busy bee.

We’ve been really, really busy around here lately. My husband and I have both been doing a training course the last two Monday and Tuesday nights — he is one of the teachers of the training course, I am a trainee; how humbling — so we’ve been getting back home close to 9 and then the babysitter needs to get home. And it is hard on the kids to have us away at bedtime. And then there is his day job and my day job (looking after the kids) and laundry and dishes and cleaning and bills to pay, oh my… Anyway tonight was the LAST night of the training, although I have a meeting for this thing net week, but it’s only an hour and only I have to go. So. Moving on.

I have discovered that I make better food for my family when we have fewer groceries in the house. If I’ve just returned with a carload full, it’s like, “Oh string cheese! Pretzels! Why not?” Today, I was too busy to go to the store, so I looked in my cupboard and saw that I could make bread from scratch. So I did. And we had black beans soaking so I made up a really good black bean soup. I don’t know why the results are so variable. And when I say “my family” eats better that is sort of a lie because things like black bean flippin soup are only consumed by two members of this family. But everyone loves the bread.

Also, the walking. Still very cute. Today he strolled around in his fuzzy giraffe jammies, which was too cute to comprehend. Also, apparently while we were out at our training session, Rhett made me some drawings, which are on my dresser, laid directly atop my NFP charts. It makes me feel slightly (only slightly) nervous that my 16-year-old babysitter might have seen my NFP chart. (If you practice NFP you know what I mean!)

I think I’ve about run about of steam, and my darling love of my life is back, so I am going to pack it up. What are y’all busy with these days?

better.

wherein i complain about the texas winter and all my canadian readers shut their browsers at once

Last winter was not very nice at all. I remember taking endless walks with Jasper in the biting wind, with him in several sets of jammies, socks over his hands, and snuggled up to my chest. Or else it was drizzling, or raining. At any rate, it was yucky all the way from November through to the end of February, and after that winter was over, my husband and I looked at each other and said, “There’s no way next winter will be like that again.”

We were right. It is WORSE.

This is when all you people who live in places that get snowstorms and stuff like that on a regular basis are probably laughing at me, thinking, “Wimp!” But I tell you, I lived 29 years in cold climates and I did NOT move to Texas for this. I lived in Ottawa, where it gets so cold for three or four months that children’s toys get frozen in the ice and don’t resurface until spring. People skate to work on the Rideau Canal. Frostbite is a regular occurrence, and we had to wear snowsuits under our costumes at Hallowe’en.

When I was 12 we moved to Nova Scotia and you would THINK that, being near the ocean, the winters would be better. You would be wrong. No, it doesn’t get that cold, and there are regular thaws, but the winter weather goes something like this: It is cold and (somewhat) sunny for approximately 6 hours. Clouds roll in from the south, the wind picks up, and we get 6 inches of snow before it changes through to freezing rain, then to torrential rain and milder temperatures, which last until the front blows through, the wind shifts around to the northwest, the mercury drops precipitously, and all that rain freezes on the sidewalks and the streets. The cycle repeats until, oh, mid-April.

The LAST cold-weather place I ever lived was Dubuque, Iowa — and I really mean the LAST; it is the last cold-weather place I will EVER live. And it had by far the nicest winters, which is saying something. Like Ottawa, but a little less cold and they end pretty early.

So you can imagine I was elated to get a job in Texas. I could barely believe my luck: no more winter! Except. We DO get winter here, if by “winter” you mean “a season in which it is really unpleasant and potentially unsafe to venture outside.” Only it is called summer, and it consists of five or six months of very strong sunshine and temperatures in the nineties or higher. You really could fry an egg on the sidewalk. But it isn’t too bad; I’ve learned that in the really hottest months (June and July, in case you wondered) you can do stuff outside before about eleven in the morning, and line-dried laundry takes about an hour.

And the best part about Texas summers is the winter. Winter is the season where I USUALLY get to boast to my Canadian family that today we sat on the deck and watched the kids kick a soccer ball around the nice green grass. Which is why it totally SUCKS that this year has been frigid and not very sunny at all.

We were deluded this November, which was one of the most spectacular months I have had the pleasure of experiencing, what with the sunny mid-seventies days, into thinking that we might have a nice winter. We were dead wrong. It got cold in December — by Christmas it had already flurried thrice — and it has been damp, overcast, and chilly ever since. I am officially sick of it. In January I kept saying, “Usually in February things start to get better,” but so far no luck. It’s still damp and mostly cloudy. I actually found myself caring this year about what the groundhog predicted. Here’s hoping there are only six more weeks of winter*.

So, I will say it here first: I will NOT complain about the summer heat. I’ll wear a bikini all the livelong day if that’s what it takes to be comfortable. Bring it on.

*Funny story: When I was growing up, I thought that the groundhog seeing his shadow was the desired outcome because it would mean that spring would occur in only six weeks rather than 16 or so.

some things

1. I caught my husband grading papers. I think that it was for a proofs class, and the pose in which I found him seemed so apropos that I couldn’t keep it to myself to giggle at all alone. So here, behold the Grim Reaper of Math grading:

There is just something about the fact that his face is all covered by a dark hood as he sits determining the fate of sophomore math majors. The dark beer before him is a nice touch, and may perhaps take away from the fear regarding strictness. Although, note that the beer is full and the stack of papers is dwindling. Perhaps the next set of papers will reap the rewards… as it were. And ya know what, even though I already have a doctorate in math, I’d totally go back and take my husband the grim reaper’s proofs course because he’s pretty cute. I bet I’d get extra help, too.

2. Rhett was caught in a compromising position:

That’s Emeline’s guitar. I quickly snapped the photo before taking it away and putting it back in her room. He’s got the positioning down pretty well, though, doesn’t he?

3. Jasper took his first steps Wednesday! On the day that his chest cold was at its nadir; that’s determination. He is fourteen months and one week old. He is so cute. He just took four little bitty steps and fell, then later three and fell, and his last performance before bed was two bitty steps then fell. But this is it… not long now before both boys will be running around the park.

4. I am, apparently, proof positive that marketing works. I have no other explanation for the fact that I bought an item of makeup the other day simply because it was called “Plumping Lip Serum.” Had it merely been called “Lipgloss,” I would have passed it over altogether. (It is lipgloss, by the way, in case anyone was wondering. I am not even sure what “serum” is (I mean, other than regarding blood), but I do know that my lips look no plumper with it on. It’s not fair — Rhett inherited his daddy’s lips, which can compete with Angelina’s anyday. And again in the it’s not fair category, you should see Jasper’s eyelashes.)

5. I am also, apparently, a big huge sap. I can’t watch the ending of Juno without bursting into tears. That part when she’s just given birth, and she’s saying how she didn’t really want to see the baby, and then she goes, “I think he was always hers”? Gets me every time. If you don’t know what I’m referring to, go watch Juno. Really, you won’t regret it. (Well, if you’re female. If you’re male, you may want to pass it over. My husband watched it with me, I am convinced purely out of love for me, because he had this tortured expression on his face the entire time. I asked him after it was over how awful it was for him, and he said, “It is just so full of feelings! I was watching you on this emotional rollercoaster the entire time; you laughed, you cried, you rejoiced, it was exhausting.” Okay, so now you will know if you are the type of person who should watch or avoid this film.)

That’s all I’ve got for you tonight. You’re welcome.

not superwoman, that’s for dang sure

So, this whole saga begins sometime last week. Thursday, my husband went out of town for two days, leaving me and the boys to fend for ourselves. This is fine and ordinarily sort of peaceful, what with all the intense Mommy-little boy attention, involving lots of cuddling, reading, park playing, and all manner of fun stuff. Also importantly, they go to bed rather early (eight is about upper limit) and I get some much-needed alone time.

A curve ball was thrown at me on Thursday afternoon in the form of the girls being unexpectedly with me that night. We ended up having fun, but I was unprepared and WAY outnumbered. Not to mention bedtime happened a lot later and the night was not very restful because I was so nervous about four children sleeping spread out throughout our large-ish house. Also, Rhett was developing a nasty cold and ended up not really sleeping well at all.

Fast forward to the weekend, when Rhett was still pretty sick, no adults were sleeping through even a few hours at a time, and I was totally exhausted. My near-daily run was becoming, inexplicably, an energy-sucker rather than a much-needed pick-me-up. (Yes I am one of those crazy endorphin addicts.) By Sunday, I was convinced that I was getting whatever Rhett had, because I had a fever and chills. But no cough. At one point, I was laying on the floor while the girls sat behind me on the couch watching a movie; I was wrapped up in a comforter which covered most of my head and I was freezing. Emeline’s foot touched my forehead and she said, “No offense, but you’re like super hot.”

By the evening the source of the fever was pinpointed — a red and throbbing left breast — no wonder it took me so long to figure it out; all seven thousand other times I’ve had mastitis it’s been the right breast. We (and by we I mean my husband since by this point I lacked energy to vocalise) called the doctor on call and I got a script for dicloxacillin, which I popped with great eagerness along with my ginger ale. Ginger ale is so comforting for a fever, no?

Sunday night, Rhett slept through and Jasper seemed to have been spared the illness. I was hopeful that the pills would kick in by the evening because I had a training session to attend from 5-8 that evening. (Aside: getting ready for the babysitter is a lot of work. I never knew this when I was the babysitter.) As it turned out, the pills hadn’t kicked in, but I had some pretty kick-ass painkillers and they got me through the session. Oh, and I don’t think I mentioned that my husband was one of the leaders running the session, so the whole exercise involved a babysitter for FOUR WHOLE HOURS, which is longer than I’ve ever left them. I know. Wimp.

Anyway, we had to repeat the entire exercise again on Tuesday, and by late Tuesday morning it was becoming apparent that my antibiotics were not doing their job. So I called the nurse and got my prescription changed, but by this point not only was I still sick, but Jasper was now getting sick and we were all cranky. When I spoke with the nurse all I could think was that she was judging me internally, thinking, Why is this woman still nursing her 14-month-old when she keeps getting sick? Crazy extended breastfeeder! And I STILL had to go to another training that night.

Long story short (too late), I made it through thanks yet again to my wonderful pain pills, and the new antibiotic is indeed working. But I stayed up too late, and Jasper was up in the middle of the night with a hacking cough, which my poor husband nursed and consequently lost a lot of sleep. (I probably should have done it myself; the poor man is SO overextended, but I felt justified in using my still-recovering-from-mastitis-really-need-my-sleep card.) Also, our being away just two nights was really hard on the boys. Rhett was still not asleep by the time we arrived home; he had been crying for Mommy and it took a lot of doing to get him down. Honestly, working moms, I do not know how you do it. I lack the strength.

Fortunately, tonight we are all home. Thank goodness, we’d probably all come down with the swine flu and strep throat all at once if we have any more of these working nights.

i had a long, thoughtful post for you but all you get are three words.

resistant mastitis AGAIN.

trust. commitment.

My husband recently took a business trip with the chair of his department and another faculty member, who is a little younger than us and is married with three young children. The department chair and his wife are, apparently, closing in on their fortieth wedding anniversary, and the other faculty member asked him what his secret was to such a long, happy marriage. His response was that the most important thing was that he married his best friend.

I can definitely say that this is true of me. And, for me, it certainly does rank among the most important reasons that I can feel secure in my marriage and really trust my husband. But there is more.

Trust has never come easily for me. I have spent most of my life waiting in a state of nervous exhilaration for someone to let me down. This has never been more true than in my relationships with members of the opposite gender, which, until my husband, were almost universally bad.

The truth is, I am not entirely sure why they were bad. I made poor choices, certainly, often finding myself attracted to people who were not worthy of trust or commitment on my part, but with whom I naively imagined I could somehow be secure. (Call it the Harlequin Romance effect: Lady meets rogue, lady changes rogue despite all evidence attesting to the improbability of this occurrence.) But I could never trust them, and they could never commit to me. And you can’t have one without the other, I have learned.

I have heard it said that trust requires a leap of faith, but I believe the opposite to be true. I believe that you can only trust someone when you no longer need that leap of faith, when you are so certain that they will be true that you can let go of that nervousness and just know that you can be sure of them. And, honestly, for me it took a ring and the wedding vows to really cement that trust. I completely trust my husband because I know that he is committed to me, and I to him.

There are things about our marriage that are very difficult, and they pretty much all have to do with parenting. As you probably know, I came into a marriage that already had two children in it. And though when I married my husband I said the vows only to him, in some sense I made a commitment to his children too. And this past week, it was made very clear to me that by loving his children, I am loving him. Something came up a few days ago that really tested me, and I will be honest, my initial response was to choose what would be easiest for me. And though I did not at all handle the situation gracefully, I did the right thing in the end, and I did it for no reason other than pure love for my husband.

He told me later, when I was apologising for the ungraceful way in which I handled things, that he had not been worried about it because he “knows my pattern.” He said that when difficult situations come up, I catastrophise, cry a lot, get over it, and eventually, always do the right thing. I don’t know about “always,” but I am honoured that he was able to trust me in a situation in which, to be honest, I didn’t really trust myself.

So I know that for me at least, trust and commitment are inextricably intertwined. A lot of luck was involved in my finding the perfect person for me, and without that not-so- little piece of serendipity, the commitment that made this trust possible would never have been an option. And I also know, from the bottom of my heart, that nothing will ever shake the commitment between us. Nothing.

*****

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incurable illness, or merely the exhaustion of motherhood?

Rhett has been pretty sick the past few days. I am able to tell this because, in addition to having a cough that sounds like that of an 80-year-old smoker, he has actually been requesting naps. Today, I stayed home from church with him, and at noon he looked at me and said, “I want to take a nap, Mommy.” You have to understand, this doesn’t happen. My son has a lot of energy. (Another thing he did that was really cute was about an hour earlier, he brought his pillow, all ~30 of his stuffed animals, and his blankets out to the dining room and requested that I lay down. He then proceeded to tuck me in, whereupon he put his finger over his mouth, said “Shh,” and then pointed that same finger at me, saying, “You sleep tight, Mommy.” He does not get the finger-pointing from my side of the family, that is all I will say.)

So last night was the first night in a while (I don’t remember how long, probably not that long, but it’s funny how the days are long and the years are short when you have children) that he did not wake up in total distress and need to sleep with a parent. Consequently, I woke up on my own feeling somewhat refreshed. Grand plans for the day had I, well two plans exactly; I was going to run and then the girls and I had (have) a movie date. We are going to move the tv to my bedroom (ah, the thrill of the normally off-limits) and curl up with some hot chocolate and a DVD.

When everyone got home from church, all my energy was gone and I just felt like napping. I lack a cough and any other cold symptoms so I don’t think I am getting what Rhett has. I roused myself and convinced myself that a run would be good medicine, especially since I don’t think I will have time for the next two days.

Somehow I managed my normal slightly-more-than-six-mile run, but boy did I ever not feel good. Normally, I manage a little sprint at the end, but today, I walked the last quarter mile or so, deluding myself with thoughts of “cooldowns” and other such wimpy things. Then I walked in the door and promptly collapsed.

No, not really. I mean, I made it into my bedroom and stripped off my sweaty running clothes. My husband regarded me with concern, and asked if there was anything he could do for me. (See, this is how I know I married a saint. Normal people would just treat me like the moron that I am for over-exhausting myself.) “Just bring me my fluffy bathrobe,” I said, and wrapped myself up in it and a down comforter. I then lay on the couch for approximately a half hour attempting to get warm. I had that achy, chilled feeling that one usually gets with a fever and I felt just awful. I even took a reeeeally long, hot shower in an attempt to overcome the chills, which is very unlike me. I am usually a fairly high-energy person and I shower just long enough to get clean. Today, my shower resembled those my husband takes. We have a forty-gallon hot water heater entirely for the use of our bathroom and I bet he comes close to emptying it. He says that he takes such long showers because he is always cold and that is the one time all day that he is warm, but I suspect that it is really because that is the one time all day that he can sequester himself from the chaos. Wise man.

Anyway, I still don’t know what is wrong with me, though I have my suspicions. Maybe I’ve just been overdoing it. Maybe it is just being a mom and not sleeping or eating enough. Either way, I think my mug of hot chocolate will be extra large this afternoon.

the day in photos

Rhett got a haircut today. He is cute, if a little lopsided.

Jasper likes to invert the stepstool and sit inside it, for some reason.

He spent almost all day in his jammies because it never even reached freezing. I tell you, I did NOT move to Texas for this.

I spent a fair amount of time trying to get a decent photo of Emeline and her brothers. As you can see, I was largely unsuccessful.

This was the best I managed to do. Actually, this shot fairly accurately sums up the dynamic around here most days.

Perhaps inspired by his cousin Benjamin, Rhett took his first ever photos. I post this only because there is just SO MUCH captured in this shot: (1) his lack of mastery of the flash, (2) his, um, arty use of the finger over the lens, (3) the not-quite-finished drywal and new doorl in the background from the infamous (or not) Door Project, (4) the infamous Dyson vacuum cleaner, and (5) a random broom (on a carpet??). Oh, and my excellent fashion sense. And Rhett’s excellent choice of subject matter.

Also, I’ve been sleeping spectacularly poorly lately. This is mostly Rhett’s fault. He kindly decided to document proof of it:

Flattering, no, but accurate? I’m afraid so.

a very long 32 hours

…that are thankfully over. Here is Jasper in a really cute outfit:

Why walk when you are such an efficient crawler?

Penelope lives in fear of the chupacabra.

And really, who can blame her?

In other news: I am completely infatuated with my Rhett. Even at two, he is totally adorable. Yesterday, we got pizza from a pizza store that has an actual helicopter hanging from the ceiling. Rhett was enraptured. “Look, Mommy, there’s is chairs in the helicopter, Mommy. There’s is a helicopter in the pizza store, Mommy. I want to ride in the helicopter when it goes in the sky, Mommy.” Have I mentioned that every phrase ends in the word, “Mommy”? Almost every phrase, anyway.

Also, it is really cold again. We shall spend the weekend attempting to stay warm. What do y’all have planned?