Erin!

You're a total dork, and I love you!

I thought the idea was to sell those things, not give them away to your broke ass friends!

Thank you so much, I can't wait to dive in. Meanwhile, expect me to sell the hell out of it here.

Unhealthy

************FAIR WARNING! THIS MAY BE THE LONGEST BLOG POST EVER******************


We spent the morning at the pediatrician's office. Nothing major, for once, just a little conjunctivitis. Nothing like pinkeye to get the daycare folks in a panic, ya know? So my goopy eyed baby now has ointment to be placed in his eye twice a day. Yeah, that goes over well.

It's sort of like a wrestling match to get anything done to him... a diaper change, a nose wiping, shoes (forget it), and now they expect me to be able to pull down his lower lid and apply a thin ribbon of ointment that burns?! Childhood illnesses are great, I tell ya.

But it's hard to complain about a simple problem like pinkeye when he's been through so much in the past. If there's a quota of medical testing a person can go through in their lifetime, my son has certainly paid his dues. Between the ultrasounds, barium contrasts, radiology, IV's, VCUG's and all the other nonsense, I can't see how there's any more testing out there to be done.

Wil is now into his 14th hour of work for today. Poor guy. I can't imagine how incredibly tiring it is for him. It's not like he sits behind a desk all day. Not knocking those folks that do, it's just that his job is so much more labor intensive. I feel bad when he comes home at night and he's so tired and sore that he falls asleep in the livingroom chair, still in his uniform. To top it all off, he's on call tonight, which means that even after he's home, he'll still get calls and have to go out, regardless of the time of night.

I go back to work tomorrow. I've really enjoyed my three and a half day weekend. Enjoyed it so much I'm seriously considering making it a permanent thing. Of course, I've dreamed about that ever since I went back last October. I know there's a way out there, I've just got to figure out how.

A lot of people criticize me for my "unhealthy" attachment to my son. I admit that I'm probably more doting than most parents are, but I don't know if it's necessarily unhealthy, or more like making up for lost time.

I've never really written about the first few weeks of his life, I don't think. What a mess they were! It's a wonder either of us survived them, and I think that has a lot to do with the closeness we now share.

Jonas was born on the eve of Hurricane Charlie, which ravaged much of the state, and heralded in the most destructive season this state, or perhaps any, has ever seen. Luckily, we sustained little to no damage from Charlie, but I think that it was some sort of omen for how things were going to go from there on out.

I was intent on breastfeeding my son, although I was uncertain of my capabilities in doing so. You know, all those pictures in the magazines make it look like the most natural thing in the world. And for some, maybe it is. I am not one of those.

Just moments after he was born, and the family was done passing him around like a little meat football, the nurses whisked him and dad away to the nursery for the standard tests, and of course, his first bath, recommending that I rest while he was gone. Yeah right, I was wired! How can they expect anyone who's just gone through delivery to just peacefully drift off to sleep? Especially when they're changing rooms on you, and then changing them again, because the Labor and Delivery ward is so damn full that people are popping babies out in the hallway?

So, by the time Wil returned to my room, sans baby, who had become hypoglycemic and had been fed formula instead of being brought to me to nurse, I had been up for well over 15 hours. By the time Jonas was able to join us that evening, he was hooked on formula, and wanted nothing to do with breastfeeding. It was too much work for him.

I requested a lactation consultant, but because of the hurricane, and the limited staff, there wasn't one available. The young CNA did her best to try and help us, but after unbuttoning my gown and placing Jonas somewhere in the vicinity of a nipple, she had no clue what to do next. Neither did I.

So my son cried incessantly throughout the night, and into the next day, nursing greedily, but unsuccessfully nearly around the clock.

Then came the visitors. Hordes of them! Do your pregnant friends a favor... leave them alone until they call you. Or just call with your congratulations. If you MUST stop by to visit, keep it short. My friends are good ones, they stayed for hours. Hours that I should have been sleeping. By the time I was discharged and sent out into the scary world of parenthood all alone, I had been awake, non-stop for nearly three days. No, I'm not exaggerating. I had not slept even ten minutes since arriving at the hospital to deliver my son.

So home we went. Or not exactly home, but to my parents. We needed all the help we could get, and with Wil having to go back to work, having my step-mom around was a blessing.

Not long, as in a matter of hours, after leaving the hospital, Jonas began developing jaundice. Not a necessarily life-threatening problem, but one that scared the hell out of his novice mother. So began the almost daily trips to the doctor's office.

The most concerning thing, besides the jaundice, was the fact that he was steadily losing weight instead of gaining. Although he nursed nearly every 45 minutes, my milk had not come in, and obviously, he was not getting enough to eat.

Then came the vomiting and the diarrhea... and he was deemed milk-intolerant. So I had to cut anything with any sort of milk in it out of my diet in order to continue breast feeding. Wanting to give him the best start possible, I did just that.

And on the fifth day with no sleep, I began hallucinating. Seriously, hallucinating... like voices talking to me in the shower and seeing things that weren't there. I slept, but only for two hours, until it was time to feed him again. I began to resent my child, who had wasted away from a nearly 8 pound baby, down to nearly 5 pounds.

After a week at the parents, things started to become a little more stable. Jonas was eating better, I had adapted to my new dairy free diet, I could occasionally nap, so home we went. And in comes the family from Tennessee. God bless them, they meant well. They just wanted to come and be a help to me, but instead they were a burden. Having to "entertain" out of town guests while trying to settle into a brand new life with a brand new, and high maintenance baby. They stayed two weeks. Two long weeks...

And the day after their departure, so left too. One word to the wise: Don't ever consider evacuating for a hurricane with a three week old sick infant and a dog in the car. We spent 14 hours in non-stop gridlock, just to make it to north central florida. We then shacked up in a one room suite at the hotel- all seven of us.

I think this is where I finally broke. I remember standing in the shower one morning, letting the dangerously hot water sizzle red lines down my back, listening to my step-mom and husband talk in hushed whispers about me. I can't remember the exact words, but at that moment, I knew I was a complete failure as a mom. Poor Jonas was suffering simply because I was too damn stubborn to admit that breastfeeding wasn't working.

Wil left the hotel and came back with a can of formula. Oh halleluja! I drank a beer and laid uncomfortably across our fold-out bed, feeling the useless milk fill in my breasts. What a waste of a mother.

My son thrived as far as his weight went, and the better he got, the worse I got. It's funny how you don't realize how severely depressed you are until it's nearly too late.

Hurricane Frances over, we make the long journey back home, not really sure what we're going home to, or if we even still have a home. Back in town, we find that Wil's parents house already has electricity restored while ours, further out in the boonies, will likely be powerless for another two weeks as crews start restoring important power first. Luckily, Wil's parent's house is on a grid with a school that is a special needs shelter. We move into the empty house, live on bare essentials for the next two weeks. We sleep on the floor because there is no furniture, we eat saltines and peanutbutter because that's all there is. We get our water from the FEMA lines that we have to stand in for hours.

Jonas eats, but he constantly vomits. The doctor has ordered tests, and we've taken them, but they're coming back inconclusive for anything other than GERD, the doctor's diagnosis for "Hell if I know!"

Just a week after finally restoring power to our house, and getting everything back in order, here comes Jeanne, barreling straight for us. Fuck this hurricane. We're not leaving this time. We just can't do it.

We stay at Wil's parent's house again, knowing that's it's the safer of our two choices, being a newly built cinder-block structure. The wind howls and rages, it is dark and hot and scary and I stay up all night crying and wishing in some sick way that the roof really would collapse and just kill us all. No more worries.

That doesn't happen of course. We just spend another two weeks without power, eating the scraps that we can find, drinking the water we can get. While Wil is at work, it is my job to go stand in lines.

One of those lines is the food stamp line. We’re earning less than $1000 a month right now. We can’t even pay the bills, much less eat. The government people think I’m bluffing about our income, until I show the documents. The lady looked at me and my baby, sleeping nestled against my chest, and nearly cried. That’s when you know it’s bad… when some government employee is actually hurt by your situation.

We also stand in the health department line and get assistance for Jonas. Now we can actually afford to buy the special formula he has to drink which is $25 per 8oz can. Things are a bit easier for us.

After another 11 days without power, our house is finally restored, and home we go to begin the life that we should have started months ago. Only now, it’s too late for me. I’m gone-over the edge- a few fries short of a happy meal.

I guess between the sick baby, my failure at breastfeeding, which in my mind equated with terrible parent, and the three hurricanes and just sheer survival, I lost any shred of sanity I had.

Jonas was doing better, but still cried incessantly, had to be held constantly. If I got one shower a week, it was an accomplishment. He slept in 30 minute spells throughout the day and night, never really settling into a “normail” sleeping pattern.

One night Wil found me, curled up it the corner of the shower crying. It’s all I could do. I couldn’t bathe, I couldn’t even think about looking at my son. I couldn’t talk. I was lost and couldn’t go another moment.

The next morning he took me to the doctor, who I was sure was going to lock me away, put my picture on the front of the paper with a headline “Worst Mom EVER!” He didn’t. Instead he let me sit there and cry and feel sorry and tell him how terrible it was trying to take care of my son, my house, my everything. And he prescribed me drugs to get me through.

I only had to take them for a few weeks. Just until the world started seeming rational to me again. I’m not a believer in medicating yourself when things get rough, but I have to admit, without those pills, I probably would have been one of those people that kills their kids, then the rest of their families, and then sits there in shock over what they’ve done. I really was that bad.

So now that I’m normal again, I’m trying to make up for all the lost time. Trying, I guess, to make up for all the things I didn’t do, should have done right from the beginning. Maybe it is an unhealthy attachment I have, but dammit, it sure beats the alternative.

The Solution

A solution to my problem has made itself apparent this week. I'm getting dropped at work. I'll still have my job, but I'm only going to be working two and a half days a week now, and an occasional half day on Saturday.

I was so relieved about the fact that I'll be able to spend more time with Jonas, and with myself that I totally didn't think about the negative side... the fact that that means we'll be bringing home a hell of a lot less money.

Can we survive without the extra income? Yeah, probably, but it won't be easy. We're already stretched pretty tight. We'll just have to make adjustments somewhere. God, I don't know where.

But I've been doing a lot of thinking, and you know, my son is only going to be this age once. Jobs come and go, I can work anytime. Maybe once he starts school it'll be easier for me to be able to work more hours.

I'm actually off today, although I'm not quite sure why. They certainly could use me since one of the girls is out for jury duty, but I'm not complaining. Jonas and I spent a lazy morning in bed watching Sesame Street and eating graham crackers. (Yes, cookies in bed!) Then I dropped him off at school, stopped at the store for a couple of essentials, and then came home to do the necessary cleaning. It's not so bad since I did the major overhaul a few weeks ago. Even Wil has been pulling his share now that he's seen that it IS possible to make this place look decent. So today has mostly been organization, dishes, laundry, floors. The usual routine.

I think one of my next major investments is going to be a really fancy washing machine and dryer. Like the one that claims it can wash 16 pairs of jeans at a time. Maybe then I wouldn't be doing laundry non-stop. Heh, who am I kidding?

So anyway, I'm learning a little more each day that it's ok to have some me time too. Granted, I still don't get much of it, but I take it when I can. Saturday we dropped the baby off at Abuela's and Wil and I went out and had dinner on a gift certificate I'd been given for mother's day. It was nothing fancy, but the time we were able to spend together was wonderful, and we sort of found our relationship again.

Ok, floors are just about dry, the clothes in the dryer are going to turn doll sized if I don't get them out soon, and I've got a quilt for Steven I'm itching to get my hands on.

Later

Thank you very much!

I would like to thank the Palm Bay Police Department for their stellar performance last night. Truly, a great demonstration of my tax dollars at work.

You see, I live no more than a mile and a half from the police station, fire department and emergency dispatch, but after calling 911 because I had a half naked and bloody man trying to enter my house just after midnight, it took three calls and 38 minutes for anyone to arrive, and then it was an ambulance, not the police.

Perhaps they figured that if they waited long enough they could just come claim the bodies and skip all the hassle of trying to save a young family from iminent danger.

Thank god there wasn't someone doing something really wrong, like speeding.

A bad witch

I can't feel the seasons anymore. They come and go, and the only thing that changes is the temperature. It goes from hot to hotter and then back to hot again. We sweat at night in our sleep, and I feel guilty because my son deserves better.

Wil thinks my depression is coming back. I think I'm just tired. But again, it isn't fair that my one day off out of the week and I'm too damn exhausted to even enjoy it.

Wil says, "Take the baby to my mother for the day. Relax, read a book. Rest."

I can't do that. I need to be with my son. I need him near me, otherwise I'd spend the day agonizing over the fact that we're apart, and it's really our only day to be together. Then I'll feel guilty for not being a good mom, not loving him enough.

Summer today. It's grey, raining. The grass creeps up in the yard, tries to conquer the sidewalk, the flowers choke on the weeds. They are overwhelmed, just like me.

The house is messy. Not exactly filthy, but I wouldn't let my mother in if she knocked. There's no sense in trying to have a Martha Stewart home with four animals and a baby running around inside. We've got to get rid of these cats. God bless them. They're good pets. I love them, and I didn't take them in with the intention of it being a temporary thing. But they've got to go. I just can't do it anymore. I can't spend every spare moment being needed by something or someone else.

I'm going to get an aquarium. Fish are easy. They swim, they eat, occasionally you have to change a filter, clean the water. No big deal. They die and you flush them. I wonder if fish get bored? Do they yearn for freedom from their little glass oceans, or are they content in a ten gallon paradise?

Am I content in mine? I don't know. I don't know. I don't think I feel much at all. To do so would take up all the extra energy I have. I want to sleep for days. Sleep this headache away, sleep this back pain away, sleep the laundry and the dishes and the dirty floors clean. I want to sleep all of the broken stuff fixed, and then I want to hit the snooze button and sleep some more. So damn tired.

And I don't want Jonas to remember me this way. A tired old hag of a mother who barely has the energy to smile at him. The mother who sometimes skips dinner and opts for a bottle because bottles can be consumed lying down. The mother who wants to take him to the park, or the zoo, or hell, even to the store, just for a change of atmosphere, but looks at the prospect of having to pack a diaper bag, and put a stroller in the car, and actually drive wherever we're going, and instead, decides that the livingroom floor is a much more fun place than any park. I don't want to be my mother. I don't want to make Jonas feel guilty for wanting to do things just because I'm too tired to do them.

I'm not off to a very good start. And I'm tired... so damn tired.

Emptiness

We never meant for it to be this way. Before his birth we spent hours... weeks preparing the perfect nursery. We bought the best crib we could afford, the linens we couldn't. We prepared the perfect little nest for our son. But it was difficult, after nine months of carrying him around inside of me, to leave him so far away. It's not that I thought I wouldn't hear him if he woke up, have you ever heard a baby cry?! It was more of a separation thing, and besides, when they're so tiny, and eating ever two hours or so, it makes no sense to trudge all the away across the house in the wee hours of the morning to nurse, rock, put to bed, only to start all over again.

So in came the bassinette. I suppose there's nothing out of the ordinary about a bassinette. Probably 90% of folks use them while their babies are small. And that worked, as long as I didn't fall asleep while nursing him and just keep him there draped across my chest.

Then came the hurricanes, and bassinettes don't travel well. Nor do they fit in hotel rooms being shared by 7 people. And then came the next hurricane, and we were left sleeping on the floor, all of us. All of the sleeping rules went out the window, and to be honest, in those moments when everything in life seemed uncertain, and we stood a very good chance of losing everything we ever had, it made sense to keep the most important things so close.

When people learn that we co-sleep with our son, they usually have one of two reactions... either we're total hippy freaks, you know, those kind that eat granola and wear hemp clothes, or we're stupid parents intent on ruining our son for the rest of his life. Either way, we're frowned upon.

Of course, this has nothing to do with the decision to introduce the porta-crib. The reason it's time is because twice in a month our little worm has taken a header in the middle of the night and ended up face-first on the floor. We've been lucky both times. The first time, he didn't even wake up, but I can't deal with the internal anxiety about three being the proverbial charm and him ending up a quadrapelegic or something.

So, for the first time in ten months,(nineteen if you count the pregnancy) my bed is empty. No tiny little head beneath my chin. No fuzzy blonde curls tickling my nose. No pudgy arms draped across mine. Emptiness. Total emptiness.

I'm not stupid enough to deny the fact that it's time to start helping our son learn to sleep alone, but I wonder, who's going to help me?

A Not-So-Perfect Ten

I've been doing this diet thing for a couple of months now. It's not so much a diet as a change in the way I live, eat, etc. Today I am wearing a pair of size ten jeans.

Holy shit! I'm wearing a size ten! My body is now in better shape than it's ever been. I'm still flabby in all the wrong places, and the loose skin that's left behind is less than desirable, but still, I'm about 70 lbs smaller than my largest size. That's quite an accomplishment.

At last weigh-in, I was 154 lbs. That's 4 pounds over my goal of 150.

All that being said, I still look in the mirror and I see the fat and unattractive person I've always seen staring back at me. The pride in my body that, when I was closer to 200 lbs, I just knew would radiate from the very core of my being once I was this small doesn't exist. Sure, I see the difference, I can feel the difference, but psychologically I'm still the ugly fat kid that everyone pokes fun at on the playground.

I once told a story about a blue skirt that I wanted so badly when I was about 8 or 9 years old. It wasn't incredibly short or anything. Just your plain old blue skirt, mid-thigh innocent kids clothes. The kind that parents of 8 year olds these days would sigh relief over if their kids asked for it. Instead of sighing relief my mother told me that I was too fat to wear a skirt and briskly scuttled me off to the plus-sized jeans and oversized shirts.

In retrospect, I probably was too fat to look good in such a skirt, but I think the embarrassment of my fat ass hanging out from beneath the hem would have been far less psychologically damaging than the realization that even my family looked at me with shame and disgust.

So now, here I am, skinny enough to wear that skirt, or perhaps one a bit more provocative, but I'm still not comfortable in my skin. It may be an old cliche, but beauty really does have to start from the inside.

I guess now that I'm here, at my goal, the only thing left to do is start getting to know the new me, maybe learn to like her a little. It's either that, or I suppose I could easily turn this thing into some sort of obsession where I end up a 90 lb skeleton that looks in the mirror and still finds all the fat.

That's my girl!

My Sis made the front page of the local newspaper in Memphis. She's part of a group protesting some fundamental christian group that claims that gays can be converted. The picture's small, and from what I can tell, you have to be a member to read the full article, but way to go Jess! You make your big sister very proud, even if, or maybe especially because, you ruffle the family feathers.

Mr. Fixit

Lynn just came out and took a look at all the things that need fixing around here. Thank god he was well on his way to drunksville or else he may have just laughed and walked right back out the door.

So our bathroom will be gutted and repaired next weekend. He made it clear that he's not a tile-man, which means I'll need to find someone else to do that part of the job, but that's ok with me. Truth be told, I'm a pretty handy tile-wench myself, but just for the convenience factor, if I can find someone else to do it for a good price, I just might.

He's going to come out tomorrow, providing it's not raining, and fix up our yard, trim back some of the overgrowth from the adjoining lot, pull out the weeds and make it look all pretty again. There's something about a nice clean yard that makes a house look brand new, regardless of how bad it really is.

So, yard tomorrow, a/c on tuesday, bathroom next weekend. All that'll be left is the stucco and a fresh coat of paint on the outside. We probably need to touch up the kitchen, too. It's a little dull in there, but we'll see. We also need to put some new carpet in the master bedroom. But I have a buddy that'll lay it for pretty much a case of beer. All we have to do is go find a fabulous sale on a closeout remnant. The room's not that big, even with the closet thrown in.

It's a relief to finally have everything coming together. More and more, everyday, we're one step closer to our new house.

The two poop policy

After a long four day weekend, I'm home again today.

Jonas woke up at two in the morning projectile vomiting. I'm talking, from one side of our queen size bed to the other. Imagine the exorcist, if you will. After a couple of hours of purging and moaning, he weakly gave in to exhaustion and fell back asleep... just in time for the alarm that summons me off to work.

So with only a couple hours of sleep myself, and missing my very much needed pair of glasses (I must have cleaned house so well that I forgot where I laid them down), I carted my not so happy, but seemingly better baby off to school. I explained to them when I dropped him off that he hadn't been feeling well, and that I had a suspicion that they'd be calling me. Sure enough, they did.

His vomiting seems to be over, but now he's got the poops. Who knew that a daycare center has a two poop policy? Yep. Two icky poops and you're out!

So we're home now. He's managed to keep about three ounces of formula and some rice cereal down, but that's all he's had all day. His hydration level is questionable as he's not producing much in the way of urine, but the tears are still there, which, ironically, is a good thing.

Now that you know more than you ever wanted to know about my son's digestive system...

I hate when he gets sick. I'm sure no parent really enjoys a sick baby, but it seems that, more often than not, when Jonas gets sick he does it well. Call him an over-achiever. I've already placed the warning call in to his doctor. If he's not over this in another 24 hours, it's in for testing. (Yippie! More needles and cultures!)

God, please let this just be a little virus and not some hospitalization warranting illness like the others.

Closer to Heaven

If cleanliness is next to godliness, then we must be living right outside the pearly gates now.

I dropped Jonas off at school yesterday morning and came back home to get this house in order. It's amazing, all the stuff that collects over the years, and you don't even realize it. It doesn't help that we are both pack-rats.

So I started in the master bath and worked my way all the way across the house. I patched ancient gouges in the woodwork, scrubbed hard water stains from the porcelain, bleached baseboards, collected the dust that settles in the corners. Trashed half the stuff in the closets, and took most of what was left to the sharing center.

I have a real problem with cleaning out closets. My last major overhaul was before Jonas was born. His bedroom was previously our office/general storage room. There was stuff packed into that closet dating back all the way to junior high. Some of it even older than that. All those little things that seem so important at the time. Things you swear you'll keep forever, and do, until something comes along and makes you realize that you really don't need it anymore. So out went all the junk, all the clothes that will never be worn again, all the little memory things like the balloon given by a best friend after a minor surgery, and the flowers saved from the ex on our first anniversary. Just what the hell did I need those for anyway? Some sort of reminder that there really was some fragment of human in him?

I dusted places that have probably never been dusted, like those shelves in the closet, just above the clothes bars, and vacuumed behind the furniture. Who pulls out their furniture and vacuums on a regular basis? I cleaned fan blades, baseboards, fingerprints on doors. The windows are sparkling, at least until the cats press their curious little noses against them again.

The tile floors have never looked better. Jonas's toys are arranged neatly. The kitchen sink looks like stainless steel again, instead of some dull and dirty hole in the countertop. The fridge has been emptied of all the leftovers and the shelves wiped down. The only thing I didn't get to was organizing the cabinets. But every person is allowed some sort of clutter, right? I mean, who in this world has an organized tupperware cabinet?

So, now the inside is all sparkly clean, and the outside is still a disaster. Still waiting on the stucco guys to call me back, still waiting on the drywall guy to come visit. It's frustrating to have to work on someone else's time schedule when reall all you want to do is get it over with. I've never been a patient waiter.

To be fair though, we're in our summertime rain pattern. Meaning, it rains every day. It's kind of hard to do stucco work in the rain, I suppose. And we certainly can't paint in the rain. On the brighter side, on our nearly daily drive by the other house, we've observed no flooding or drainage problems. That's a huge plus considering we're below sea-level, and most of this town spends the summer soggy and squishy due to the poor drainage. The more we drive by, the more we call it "our new house" and the more we call it that, the more we can't wait to move in.

All this, and we haven't even made a formal offer yet. Sort of jumping the gun, aren't we?

But it's not officially for sale yet, anway, so I don't see why we're in any real hurry. Step one is to get this house marketable, and then we can make our offer, contingent upon the sale of this one. Seems silly to make an offer with a contingency when the house isn't even on the market yet. (Either of them, for that matter)

So we sit, and we wait patiently for all of the cards to fall into place. And in the meantime, we try not to lose our minds with all of the work that is still ahead for us.

Stalking

Wil and I have become stalkers. We find ourselves driving past the new house almost on a daily basis. Sort of like visiting a new friend, I guess, or maybe it's just to keep our goals fresh in our mind when we start getting discouraged about all the work we're putting into this place here.

The way we're justifying all of the money we're sinking into this ship is that, if something should go wrong with the sale/purchase of the new place, at least we'll have a nice place to live.

The frustrating thing about getting people to come out and repair your house is the fact that no one seems to give a shit about punctuality, or even showing up at all. I've called three stucco guys, and one has called me, referred by one of the guys I called. The only one that has showed at all was the old Jamaican man who was sweet as can be, but didn't seem too confident in his ability to fix it.

I figured the guy that actually called me, solicited my business instead of the other way around would be an eager worker. He asked if he could come Saturday around 10 to take a look and give me an estimate. We waited around until well after 2, no show, no call. What the hell?! I mean, these people run their own businesses, right? They have a vested interest in their reputation. Why can't they come when they promise, or at least call to let you know they've been delayed.

So, we can't paint until the stucco is done, and today would be the perfect day to paint. It's the first one in a week where it hasn't rained all day.

We're not going to replace the carpet until the bathroom has been gutted, just to avoid tracking bathroom guts across the new stuff. We can't do much of anything until we find homes for the cats. So instead of worrying, we went shopping.

Jonas finally has a pair of shoes he CAN'T wriggle his little monkey toes out of. (Insert evil mother laugh here) It's become nearly impossibly to keep anything on his feet, and the tops of them are blistered and burned from crawling around on various surfaces. He's got rug burn, tile burn, grass burn, even a little sunburn. It looks terrible, and must feel bad too. Hopefully this is a stage that will pass soon.

Wil also found the tv of his dreams. It's a Samsung 46" projection DLP. All that really means to me is it's a big ass tv with a really great picture. It's also on sale since the newer model is being released. Unfortunately, even on sale, we certainly can't buy it right this minute. Maybe once we're in the new house, if we have a little equity money left.

But enough rambling. It's nearly 9:30, I'm only half way through my 1st cup of coffee. Jonas is wanting more of my attention, I'm still in my jammies, and we have a barbecue to attend today, which means I need to get in the kitchen. It's just not polite to show up empty handed. Especially when it's your husband's boss that's hosting the event. :)

So more house stuff later, I suppose. It seems like my blog is going to turn into some do-it-yourself version of "This Old House" or something. Forgive me, but journaling this stuff helps to make it bearable.

A new day

It feels weird to be in such a good mood when everything around me is in a state of uncertainty, but I am.

Jonas started his new school today after enjoying a long 4 day weekend with us. We did so much stuff this weekend. We found our new home. I refuse to call it anything but that, because to call it the house we want means that we don't really have it yet. It leaves that little bit of doubt dangling around in my mind, and if I leave it there to fester, it'll take over everything. We also went to the zoo. It was a hot and beautiful day, even if Jonas wasn't really interested in the animals. He did like the butterfly exhibit. I guess butterflies are just as appealing to infants as they are to adults.

On Monday, my dad had a big barbecue and we ate until we were sick. Ok, so Jonas is the only one that barfed, and it was because his Daddy Dave fed him an entire bowl of whipped cream. Ugh! We swam in the pool and played this addictive game called "Left, Right, Center." I ended up losing all my money, but at 75 cents a game, I didn't feel so bad about it.

But the best thing about the whole weekend was the fact that we were just together. Four days of family time doesn't come around often. It was wonderful just being together.

Jonas is pooped tonight after his first day. There are so many kids there that know him. I feel really good about it. Cody and Cara were there when I dropped him off this morning. They're my sister's ex's kids, and they still hang around. Cody and Steven are buddies, so that gives my sister an excuse to kidnap them every now and then. Cara was all over him all morning, according to the teachers. She really adores Jonas. And of course Steven was there, and insisted on checking on his baby J every hour. I find that touchingly sweet, that he cares so much about him.

One night a few weeks ago he confessed to me, "Aunt Angie, I don't like baby drool. It really grosses me out, but I don't mind when Jonas slobbers on my toys because he's my cousin and he can't help it." What a sweet and selfless thought to come from a six year old who's favorite stuffed turtle is being teethed upon!

So baby is napping. I hate that he's asleep this late in the afternoon. It means that he'll want to stay up half the night, but I don't believe in waking a sleeping baby just for my comfort and convenience. He's tired now, right?

In other news, we found a guy that'll do our A/C for less than half of the original estimate. Yes, it's still a brand new unit with a warranty, he's just not affiliated with any of the big named companies so he's not charging for reputation, I suppose. He's actually a patron of the restaraunt my sister waitresses at, and she's the one that referred him to me. God I love my sis sometimes. She's helped me out of a lot of tight situations.

I've also found a drywall guy, whenever he has time to come by. He's a friend of a friend who's recently quit his job and is looking for side jobs here and there. He's done drywall for 30 years, so I have all the confidence in the world that he'll do me right, and probably cheap, too. Heck, maybe I can even talk him into doing the tile work as well. Wouldn't that be a dream come true?!

I've got stucco folks coming out to give me estimates, and it seems that the only other major thing we're going to have to do is replace the master bedroom carpet and start cleaning out some of the clutter. It's amazing how much stuff two people can accumulate in just a few short years!

So, now we're down to the hard part. We've decided we need to find the cats new homes. It's not that we don't love them, or want them anymore. But Jonas still wheezes, and despite our best efforts to stay on top of kitty hair duty, it's just an impossible task to keep the house hair-free. Besides, they're really not getting the attention they deserve, and I don't think it's fair for them. So, anyone who might be interested in a sweet and loving cat with good manners please contact me. It's going to hurt to see them go, but I don't see how we have a choice in the matter. It's cruel to allow my son to be sick all the time when there's such a simple and obvious cure.