in great hopes

One week during my daughter's therapy, there was another mom in the same large room with twin girls...only one of whom was receiving therapy. She was nice and has a little boy as well (younger than my son). We talked a bit as we left, and I reall liked her. Anyhow, I cannot recall her name, nor did I have the courage to ask if she'd like to get together...but, I just hoped that one day I'd run into her again.

That was today. She came into the consignment shop I was in, near where we both go for therapy. I still do not know her name, though I do know two of her kid's names, and I did discover approximately where she lives (a bit further than I'd hoped, but her husband works in this vicinity), and that she's a believer. She's easy to chat with and we talked lightly while we shopped. (Her daughter will be finished with therapy soon...so, she won't be nearby so often, but I know her joy in such news!) I also found out that she's planning to try having a kid's consignment sale at her home in October. She told me where I could find the information later on, and invited me to include some clothes if I'd like! I think I will take her up on it. I mostly would like to make friends with her, and this would be a nice opportunity to get to know her a bit better.

So, we shall see. In the meantime, I have great hopes for what may come in time. Our girls are a month apart. I'd like to have nice playmates for my daughter--that is an area we suffer in for my son these days. (It makes for a long, boring summer for him)

the joy of excess

I have serious over-supply issues with breastfeeding. This theoretically eases up by 3 months. Not. My daughter is nearly 6 months old and I can still hose down a fire some days. Now, in all honestly, I try not to complain about this because I have friends with the opposite problem, and I truly feel for them…and I’d far rather have too much than too little. So, I see it as a blessing and move on. I pump when I just need a few hours of relief from the never-ending inflation of the boobs, and have learned to cope the rest of the time.

Today, though, I’d like to file an official complaint.

With oversupply, it is absolutely a given that leaking occurs. Usually, a lot of leaking. In my case, it’s incredibly frequent . . . when too full, when letting down, when nursing the other side, or sometimes just for the heck of it, I guess. Yup. Every single day. But, woman cannot live by nursing pads alone, my friend. I simply need a break at times.

During said ‘breaks’, or at times when I think I’ll be safe, or hey, even go braless (this takes bravery, and is exclusive to home life during breastfeeding). A hazard of this is leaking onto my shirts. It most often happens while I’m nursing on ‘the other side’ and am sans-nursing pad/burp cloth (she rarely spits up, so I easily forget, whereas my son was a serious spitter).

Breast milk stains. How could I have forgotten??? It took a very, very long time to de-stain some of my sleeping shirts after breastfeeding my son years ago (repeated washing eventually get it out . . . eventually” is the key word). Other shirts were given up on. Now? Well, now I have some new shirts I recently bought and lo and behold . . . the other day I noticed that horrible grease-like stain running all down the front of one in particular. I can’t actually recall when it happened. Probably a series of times added together.

So, the stain remover is in action this week. It will take more than one round to get them right (yeah, others had small spots, usually where I was unable to stem the flow in time), but at least they’re looking a bit more wearable now.

justice is served

We’ve had this horrid, horrid mosquito flying around the house for the last few days. It was taunting us at mealtime, seen upstairs as well as down, and doing bodily harm to various family members. Many, many times we smacked that thing and *poof* it had vanished. Into thin air. It would reappear a few minutes later, hovering in the darkening corners of the house at dusk, remaining evasive and cruel.

Today, it made a fatal mistake. It appeared in the bright, sunshiny confines of my daughter’s room while I was changing her diaper. (A rare treat these days, that sunshine!) On my second attempt, Malicious Mosquito finally met his demise. I looked at it, slightly shocked, then spent a moment pondering my triumph and the joy my husbaned would feel (he spent most of one breakfast fighting with it), then used a baby wipe to clean my hand.

Pause.
I unfolded said baby wipe. Reopened dirty diaper. . .

R. I. P.
(Rest In Poop)

the other man

I hate doing dishes. REALLY hate it. My husband has recently made valiant efforts to take over that horrid chore (he is a fabulous man…). To encourage this, I am trying to have the dishes ready to unload by the time he gets home…he tries to empty them sometime between then and bedtime. The cycle starts over each morning. It works great. Until the weekends. Haha!

In addition, during the past several months I have begun tackling the 'stuff' in my home. The messes are slowly being tidied, things that once were homeless are gradually finding a home, the local charities have benefited greatly from us, and I am beginning to enjoy the feel of my home once more. In all honesty, this began to take effect when I got someone to come clean my house every other week. In order for them to clean, I have to tidy. Too, my daughter had no room to call her own until the past couple months...it has finally nearing completion (bear in mind, if 'she' had been a 'he', we considered having 'the boys' share a room...the spare was our backup for a girl. And said spare was not habitable at the time of her birth...I'd been too uncomfy and worn out during my pregnancy. ha!).

This craziness that we are trying to correct stems from the fact that we learned years ago to ‘let things go’ while my husband was in school and working full time for a lot of years. It was definitely survival mode. Now, things feel out of control to us but are slowly being righted once more. We have to relearn to tackle projects in a timely manner.

So, since healing from the birth and ensuing illnesses that attacked our family, I have found a new drive to make my home more livable and lovable once more. It has come a long, long way (though it still has a good ways to go as well)). For instance, today I cleaned my fridge out. I mean CLEANED that sucker. I know I’ve done it before, but cannot begin to remember when that was. I also reorganized where everything goes, including the shelves. I seriously doubt anything but the door is the same (actually, that will be a project of its own, probably due to how long the rest took).
The other day while at Target buying dishwasher detergent, I was perusing the aisle for other items of interest and someone caught my eye…

Enter: the other man.

I fell in love that night. He showed me how to clean the crayon off the wall (it was an accidental mark, though I always expected to find it on the walls intentionally), how to remove scuff marks from the floors and doors, helped clean the white banister and stuff stuck in a pot. In fact, he did a great service in assisting my fridge project today…my husband even likes him he’s so great. His name. . . Mr. Clean.

He has this fabulous eraser that wipes the walls clean and makes my home look incredible. Little bit by little bit. We had to buy more to keep working things we didn’t eve KNOW needed to be cleaned (it’s addictive). This ‘man’ has so much to offer. I think I’ll plan a date with him on a regular basis.

on life, on death

Today I heard that the daughter of a friend-of-a-friend died. The little girl was a mere five years of age . . . a wisp of life just beginning. And yet, as with any life, her days were numbered, and that was indeed her full life. It was sudden. And it is nearly impossible for my human heart to grasp. My own little boy is four, so close to her five years. I ache deeply whenever I look at him today; knowing that each day is a gift, a treasure, a blessing, a wonder. I need to remember that. I want to cherish both of my children daily, savor each kiss and hug and smile. It is sobering to know that each day could indeed be the last. For any of us.

This time reminds me of when my son was a month old. A very dear friend had been pregnant along with me, due only a month later, and her son was born far too early. He survived until his due date, three and a half months. Holding my own son at a month old was heart wrenching during that time. My friend’s son had never even come home from NICU. And my own daughter's entry into this world was precarious to say the least.

How precious, how fragile, life truly is.

the cycle of generations

I believe I have entered a new stage in life. It feels slightly odd and has me mildly contemplative this week.

Over the years my friends (and I) would have grandparents die. Though painful, it was acceptable. This week, however, a friend lost his mother. He is not much older than my husband and I, and we are pretty close to him, his wife and kids. I knew his mother, albeit not well.

A new generation has moved into place.

I have seen this coming, and felt it intimately over the past few years as my parents lost several friends, people I held dear. But, somehow, to have my peer lose a parent has put a new perspective on it. My own parents are now nearing 60...and suddenly they are showing their age in ways I would not have fathomed. I find they need a bit more caring for than in years past, which I am willing to give...but as my mother pointed out, it is much harder to become the needy parent than to be the giving child. She has now played both roles. And I am stepping into new shoes, that of the giver.