Stunted literary existence

As was evidenced by my abysmal tally on the list of 100 greatest books, I am no literary genius. Even worse...I'm a girl and I like to read "girl books." Now, some books are classic and timeless and will be read in this house whether the children would choose them for themselves or not. But I have already been informed that the Little House on the Prairie books are "for girls" (with a couple of exceptions).

So...all this is a long-winded way to say that once I finish those books that I can easily think of, I'm going to need some help. It is with great hope, then, that I turn to you, dear internets, for assistance in finding quality chapter books for my soon-to-be six-year-old son. Here's what I've got so far...

The Magic School Bus chapter books
Mouse and the Motorcycle trilogy
Harry Potter (who knows...this may encourage ME to finish them for myself)
The Magic Tree House series
The Chronicles of Narnia
Encyclopedia Brown series
Horrible Harry series

We need help because the kids can recite words from his DVRed cartoons. It's time to turn off the TV and get reading.

shhh...don't tell my boss

mommytrackd.com ecards by Betsy Streeter.

My thoughts are not my own

Thanks Julie!

Spring dreams

It's time to start planning the spring planting. My gardens suffered horribly last year and flowers were pretty much choked out by grass and weeds. As soon as the snow is outta here, I'm going to get to pulling out the unwelcome invaders. And I'm creating my planting plan of attack early with the help of various catalogs and notebooks. I know several of my perennials will have survived the neglect...but probably not all of them. Instead of trying to chart my gardens out based on what I THINK will make it, I'm going to start some seeds indoors for transplanting where the empty spaces show themselves. Plus, I have some seeds I can just broadcast on top of the loose soil to fill in the blanks.

Here are the seeds I just bought...we'll see what kind of flowers I get. I know dahlias and zinnias grow well around here because the fair show every year is filled with giant displays of them.









Now...onto the vegetable garden plans...

**Party with a Purpose!**

FROCK 'N ROLL® 2008:
Fundraiser to Benefit the MISS Foundation

FROCK 'N ROLL is the annual charity event that brings together the Phoenix, Arizona fashion and music industries.

WHEN: May 17, 2008
WHERE: Alice Cooper'sTown, the venue owned by its famous namesake.
101 E. Jackson Street, Phoenix, AZ. 85004
WHO: Champagne Tap
HOW: Tickets can be purchased for a $12 donation during the presale,
click this link and be SURE to open the menu and choose the MISS Foundation as YOUR charity: https://www.alicecooperstown.com/store/show.php?id=112

Each FROCK 'N ROLL founder, band, model, designer chooses their own charity. Champagne Tap, one of the four bands to play at the event, will be playing to benefit the MISS Foundation.

FROCK 'N ROLL '08 will mark the fifth anniversary of this special event. As bands play live, models "rock the catwalk" in clothing designed by Arizona fashion designers, all in the name of charity.

Leslie Criger, Susan Di Staulo, Daynalyn Wain and Rhonda Zayas, highly respected professionals from different fields of the arts in Phoenix, are the producers and founders of the event.

Tickets can be purchased at the door, tokens will be given and need to be put in the MISS Foundation bucket for MISS to receive the donation.
*You don't have to attend the event (for those MISS supporters who don't live locally or for those who don't like loud music.)*

Please forward to family and friends who would like to attend or who want to support the MISS Foundation and its good work.

Contact Anna Kennedy at anna@missfoundation.org or Barbara Kurtz at mommab3g1@aol.com for more information.

Clearing out all doubt

While cleaning out the desk drawer at home yesterday, I had the dreaded job of sorting through the old receipts and tossing those that are no longer necessary to keep for warranties or delivery insurance or whatnot. I happily threw out receipts from our baby shopping trips pre-Myles...the stroller, infant carrier, and swing...drop-ins and bottle nipples...baby clothes. Doubt that dated as far back as July and as recent as the beginning of November. Hope and fear and doubt all stored on little computer generated slips of paper.

I was tempted, for the briefest of moments, to keep them for what they mean to me now...on this side of the fear. But remembering what they meant back when I stuck them in the drawer, "just in case," I knew I had to throw them away. It's time to let go of whatever bad stuff I can so that there is room to fully embrace all the good stuff. So I threw them all away and immediately felt lighter...happier.

There is a part of me that doesn't want Myles to ever know what my pregnancy with him was really like. I think there is something to be said for knowing your mother was completely blissfully happy while pregnant with you...that your existence brought her joy and peace...not fear and pain. Yes, I know there was boundless love in that fear and pain. But still...the little slips of paper meant something different back then and they had to go.

For Julie

Thinking of you...



flickr

Coming undone

~Today I came to work wearing earrings in my right ear...none in my left. Nobody mentioned it but I noticed it when I used the telephone. I remember I put them in, was distracted giving Sam his Claritin, and then went merrily on my way completely forgetting the earrings for my left ear.

~I had my first court appearance since Myles was born this morning. I realized, sitting in the courtroom, that I'd forgotten to put breast pads in my bra. Luckily, I was able to distract myself with other things and made it through the proceedings without taking a milk shower inside my blouse.

~While the chicken salad croissant was good at lunch, there was a hair in my side salad. I must remember to bring my lunch to work.

~Girl Scout cookies are in!

~Eau de baby vomit...nice.

~A landfill wants to expand to my back yard...now...AFTER we invested all that money in our home. I don't think they remember that I'm an attorney.

~Last night was a stellar night that highlighted my complete inability to deal with stress and the men who cause it. I think some "mommy alone time" is overdue.

Get well sis

I have no idea if my sister even reads this thing anymore. But I feel compelled to wish her a speedy recovery here just in case she's still lurking about. She fell on the ice and shattered her wrist so badly it will require surgery...plates and screws. Thankfully, it is her right wrist and she is left handed (that is, if mom got the details of the story straight).

It's been hard getting to know my sister as an adult because she is like my dad (and my brother)...strong and independent...doesn't "need" anybody. If it were anybody else, I would feel badly that I can't go for a visit and help out around the house. But I know my sis would rather I stay away and not drive her nuts with my "hovering." So I'm keeping my distance and hoping that some yummy goodies will help her feel a tad bit better. Everybody loves chocolate right? Unless she's on a diet...in which case I say there is no better time than now to say, "forget the diet." I mean, how often in your life do you get free chocolate?

Love ya sis! Let me know if you need anything.

Life on a farm

I've been here almost seven years, so I can't be considered a newbie to farm life. I should know better than to get too attached to any furball...but especially to outdoor cats. Outdoor cats come and go. They live a life that is unpredictable and often dangerous (they don't usually live too long because of it). I know this. So why am I so upset over that damn missing cat?

Bella was one of our first rescues. She came from the mean streets of Cleveland. Living outside the maintenance room of the Juvenile Court building, she made herself an unwelcome pest by sneaking into the building on more than one occasion. The Court Administrator was going to call animal control...and I just couldn't let that happen.

I remember riding up there with Steve, collecting her in a box, quarantining her in our apartment bathroom until she could see the vet, and learning that she was just plain crazy. It seemed like she had a short circuit in her brain. She WANTED to be a house cat and be loved and cuddled. But she would occasionally just "snap" and attack whoever was the nearest person (Sam is sporting a claw puncture wound on his left foot from an attack late last week). Yep...she drove me a little nuts with her craziness...but still...I never wanted anything bad to happen to her.

She always comes when called unless she physically can't...like when she jumped off the roof and hurt her leg/hip. Or like when she got locked in the neighbor's garage (which irritated the hell out of the neighbor and made me giggle). I had hoped that was the situation this time. But when it happened last time, I could hear her crying and scratching to get out. She even clawed up into a window so I could see her and know she's there. So far...nothing. I even broke down today, swallowed my pride and embarrassment, and called the neighbor to ask that she look for Bella in and around her garage. (And no, I don't think the neighbor would do anything bad to her...she complains, but she's really a sweet old lady).

I keep hoping Bella will turn up. I damn near cried telling Sam that it was probably a good bet that she wasn't coming back. The thought of what may have happened to her is just too horrible. It breaks my heart to think that she may be hurt (or worse) somewhere...alone and cold. It's farm life...I know that...but still...

***update***
SHE'S HOME! She WAS in the neighbor's garage!

Missing

Miscellaneous thoughts

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I feel bad for cashiers. At one time in history, their jobs were interesting. Maybe I've watched too much Little House on the Prairie or Doctor Quinn, Medicine Woman, but I imagine a time when cashiers talked to people, took their shopping lists, filled parcels with requested goods, and sent them on their way with a, "Have a nice day."

Now? Now cashiers are surly automatons passing literally thousands of items over UPC scanners each day. The don't get to move except for their left arms sliding merchandise past the computer's eye...or their right arm occasionally punching keys into the computer that resembles an old-fashioned cash register (though almost nobody uses cash anymore).

I used to be a cashier. In Northeast Ohio. One of THE unfriendliest places in America, in my opinion. People would scowl...and they didn't have a problem yelling at you if you got their change wrong. I remember being so excited. This job was so much better than the banquet server position I had held the previous two summers. I talked to people as they came through my checkout. And they looked at me as if I had two heads. After awhile, the meanness took its toll and I stopped chatting with my customers. Eventually, I couldn't wait to get out of that job. At least as a banquet server, I could interact with people during happy times (weddings were a lot of fun). I never would have thought of myself as a people person, but my experience as a cashier proved otherwise about me.
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I put classical music on while my baby naps because I read somewhere that it's good for their brain development.

I really need to work on getting Sam to like the finer things in life...art...classical music...theater. He knows who Beethoven was, so maybe I'll start there.
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I still get tense when I hear friends are pregnant...especially as their due date approaches. When they go into the hospital I feel like I'm holding my breath until I get good news. I'm not sure I can live the rest of my life like this. I've got to find a better way to cope or I'm not going to be invited to many baby showers. (And nobody better comment that there will be fewer baby showers in my new age bracket or I'll kick them in the teeth.)
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I want to drink coffee all day...and wine all night. I think I've got a touch of cabin fever.
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Wednesday was a sick day and I "worked from home" yesterday and today. I really think I need to find a new job...or inject some life into this one. I think the longest I've ever stayed at a job is a little over three years, so going on five years is a pretty long stretch for me.
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Samuel is bored with Kindergarten. And by his accounts of daily activity, I can guess why. Every day it seems they sit and do "homework" (worksheets). He's bored...plain and simple.

Yesterday they had their Valentine's party and what did they do? Sit at their desks and eat sweets (and talk). There were no games...no entertainment.

I recently discovered that Sam was at, "table group 1," but was moved, "back to table group 2." Table group 1 is apparently much better. Why? Because Liam sits at Table group 1. I asked him, point blank, if he was moved back to table group 2 because he spent too much time talking to Liam and he sheepishly admitted that was the case.

He received his first report card a while back with all "satisfactory" marks...except for music class. I was a bit startled and asked why he "needs improvement" in music class. His answer? "Sometimes I like to dance." I stifled a giggle and asked, "Are you supposed to be dancing?" Nope. But it got me thinking. You aren't supposed to dance in music class. You aren't supposed to dance in music class?!?! WTF?!?!

First grade has got to be better...right? Because I heard something come out of Steve's mouth last night that I NEVER thought I'd hear. "If this doesn't improve, we're going to send him to private school."

I'm a product of public school. I remember public school being fun. I remember in Kindergarten doing a play of Mother Goose rhymes...I was Mother Goose (the narrator). I remember finger painting and growing things in ziploc bags with wet paper towels. I remember my friend, Becky, coming to school in a little red wagon because she had broken her leg. I remember duck duck goose and tag on the playground. I remember "field day" where we got to compete in all kinds of contests of strength and endurance (the three-legged race was my favorite). I remember parties with cupcakes and singing and dancing and puppet shows. Maybe I was just lucky? Maybe it's time to admit that the public school of my memories does not exist for my son.
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I love the Allstate commercial that says, "Let's start treating people less like they are in our way...and more like they are in our home." (or something to that effect)
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Your life story in six words or less.

Mine:
A beautiful life despite the sadness.
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Obama promises change. And then is endorsed by the Kennedy family. Am I the only one that finds that irony amusing?

As long as I'm talking politics, I'm skeptical about all the claims by all the candidates that they will "fix what's wrong in Washington." If, by that, they mean they are going to actually respect the Constitution and restore the system to some semblance of what it was pre-W, then I'm all for it. But I think maybe they are promising more than they can actually deliver from within the office of the President.
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Local candidate - Vandevort

I'm slightly uncomfortable with the similarity to "he who shall not be named."
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The only reason I first started collecting unicorns when I was in elementary school was because the girl across the street collected unicorns. My family was thrilled to search for unique unicorn collectibles for me for many years until I asked them to stop. There are several pieces in my collection that are quite beautiful and I treasure them. But I feel like a fraud every time I look at them.
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Valentine's Day 2008

Sleep.
Sunshine.
No work.
Sam at Kindergarten.
Smiling baby.
Russell Crowe movie on the DVR.
Sleeping baby in my arms.
Wine.
Homemade macaroni and cheese dinner at the new dining room table.
Chocolate.
Cookies.
LOST.
Snuggling on the new sectional sofa.

Good stuff. Far better than Valentine's have been the last couple of years. I'd wax poetic about it...but like I said...wine.

Happy Valentine's Day

Catch me if you can

Amazing. Get a good night's sleep, wake up to actual sunshine and a delivery of new furniture, send Sam off to kindergarten, send Steve off to work, call and say I'm working from home...and I'm practically a new woman.

This is easier, in a lot of ways, than it was when Sam was a baby. I'm definitely more mature and better equipped to handle this stress and pressure. So there is a definite letdown when I have those moments where I seemingly can't handle it. Disappointment in myself, I guess you could say.

I commented on someone else's blog that losing a baby doesn't make you Mother Teresa...it would be nice if it did...but it doesn't. I mean, shouldn't we reap some sort of benefit from the crap hand we've been dealt? It only seems fair that burying two babies should have some sort of transformative power to turn me into SuperMom (with a capital S and a capital M). But no such luck. I get to struggle like everyone else...which seems unfair.

The thing is, I'm realizing that my efforts to slow things down have not been entirely successful. As several people noted in my comments on this blog, I'm doing way too much. I had slowed down when we moved into this house and had Sam. It was a lovely laid back country living pace. But then we lost Alex and I needed distraction. And I started. This. That. The other. A seemingly endless parade of commitments. It served its purpose and kept me sane during those dark days when I needed something else for my mind to pay attention to rather than the empty holes left by Alex and Travis.

But now Myles is here and I'm going to have to make a conscious effort to stop (and smell the roses...if you're into cheesy cliches). It's time to stop being distracted and start paying close attention to life's little details. It's time for less stress.

The thing is...I'm terrified. What will happen if I lose the distraction in an effort to lessen the stress? Will the grief and sadness creep back in? If I stop moving, will it be easier for the darkness to find me?

One of my biggest fears through all of this has been depression or other mental illness. My grandmother had some form of mental illness. Though it went undiagnosed for her entire life, we knew something wasn't right when she told us she had tea with Jesus or had invented the Lego. I fear genetic predisposition like I would if alcoholism or cancer were to run through our family blood lines.

People who know me would probably say that even though I went through some really scary stuff, I never totally lost myself...I never totally lost control. Quite honestly, I feel pretty damn proud of the way I've navigated the shitstorm so far. I wonder though, as I stand at this crossroads, if a different direction or a different pace will slow me down too much and allow the genetic predisposition to overtake me and run me off course. I worry that any choices I make now will cause me irreparable mental or emotional harm in the future.

I fear that my efforts to slow myself down and lessen the stress will cause me to lose my mind.

Break it down

There are no more complete sentences. My days happen in one continuous stream of consciousness that baffles me by the end of the day. And sick days...forget about it...complete and total insanity.

Headache.
Sick husband.
Whining five year old.
Screaming baby.
Feed baby.
Chicken noodle soup for the infirm.
Dishes.
Shower.
Screaming baby.
Feed baby.
Jello.
Shop.
Whining five year old.
Screaming baby.
Feed baby.
Lunch.
Whining five year old.
Jello.
Nap.
Screaming baby.
Feed baby.
Dinner.
Jello.
Screaming baby.
Whining five year old.
Feed baby.
Furniture.
Whining five year old.
Headache.

I feel like my legs have been run off and my one big accomplishment today was making jello jigglers for my son's kindergarten valentine's party tomorrow. Well...that...and not killing anyone.

I have come to the conclusion that the great thing about being a stay at home mom is that you ARE a stay at home mom. You can give yourself fully to the tasks like making jello jigglers for your son's kindergarten valentine party. You don't have to feel like you're stretched in a gazillion and one directions unless you choose to do so.

As a working mom I am realizing that there is just no way that anything can have my full undivided attention. It's just not possible. But I wonder if it's fair? I'm happy (save for the whining five year old whose mouth I'd like to duct tape shut). But I also feel guilty because I'm sure I'm not living up to my potential in any of the areas of my life. I had to ASK friends how to make the jello jigglers...I think that speaks volumes about my mom abilities. And work? ha! I have any number of clients who would be glad to tell you how crappy of a job I'm doing.

So how do I live with the happiness guilt-free? Yeah, I know I'm not good at all of this stuff...I'm ok with that. Exhausted and headache-y. But really ok.

Catching up...

For Mariam...

It's not as huge as the photo makes it seem. Just bad perspective on my part with the camera.

For Marjorie...
(will reveal a photo here as soon as it arrives...don't want to ruin the surprise...here's a hint...it's pink)

For charity...

I'm hiding

The boys are all upstairs.

I can hear Myles screaming. The cute little newborn squeaks have given way to ear-piercing infant screeches.

I can hear Sam's mouth going a mile a minute. When he was two, we worried his speech was delayed. Now he is always talking.

I'm sitting here hoping that Steve's heavy footsteps don't come down the stairs toward me.

I just need a second to catch my breath.

Just a moment of quiet. Oh, ok...semi-quiet...there is really never true quiet with a five year old and a 12-week old in the house.

I'm not complaining. I know I don't have any right to complain.

I just need a moment.

Sam is here...gotta go...

I feel so grown up!

I'm getting a dining room table! It seats TEN!

So you say you want to see it? Why, of course. What kind of blogger do you think I am, anyway? (don't answer that)

THIS dining room table is mine (all MINE...(evil laughter)...



Isn't it beautiful?!?! No more eating on tv trays wherever there is an empty seat!

Speaking of empty seats...seating space is woefully inadequate in our living room. SO...we're getting a sectional sofa too! Our sad little cheap sofa has a broken back. And our recliners aren't really all that comfortable.

So we're getting a small version (only four pieces) of this (the goofy looking woman is not included)...



Of course, we will have to rearrange all the baby paraphernalia (cradle, swing, bouncy seat, etc.) to make room. But I'm so excited we'll have a place to snuggle and chill out.

The renovation is finally feeling like it's finished and now we can furnish and LIVE in all our new space. I LOVE it!

Meals TOGETHER at a TABLE! I'm giddy with the excitement of it all! (In case all the capital letters and exclamation points didn't clue you in.)

I'm sure I will bore you with pictures once it is all delivered and settled in.

*@$% Huggies

In the mail box...

Your toddler is 21 months old!

I will NEVER NEVER NEVER use Huggies. NEVER!

***This has been eating at me for a couple of days and I only now figured out what it is that bothers me so much about it. I mean, after almost three years of this I'm pretty used to the snail mail reminders from the big "baby companies." But this one bothers me because...well..."Your toddler is 21 months old!"...that's just an absurd note. 21 months old?!?! That's not a milestone month. It's not a month that's even really noteworthy in a child's developmental growth. Three, six, twelve, eighteen, twenty-four...these are months that typically "mean something." The twenty-first month?!?! Not really an important one. So I can't help but feel like its only purpose is to taunt me.***

***And just now, sitting here doing the math in my head (because I can't stop thinking about how much this bothers me), I realized that my toddler would only be 21 months old if he was born in May. Travis was due in September. MY toddler would only be 17 months old. So to top it all off...they got it WRONG. I can only imagine that they got my name from the hospital admissions list at the hospital at which I delivered Travis (and now Myles...I did get a "Your baby is 3 months old!" mailing too). Shouldn't the hospital have some responsibility to make sure that my name doesn't get sold to those lists? Shouldn't the companies have some responsibility to make sure they're buying a "living baby" list of names before they mail off their senseless mailings with glossy photos of happy smiley babies?***

The big fake

There is a 12-year-old inside of me screaming to get out. I see peeks of her when I'm in the middle of the grocery store, laughing with my five-year-old at the pooping noises of his little brother. I can hear her rattling around in this fat old body when I'm cooking "glop" for dinner. My MOM cooked "glop" for dinner...how did I get to be the one cooking it for my own family.

I'm old...but I'm not convinced I've earned my age. I've been through things...stuff...bad stuff and good stuff...

...but I still feel like I'm playing dress-up in someone else's clothes.

Most days I have this overwhelming sense that someone will figure out my secret...that I'm really just a kid playing grownup. I have no idea what I'm doing and I'm making it up as I go along. Bedtimes...privileges...grocery shopping...housekeeping...rules. Whatever strikes my fancy at any given moment.

So why not let my imagination run wild? Why not give my inner 12-year-old license to come out and play?

Maybe we'll have chocolate cake for breakfast sometime this week. Or maybe we'll pitch a tent in the living room and have a camp-out. Something fun to balance out the bedtimes, privileges, grocery shopping, housekeeping, and rules.

Living in a time warp

Hey...they hadn't passed their expiration date yet. And you can't expect me to bake the Valentine's cookies until the Christmas ones are out of the fridge. That would just be wrong.

Mainstream grief

When Alex and Travis died, it was important to me to surround myself with mementos...proof of their existence. But what I found was that it was very difficult to find items that held meaning but weren't outrageously expensive. The "normal" mainstream stores didn't cater to my specific needs and I mainly had to order from specialized online stores.

Two short years later, I find this. It can be personalized for a boy or a girl (pink or blue). Simple. Sweet. Won't break the bank. From a "normal" store. Could it be that our voices are being heard? They have several memorial items available including flag cases and memorial plaques and prints.

I don't want to make too much of it, but it seems as though there is a spark of hope in these simple acknowledgments of the shared human experience of loss and grief. Now, if only they would put them in a category other than "decorative accessories..." I guess beggars can't be choosers though.

Different perspective

She said, "Oh, they're so tiny...I just love those little baby noises they make."

I sighed and said, "Yeah, it's so cute when I'm trying to figure out what the heck he wants."

She smiled (she has three kids) and said, "I guess it's different when you can just see them as babies without that filter of every little sound being a demand for something from you."

So I have slowed down quite a bit and have started to really pay attention to the little sounds...the little faces...the little moments.

Sometimes the little baby sounds and little baby movements need to be appreciated just for what they are instead of feeling stressed because a demand is being put upon me in a language I can't understand.

The cost of a screamfest is really a reward...a priceless snuggle against my cheek...the feeling of his little body relaxing against mine as he realizes his mama holds him safe.

As long as I remember this perspective I can keep smiling...even when I'm so tired I feel like my face is going to fall off.

What fun

From the guy who brought us PostSecret...a new blog...

Found Cameras and Orphan Pictures

Last year I found a photograph in the grass at the end of my driveway. It was yellow and cracked with age. There were two girls wearing clothes and hairstyles that reminded me of the late 70s. I was going to blog about it, but decided against it and threw the photo in the trash. Now I'm sorry I didn't run with the idea.

Miscellaneous thoughts

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Apparently I'm still a beginner at this stuff. My big revelation for the week?

If the baby sleeps better in a car seat...let him sleep in a car seat!

(no, not ALL the time...but when you've tried everything else and you're ready to rip your hair out...)
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Why does it seem like a lot of women have NO trouble blogging about their bodily functions, but when it comes to feelings they are so quiet?
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Samuel has outgrown his snowpants...just in time for bathing suit season in the stores.

Anyone familiar with the return policies of L.L.Bean?
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After threatening to leave my son at home on Thursday morning because he was dragging his feet so badly, the school dropoff routine will be modified so that Steve will be responsible for the little demon. Of course, I'll have to go to work an hour earlier since I don't have an excuse for late arrival. Is it wrong that I'm happy about it?
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For a while I was obsessively checking the JCPenney website for a drop in price on the dining room set I wanted. I stopped for a couple of weeks because life interrupted and missed it being designated a closeout. Now I can get my big dining room table and TWO chairs. What's the point? I suppose I could buy the table and try to find the chairs elsewhere. But that just sounds like extra work that I'm not in the mood to tackle. So the hunt continues for the "perfect" set...again.
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Seriously...donate to the MOM Project. It means a lot to me and I want to be able to stop worrying.
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Gymboree clothes are going to put me in the poorhouse. I can not control myself.
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Steve: "Should I wear red tomorrow?"
Me: "Why?"
Steve: "In support of heart disease...against women..."
Me: "In SUPPORT of heart disease AGAINST women?"
Steve: "Yeah, we need to take more women out with heart disease."
(semi-hysterical laughter)
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I had my first I-left-the-baby-somewhere-and-can't-get-to-him nightmares last night. There was sadness in those types of nightmares before. Now there is sheer terror in thinking I have left Myles somewhere alone and helpless.

I suppose it's normal to have these fears, but the amplification of these thoughts through deadbabymamabrain is quite horrific. In fact, I've spent a good part of the last few weeks mentally preparing myself for all the horrible things that COULD happen to Myles and/or me. And it's not like I dwell on them at all. But the thoughts pass through my mind whether I'm expecting them or not...if I accidentally fall down the stairs while carrying him...if I wake to check on him in the middle of the night and he isn't breathing...stuff like that.

It's weird because I don't think of bad things happening to Steve or Sam. I guess a part of me still thinks of them as immune and I don't need to steel myself for bad news related to them. But Myles and me are clearly, in my addled old mind, still subject to the forces of nature and random bad luck. Old habits die hard, I guess.
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My first snow day!!! I KNEW this kindergarten thing would pay off!!!

It's really more of an ice and cold day...but still...a day to stay home and snuggle with my boys!!!

January is over and I have NOT met my crocheted snowflake goal of one per week. Maybe I'll catch up with those today.

I also have to finish a couple baby gifts I've been working on and get them all packaged up to go out in the mail (before the recipient babies outgrow them).

Snuggling with my boys and stitching...it's going to be a good day!
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If I'm at home...without access to my work files on my work computer...WHY do clients want to call me and ask me questions? Do they really think I have a photographic mind and can remember the minutiae of what we talked about for ten minutes last Thursday? Because if I do have a photographic mind and can remember the minutiae of what we talked about for ten minutes last Thursday, I'm not getting paid nearly enough.
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Another reason to ignore Valentine's Day...

The history of Valentine's Day is obscure, and further clouded by various fanciful legends. The holiday's roots are in the ancient Roman festival of Lupercalia, a fertility celebration commemorated annually on February 15. Pope Gelasius I recast this pagan festival as a Christian feast day circa 496, declaring February 14 to be St. Valentine's Day...

It was not until the 14th century that this Christian feast day became definitively associated with love. According to UCLA medieval scholar Henry Ansgar Kelly, author of Chaucer and the Cult of Saint Valentine, it was Chaucer who first linked St. Valentine's Day with romance...

infoplease
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