Just Write (But Hurry.)

It's Tuesday and the theme of the last few days has been hurry, hurry. And a definite lack of sleep. David has been teething something awful plus the time change plus we can't seem to find a happy medium temperature between the radiators and the AC/fan units. I worry the kids are hot. I worry they are cold. I worry.

My tremor is worse than it's ever been as I try to hold onto the papers and check Scriptures at the same time. So many Scriptures in this Bible study. Most of them right but I don't want to let any errors pass by. That is my job, after all. I am pretty sure after this one I am done with editing for a few years. My home has gone to the dogs. I can't sacrifice bad wife bad mom bad housekeeper for a couple hundred bucks.

I frantically fold clothes this morning as I have 312 things to do before noon. But I stop and think and thank. I am thankful for healthy babies with adorable clothes. I thank God that I have a washer and dryer and hangers and for those beautiful kids I prayed for that I can dress. Even if one won't barely stay still to get dressed and the other dresses herself in such lovely concoctions I claimed that for Halloween she was "a toddler who insists on picking out her own clothes." Not worth the battles.

There are still those 312 things and yet for a minute I close my eyes, let the tremor stop in my left hand, rest my hands on the black keyboard and just breathe. Because it is a glorious Indian Summer-November, because yesterday we had a blast letting a baby doll fly down the slide, because Libbie has wild curly blonde hair that is perfect, because the leaves on the trees on the mountains are so gloriously magical that I can't see them without adoring Him and making it a Bible lesson.

And she said, it is good.

{Just Write is hosted by Heather of The Extraordinary Ordinary every week.}
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Just Write.

Libbie is on the couch, a barely touched graham cracker in her hand. For two nights in a row, she's spiked a fever right at bedtime. The first night she slept in her bed, our bed, the loveseat. Last night with me in the big bed. Mr. V assigned to the couch.

David slept for 12 hours, but I woke many times to re-cover my sickie, push back her sweaty hair.

Sweat-soaked in yellow footed pajamas, she asked to be rocked at 10 pm last night. Rocked. My almost-three-year-old. I rocked.

David woke this morning to suck greedily on a breast that can't seem to stop getting clogged ducts. Pain. The nurse at the doctor thinks I want permission to stop nursing, but I just want relief. I want to know why I appear to be the only woman in the world who has no problems breastfeeding at first but lots of problems starting around eight months.

His teeth are little razorblades; and while I am grateful he hasn't bit the breast that feeds him, he has taken a good gnaw at my chin. Four little teeth with two more coming in. He looks like a fourth-grader with the growing-in two front teeth of different lengths.

I have piles and piles and piles of boxes and I am too embarrassed about it to call maintenance to come fix our main AC unit, which just growls instead of blows. This morning it's cool and not bothersome, but our 80-degree days are leaving me sweaty. I still have one more load at the house, but that would involve emptying out the car. And when should I do that, with a baby and a sick little one?

This week is the finish of moving, and a big quick editing job, and unpacking that probably won't happen.

But I still need to write. So here it is.




{Oh hey! I have two guest posts up today: 10 Burning Questions I Have for PBS/Sprout at Mama Loves Her Shows and Fruity Squash Puree at Once a Month Mom.}
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Struck

Today, I had a girl's lunch at my house. It was no big thing, just two women I've met through the Sunday School class we've been attending, and one daughter a little older than Libbie tagging along.

I've pretty much run out of grocery money for the month, so we feasted on what I had at home: chicken burgers from the freezer, loaded potato salad minus the missing ingredients of sour cream and onions, a vegetable tray with ranch dressing, oranges, and lemony iced tea.

Perhaps I've been deprived of girl time in the last weeks of new town-itis. But it was simply lovely.

For some reason, the remnants of the table struck me as beautiful.

 

  

  

  

Liquid in the glasses, wrinkles in the tablecloth, faded placemats, simple orange against blue, rarely used crystal ... in the late-afternoon light, it was gorgeous. It filled my heart with something thankful and peaceful. I didn't want to forget it.

So here it is.

Added to Sarah's Your Life, Your Blog carnival. 

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Flop

Today was a great day with Libbie. She slept until 8:30, took a two-hour nap, and was generally very happy. We went out to lunch, perused Hobby Lobby, and came home and played outside. I made applesauce and dinner. This house, which I've been very prejudiced against, was just starting to grow on me.

Then I realized our toilet had been running for a few hours.

Mr. V has been battling a screw that would not come out on our dryer so he could change the cord and ending up having to half-saw it out.

Dinner was a flop.

Applesauce was too cinnamony.

The light in the living room went completely out.

And what I was promised to be given to work on has materialized in an entirely different and very frustrating matter. On Friday afternoon, of course!

So lest you've made the mistake of thinking I'm some sort of sane, normal person, tonight I came very close to throwing myself on the floor and having a temper tantrum.