Quote

"We are traditionally rather proud of ourselves for having slipped creative work in there between the domestic chores and obligations. I'm not sure we deserve such big A-pluses for that."

Toni Morrison (quoted in The Artist's Way by Julia Cameron)

Here's Looking At You, Kid

Weirdest diaper change ever...

Opened up the diaper, checked the poop quantity/quality, noticed that something was looking back at me from the mess.

What??!!

Apparently the baby had swallowed a medium-sized googly eyeball from our craft box and it went all the way through.

Very disconcerting.

Bedcation

Oh look! I'm blogging.

Let's see, I wrote 34 posts in 2008 and.....5 in 2009. Hmm, I wonder what happened in 2009? Oh that's right, the baby!

I have become the classic overworked mother with little kids (3 five and under). And I have a weekend job. And I'm homeschooling. So, in that light, I've decided I need a bedcation.

What is a bedcation? Well, for me it would be 3 days in my nice cozy bed (with flannel sheets). The children would come in to visit and read stories with me but only for a little while. I'd take no less than three naps in a day (the baby could stay for those because he's such a good snuggler). Someone would bring me tasty and nutritious food (and chocolate) when I was hungry. I'd have the laptop and a stack of good books for between naptimes. I might get up to take a shower or go to the bathroom but no one is allowed to interrupt my bedcation bliss with requests for...well, anything. The cats are allowed to be on the bed as long as they don't request feeding. My husband is allowed on the bed as long as conversation is light, cheerful and only what I want to talk about. And if I want to sleep diagonally, he has to go somewhere else.

And the most important part of bedcation? Someone (not me) has to take care of EVERYTHING ELSE. Because we all know how hard it is to come back to a messy house after a vacation so a true bedcation involves someone taking care of the kids, house, pets, et al.

Yeah, I think that should do it. Bedcation once a month to see me through the toddler years.

Dirty House Friends

I think I've mentioned in prior posts that I am not a woman in love with house work. Just the opposite (in hate with housework?). We have a base range of clean in our house that goes from fairly straightened to "step over the pile". It's a big range.

My spoken philosophy on cleaning the house for guests is "love me, not my house" but the reality is that I tend to go into a bit of a cleaning tizzy if I have people coming over that I don't really know. While I'm not a big people-pleaser, I get a slightly pinched over what a person might think if they had to use my bathroom in its normal resting state of little-kid-grubby.

Which is why I really appreciate my "dirty house friends". These are the people that love me and I trust them enough to keep loving me, whatever the condition of my house. It isn't that I want them to use the bathroom as-is but if they want to come over and I don't have time to clean it then I don't worry. My sister-in-law gets on this list, as does my mother and several other friends. I also have a few who get on the list because of their own low standards (the bachelor friend who never does dishes, for example).

The question I've been asking myself the last couple weeks is "Who are my dirty life friends?" Meaning, who can I trust enough to show up without my life all put together and know they still love me? Am I willing to do that with anyone, really? Because I like to be put together. A lot. Or maybe have some problem I can talk about in the past tense but only to show my openness and honesty, not to actually admit that I have anything current that needs helping. I'm kind of a hard head that way. And it isn't because there are people who don't love me, it is because I don't like to be messy or imperfect or vulnerable so I don't take the risk of putting it all out for them.

This is a problem, as of late, because I'm not doing so hot. Three kids and no money and postpartum to boot are kicking my butt. My choices have been shame (self, mostly) or numb (yeah Face Book). I'm not feeling happy. I love my kids but being a mom is hard and tiring. I want to stay home with them but I miss work and the extra money it brought. I want to run away and have an adventure without any responsibility. I feel heavy and depressed and sad. How's that for not put together?

Actually, I'm doing slightly better than I was. The first way I know is that I have the ability to write this. Being numb does not foster creativity. I also know I'm doing a little better because I've started telling people that things suck for me right now. Them: "How are you doing?" Me: "Crappy. You?" :) I even was able to cry about something I was sad about versus just finding a way to not feel it. It is sort of a weird way to mark progress but it is progress.

I know this is hormonal, I know it is situational, I know it will pass as things get more routine and I get more sleep. I'm putting one foot in front of the other trying to do what I know will help like eat and sleep and pray and be with people. But, right now I feel yucky at least a little bit every day. I don't like it very much.

I can't even think of a way to wrap up this post. Oh well. Love me, not my "togetherness".

Birth Story

**This is reprinted from Facebook for a particular lurker who isn't on that program. You know who you are!**

We were ready. The birth team was prepped, the birth tub was inflated in the garage, we had the bag of birth supplies packed, the baby girl clothes were in the dresser. Now all that was left was the waiting for our third daughter to arrive.

Thursday night, 1/22, Kevin had a little chat with "Baby Andra" in my tummy letting her know that it was time for her to come. Of course, I was only 39 weeks but that was the longest I'd been pregnant (Cadence came at 37 and Elyse at 38 1/2). He explained that he wanted to meet her so she could come the next day, as far as he was concerned.

I slept well that night and got up at about 5:30 to use the bathroom. As I sat down, I felt what could only be my water breaking. This was the day! I grabbed a towel and went back to bed. I woke Kevin up and told him apparently his baby could take direction because we were go for labor. I wasn't having any contractions so I called my friend and apprentice midwife Joanna to let her know and texted the rest of my birth team then went back to bed.

About 7:30 I started having some mild contractions every 10-15 minutes. I got up with Elyse and snuggled her on the sofa. Cadence got up soon after and I got to tell them that we'd meet their sister that day. They were jazzed!

The contractions had picked up a little and I was cold so I got in the shower while Kevin putzed around with the kids. I used up all the hot water then crawled into bed (I love my flannel sheets!). By this time it was about 9 and Kevin was getting a little stressed out doing house stuff with the kids so hyper (they kept wanting to jump on the bed, among other things). We decided to call my mom and ask her to take them to the park for an hour. We had a doula planned to be with the girls but it seemed too early to call her since I was still having contractions 10 minutes apart and able to talk through them.

By this time the endorphins had kicked in and I was dozing between contractions (I love that space between contractions, it seems like my birthday every time the hurting stops). I talked with Joanna again and she laughed that I was yawning.

My mom came at around 10. I was having contractions about 7 minutes apart, breathing through them. We told her we'd call in about an hour to bring the girls home. Kevin came and hung out with me on the bed while I dozed/contracted.

I got my first "toe curler" sometime after that. When the next came 5-7 minutes I told Kevin it was time to call Joanna and Wendi (midwife) and fill the tub. Kevin reported that Joanna would be there in about 30 minutes, which was fine. It was probably 11:15.

The next contraction was a doozy and I started dry heaving (my lovely personal gift--I always barf in labor). I had a bowl but really wanted to get to the bathroom because I thought I was going to have diarrhea too. I hollered for Kevin and he helped me stand up--and everything changed.

The next few minutes are really blurry. I got to the toilet. I was still heaving but now I was pushing too. I reached down and realized my perineum was bulging--this was baby coming! I asked Kevin to look and he said he saw head. He grabbed a towel. I reached down and felt ears. He told me to stand up to make room and we both reached down and delivered our baby. He wrapped the baby in the towel and we rubbed until we got a good cry. Kevin went to call Joanna to tell her and to grab more towels and a bowl to catch the placenta (neither of us wanted to dig it out of the toilet or drop it on the floor). It was about 11:35.

As Kevin stepped out, I looked at the little wet bundle in my arms and decided to do the finger/toe count. So I opened the towel to get a look at her and got my second surprise in a very short time. Our little girl, Andra Faith, WAS A BOY! I once again bellowed for Kevin (poor guy). When he came around the corner, all I could do was open the towel. My dear husband, who had just help deliver his own baby unassisted while maintaining calm, nearly fainted. I wish I could have gotten his expression on video.

I moved to the bed, Joanna and Wendi arrived. My mom came back (she didn't believe Kevin at first when he called). Cadence and Elyse met their brother. Cadence's response was, "A brother? That's what I prayed for!" Eventually I nursed, ate, then slept.

It took us two days to name Alexander Eugene. It took a few days after that to stop calling him "Andra".

I am amazed that I delivered an 8 lb 14.5 oz baby with contractions never closer than 5 minutes apart. I am tickled with our son. I think next baby we'll skip the ultrasound gender check and I'm making the midwife come when my water breaks.

Saying Goodbye to Andra

I'm a little emotional today. It probably has a lot to do with low sleep and the two week hormone drop. But, regardless of the reason, I'm feeling sad.

Our son was born 13 days ago. His arrival came as a complete surprise because we had been told we were having a girl. For the last 16 weeks of my pregnancy, I had been having conversations with Andra Faith. I pulled out our little girl clothes and put them in the dresser, remembering the other two girls wearing most of them. I thought about three girls going through teenage years, wondered who would make alliances with whom, dreamed about what kind of woman she would grow into. We had a birth blessing and prayed for her by name. I bonded with the little "girl" growing inside of me. Except, she wasn't a girl, he was a boy.

Today I packed away the pink baby clothes and I feel sad. It is a weird feeling to grieve over the loss of a child that never really existed except in my imagination. The whole time I thought I was talking to Andra, I was really talking to Alexander. He heard my voice, felt my touch, kicked my ribs and had the hiccups at 10 p.m. every night. He is a real, healthy and cute little boy. He will play with trucks, fight with his sisters and, I hope, grow into a man who loves Jesus. I've always hoped for both daughters and sons. I'm so glad and grateful for my boy. And I miss the girl I imagined.

So today I am sad for Andra. I know I could talk myself out of it but I'm not going to. I want to embrace Alexander for the God-image person that he is, see him and know him as he grows. To do that, I have to release who he isn't. He isn't a daughter, he isn't the third sister, he isn't Andra Faith. Releasing her will open the door for me to embrace him as his own person with his own future. My son, Alexander Eugene.

Am I Being too Sensitive?

So, a lot has happened that I haven't blogged about...namely the birth of our son.

But instead of doing that, I'm going to rant about the vacuum.

I have a pretty nice vacuum. A year ago, Christmas, my in-laws bought me a Kenmore Progressive dust suckin' machine. (Yes, I asked for a vacuum for Christmas.) It slices, it dices, it has more bells and whistles on it than I would have ever bought for myself.

But there is one "perk" on it I hate...the nag lights aka "dirt sensors". These lights are on the top of the body of the machine. There are three of them and they turn yellow with the amount of dirt I am vacuuming. Here is the official interpretation:

No lights: NOW it is clean, you may proceed to the next area guilt free
One light: Oops, you missed a spot
Two lights: Have we been a bit neglectful of our carpets lately?
Three lights: Holy sandboxes! You know this isn't for outdoor use, right?

I just vacuumed. Guess who's carpet is three light yellow? Everywhere. Even after letting the vacuum run on the spot for 10 seconds.

I found myself having a conversation with the vacuum. "Look," I said, "I just had a baby 9 days ago, I'm not even supposed to be vacuuming yet except that Kevin cleaned up the toys so I figured I'd finish the job. [waiting for lights to go off] I mean, c'mon, we have 6--count them 6--indoor cats and two preschoolers who like to play in the dirt. [Still waiting]. How about just moving from three to two so I feel like I've accomplished something? [Nada] Fine. I'm moving to the next area and assuming the lights are malfunctioning. Take that."

And I did. The carpet looks better but I know that it is still three-light dirty. Kind of like how everyone has at least one pair of underwear right now but there is a pile of dirty laundry. Or how we've been eating off paper plates but we have to wash glasses as we use them. Or how my children (all three) are safe and fed but perhaps all a bit neglected at the moment.

Kevin quoted the Hobbit this morning about feeling like too little butter spread across too much bread. Yeah, I get that. Hopefully, add a week postpartum and the butter will feel a bit more and the bread a bit less.

Coming Back to a Heart of Worship

First off, I want to reference a slightly different take on the same subject, as presented by my dear friend Suzanne here. She's uber-talented and knows about worship from the leading side.

What I'm pondering right now is corporate worship...singing, praying together, reading God's word out loud...all at a set time. I'm not all sorted out about it but I've found if I don't write something, it will all disappear into the void that is my mind. :)

Our family is involved in a house church but we also have the opportunity to have a more corporate time of celebration on Sunday nights. Partly because the baby is coming and partly because of some changes in me, we are making a more concerted effort to go on Sunday nights. Last night we had a good time of singing and praying, probably 30 minutes or more. I got something out of it but I also was left pondering, "What is it I'm supposed to be doing to really worship? How do I know if I've done it or not?"

The background is that I grew up in a church tradition where "worship" equalled "singing", specifically hymns with an occasional worship chorus if we were feeling cheeky. The mainstream church I attended as an adult also seemed to define worship as singing, only with edgy music that had drums and, perhaps, more hand raising.

One of the things that led my exodus from traditional church was the number of times I heard people rating the morning's worship by whether they liked the songs, performers, etc. So, if it was entertaining, it was good? Or if it was good music you could connect to God? You connected to God because....you cried? felt good? what? So then I got really sensitive to anything I thought was trying to manipulate me into some sort of feeling. I got really critical of "boyfriend Jesus" songs (replace Jesus with "honey" and get a pop rock song), dimmed lights, repeated choruses, you get the picture. I've carried that with me into my current "organic" church.

The problem is, I like music. I believe God calls us to worship Him. I even enjoy having an emotional experience around my faith. And here I am in all my prickly defensiveness just waiting for someone to try and make me feel a certain way about God, church or myself while worshipping. Let me tell you, this does not open up my heart to much of anything. I don't know about other folks, but I can't really hold the space of being open to receive while also saying "back off!"

So what am I supposed to be doing? What is worship all about? Who cares what it is about for other people, what is it about for ME?

As far as I've gotten, this is what I think (keep in mind, I don't have scriptures here. I might be all wrong against the Bible. My current favorite Bible has no concordance so I need to go hunt down my other one. I am not the source of Truth, I get that):

The point of worship is to help me get to my most vulnerable and deep self and have dialogue with Jesus from that place. This is the inner part that gets covered over with small talk and theology and my insecurity and sin. I don't like to go there, it is a hard place to find. So, in worship, I have to filter what I'm doing through my head (don't turn off the brain and regurgitate mindlessly but don't just think and stop), and let what I'm saying, singing, praying settle down into my heart. The risk is that I will get to my emotions and just stop, thinking that I've gotten to where I need to go. But, while emotions live in my deep heart, they aren't the point. They are, sometimes, a by-product of the true conversation. Sometimes the true conversation is more like colors or impressions than words. Sometimes it is a sense of needing to do something, pray for someone, a recollection of a piece of scripture. Sometimes it is quiet, sometimes it is unsettling. All of it comes from the deep core of who I am connecting to the I AM.

What I'm learning to do is to see those that "lead worship" as those facilitating an invitation. God is inviting me into conversation with Him. Will I come? What can help me focus on getting to my deep heart, what will minimize the distractions? Am I willing to open up to the probing, penetrating heart of God and show him mine in return? And so often this invitation is in music because music represents a beauty that goes beyond the mind. (I read a quote I love by Simone Weil that says "The beauty of the world is almost the only way by which we can allow God to penetrate us...Beauty captivates the senses in order to obtain permission to pass straight through to the soul...The soul's inclination to love beauty is the trap God most frequently uses in order to win it.")

At the same time, can a worship leader manipulate in order to see a desired outcome? Sure. If tears are the measure of a good worship time, there will always be someone who works the crowd for tears. But even if he or she IS doing that, I am still responsible for doing what I know is right and true. I know the real point, I don't get off the hook if someone else doesn't. It is yet another example of where I have to stand up and have my own relationship with God, not pass the buck to another person to make it happen. Which is much, much harder but really the only way to grow.

Pet Peeve

In general, I would call myself a rather laid-back person. I don't get my knickers in a twist over much. But, I, like most people I know, have a few pet peeves. I don't like watching people eat runny eggs. I don't like the sound of someone repeatedly sniffling snot (just blow your nose!). And I don't like it when my dear husband mentions he needs me to go to the store because he ran out of something critical...three days ago.

In the past, I have discovered he was out of deoderant because I found HIS armpit hairs in MY container (yuck). I learned he was out of medicine when the symptoms started to flair. I have discovered he was out of gel when he went to work with fluffy hair.

Trust me, I get running out of things. I had to make an emergency trip for toilet paper the other day because we were on the last roll. What I hate is the lack of warning. It used to bother me more because I'd feel responsible and go to the store regardless of how inconvenient it was. Now, I just let him suffer until I can make the trip or send him off to get it. It has lessened the resentment on my end quite a bit.

So, the other day I heard him rummaging around in the cabinet and drawers looking for something. He was out of shampoo in his shower (we have separate bathrooms because...well...we can). It is true I usually stockpile shampoo when it goes on sale but we were out of the regular stuff. And he didn't mention that he was getting low so I wasn't in a hurry. Since he couldn't find any he started to walk away with my shampoo from my shower. Oh no you don't! I went into the cabinet and dug to the back and found a bottle of this:






If you can't read it it says "Relaxed and Natural for Women of Color" In case you are wondering, my husband is not a woman of color. He is a man of pastiness. I got this shampoo from a friend who bought it by accident and thought maybe my curly-haired daughter would like it. I handed it to him with a straight face and told him I'd get some more of the regular stuff when I went to the store next time.

Well, I expected this to teach him a lesson about putting things off, blah blah blah. But, I asked him about the shampoo two days later and darn it if he doesn't love it! He said it makes his hair soft and shiny! Arg! Now there is a perfectly good lesson wasted.

That's it, I'm hiding the toilet paper.


p.s. I have to add the end note that I love my husband and he is a great friend, lover and father. I'm blessed to have him, quirks and all. Hopefully he reads all the way to the bottom of this so he's not as mad I blogged about him. :)

For the Record...

I am really tired of the following words and phrases:

-Poopoo Head
-Peepee Head
-Butthead
-Mom, she hit (stepped on, bit, pinched, etc) me!
-Mom, she's (insert tattling here)!

I am tired of saying:

-Keep your hands to yourself
-We don't use potty words except in the bathroom
-I will take care of your sister, you take care of yourself.
-No. No. I said no!
-Use kindness, please.


I am also aware that I've had several micro-blogs as of late. I am working on a real one but I need to take a picture to go with it. My fans will just have to wait. :)

I Ate a Baby!

<------Say hi to Andra Faith! (Yup, baby girl #3)

29 weeks

50 inches around

17 pounds up

Peeing twice a night

A Nutritious and Delicious Breakfast

Crunchy peanut butter eaten straight out of the jar and diet Pepsi. Mmmm....

Don't tell my midwife.

Venting My Spleen in an Open Letter

Dear Ebay,

After 8 years of relationship, the time has come to end it. I know this would be a shock to you if you were paying any attention. But you aren't and probably won't care. Actually, I assume if this letter made it to you, you'd send me a lovely form letter in response explaining how I could access the non-helpful online FAQ section along with some thinly veiled justifications.

But, in case you were wondering: it's not me, it's you.

Yes, Ebay, you've upped your fees. Yes, you've changed your feedback policy to make it so much more difficult to give honest feedback as a seller. I could overlook those things. You've been good to me. I've sold car parts and maternity clothes, and bought a few things things too. But I'm done. Why? Because you have a cheating heart.

When I went to sell some clothes two weeks ago, you required that I list PayPal as an option to pay. You also required I take all forms of payment on PayPal, even credit cards. Up until now I have only taken bank transfers. But, I went to PayPal and found that I could take 5 credit card payments a year without upping my rinky dink membership. OK, that works. So, I sold all three items, went to accept PayPal payment--wait, I can't do it without upgrading and can't say no either. Why? Oh, we didn't mention the asterisk at the bottom that said I can't use those 5 credit card payments on EBAY purchases. And did we mention that once you upgrade we charge you 2.9% on all transactions, even cash, and it is on the whole amount including shipping? And that you can never go back?

And one more thing EBAY OWNS PAYPAL!!

So what you are saying is that you require me to use PayPal, upgraded, so you can collect my list fee, my final value fee and then collect 2.9% plus $.30 on the transaction on top of it. By the time I was done, I had paid 25% of my profits to you one way or another.

So, I say to you Ebay: YOU ARE SLEEPING AROUND ON ME WITH PAYPAL AND I'M DONE! You only care about yourself and I'm leaving you. I'm sure you won't notice or care as you collect money hand over fist but I am holding my head high.

And, I've met someone else. Me and Craigslist have become quite close recently. Take that!



I feel better.

Bippity, Boppity, Boo!

"Mom? Are fairies real?"

This is a hard question I got from my 4 1/2 year old the other day. Here are my opposing problems:

1. I can't lie to my kids. I'm not good at it and I don't like it. I can barely do hyperbole ("If you don't eat your peas you will get a vitamin deficiency and die" sort of thing). I'm fine with make believe and pretend but I can't look them in the face and tell them something is true when it isn't. This includes Santa, the Easter Bunny and the Boogie Man.

2. I really, really want them to believe in magic and fairies and wishing on a star and growing up to be a princess, etc. I don't want to jolt them into the adult world of "what you see is what you get" and I don't even believe that completely either. I mean, I can't see God but I know He's real.

So...In classic mom deflection, I said, "I don't know if they are real. What do you think?"

"Well, I don't think magic is really real."

That's it! You are four! C'mon! Suddenly, though, I was able to articulate what I believe. Here's the paraphrase:

I believe there are things that are real that I can't see. I believe in God and His Spirit and angels and demons. I believe another word for "magic" could be "miraculous" and I believe in miracles. There could be fairies or maybe they are fun stories we tell like Santa. I don't know. But I am not going to assume that I have the ability to understand and explain everything in creation. God is magnificent, miraculous and, maybe, just maybe, magical. I mean, He did speak everything into being, right? Talk about saying the magic words!

So, my dear daughter, hold on to unicorns and knights in shining armor. They tell us stories about our hearts and God. Look for the mystic beauty around us and choose to believe in the unseen. Hold on to your imagination, even as you get older and reality comes knocking. I hope for you that you will always have shining eyes filled with faith and wonder as you do now.

OK, I wasn't quite that eloquent. And I think she said, "Oh." But, it really was an "aha!" moment for me. I had never put it together. Hmm, what do you know? I believe in magic. Who'd have thought?

Indescribable

Apparently there are many things within my home that defy description in the English language. I have this conversation at least once a day with my oldest daughter:

Kid: "Mom! Come look at this!"

Me (not moving): "What is it?"

K: "I can't tell you, I have to show you."

M: "Hon, I'm folding laundry (blogging, taking a nap, sitting on the toilet, etc.) right now. Can you tell me about it?"

K: "No! I can't explain it! You have to come see!"

M: "You can't explain it? You've been talking since you were 9 months old! You were talking before you had teeth! You haven't stopped since! You are saying that you are not able to describe what you want me to look at?!?"

K (whining): "Moooommmm! Come see!"

Then I have a choice. Sometimes the nifty thing is a 3-week old scratch or a tiny bug. But, sometimes it is gallons of water the girls have been pouring on the carpet very, very quietly (this happened last week). Do I stop what I'm doing to go check then hope I remember to go back to whatever the task was? Or do I cross my fingers, hoping that it will wait 5 minutes?

It is a "Lady or the Tiger" sort of choice.

Invitation Into Relationship

Because I am not a morning person, I tend to isolate myself during the breakfast hour. I either eat in the car on the way to work (two days a week) or get the girls their breakfast at the table then eat my own checking email.

This morning, my four year old asked, "Mom, would you come eat breakfast with us at the table?" I almost said no then realized what she was doing was initiating with me to have some time with them. Oh, OK.

I would be lying to say that I suddenly became chatty around my peanut butter toast and chocolate milk or that it all went 100% smoothly but....not so bad. I might even do it again....sometime. :D

I'm glad I have children who are learning to ask for what they want. I hope someday they appreciate having a mom who hears them and is willing to stretch a little.

Your Momma!

I had to ask permission to write this blog because it is partly about someone else's mom. It is actually about two of my readers' mom but one of those said readers is very far away and so the other got the weighted vote. The vote-caster said, "Go ahead, she won't read it." So, I will...

I got really hacked off at my friend's mother the other night. Normally this is a right I reserve for my own family but I guess this is a special case.

I have known this family since I was in 6th grade. I was in classes with two of the daughters and their mom was one of my teachers. I spent time at their house, got to know the family pretty well and now one of the daughters is one of my closest friends. So, there is 20 years of history there.

The "hacking off" happened a few weeks ago at my friend's surprise party. I had come with the girls sans husband because he was busy dying of some various plague. It was a pretty small party with no one I knew really well in attendance (we were waiting for the birthday girl and her decoy). I went back to the kid's room to get my girls set up playing with them and there was mom (grandma) orchestrating clean up. No big deal. She was kind of....bossy....about how things should be done but a clean room is fine. I set my kids loose and went to attempt "getting to know you" conversations while we waited.

And waited.

And waited.

Conversation wore thin. I went to check on the kids. There was grandma, putting them in the back yard, refusing to let my daughters inside even though one was crying. I diverted the situation by suggesting we feed the 6 children present since it was past dinner time. This directed her energy for a while. But then she was back in force, hovering, clucking, nagging.

The final straw was when she told my older daughter (who hates spicy food), that she had to eat all her dinner or she couldn't have dessert because the spicy Indian food we were eating "Isn't that spicy," IN FRONT OF ME! Urg! At that point I sweetly suggested she go visit with the adults since I was there and could handle it. No dice.

Now, to be fair, I get that, of the 6 children present, 4 of them were her grandchildren. But, also to be fair, two of those kids were mine and I spend lots and lots of time around two more of them. I have a pretty good idea of the household rules for that home and a very good idea of what I do and don't ask of my children.

Since there was no tactful way to win the power struggle, I backed off but was...surly. When older daughter came in afraid because grandma had suggested that the lightning in the sky was dangerous I said something along the line of "Don't listen to her, she doesn't know what she's talking about." I know, not so kind. Like I said, I was feeling surly.

My friend finally came, we yelled "Surprise!", the grown-ups ate and, low and behold, mom had to go because she was tired. Well, no wonder!

OK, OK. I have been doing emotional work long enough to know that this situation wasn't so much about my friend's mom as about me. After the fact, I started thinking about why this bugged me so much. This isn't new behavior from this lady. She is always the one in the kitchen doing the host's dishes or cleaning up. What was this about me?

Click...the light bulb went on. I wanted to be the practical person avoiding relationships. I wanted to be the one who appeared helpful and got to stay comfortable. I wanted an excuse to avoid sitting in the living room making chit-chat with strangers. I was mad because she was taking my spot! If my husband had been there or if I had known more people, I probably wouldn't have minded having a parenting break even if it involved rules for my kids I didn't create.

Ooooh. So much for my uber-pious rationalization that I was protecting my children. I was attempting to protect myself. Hmm.

What I take away from this is, even though I am social, relationship is not always easy for me. I need to be aware of feeling uncomfortable and acknowledge it to myself. When I feel self conscious, my tendency is to go to the practical because I do it well and it hides my heart (not to mention gets me praised most of the time). Maybe sometimes I'll still choose to be with my kids as an out but I need to choose it and not use it as a manipulation and hiding technique. Or, I will choose to take the risk and stay present in an uncomfortable situation.

Oh look! There was a gift in there for me. Drat.

Insomnia is a Waste of Time

I am used to interrupted sleep. In the last five years, I've gotten up at least once nearly every night. I've been awakened for my own bathroom needs, the bathroom needs of others, nursing time, bad dreams, bad cat manners (I have one cat who thinks he eats breakfast at 4 a.m.), and--more than once--to clean up throw-up. It has gotten to the point that I wake up on my own by habit if I am not awakened by anyone else.

The skill in this is that I don't usually wake up more than enough to perform the duties required. I can pat a child back to sleep or wipe a bottom without ever really moving into "full awake" status. So, as soon as I'm in bed again, I'm back to sleep.

Until pregnancy...

I don't know what it is about being pregnant but it gives me sporadic insomnia. Not the kind that means I can't fall asleep at bedtime but the kind that I can't get back to sleep if I get woken up. And, as I mentioned, I get woken up a lot. Lately, it has been once with each girl and at least once to pee.

I was awake from 4 a.m. until somewhere in the middle 5's this morning. And let me tell you, insomnia is a phenomenal waste of time.

The problem, as you may well know if you've gone through it, is that I am awake enough to think but not awake enough to think anything rational. I don't get anxiety, I just try and have normal thought processes that are hindered by the fact that it is the middle of the night when I should be sleeping. It goes something like this:

"Should I go to the grocery store tomorrow? What do I have in the fridge? I can't remember if we have chicken. What day is it tomorrow--do I have to go to work? Wait, no it's Friday, I'll be home. What am I supposed to do tomorrow? I really liked that chicken recipe I made the other day, I wonder if there are leftovers still I could have for breakfast? I'm hot. Is that a kid making noise? Maybe I'll pray a little. Dear God.....uhhh. I think I have to pee again. What was it I needed to put on my calendar? I wonder if there is a way I can blog about this. WHY AREN'T I SLEEPING YET? "

Notice, no answered questions, no new plans, no problems solved. Just a lot of not sleeping. I have at least learned that checking the clock every 5 minutes only leads to frustration so I don't do it.

So, here I am this morning, up with the kids at 6:30, tired and therefore letting them run the house a little more than usual. Currently, they are playing with water in the living room. Not my first choice. But it means that I can blog about insomnia which redeems it slightly.

Don't call me from 2 p.m. to 3 p.m. I will be taking a nap. :D

Slightly Famous

I am in the September 2008 issue of Redbook Magazine! I'm part of an article about how three different women got out of debt. It starts on on page 160. Run directly to the grocery store and read it while standing in line (you can put it back in the rack after that if you want).

I'm pretty sure this uses up the balance of my 15 minutes of fame...

As a p.s.: I'm having a very hard time just showing people the magazine. Somehow it is weird to say "Look at me!" I'm proud of it, particularly about the message, but it sort of seems like tooting my own horn more than I'm used to. So, I guess I'm tooting it here. TOOT!

From Mmmm to Ooky

I was pondering a deep thought:

When does eating your boogers stop being a delicious treat sent by the nose fairy and start being the grossest thing ever this side of licking a cockroach?

I have talked to my girls about how boogers are the body's way of taking out the trash and we don't eat trash, we throw it away. They learned enough from this lecture to pick and sneak.

Yuck, yuck and triple yuck.

There must be some kind of switch that flips because I don't harbor the secret desire to try my nasal contents. Oh that I could throw that switch now!

Can I get an "eww"?