a small hospital in a new building. All the nurses seemed friendly; the rooms were large and clean and not too hospital-y.

You're allowed to move around and use the shower and they have birthing balls for you (all assuming a lack of other complications and the permission of your doctor, of course). They let you hold the critter before weighing and testing him (in the room) and then give him right back for skin-to-skin and nursing. There are lactation consultants you're welcome to use as much as you like. They do rooming-in unless he needs to be NICUified so you can chill together and nurse on demand.

It seems like a good environment, though what do I know, really. The DDH and I have their childbirth class next month and breastfeeding classes in October.

November is starting to feel awfully close.

I am another year older.

My birthday was ridiculous. It was like one of those games of Good News/Bad News. Remember those?

Good News: Breakfast in bed! Scrambled eggs with cheese curds and ananas melon. Yum.

Bad News: I was attacked by a swarm of yellow jackets when I walked out my front door. They stung me in the neck and terrified me into hyperventilating.

Good News: I had no reaction at all to the sting (so maybe it only struck me a glancing blow). My coworkers brought me a cake and took me to lunch.

German chocolate. With candles and everything!

Bad News: In the insanity of the yellow jacket attack I completely forgot about the peach I had stuck in my purse for my mid-morning snack. It took a direct hit from something heavy. Peach ooze everywhere in my purse.

Good News: I was the last appointment of the day for my doctor so he gave me a bonus unscheduled ultrasound. T-Rex wiggled around adorably. He's growing right on track and seems to be perfectly healthy.

Bad News: Walked in the front door to discover the dogs had left no fewer than three piles of diarrhea and one puddle of pee on the carpet (never on the linoleum, of course). The carpet that the DDH had just spent hours and hours cleaning a week ago. Sigh.

Good News: The DDH bought me a big fat ribeye steak from the butcher that we decided to save for a more relaxing evening. Then he cooked some chicken instead.

Bad News: The surviving yellow jackets staked out the front door and we were all out of yellow jacket spray. We had to go in and out the back door until the DDH got more spray, and they finally seem to have dispersed. *crosses fingers*

Okay, so those don't really flow the way the Good News/Bad News game items are supposed to flow. But it was definitely a birthday to remember!

I am good enough.

Weekends. They're not always what you hope they'll be.

I often come off long weekends (so rare and far between, since we work a number of holidays when the stock exchange is closed) feeling disappointed. Like I've wasted it, somehow. They seem so rich and full of possibility at the beginning, and when I look back at the end, I never seem to have done as much as I wanted to.

No matter what I do, I'm nagged by that feeling of I-could've-done-it-better.

This happens in all aspects of life. It's why traffic drives me absolutely bonkers--because I have the sneaking suspiscion that if I were only good enough--smart enough, fast enough, clever enough, skilled enough, paying enough attention--I would be able to negotiate my way to smooth sailing.

If I were good enough, I'd always pick the shortest and fastest line at the grocery store.

If I were good enough, I'd pick the best route through traffic, the best lane for each segment of my drive.

If I were good enough, I would have a fresh meal on the table every night, my dogs would never run away, the DDH and I would never fight, etcetera, etcetera, etcetera.

But I can't be good enough to be any of those things.

Some things I can make active efforts to improve at--like meal planning and communicating kindly with the DDH--because improvement really does lie within my control. That's why I set goals and keep track of them.

But not meeting my goals doesn't mean I'm less of a good person than if I hit all my goals on schedule every time.

Some things I can try to account for--like filling in the dogs' holes with cement sand, or keeping an eye out for little old ladies writing checks at the grocery store, or checking a traffic report for construction--but are ultimately out of my control. I can't pave the entire backyard or cut off the dogs' digging paws or account for the stealth check-writers or sudden traffic accidents.

Except there is always something I could do. I could pave the backyard (or get rid of the dogs entirely, since they obviously don't want to live here anyway*). I could do all my grocery shopping online and end the tyranny of check-writers and price-checkers forever. I could refuse to leave the house (or at least refuse to drive) and thus never get stuck in traffic.

I'm stuck in frustrating situations because I choose to put myself there. Maybe that's where the feeling of not being good enough comes from, the acknowledgement that ultimately it is my choice (and thus my failure?) for being in the situation in the first place.

But when I look at the alternatives as being, not having chosen the shorter line, but having chosen to forego all grocery stores forever, I realize how ridiculous I'm being. I realize that beating yourself up over choosing the wrong lane of traffic is a silly way to live.

(The fact that if Tulsa's city planners had just done common sense things like include center turn lanes in their stupid roads, so many of my frustrations would evaporate, is another post entirely.)

I am good enough that a few extra minutes in line won't kill me.

I am good enough that I can be patient in traffic (and note to self: being impatient really could kill me).

I am good enough to set wise goals, to work on them, to fail and learn and try again and sometimes, to give up.

More importantly, I am not in any way and never will be good enough to control everything.

I'm not in control. I never was, and never will be, and figuring out the balance between personal agency (doing things) and personal subjecthood (having things happen to me) is, perhaps, the key struggle for this INTJ. They don't call us Masterminds for nothing.

I'm not in control. But I am good enough.

And for Pete's sake, it's time to stop raising my blood pressure over the dratted traffic four times a day.

The fewer cars, the better.

What makes you feel inadequate? And how do you remind yourself that frustrations are not personal failures or character flaws?

*Not really.

The seasons are turning. I am not.

I wish the seasons meant something to me anymore.

You know?

I wish summer still meant long, lazy days. Reading on the couch, collapsing under the swamp cooler, lining up my toy horses on the front porch. Running errands with my mom and siblings. A soundtrack of talk radio. Dinners on the back porch, talking into the night. Sibling sleepovers in the living room, in carefully constructed blanket tents and kitchen-chair beds.

That almost-endless span of nothing-to-do in which Everything could be accomplished.

With a super awesome birthday in there somewhere, my brother's a month earlier like the warm-up act for my own.

Dog days of summer.

Monsoons, that comforting pattern of sun and cloud and lightning and rain, cool/warm rain to quench the earth's thirst, and ours, for something to break the tyranny of the sun in the desert.

And then the thrill of school shopping, poring over schedules. Planning and dreaming and scheming to make everything about this year perfect. Notebooks and pencils and backpacks and pens. The change of pace, the comfort of routine.

Leaves in the fountain.

School begins in early August in New Mexico, so it always came before cooler weather. The crisp scent of fall didn't tickle our senses until midterms. And then, as it got colder, the excitement of Christmas: another break, another abandonment of now-stifling routine. Trees and lights and church. And presents--presents to request, presents to buy, presents to make, presents to wrap, presents to hunt for in the backs of closets.

The quiet, sated week between Christmas and New Years. The final party, welcome, new year! The return to school, docile with celebration hangover.

Lights in downtown Tulsa.

The hard slog of January, February, March to Easter break. Cold (though not wet like Tulsa, blech). Working day in and day out, routine to the extreme. Ordinary time. 

Spring Break, a much-needed respite. Warmer weather. Lilacs in bloom. The year's most pleasant walks to and from school (or are those in the fall?).

Backyard flowers.

The jittery excitement as summer approaches. A whirlwind of end-of-year activities, yearbooks and goodbyes, final concerts and awards presentations. Exams, later, and scores and grades that mean something. The frantic buildup and the sudden release, all of summer stretching before me in its hazy, fertile glory.

Now it seems like life consists of nothing but that January/February/March slog. The endless routine, always the same. Nothing changes. Nothing to anticipate. The same dreary work, the same evening routine of gym-chores-dinner-tv-bed. Weekends longed-for but wasted in more chores and commitments and an unfulfilling laziness that is only a cheap imitation of rest. The same bleary-eyed awakenings, begrudging the alarm.

Sometimes it's hot, sometimes it's cold. I'll wear sweaters and boots or tanks and sandals. But it's the same stuff I'm doing. No breaks. No vacations. No completion.

And maybe that's fine. There's nothing wrong with my routine, with the tasks that fill my days and weeks and months and years.

I just wish the seasons meant something again.

You know?

I am hunting rabbits.

Hunting rabbits. See the tail?

My mind is aswirl with a million thoughts.

Like the dogs in the backyard, chasing a million rabbits that they'll never catch.*

But few of them are happy ones, and sharing would be whining.

What it comes down to is this: I'm doing too much of what I don't want to do and too little of what I do want to do.

But what it comes down to even more is this: I don't actually know what I want to do.

Or perhaps: I don't know how to do what I want to do.

And then there's this: I haven't showered in almost a week (which isn't too terribly unusual for me, actually) because sewage keeps backing up into our one and only shower.

I mean, Timothy showers every day and it's fine. It mostly only happens when it rains a lot or you run the dishwasher and washing machine at the same time or you run the washing machine more than once a day or for any other combination of reasons that involve the water and/or sewer pipes. But I just know that as soon as I'm standing there covered in shampoo, that's when it will choose to back up next.

And I will never, ever, ever get over the feeling of standing in sewage. So it's best to just not tempt fate.

Of course, there's also this: the dogs have dug under the fence and run away twice in the past week. Once they got more than a mile, across a very busy street. They are going to die because that idiot Labrador likes to dig holes and the moron beagle just tags along behind him.

And it's ridiculous how unloved that makes me feel. Like I'm not good enough for them, and they'd rather be anywhere else.

Then there's the fact that my car's making a funny noise. Or that I barfed Salisbury steak all over the back yard at lunch today and drove pale and shaking back to work clutching a bag of stale tortilla chips. That I've had a miserable sinus headache every day for a week. That a lady at the gym yesterday when I walked in said, "Oh my gosh, Katie, you're showing!" but I think it's just that I haven't been eating well or working out as hard and so I'm getting fat. That I'm whining to a bunch of strangers on the internet (and crying at work) because I don't have any real life friends to talk to.

But Critter had a nice strong heartbeat Wednesday (this maddening Critter that I already love so much that I'm miserable at the thought of abandoning it to daycare the way I know I'll have to).

The DDH's work life is going swimmingly and he seems to still mostly love me and bought me candy yesterday just because I said I wanted something sweet to eat.

We don't have enough money to fix the plumbing or the car but we have enough money to live so long as I keep plugging away at this miserable job that I hate. Even with the cost of daycare. Which was the depressing/comforting realization I came to yesterday after an afternoon spent crunching numbers: we can't survive on just the DDH's salary even if we cut out every extraneous expense. But with mine we can afford the nicest daycare (though maybe not also the gym). Assuming my boss doesn't fire me once he finds out I'm pregnant, of course.

The sun is shining and the weather's supposed to be beautiful this weekend.

I have one whole morning to myself tomorrow with nothing to do but the farmer's market and Zumba and I'm going to make the most of this oasis in the middle of an otherwise drainingly busy weekend.

And I guess for now that will have to be enough.

*Actually they did catch one, once. All that was left when we found Jayne slurping on it were three legs, a head, and a spine, all loosely attached by hollow, bloody, fluffy skin. You're welcome for the mental image. Nature red in tooth and claw....

What I am into this month: April

Still just greening.

On My Nightstand: I'm still reading An Omnivore's Dilemma and Changer (sidenote: if you want an eclectic, though-provoking author-blog to add to your reading list, I highly recommend Jane Lindskold's). I've started both Introverts in the Church and Here I Stand: A Biography of Martin Luther, both of which the DDH got me for Easter. I'm slogging or have slogged through a million billion baby books (or at least it feels that way).

I did actually read the entirety of Free Range Kids. Unfortunately, I then decided it would be a good idea to give it to the DDH to read, and he has proceeded to provide me with a list of the exact charges he would level against Skenazy after DHS took her kids and she ended up in his courtroom.

Never marry a lawyer, ladies. -_-

I also read all of Having a Baby, a pregnancy/baby book that my mom read when she was pregnant with me in the mid eighties, written by Danielle Steel (yes, that Danielle Steel, of bodice-ripping romance novel fame) and six of her friends who were all pregnant at the same time in 1983 or so. It was hilarious (please click the link and look at the cover. I implore you). And reassuring? Also, apparently less than thirty years ago women not only still drank while pregnant but drove around in cars with their babies on their laps instead of in car seats. What the what.

Want to Read: The books that I've already begun! Ouch. I blame the fact that I've been opting for naps and worry over reading lately.

Oh! If you want some excellent book suggestions from a variety of ladies 'round the web, check out Anne at Modern Mrs. Darcy's Book Carnival going on today! Really some excellent suggestions.

TV Show Worth Watching: Once Upon a Time, Grimm, Castle, Bones. Community. Alcatraz. The usual.

The DDH and I have also been watching Mad Men on Netflix. We finished season one and are working on season two. That show is simultaneously BORING and engrossing. It is so. slow. Like snails high on weed crawling through molasses. And every last character is a jerk and/or a creep. BUT. They're all so fascinating, in a train-wreck kind of way. A gorgeous, beautifully costumed, impeccably set, stoned-molasses-snail train wreck.

Movies I've Seen (in or out of a theater): We may or may not have rented a movie or two at some point. When it gets windy (aka every day in the spring), our internet gets unreliable because the giant untrimmed trees snag the cable that leads to our house. I feel certain the DDH rented some movies to remedy this, but I can't even remember. This month has been a haze of all-day-sickness and exhaustion.

More importantly: The Hunger Games. Here is my review: The DDH agreed to go see the movie after I had read the first book, but said that young adult novels are dumb and he doesn't read them. We saw the movie Friday night. Saturday he bought the first book on his Kindle.

In My Ears: I hate music right now. This is apparently my pregnancy aversion: noise.

What I'm looking forward to next month: More appointments. Starting to tell more people (though not telling work...I mean, I'll have to eventually, but I'm not looking forward to it. Or to deciding what my plan actually is about work in the future). This mystical sense of well-being and energy that I have been promised will be mine in the second trimester.

Goal Progress: I posted some goals for the new year, and I figured these monthly wrap-up posts would be a good chance to check my progress throughout 2012.
The Budget: I don't even know. We're fine right now. Still trying to figure out what's going to be what with my work situation in the next few months/years.
The Garden: I ate a snap pea off the vine yesterday. It was delicious. We also planted six tomatoes, four peppers, and a ground cherry plant on Friday.

Food: No @#%$ comment. Blech.

The Craft Room: Miraculously I did actually work on this some the other day and might even share my progress on here at some point.

What a difference a month makes--when that month is April!

How are you doing on your 2012 goals? What are you looking forward to in May?

I am graceless.

Basically I'm trying to figure out why I ever thought having kids was a good idea.
And if I really wanted them so badly, maybe we should have just adopted them.

I am rarely sick and I hate being that sick person, whiny and dependent. I show up. I power through. I do things I don't feel like doing and get them done and don't complain.

(The DDH may view me slightly differently...perhaps I should amend it to say I don't complain, except to him.)

But this. I'm exhausted. I'm sick. My allergies are worse than ever (turns out Claritin is nowhere near as effective as Allegra. Obviously it's the ingredient that actually works that's harmful to the baby). I drag myself out of bed twenty minutes before I have to leave for work. I sit at work staring at the computer, willing myself not to throw up--or fall asleep. I drag myself home again. I can't stand up for more than five minutes without feeling like I'm going to pass out. Eating makes me sick. Not eating makes me sick.

I'm in a bad mood all. the. time. Every time things get tense with my boss I just want to walk out and quit. Even though he's actually been relatively sane lately and making me feel indispensable. Which makes me feel worse and more conflicted about the fact that I do still intend to quit.

I haven't told anyone (other than immediate family) because I'm scared--scared of how my boss will react, scared that I'll miscarry, scared of being the center of attention when I usually do my damnedest to disappear into the wallpaper--so for all anyone knows I'm just being lame lately for no reason.

I skipped C-Fit yesterday not because I didn't want to work out--though truly I was exhausted and sick-feeling and not sure it would have been a good idea to jump around in a class where, again, I just look weird for not doing everything full out the way I used to--but because I got depressed and convinced myself no one else in the class likes me and they would all be happier if I didn't come.

I just don't want to do this. I'm scared of labor. I'm scared of newborns. I know what I'm like when I'm sleep-deprived, and it's not pleasant for anyone involved.

The DDH is pretty much the best darling devoted husband ever in the history of husbands. Although he admits that he's sad not to have homecooked meals all the time anymore, he doesn't complain about it. He does the dishes and empties the dishwasher and on Saturday he even vacuumed. He hugs me when I cry for no reason and tells me that it's okay for me to complain.

So of course all that just makes me feel worse. I should be better and more deserving of him. I should at least cook him dinner occasionally.

And why should I be whining? So I don't feel great. Tough. Lots of people feel worse. I could be (and, I suppose, at some point will be) feeling just as bad but have a toddler running around I have to care for. I should just toughen up and do things anyway--

But then my head spins and my heart beats too fast and I sit back down before I faint or throw up and nothing gets done and I am the most useless, pathetic weakling ever.

I can find grace and empathy and understand and reassurance for everyone.

Except myself.

What I am into this month: March.

We had one week of non-stop rain, but the rest of March has
been sunny and eighty.

On My Nightstand: Umm. I suspect I started out the month reading books, but I can't remember. I just keep slogging through baby books now...suggestions would be appreciated.

Ok, no, I'm still reading An Omnivore's Dilemma, and enjoying it. I'm reading a Jane Lindskold novel, Changer, that is making me homesick (Jane lives in Albuquerque and this novel is set there and in other parts of New Mexico). And I read the first book of The Hunger Games almost entirely in one evening while babysitting when the mom lent it to me. The problem is she only lent me the first one and there are approximately five million holds on the other two at the library.

Also, this. Painful and beautiful truth.
Want to Read: The items on my to-read list have only expanded, as I still haven't gotten my paws on a copy of Introverts in the Church or on the biography of Luther that I wanted. The library has neither. And like I said, I'm approximately hold number 5,678,934 on the second Hunger Games novel. So.
TV Show Worth Watching:  Once Upon a Time, Grimm, Castle, Bones (though now that I think about it I haven't seen Bones on Hulu in months...), Royal Pains. Community. I've watched an episode or two of Alcatraz with the DDH (he watches way more tv than I do and follows a number of shows that I don't (I think because he tends to watch tv while I make dinner), so I'm behind on this one. I'd like to watch it because it seems interesting, but he's refused to wait for me to watch new episodes, so...we'll see. But it's by the Lost people and stars Hurly).
Movies I've Seen (in or out of a theater): We saw This Means War last weekend. It was very good in that it was hilarious and lots of stuff blew up (yes, I'm a thirteen-year-old boy that way), but I'm iffy on the ending. It didn't seem quite fair somehow. We've also watched the first two The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo movies (the actual Swedish subtitled ones (or is it Danish? Scandinavian, anyway)). They're intense.
In My Ears: I've been spending so much time outside on the back porch that I never turn Pandora on anymore. And every single song on the radio makes me angry right now for some reason (hormones? Maybe. Or maybe all the radio stations around here play crappy music). If I get around to caring enough one of these days, I'm going to go scout out all Leigh's suggestions on how to find great music.
What I'm looking forward to next month: I don't even know anymore! If we can be done with this all-day-semi-sick thing that would be great. And I heart Easter, and I get a three-day weekend with Good Friday off, but...I either don't know what to expect or I'm dreading things. Like telling my boss. We'll see, April, we'll see.

Oh! But the farmer's market is back the week after Easter. And that is the happiest of happy dances.

And theoretically my first ultrasound appointment will be in April. That will be exciting, to see Critter. ^_^

Goal Progress: I posted some goals for the new year, and I figured these monthly wrap-up posts would be a good chance to check my progress throughout 2012.
The Budget: Yeah...so we've been doing really well with the budget (yay!). But admittedly we were supposed to get pregnant in the fall, not be having the critter in the fall. And as soon as I quit my job, the whole thing goes out the window. So obviously it needs some work.
The Garden: The plants I planted out there sprouted and...are still pretty much sprouts. This is disappointing. The pea plants seem to be growing really well, actually, but I was hoping for more progress from the lettuces and the carrots.

Food: Don't talk to me about food. I've been completely failing my cooking resolution, because standing up for five minutes makes feel like I'm going to pass out. I managed to make soup the other day and then almost threw it up yesterday. I did make another batch of granola bars and they are delicious. The only thing that helps my nausea is eating but the thought of food nauseates me...it's a conundrum.

The Craft Room: Is progressing, slowly. As, actually, is the office. The DDH cleaned up his half, anyway, and then some. This is good, as I'll need to have these rooms organized so I can actually find things and use them while toting around a baby (inside or out, either way movement will be more difficult). We also have to decide which room to turn into a nursery, and figure out when The Roommate is moving out (which is both yet more loss of income and sort of sad because it's been nice having another person around. But I don't think he'll want to stick around when there's a screaming newborn in the house).

How are you doing on your 2012 goals? What are you looking forward to in April?

Here comes the sun.

I am not actually accomplishing anything.

So I actually cooked dinner the other evening, and it actually tastes pretty good, and I actually remembered to take pictures so I could finally actually update Reality Chef...

...But then I got halfway through a bowl of the leftover soup for lunch today, seriously thought I was going to hurl it back up, and still feel on the verge of being sick. No way can I look at the pictures of the stuff or type up its recipe.

Also I think it would be a little off-putting to put in the description that this food almost made me throw up. But it's good! I promise you'll like it! Really guys, I promise!

Up until now I've only felt vaguely queasy and just had no appetite, but I guess I don't get to entirely skip the morning-sickness thing after all. :-/

This is my life right now: lots of thinking and planning but no actually doing anything. Lots of sitting around at work trying to look busy when I feel like curling up and passing out--either in bed or in front of a toilet seat.

Nausea and fatigue, 6; Katie, 0.

I am two.

Oh, hey there, blog. Almost forgot about you.

Life's been a little busy, and I've been a little tired.

And we're not ready to tell everyone (which means, no Facebook), but I'm trying to work through some things in my head so I'm going to tell you, my dear Internet friends (and Jessi, but please keep it quiet for now!):

Yup. Little Critter's ETA is mid-November. The same month as our anniversary. And as DDH's birthday. So that was good planning. -_-

Yay! So other than being terrified, we're very excited (even though I'm going to spend the rest of this point not sounding excited at all but worrying over related matters). But I guess my goals for the year have changed a bit now.

I need to:

1. Learn everything (or at least enough) about pregnancy, childbirth, and babies.
2. Make a nursery and otherwise babyproof the house.
3. Figure out how to babyproof the dogs (they're very loving and protective, but Jayne also sliced my toe open yesterday making a mad dash for his Kong. Soooo....).
4. Figure out how to tell my boss that I'm leaving the firm, hopefully while still being able to work up until the baby's born (the "hopefully" is not because I anticipate illness but because my boss is insane and might just fire me as soon as I tell him).
5. Figure out a way to make some money from home, and/or find a job of some sort to go back to next year.

A massive trip to the library and a judicious amount of googling are taking care of number one.

Number two will begin over the next few months. On a strict budget and with lots of gifty help from the parents...first grandchild FTW.

Number three...I'm guessing google will help me there, too. Though some people suggest using a doll and training the dog to behave around the doll, and that doesn't make sense to me. Dogs identify primarily through smell. A doll doesn't smell anything like a baby, and training a dog to be nice to a piece of plastic has nothing to do with it being nice to an actual person. Really I suspect this will just involve actually training the dumb dogs to behave better (finally! a reason for the DDH to cooperate and not sabotage all my efforts). And trimming their nails more frequently. And constant vigilance!

Numbers four and five, though...blech. For various reasons, starting with my boss is batshit crazy, going through no really, he's insane and ending with also I don't really like finance that much and I'm not that good at it, I do not plan on coming back to this job after Critter is born.

The fact that my salary would approximately equal the cost of good daycare enters into our consideration as well, and is part of the reason why I would prefer to manage to make some sort of money at home rather than by going to a part-time job somewhere. But the fact is, the DDH's ADA job will not quiiiiiitte pay all the bills. (Of course, trying to make payments on his ridiculous law school student loans is really what makes it impossible for us to get by on just his ADA salary...but anyway.)

I've worked as a tutor on the side before, and imagine I could pick up some more of those gigs--except that childcare will again be an issue (though not an insurmountable one, surely).

Here's the thing. Really, Critter just pushed up my deadline. I've been planning to quit my job for a while now, because I hate it. It's both boring and stressful and not particularly rewarding in any sense of the word--except for the sense in which it's reliable, regular income, which going out on my own with any sort of project is not.

But while what I love is writing, editing, cooking, and gardening (and I'm not particularly talented at the last two)...I have no idea how to turn that into any amount of money at all. And I'm getting depressed googling around for online editing gigs and only coming up with scams. Why don't legitimate people want a complete stranger to edit their important documents over the internet? I don't understand. ;-)

So I need some ideas. Is it too much to ask that I

1. Actually make some (not a lot! but some) money
2. Doing something that I actually enjoy
3. That lets me stay at least mostly at home with Critter and his/her eventual siblings, doing what I believe is the most important job of all?

It would be really nice if the DDH could just snag some swank private-sector lawyering gig with a private-sector lawyering income so that I wouldn't have to worry about making my writing projects profitable...but he promised the county four years and he's a man of his word. And he really, really loves his crazy insane stressful heartbreaking job, so I wouldn't be surprised if he wants to stay longer.

Sigh. It's something I need to work on regardless of whether Critter sticks it out (yes, I'm reading too many miscarriage stories on Babycenter), because as scary and uncertain and failure-ridden as doing something else is likely to be, I cannot subject myself to this place much longer.

Help, friends!

I am (sigh) having to be productive.

The problem with a blogging model that relies mostly on posting when things are slow at the office is that, when things aren't slow at the office, I don't write blog posts.

I'm pitifully behind on my Reality Chef stuff, and I have a million things I've planned to post here, but...work keeps getting in the way. How irritating. ^_~

The problem is that I'm on the computer all day at work and the absolute last thing I want to do when I get home is spend more time with the computer screen--especially on either the clunky ancient machine back in my (totally trashed and unproductive) "office" or the teeny tiny EeePC out in the living room, which, half the time, the DDH is using to watch stuff on Hulu.

Plus, when am I supposed to implement all the fun and practical projects I post on Pinterest if I'm spending all my time on the computer instead? By the time I go to the gym and make dinner and spend at least fifteen minutes cleaning the house and working on some other project and caring for the dogs and the DDH, there's not a lot of time left for other things.

It doesn't help that I have a hard time turning the DDH down when he wants to cuddle on the couch and watch Hulu or Netflix.

I know what this means and I don't want to cooperate. It means I have to start getting up early again. I've been pushing my wake-up time back to the absolute limit. I woke up yesterday at 6:56. 6:56! I have to be at work by 7:45. That has to change, but it is terribly difficult to convince myself of that truth when the alarm goes off in the morning.

And now I've spent fifteen minutes blogging about how I don't have time to blog instead of writing an actual post...oh life!

So have patience with me, dear readers (all three of you). I'm still around.

I am cleaning up.

Slowly but surely.

You know how I mentioned in my blog post that one of my goals for the year was to clean out the craft room so it was functional?

Did you ever maybe wonder why I thought that might take a year?

I'm about to share a big deep dark secret with you, guys.

The DDH and I (now +The Roommate) have a five-bedroom house (the DDH used to rent the rooms to college students). And the front corner bedroom, with the two big south- and west-facing windows and the deep(ish) closet I claimed for my craft room. I had a big table to spread out on and drawers filled with scrapbooking supplies, paint, ribbon: the usual sort of DIY-crafty type suspects. I even used it for its intended purpose for about six months.

But now?

This is what the craft room looks like:

Yeah.

And let me point out, I had already spent probably three or four hours cumulatively in there cleaning over the past few months.

It used to be worse.

At one time this was a useful and even organized room.

But then my parents brought some drawers filled with my stuff from high school.

Then they brought a half dozen giant boxes of random stuff.

Then they brought a few more.

And then my mother-in-law gave us a pile of furniture that will all, eventually, be useful and store the supplies that I end up keeping.

And then The Roommate moved in and I had to hastily move all the boxes stored in the guest room into the craft room.

Now I have to sort through my entire life from elementary school onward. Pounds and pounds of school papers and cards and notes from friends and trinkets and presents and toys and just everything.

And in the meantime meantime, I keep collecting more DIY crafty-type supplies: empty jars and containers and old t-shirts and cloth scraps and ribbons and what have you, and I can't even get to the drawers where I would eventually like to store them in neatly organized bliss.

Bit by bit it's coming together. Any time I have a few moments I'll set the timer for fifteen minutes and just work. The place has good bones now, with drawers and shelves and places to store and organize the stuff I packrat away. The giant overstuffed black trashbag you can see in the pictures has been dragged to the curb and another big box is already half-filled with things to toss. So we're getting there.

But yeah. It will probably take all year.