This week's truths

Jonathan left on Monday to a conference and although I was nervous, I had lots of votes of confidence from family and friends. I could most definitely handle work and caring for two kids. No sweat. Sometimes the kids are better behaved for one parent instead of two. It'll be chaos, but you'll survive. You got this. 

Those were the words of wisdoms I received.

So I did what I always do: embraced the challenge. I saw it as a chance to flex my parenting muscles. I wanted to come out the other end of the week glowing with my strong, capable, and flexible skills I had developed. I couldn't wait to rub my husband's nose in it: look what I can do! Run victory laps at my success.

Let me tell you: I got a good case of shut down! Things got ugly and desperate. I never foresaw how Vincent would react to having Dad gone. How I would have to battle his 4 year old coping skills. There was yelling and tears from both of us. And then I had to deal with Isla, the baby who sleeps in spurts made worse by coughing spells. Vincent even woke up in the middle of the night two days in a row. It was a tantrum to get him back to bed as he ran around the pitch black house screaming and crying. 

There were many phone calls to Jonathan asking him to talk to my erratic child as I couldn't muster the patience to calm him down and all my threats landed on deaf ears. 

Talk about a huge ego shutdown! By Friday I was singing just knowing that evening I wouldn't have to go it alone. That I wouldn't have to fail one more night. That maybe I'd actually get more than 4 hours of sleep. 

I wish I could say that Jonathan's homecoming made everything better, that our weekend ended up being beautiful and put all the wrongs right again. Instead, I woke up Saturday with a fever, sore throat, bodyaches, upset stomach, and sneezing my head off. This was supposed to be my crowning moment where I reaped my reward for single parenting for the week (although horribly) by heading out for a little me time. I deserved that. I needed that! Instead I lounged around all day only nursing Isla. 

I wish I could say that was the end of the story. 

Saturday night as I go to put dishes into the drying rack I had washed, a big fat drop of water landed on my arm. I thought at first I had just gotten myself wet washing dishes. I wish. Instead, there was a steady drip of water coming from our ceiling! And as I looked down at the kitchen rug, I realized it was soaked. 

At 9 at night my husband climbed into our insulation filled attic to determine the source of the problem. Vincent was still awake. I was still awake. 

We finally figured out an ventilation pipe was leaking. There are far too many boring details to that story to go into it, but...

This week was not easy. I didn't grow parenting wings. We survived. I realized how much I rely on my husband. 

I realized that even when you think it's bad, you haven't had it rain on you in your kitchen. 

What a Monday?

This morning, the day after that wonderful day called Mother's Day, Monday happened. It was a mother of all Mondays. So fitting. Like it was there to ground me and remind me of my real job. 

Isla didn't sleep very well. She woke up every hour or so whether she was being snuggled or not and whether she had just eaten an hour ago or not. Maybe it's another glorious growth spurt. Who knows. But did it really have to happen the Monday after Mother's Day and the week Jonathan will be gone to a conference for the week? (I've never had to be a temporary single mom before. Should be interesting.)

So you think: I'll just make myself a spot of coffee and all will be right. Only I have a four year old barista in training who loves to help. This morning Vincent got distracted by a magnet as he was helping and while we were cleaning up (I run a cup of water through the Nepresso after making a cup), his elbow caught the steaming hot cup and knocked it right in his chair and splashed all over him. Vincent screamed and the mug shattered. 

Boy did I feel guilty. As I rushed around stripping off his clothes and putting an ice pack where the water got him, he was upset he broke a mug and water got everywhere. Bless him! We managed to get all cleaned up and get out the door only 10 minutes late, my mommy guilt and Monday wrath following us out the door!

The drive to school gave me time to decompress and reflect. While I was complaining about my children, lack of sleep, and it being Monday, I was being taught something about grace. Apparently I could use a little bit more of it. Ironically, for the first tjme, my coffee did not taste good. 

New new new

Jonathan started his job, and the best thing: how much more time (and help) we have together as a family. Vincent now gets to sleep until 7 versus 5:15, I take him to school and log in for work at my usual time of 8:45, he gets picked up at 4 (which might get later should Jonathan decide to start working out after work), and dinner is on the table by 5:30 or 6 (Jonathan wasn't even getting home until 6:30 or later with his old job). The byproduct of all this: I can cook dinners while he plays with Vincent, Vincent is happier with more sleep, and more stuff can get done around the house in the evening. It's a win-win-win. We're still working on getting the routine down since the holdiays throw everything off. But I'll take these couple weeks of chaos for a all around happier family!

Just be

Lately I've been more content to the fact I don't have the perfect career culled out just for me. I have a job I know how to do OK. It pays bills, it let's me work from home, and it affords me a life that isn't so insane I don't get to savor the life I already have. I'm counting it as a blessing that I can quit work everyday not feeling stressed to pick up my son, that I can take a lunch hour to nourish my body and do something for my soul. It's not what I imagined and I do admit to fighting it almost monthly because I love pushing myself to the next level. But then I take a look around and ask myself, "What is missing from my life that I don't already have?"

Waiting waiting waiting

I'm amid a land of plenty. Plenty of babies, that is. I swear everyone and her sister is either making babies, cooking babies, and having babies. I'm not in any of the camps, and I have to say, right now, it hurts just a little in a strange way. Honestly, I'm not entirely ready to go through THAT again, but it would be nice if I that's really what I wanted, we could be thinking about it. But we're not. We're fortunate to live in a nice house with a nice mortgage to go along with it. We're fortunate in our jobs since people are still being furloughed and let go but what we make together probably one of us should be making almost individually. Yeah, that hurts. So we're waiting and saving. Our lives are in a sea of change anyways with me trying to get a new job and Jonathan's job moving to a new city next summer that's almost 2 hours away. Yeah, that sucks and we're still not sure how to deal with it. So we're waiting. We're enjoying Vincent. He's at a wonderful age, and he's a little sponge saying new words, asking inquisitive questions {what's this name for objects he doesn't have the word for yet}. So while we're waiting, we're also taking this time to sit back, take stock, enjoy what we have, and even glimpsing some hummingbirds in the process. Sure the grass might be greener over there {better paying job, more babies, stylish clothes, and a magazine-worthy house}, but green just means there's been a lot of manure and rain. Manure and rain. 

On the cusp

Lately, I've been getting that feeling I'm right on the cusp of being that person I want to be and imagined for myself, and what I want to do. It's so easy to let your situation in life define you, or at least to the point you're negative about it. 

I tend to have these grand ideas and little carry through and I think I've let that define me. Mainly because I don't know how to get started (hello, grad school, moving, tiling a bathroom, completely changing careers, writing) or where to start. But I find as I get older, that's changing for me. I'm making realistic goals {at one time I wanted to write for Time magazine. I'll pause while you laugh at how lofty and ridiculous that is} and keeping them. They're little goals, but goals nonetheless. And I'm proud of myself. I'm proud that Vincent has me for his mom and Jonathan has me for his wife. I know they could do far worse and probably much better, but when I look at what we do as a family unit, I can't help but think: We've got it going on. 

So I'm on the cusp. Maybe I always will be, but it seems far better than completely out of reach. And it feels good. Now, if I could just decide a color for my office and bravely roll that color on. 

{sorry for the lack of pictures in this post. Call it wordy Friday post. It was a crazy week where I took almost no pictures.}

Just like this

Seems like I'm always dreaming of a life with more and better. Better job. More decorations. More clothes. Better hair. Better Mama. Better wife. I dream of this world where everything is exactly where and how I want it to be, but if that happened, wouldn't I be done with life?! So instead I'm taking a look around at my life and wanting it to be just like this. Just like this.

I suck

House and home have unfortunately been put on the back burner while I put out wild fires all over work. You'd think my company would be smart enough not to give the hormonal pregnant woman work that makes horns sprout from her head, or at least not plan some crazy ass move that consolidates four floors into two floors all to save a few bucks since out of the 20 offices or so belonging to the company, we have the cheapest rent (and the cheapest cost of living and salary). So like I've said, I've been busy. So busy that Jonathan has been cooking all my meals and doing the dishes. Yeah, that busy. And that hormonal. Underneath this mask of normal is scary. I'd be happy to give you a preview sometime.

But now I'm looking at a week off and I'm hoping to accomplish all kinds of things: decorating my mantel for Christmas, Christmas shopping that I haven't even started, putting together the crib and moving other furniture into the baby's room, baking (hoping to back some ginger snaps and go to all my neighbors in our cul de sac crew), knitting, and of course some yoga.

Daily weigh in?

No, I'm not part of The Biggest Loser contest. I just happen to be semi-living with my sis-in-law and her BF. And a scale. It's a beautiful, modern, digital contraption that pleads with me. No. Begs me. To just step on it. Just once. Or every time I walk into the bathroom. So I've become obsessed with weighing myself because it's either that or hold it until I can resist the urge to not weigh myself (or wet myself).

At first I ignored this guy. I've never been one to watch the number. Instead, I live by the rule that if I feel good both inside and out, get good nutrition, and exercise, why should that number matter? It shouldn't run my life. But this guy persisted. And tripped me. I literally hit the wall one morning while dressing because I took a step too far back. "You will step on me!" So I relented. And stepped on the damn thing. And have far too often since.

I've become fascinated to watch the numbers change from in the morning (weigh in number one), perhaps after yoga (weigh in number two), after eating (weight in number three), and just before going to bed (weigh in number four). To the scale: I love you. You serve a maddening duty of dishing out both depressing and good news. But please, please, please don't make me want to buy one of your friends. My life and my new house don't need your ruthless numbers.

The end in the beginning

The rooms are for the most part bare, save for the essentials we'll need to get us through the last week in this apartment. It's all making me a bit nostalgic. Five years ago Jonathan and I moved in together. Five long years ago when I still had a mommy and another brother, and JL wasn't even my fiance. What a amazingly bittersweet five years.

Chance says I shouldn't be sad about the empty rooms because it's just leading to the next step in my life. A house. Maybe a family down the road. So while I'm sad to leave, I'm also excited to think what's in store. Just like I was excited to move into this place. The end here is really just the beginning. (And if you're a Bones fan, you'll get the title reference.)

Sidenote: Listening to Florence + The Machine's Cosmic Love. Loving this song!

I wish I could say

I had more to write and that the new year has motivated me. And that having last week off refueled and energized me. I wish I could say that I was excited to go back to work. To be revved up about packing. About the knitting I've assigned myself. The designs I've assigned myself (or asked for). The yoga I need to get back into the daily habit of doing. (I was down to two classes a week. Eek!) Christmas came and went, and 2010 showed up at the door with a beautiful blue moon. I got some great presents, cash for appliances, some ribbon, some tunes, and some shows. And time off. Who could forget the time off.

But it did little in the ways of motivation. Of refueling. Monday came. And it was THE SAME JOB I ran away from screaming the week before. Time did little in the ways of changing the boss. Dammit. I had such high expectations.

And the house, you ask? Well, someone wished for snow and it hasn't let up since. Neither have the below freezing temperatures. I don't expect we'll make the January 29th deadline or our contracted February 15th deadline. Until then, JL will be living at his in laws while I crash on my sis in law's couch in the city so as to avoid a long ass commute on top of 10-hour work days when we must say adieu to the apartment we've called home for 5 years on the 29th. (They don't do month to month leases. Those bastards.)

On the bright side: 2010 promises to be a great year for Pisceans for you astrology buffs out there, and I'm almost done packing.

So dear charming readers, if I don't post much in the coming weeks, just know I'm working my tail feathers off packing, knitting, designing, and just surviving. And you're in for some awesome posts.

The road ahead is a bumpy one

Today, my youngest sis-in-law graduated high school. It was a bittersweet affair for the entire family. After knowing her for more than 9 years (yes, I know, 9 years), she's completely an independent person. I remembered when she would line up her Polly Pockets around the house, grasping her blanket, and asking me to play with her. It's a far cry from the person she has become, and the person she has yet to become. It's so fun to see her transform and grow. When I was her age, I thought I was on top of the world. Lordy (as M.O.M. would say). If only I knew then what I know today. Life is messy, brilliant, and I really need to start enjoying it more.

My goals for enjoying life more:
1. Take more pictures...of everything and everyone. I'm not that comfortable behind the camera, so I tend not to take pictures. Perhaps if I can talk Jonathan into a snazzy new camera, I'll be more inclined to taking pictures.

2. Get out of the house more often. This will be tricky. I'm a homebody and I am very frugal. And I equate getting out of the house with spending money.

3. Spruce up my patio. I need to get outside more often. I think if I put some pretty plants on my patio and my some patio furniture (there's that spending money thing again), I'd be outside everyday. Vitamin D is very healthy.

4. Exercise. This is probably the hardest goal because it means I need to get off this increasing-getting-larger behind. A yoga pass may be essential.

Wishy washy

Cars are nothing but trouble. Might need to capitalize the 'T' on that. Trouble. Yesterday, Jonathan called me saying his check-engine light came on.

His car is 11 years old, so it shouldn't be a surprise, but really? You have to start breaking down right now? When we're back on the We're-going-to-buy-a-house-this-summer kick, something we have been saying on and off for at least a year. We take the car in Monday, so fingers crossed that it's nothing major to deplete our savings. Where's public transportation when you need it?

If we have to pay a lot, we once again will be sitting tight to buy a house, which to us means putting the rest of our lives on hold: the real cooking I want to do (I've dreamed of making croissants), the card-making, the decorating, the having kids, the possible gardening, the having friends and family over that won't come visit me because my apartment is too small (or so Melissa says), the everything!

Oh, and did I mention that I'm not getting a raise?!

iMovie will bring us together

Tonight, my sister put the cutest video of my nephew on his website. It was only a 2-second video, but it was the cutest thing ever. He said "Hi!" and waved. Priceless. I had to play it over and over and over, and you get the idea.

Since buying my MacDaddy I've wanted to try out the programs that come with it: GarageBand, iMovie, and iPhoto. These are basically scaled-down version of some of the high-end apps out there. Tonight I tested iMovie, sending my nephew a message back saying hi and blowing him a kiss, with some Eels playing in the background. It was like a video email. His response? He blew my video a kiss back!

Maybe some videos will make it to this blog soon.

Woe is me

I love Black Beauty (a.k.a my Scion xA), but sometimes she's just a thorn in my side. Apparently, we've got a leak somewhere causing my Check Engine light to come on. Problem is it could be caused from one of two valves. One is covered under my warranty, the other isn't, and it could end up being neither valve. The long-term repecussions of the problem: zilch. Basically, I'm paying to not have my Check Engine light light up. Those carmakers are sure clever guys—they'll get your dough somehow, someway. If hubby and I weren't so damn responsible, we'd probably let the problem slide, but we are, so we'll keep sitting in Toyota Service Center until the sun goes down and I hope the problem solved. Jury will be out on that one. If the light comes back on, we'll have gambled with fixing the wrong valve. If it doesn't, we won!

In other news, we've been browsing houses. Yep, we're probably going to be buying a house this summer because we're afraid we might not be able to break into the market if we wait any longer. Part of me is excited. My own place where I can paint the walls and have space for all my great wedding gifts that are still sitting in my closet. But the other part of me thinks, "Oh the dread of unexpected expenses for repairs and then taxes." But we can't really move forward in our lives without taking this step. Can't have kids (not that you can't have kids in an apartment, but I've had kids in my apartment, and they feel like they're sitting on top of me or getting into everything—maybe that's not exclusive to apartment homes). With my 26th birthday coming up next week, I'm thinking about that ticking clock, or rather trying to find the damn snooze button for just five more mintues (or years). I think we're ready for home and the extra space, but part of me likes the uncomplicated life we lead. We don't have too much to worry about. Why give that up? Is the grass really greener on the other side? I doubt it. It will still be the same life, but just with another place to call home—and more bills to pay.