day thirty: christmas list

I saw this idea on She Likes Purple a couple of weeks ago, and I thought it was just so much fun. A Christmas plan! A way to stay organized throughout the crazy month of December! Oh, man, lists make me so happy. So, without further ado, here are all the things I want to do in December to get ready for Christmas.

1. Decorate the house, including at least two homemade decorations. The homemade decorations will be easy ones; I’m thinking I’ll make some yarn trees, and use wrapping paper, 3D letters, and shadow frames to spell out a few Christmas words, like “Merry” or “Noel.”

2. Make a wreath for the front door. I already know the one I’m making; I saw the idea on Pinterest, but I can’t link to it right now. It involves one of those big wooden letters for the first letter of our last name, wrapped in garland, and attached to the door with a red bow. I think it’ll be simple and classy.

3. Go to our town’s Christmas tree-lighting event. It’s actually this weekend, and I’m hoping it’ll be better than it was last year.

4. Drive around to look at Christmas lights. There’s one particular neighborhood not far from where we live that sits right on a lake, and the houses are always so beautifully decorated and the lights look so pretty reflected in the water. We used to go every year before the boys were born, and I think they’ll be old enough to appreciate it this year.

5. Go to Wildlights at the zoo. We missed last year because Will was sick, so I’m really excited to go this year.

6. Make ornaments with the boys -- you know, the cinnamon ones. Andrew, in particular, will love doing this with me.

7. Finalize the plan for my Christmas cookie trays -- and make all the goodies. Last year I had my list entirely planned out by March, or something crazy like that. This year? Not so much.

8. Make gifts for the boys’ daycare teachers. I haven’t decided exactly what I’m doing for them yet. I may give them cookies, like last year, but I’ve been coveting these crayon monograms for years now. If I can find the time, I’d really like to make those for them.

9. Make gifts for Andrew’s classmates. This year, they’re getting “reindeer noses” -- eight Whoppers and one red gummy candy together in a decorative bag. (Yet another clever and adorable idea I found on Pinterest.)

10. Make gifts for the grandparents. I’m not quite sure what they will be yet, but I’m absolutely positive they will involve handprints and/or footprints.

11. Visit Santa. This will happen this coming weekend, as we have the tree-lighting event on Saturday evening, and Breakfast with Santa at church that morning.

12. Mail Christmas cards. Thanks to an awesome giveaway on Allison’s blog, I got 25 free cards from Shutterfly! I finally decided what card I want this morning; now I just need to build it. (And I would love to send each and every one of you a card, so if I don’t already have your address, please send it to me at cassiecraves@yahoo.com. Pretty please!)

13. Make some sort of Advent calendar. As much as I like the idea of the boys opening little boxes containing treats, I like the idea of doing activities even more (like the ones listed here). Since I have nothing prepared for this yet, I think I’ll probably just do the twelve days before Christmas so as not to overwhelm the guys, who are still pretty little and easily over-stimulated.

14. Go to the library twice a week to stock up on new Christmas books. Andrew and I went last night and picked out our first batch.

15. Have a family Christmas movie night, complete with hot chocolate.

It’s going to be a busy, and hopefully wonderful, month.

day twenty-nine: it's been awhile since i mentioned puke. so, you know, i'm due.

I had trouble falling asleep last night. I was tossing and turning and couldn’t get comfortable. I couldn’t turn off my mind, and I just felt on edge. And then, at about 11:30, I heard those distinct, unmistakable gagging sounds coming from Will’s room. It’s a sound that usually fills me with dread, but on this night, I was resigned to my fate. On some level, I must have been expecting it. And with a sigh, I heaved myself out of bed to deal with The Vomit.

The Vomit, by the way, was covering everything in Will’s crib, including Will himself. He seemed more confused than anything when I walked in, and he actually tried to lay back down in the puke and go back to sleep; needless to say, I put a halt to that pretty quickly (although it wouldn’t have mattered if he did lay down in it, since it was already in his hair) (and all over his face) (sorry, I know it’s gross). Anyway, I started the process of washing everything -- boy, bedding, pacifiers, Pillow Pet -- and by the time I was done with that I was too awake to sleep. I washed everything again at 3 AM (just to be sure) and put it all in the dryer at about 5:00 this morning. I didn’t really sleep all night.

Will seemed fine this morning when I woke him up. As a matter of fact, he was fine last night in the bathtub, splashing and playing as if it wasn’t midnight and he hadn’t just made a colossal smelly mess of his bed. No fever, no other symptoms. So at this point I’m chalking it up to that old stand-by, Random One-Time Child Barf, Complete With Visible Chunks Of Food That I Will Never Eat Again (This Time, Spaghetti, In Case You Were Curious).

I’m so tired today, for obvious reasons. I have a headache, which is due either to my tiredness or too much caffeine (which I’ve been using in the form of lots of coffee to try to combat my tiredness). Plus, Joe’s search for Pooh today yielded no results, so I’m also feeling kind of sad. I’m ready to curl up in bed and go to sleep. Too bad I still have six-plus hours of work and responsibilities to hurdle before I can reasonably do that.

day twenty-eight: missing pooh

I mentioned on Friday that Andrew spent the night with my stepmom on Thanksgiving night – and by all accounts, he had a fantastic time. What I haven’t mentioned, because I think I’ve been in denial, is what he lost while he was there: Pooh.

My phone rang on Friday evening, and it was my stepmom letting me know that she’d be taking Andrew to dinner at McDonalds before bringing him home. “Here’s the thing,” she told me, “We can’t find Pooh.” I sputtered out some sort of response, I can’t really remember what, and she assured me she’d do some more searching before she brought Andrew back. They showed up an hour or so later, Poohless. The search had been futile.

My stepmom was obviously upset, so I tried to downplay how upset I was as much as I could -- both that night, and when she called me the next day, clearly in tears, to let me know she still hadn’t found Pooh. She continued to search all weekend, and when she came over last night for her regular Sunday night visit, she still hadn’t located Pooh anywhere. I continued to downplay how I felt, because I really don’t want to upset her or make her feel guilty.

Here’s the thing, though: I’m absolutely devastated. I feel so awful for Andrew, first of all, although he seems to be taking it pretty well. I’ve been coming up with lots of silly things for Pooh to be doing whenever Andrew asks, like “Pooh is across the street playing with the diggy-dirt” and “Pooh went to the fire station to help the firefighters” and “Pooh went to the North Pole to tell Santa what you want for Christmas.” I’ve also, of course, told him the truth: that Pooh is at Neena’s house, and Neena is doing her best to find him and bring him home. He seems to accept the fact that he doesn’t have Pooh for the time being, and he’s gone to bed just fine without it.

But oh, I am so upset at the loss of Pooh. I knew Andrew would be fine without him (even if not right away), and I knew he would eventually have given Pooh up on his own anyway. But here’s the thing: When that day finally came, when Andrew was finally done with Pooh, I was going to save Pooh. I was going to put him away somewhere safe, so I could take him out every once in a while and marvel at the fact that my growing boy once loved and cherished him so much. I imagined myself stroking Pooh gently when Andrew left for college, crying for my baby that was all grown up, using Pooh to wipe my tears. I know that sounds silly and melodramatic, but the point is, I wanted to have that memento of Andrew’s babyhood forever. I wanted that so much.

Pooh has been lost lots of times (we even misplaced him once at the zoo; he was eventually found ogling the penguins, but that was the last time we took Pooh out to any public place), but he’s always been recovered eventually. I’m hoping that’s the case this time, too. Pooh has to be somewhere in her house; it’s not like he walked away on his own. My real fear is that my sister’s dog (the namesake for another of Andrew’s stuffed animals) ate Pooh. He’s been known to do that before, with things like socks and underwear and bras. My stepmom has assured me that things come out of Gus Gus the same way they go in, but, um, I don’t think I could ever look at Pooh the same way again if he’d once been covered in...you know...poo. If that is the case, I can’t imagine the things Pooh has seen. I don’t want to imagine them.

Joe is off tomorrow and plans to go over to my stepmom’s house and continue the hunt for Pooh. Keep your fingers crossed that he finds him -- for Andrew’s sake and mine.

day twenty-seven: making food memories

Andrew and I just finished making egg noodles for tonight's dinner. We're having Swedish meatballs, which must be served with egg noodles, and since I made homemade egg noodles for the first time a month or so ago I can't seem to bring myself to go back to store-bought. I am so incredibly far from a food snob, you guys know that, but homemade egg noodles are so superior to store-bought it's ridiculous.

Anyway. This post is not, in fact, about the egg noodles themselves, but about the process of making them (and many other things) with my oldest son.

Back when I first learned I was having another boy, one of my greatest hopes was that at least one of them would be as interested in food as I am. In the absence of a daughter to pass my recipes down to, I fervently wished that one of my boys would be interested in food and get some use out of all of the recipes that generations of women in my family have been cooking. As time has passed, it's apparent that my wish has come true.

Andrew loves cooking with me so much that, the minute he wakes up in the morning, he's asking me what we're going to be making for dinner that night. The second we walk in the door in the evenings, he's pushing a dining room chair into the kitchen, saying, "C'mon, Mommy, let's make dinner now!" He's so enthusiastic about it, and it's definitely something I love, too, and try to foster. That's not to say it doesn't frustrate me sometimes, because there are evenings that it definitely does -- evenings when I just want to be alone to get the cooking done (last week's massive kitchen fail is a great example of this). Cooking with him is often a lesson in patience for me, but more often, it's a purely joyful experience for both of us.

He's so eager to please and to learn what I'm doing, and there are lots of great teaching opportunities. Last night, as a matter of fact, I found myself comparing making soup to building something out of blocks. "You know how you make towers out of your blocks? Well, Mommy's blocks are individual ingredients, and I use them to make our soup." He's learning about ingredients and measurements and kitchen safety. He asks questions about everything I'm doing ("Why you doin' dat, Mommy?"), to the point that I feel like I could host my own show on the Food Network with no problem, so used am I to narrating every single thing I do. He knows what flour does and what salt and pepper are for, and he knows that 350 degrees is the standard temperature for most recipes. He knows to stand back when I'm chopping an onion, because it will "make his eyes cry." He's becoming quite the little smarty-pants when it comes to food.

Helping me make dinner every night has also had another effect: He's much more inclined to actually eat his dinner now, since he had a part in making it. Last night's tomato soup is a great example: He tasted it when I did to make sure the seasoning was perfect, and after dipping his grilled cheese into his bowl at dinner, he declared, "That is some delicious tomato soup, and I helped Mommy make it!"

After our joint cooking ventures, the kitchen is usually a complete disaster. This afternoon, after our egg-noodle-making, everything was covered in a thin coating of flour (including Andrew and myself). And of course, Andrew's not so keen on the cleaning up part (he's a boy interested in cooking, but he is still a boy), so that's left all to me. But I honestly don't (usually) mind. I wipe down the counters and I sweep the floor and I wash the dishes, and I smile as I think about the memories my son and I just made.

 

day twenty-six: saturday story

I'm a little bummed this afternoon, since my Buckeyes just lost to Michigan. However, I must rise above my distress and carry on with my mission: to bring you a Saturday Story. It is my duty.

Since this is the last Saturday in November, I wanted to ask you guys if you'd like me to continue this "feature," of sorts. Maybe not on a weekly basis and maybe not on Saturday, but would you like to read more of my childhood writings? Because oh, there are so many more that are just begging to be shared.

This week's tale is a bit longer than the others. However, do not anticipate that this story will have a point, or even make sense, just because it has more pages. Because it really doesn't -- have a point, or make much sense.

So, Zach's coat. That's really something, huh?

Oh how convenient that she happened to find a tame horse that spoke People!

"She dared not." What did I think I was writing, some sort of classical masterpiece?!

Yeah, I'm pretty sure her bag only changed colors because I accidentally used the wrong marker. At least I covered for my mistake seamlessly.

I'll translate. The medal said: "My name is Buttermilk. I belong to the Snow Queen. I am a friend to no one. I love the Snow Queen."

Yes, because that's just what you do when your brother has been taken by an evil woman (who, by the way, doesn't seem to have really done anything too untoward yet): You lay down and take a nap.

You guys, look at her HAIR. Was I a child of the early '90s, or what?

She got off the "ride." I even used quotation marks. Ha.

My first picture-less page. It was just too important for a picture.

Their grandma is so fashionable. I kind of love her outfit.

day twenty-five: just will and me

Since he was born nearly two (!!) years ago, I can probably count on one hand the times that Will has had me all to himself. It's just not something that happens very often. I guess that's what happens when you're the second child; you get the benefit of an older sibling, but the drawback of not having as much time alone with your parents.

My stepmom kept Andrew overnight last night, so it's been just Will and me all day today, and it's been fantastic. He's been talking my ear off; he has so much to say, an audience who is more than willing to listen, and no one here to interrupt his tales. He can play with anything he wants without worrying about having his toys stolen. No one is bossing him around, and he doesn't have to share if he doesn't want to. That includes not having to share Mommy -- he's definitely been cuddling with me a lot today, which I obviously love.

He also very clearly misses his brother, though, as he keeps looking out the window and saying, "Where Andrew go? Andrew at Neena's. Andrew come home!" I know five minutes after Andrew gets home they'll probably be fighting about something, but those first few minutes of their reunion are sure to be pretty special.

I'd forgotten how easy only having one child around is. I cleaned the entire house this morning while Will watched "Lightning 2" (what Cars 2 is called 'round these parts) in a quarter of the time it would have taken me if both boys had been here. Now that Will's napping, I'm able to catch up on my blogging and even do a little bit of reading in a perfectly silent house. It's been refreshing, to say the least.

Will is such an incredibly bright, sweet little boy, and spending so much time with him one-on-one today has just reinforced that for me. It makes me a little bit sad that I'm usually so distracted I don't always get to give him the attention he deserves. I've spent the day doing my best to make up for that, and loving every moment of it.

day twenty-four: thanksgiving

In a move that is so very unlike me, I only took one picture today. Instead of walking around with my camera, trying to capture the day's moments, I just lived them instead. I just sat back, enjoyed my family and all the delicious food, and thought about how very much I have to be thankful for.  I had an absolutely perfect day.

Here's the one picture I did take, of two of the people I am most thankful for in the entire world:

Happy Thanksgiving to you and yours. I hope you all had a wonderful day!

Now if you'll excuse me, last night's episode of Top Chef and a bowl of leftover cheesy potatoes are calling my name.

day twenty-three: wordless wednesday: school pictures

day twenty-two: the best part of my day

Dear Andrew,

Today was a long day for me. It started out pretty hectic, as I dropped you and your brother off at daycare in the rain, my arms full of food for your Thanksgiving feast. It got even more hectic at work, as my daily tasks rained down. And then, when the day was over at last and I was finally on my way home, I got stopped in traffic in the rain. I wanted to cry, because I wanted so very much to be at home, with you and your dad and your brother. It was just that kind of day.

As I sat in my car, at a standstill as the rain fell and the red reflection of car brakes trickled down the windows, all I thought about was how much I wanted to cuddle on the couch with you. You and I get a magical half hour together every night after I've put your brother to bed, and I wanted nothing more tonight than to spend that half hour snuggled close to you.

When I got home, you could tell that I wasn't myself (you're always so attentive to my moods), and you said, "Whassa matter, Mommy? Are you sad? It'll be okay, Mommy." You pulled me down to your level for a hug, and then you whispered in my ear, "Mommy, you're a special girl."

Later, after your bath, after I rocked and sang to your brother,  you curled up with me on the couch without even being asked. Your heart beat against my heart and the warm, heavy weight of you, so familiar to me now, immediately enveloped me in calm. I remembered holding you exactly this way when you were a baby. You were so much smaller then than you are now but you smell exactly the same: like the air after a storm, like maple syrup and clean sheets and every good smell rolled up into one. It is one of the very best smells.

 

When I think back on today I won't remember the rain. I won't remember how harried I felt this morning at your daycare, my arms full of food and boys. I won't remember the stress of work or the inconvenience of traffic. What I'll remember is the way your sweet little voice told me I was special, the way you let me hold you tonight as if you were still a baby, the way you let me just breathe you in. Buddy, you don't even realize it, but you completely made my day.

And by the way, thanks for laughing at my lame attempt to "steal your nose," even though I know you could tell it was really just my thumb.

I love you, buddy.

Mommy

day twenty-one: i bet you thought i wasn't going to post today

I have had a spectacularly long, not-so-great day. It started with a phone call Joe made this morning regarding A Very Important Financial Matter About Which I Am Going To Be Very Vague, and I was literally so anxious before I heard from him that I was shaking and thought I was going to throw up. When he finally called (and informed me that everything was, in fact, okay), I felt this incredible release of tension that was wonderful, but also made me suddenly just want to curl up and take a nap.

A little later, I was thinking about how stressed and tired I've been lately, and how I just need to do...something...to release some tension and completely take my mind off of everything. But Mother Nature must have been listening to my thoughts because mere moments later she was all like, I don't think so, you little whore. Do not pass go, do not collect $200.

So then tonight, after dinner, I had to make food for Andrew's Thanksgiving potluck at daycare tomorrow. I'd signed up for little smokies and sweet potato cupcakes with marshmallow buttercream, a new-to-me recipe that I thought the kids would really love. The little smokies were easy, of course, but the cupcakes? Not so much. In the oven, they spread out way too much and sank in the middle and the insides were jiggly and raw, even after I cooked them five minutes longer than the recipe suggested. In a fit of desperation, I (oh man, you guys, I still can't believe I did this) took the pans out of the oven, scraped the half-raw cupcakes out of their liners and into a bowl, and mixed them all together again and tried to re-bake them as a cake.

Ha.

For a while I thought I'd get away with it. The "cake" seemed to be baking up okay in the oven, but when I tried a little piece after it had baked, the texture was dense and spongy and just odd. And then, when I noticed how runny and messy and sticky the marshmallow frosting was, I literally dumped everything into the trash. 

Epic. Baking. Fail. I'm a food blogger who can't bake. (That line is a lot funnier if you imagine me saying it like Ty from the movie Clueless when she says, "You're a virgin who can't drive.")

I started over and decided to make these instead. I made them last year for Andrew's potluck and everyone loved them, and I just should have made them in the first place. But because I'd just wasted three sticks of butter on the failed cupcakes/cake, I had to go to the store.

Where a lady driving one of those motorized carts ran over my foot. I'm not even kidding. (I'm fine.)

The doughnuts are almost done now -- I just have to roll them in butter and cinnamon sugar, and then I'm going to go pass out. Probably literally.

Valuable lesson learned: Never again will I try a new recipe for something like this. Tried-and-true is the way to go. Any other way just results in weirdly textured baked goods and lots of sticky surfaces in my kitchen.

Also? I'm totally leaving all the dishes for Joe.

day twenty: distracting myself from my to-do list with pinterest

You know that feeling you get when you just have so much to do, and you look around and have no idea where to even start, so you finally just say, "Ah, screw it" and don't do any of it? That's where I am right now. The house needs cleaned and there are piles upon piles of laundry to fold and I haven't showered yet. So, screw it. I'mma just gonna sit here and eat Doritos and pin things instead.

Here are some of my favorite recent Pinterest finds:

Source: yourcupofcake.com via Cassie on Pinterest

Source: somethingshinyblog.com via Cassie on Pinterest

Source: smallchichome.com via Cassie on Pinterest

Source: greengiftsguide.com via Cassie on Pinterest

Source: Uploaded by user via Cassie on Pinterest

Source: pinchofyum.com via Cassie on Pinterest

Source: cookincanuck.com via Cassie on Pinterest

Source: ourlifeinfood.com via Cassie on Pinterest

All right. I probably really should go do something productive now. I should take a shower at the very least, for Heaven's sake.

day nineteen: saturday story

Get ready to be swept away into a magical kingdom with this week's tale. I think this is the best one so far. And by best, I mean "the easiest yet to make fun of."

Lance and Jenifer: Who are they? You're about to find out.

You know a story's going to be good if it starts with "Once upon a time." Also if it involves mer people.

Obligatory horse page! Although I do think Samson is a good name for a big white horse with a long, flowing black mane. If I do say so myself.

Lance has dead eyes. And startlingly large nipples.

I remember modeling her bathing suit after a picture I saw in one of my mom's Newport News magazines. Quite stylish, right?

Let the record show that, although I did not use quotation marks properly, I did use the correct form of "you're." I knew this at eight years old, and some people struggle with it as adults. It's one of my major pet peeves...but I'm getting side-tracked. Back to Lance and Jenifer.

Okay, I know you probably have lots of questions. I have them too. What was it, exactly, that made her turn into a mermaid? Just swimming in the tank? Or perhaps something more...tawdry happened between Lance and Jenifer that the text doesn't reveal? Hmmm.

"It was hard to climb without feet." And that, my friends, is the line that makes me laugh so hard I snort every time I read it.

His question is, "What are you doing in there?"? Not, "Why the hell are you suddenly a mermaid?"? Huh.

"Just don't go wild"? What does that even mean? I was eight years old. In any case, I think "It had been a good morning" is my best closing line yet.

day eighteen: ask me anything

So it turns out that posting every day is pretty hard! Huh! Who knew? Not me! Because I forget every year!

There are lots of things I would like to write about, but they are Deep and Thoughtful Things (or just posts that actually require a little bit of focused time to write), and I don't have the energy for that today. Or, if I'm being honest, most days. I think this might be my last gasp at this posting-every-day nonsense. Maybe next year I'll really torture myself and try to do the thing where you write a novel in a month. Because that doesn't sound like something that would stress me out at all!

Here are a few things I'd like to write about -- and will, when I have more time and energy (in other words, don't hold your breath):

• Songs that evoke memories for me
• Relatedly, my teenage obsession with the Backstreet Boys (OH YES)
• A "Christmas list," of sorts, detailing all of the things I'd like to do with the boys this holiday season
• Andrew's potty training progress
• Will, his pacifier, and how I can't bring myself to take it away from him
• Things that, for me, are "good enough," vs. things I make the time for (this will probably make more sense when I actually write it)
• Lots of other things

In the meantime, what would you like me to write about? Ask me All The Things!

day seventeen: thankfulness, and lessons learned

I’ve been thinking a lot about thankfulness as Thanksgiving approaches, as I try to explain this concept to Andrew and Will in a way that they’ll understand. It’s made me reflective, as I think back over the rough year we’ve had and everything we’ve dealt with -- some of which I’ve talked about here, some I haven’t. It’s been the hardest year of our marriage so far, which is really saying a lot.

When I look back at myself a year ago, I can’t help but feel foolish and naïve. I thought Joe’s new job was going to solve all of our problems. I was already scouring the real estate listings, searching for a dream home I just knew was practically in our grasp. I was imagining vacations, new cars, and investment accounts.

I was overlooking what was really important.

For about three months after everything that happened, I was so bitter. Why us, universe? After all we’ve been through, why more? You know that phrase about God not giving you more than you can handle? For a long time I was sure that was a lie, because so much of the time I felt like I was thisclose to breaking into a million pieces.

But now that the dust has settled, now that this year is nearly behind us, I’m starting to understand just how much I really do have to be thankful for. Every year I recite the things I’m thankful for as if they’re a list on a page: our family, our friends, a roof over our heads, food on the table, our health, clothes, heat. I don’t think I’ve ever meant it more than I do this year. Even though there are bills that haven’t been paid this year (and still aren’t being paid), we still have our home. We still have money for food and for our heating bill. My boys had warm coats to wear and an equally warm breakfast to eat on this cold morning. Every week our bank account is empty, but our bellies are full.

And so are our hearts.

Joe and I had a long talk about all of this last night, and I found myself crying (as I’m sitting here doing right now, actually), because I’m just so thankful for this awful, hard, tough year. It has taught me so much and refocused me on the things that are really important. It’s showed me my own strength. It’s confirmed how solid my marriage is, because if Joe and I have made it through all of this, nothing is going to break us. It’s helped me enjoy the sweet innocence of my sons even more. It’s showed me that there’s no shame in admitting that you’re struggling and that you need help. It’s taught me the true value of our family and friends, who have rallied around us and supported us through it all -- from Joe’s grandpa buying a new battery for my car, to my stepmom buying me a new dress and the boys new shoes for a wedding, to Joe’s aunt providing a place for our boys to grow and learn, free of charge.

And then there are all of you, people who I have never even met, who have sent me gifts, prayers and words of encouragement all year long. I have no words to express how thankful, humbled, and overwhelmed I am by these kindnesses.

I am just so, so thankful. Now more than ever.

day sixteen: not my day

My morning:

• I was running late.
• Since I was already running late, I decided to stop at Old McDonald’s* for breakfast. Putting mustard on my sandwich was my fatal flaw, although I didn’t get it all over my shirt until my very last bite.
• I forgot my umbrella at my desk, so I got to walk into my office building in the pouring rain.
• Only to find out that my counterpart was out sick, thus doubling my work load.
• All I wanted for lunch was chicken salad on Ritz crackers, but the convenience store in my office building was out of Ritz crackers (and saltines are not an acceptable substitute).

I realize that these are all very first world-y sorts of problems, but I’m still irritable, although my afternoon has been significantly better. I’m looking forward to seeing the boys and vegging on the couch with Joe tonight after they go to bed, watching all of the shows we’re behind on and eating tons of this dip (which I’m totally making, and feel like I deserve after my crummy morning).

*That’s what Andrew calls it, so that’s what we all call it. 

day fifteen: i'm still trying to determine what breed of dog i am to further develop my character.

I had so much fun with the boys last night. We worked on puzzles together, we colored on our chalkboard door, and I spent most of the evening crawling around on the floor pretending to be a dog, answering questions like, “Are you hungry, puppy? Do you want some yogurt or some carrots?” in my best dog voice. I even wagged my “tail” on command. Demeaning? No, not a bit. Empowering, is what it was. My boys were having a blast, and my doggy self was the star of their fun.

I was telling Joe the other day that this whole parenting thing seems to be getting harder instead of easier, for lots of reasons. Will can be demanding when he’s not feeling well or he’s tired, and Andrew is at an age where he wants to help me with everything. As a result, I always have one boy or the other quite literally right under my feet. And if I do manage to get a free moment, it’s only a moment, because they’re fighting over something within seconds. It’s all very exhausting.

But then there are nights like last night, when I’m smiling and laughing with my sons, and those moments are the reason that I wanted to be a parent in the first place. When I was pregnant, it was those idyllic moments I imagined. And although the reality is sometimes much more stressful and exhausting than I ever could have dreamed, it’s amazing how one really fun night can cancel out a thousand rough ones.

day fourteen: dad's birthday

Today is my dad’s birthday. And I’ve now been sitting here staring at that sentence for 10 minutes, because I really don’t know what else to say. I don’t have any flowery sentiments to share, even though I really, with all my heart, wish that I did.

I’ve seen Dad a couple of times since everything that happened. Both times, it was...difficult. My anger at him (even though he was clearly sober, even though he was obviously trying to make amends) boiled just below the surface. He moved out of my stepmom’s house at the beginning of this month, and I’ve called him every couple of days just to check in. Even though I’m so mad at him, and despite all of my talk about cutting off all contact, I just can’t bring myself to completely sever the ties. I can’t stand on the shore and watch while he sinks. I’m tied to him, not just genetically, but emotionally too. He’s my dad. Despite all his mistakes, he’s still my dad.

He’s had a couple of slip-ups, but he is going to meetings. It’s his responsibility to beat the disease or let it consume him. For my part, all I can do is check in and pray -- and I’m doing both frequently.

Happy Birthday to the man who named me, who sang me to sleep when I was little, who has always been on my side, who cried the first time he met his grandsons, who has made and continues to make lots of mistakes but who, in spite of it all, still has his daughter's love. 

day thirteen: a nice day

First of all, I loved reading your comments on yesterday's story. Wait until you see next week's. I just picked it out yesterday, and it's hilarious. Like, "I laughed until I snorted" hilarious.

It's been a nice day. The weather has been a little weird -- it's mild but really blustery and cloudy, with the kind of wind that rips all the remaining leaves off the trees. I've been tied to the house all weekend because our cable box quit working, and the cable company was coming to replace it "maybe Saturday, but more likely on Sunday. It just depends." They ended up showing up today at a little after noon, and it was incredibly entertaining to listen to the cable guy narrate his every move for Andrew: "What are you doing? I don't know why you're doing that."

That was the most excitement we've had today, though. We've been doing a lot of relaxing. Will is sick ('tis breathing treatment season again; he's already had four of them this fall, and two in the last 24 hours), so there's been lots of cuddling. Since he's so vocal now, he's able to communicate to me very clearly what he needs: "I need a wipe nose. I wanna water. Nap now, yeah?" He's pathetic and adorable.

Right now Will's napping and Andrew's watching an animated Batman movie with Joe, so I'm enjoying a little bit of free time. I don't have much to write about today, really, but the truth is I enjoy days like this: peaceful, normal, uneventful ones.

day twelve: saturday story

I know I promised another horse-centric tale today, but when I was going through all of my stuff I unearthed this gem. I think you'll find it filled with intrigue (and unnecessarily mean older sisters).

"She was pretty, but she was mean." Of course.

I don't know why our young heroine was asked to put on her nightgown before dinner. Also, I feel it necessary to note that I distinctly remember going back and adding in the older sister's chestal area at a later date. Ha.

Okay, I distinctly remember loving broccoli and potatoes when I was a kid, so I don't know where I was drawing my character inspiration from. Also, the mother in me wonders, where's the protein?!

Nice bunkbed, right? A triple decker! Also, why is their older sister so mean? Where was the hostility coming from, seven-year-old me?

So they woke up at 11:30, and were discovered at 11:32. Ahh, remember when you were a kid and thought you had all the time in the world?

I hate to disappoint you, but the content of that meeting will not be revealed. Sorry, guys.

Just for the record, I don't think this Bilbo had anything to do with Bilbo Baggins. I'm pretty certain I swiped this feline name from another book. Also, seriously, how cute is Bilbo the cat with his pink nose and thick whiskers?

Wow. Their parents are...attractive, huh? Look at all that glorious hair their mother has.

I seriously can't wait to hear what you guys think of this one.