Hello...It's Me (Oh Crap, Now I Have That Already-Overplayed Adele Song Stuck In My Head)

Well, hey there. I feel a little awkward, expecting you to read this post like I didn't just jump ship and stop posting for...for however long it was. 

But then I remember that when a blogger I like reading stops posting for whatever reason, I'm not bothered by it. I think, "Awww, she's just too busy with real life right now." I wish her well and then when she posts again, I'm happy to see her pop up in my feed reader again. I don't require a tedious explanation. So I'm going to assume that anyone reading this doesn't need one either. At some point, I'll probably write about my weird relationship with social media, but not today. Today is a day for bullet points, to make it easier to catch up.

• It's basketball season, and both kids are playing at a whole 'nother level--my daughter in middle school, my son in "select." Both require some more time than in the past, but it's not insane. My daughter practices before school and has one game a week, usually on Thursday nights. My son has two evening practices (up from one last year) and a game on Saturdays. None of his games are before 11 am, praise the Lord. Still, it's made dinners at home challenging when this week we have something during our normal dinner hour for 4 days straight. I'm not gonna lie, I cooked an actual dinner Monday night, chopped up brisket for BBQ sandwiches last night, bought the good deli meat, and forced myself not to feel guilty about it. They are now capable of making their own sandwiches. Hallelujah.

•  Friday is C's 13th birthday. She invited her school friends and church friends, and of those, it looks like 9 or 10 are coming. Last week I called one of those friend's moms hyperventilating because I couldn't make a decision on how to organize things other than C had (finally) decided to go to a trampoline park. My friend is a school counselor, so she's very calm, and also happens to be very organized. She helped me decide to have pizza and cake here, determine the timetable, then offered to help drive. She is a lifesaver and now I am not even worried mostly. 

• I'm about to have a TEENAGER. Ack! How did that happen? Seriously, she is so much fun to talk to right now. No one is allowed to tell me it gets worse. I KNOW. (I taught high school for six years, remember?) Let me enjoy it now although it may be the calm before the storm. 

• Last night I couldn't sleep, so I got up and edited some writing for a friend, and then read Garner's Modern American Usage. It's a book on grammar. I am the nerdiest nerd ever. The thing is, he throws in some really funny (to a grammar nerd) comments. I'm just going to stop now.

• This week I pulled the trigger and ordered probably 90% of the Christmas presents. There are a couple that need to be bought in person, and some stocking stuffers. We'll be with my husband's sister and their family this year, so I just have the main things shipped there instead of filling up my car.

•  I WAS going to buy brown craft wrapping paper and use coordinating ribbon I got at Target and possibly make gift tags, but then I decided although that might be simplifying for some people, it would be a step UP for me and all the articles say to reduce your stress during the holidays, don't do anything unnecessary. So...dollar store gift bags it is again, with my husband wrapping a few boxes. Since he's a carpenter, his wrapping game is STRONG. I hand him the scissors and tape, put other gifts in bags, and write on the tags. We all have our strengths.

 And how are all of YOU?
 

 

Busy

It was a good thing I had a post scheduled yesterday, because it turned out to be a busy afternoon. I picked up both kids, made dinner, and then suddenly realized L and I needed to leave in 10 minutes for his first basketball practice. There was no time to eat the stew first so I had him take a snack in the car; and, since he is a 4th-grade boy, he had no trouble downing some peanut butter crackers.

Justin got home right before we left. While he got ready for church, C finished her homework, ate dinner (she didn't want the stew and I was not up to putting the parental foot down, but she mentioned a healthy combination of foods she wanted to eat, so whatever) and got ready to go to church with him. I'm glad I have a super-responsible firstborn; it does make life easier.

After L's practice we didn't have time to go to church (besides, I'm sure they would not have appreciated me bringing him in such a sweaty state). He had a coupon for a free small Slurpee from 7-11, so we got that, went home to eat stew, and then I went to Office Depot to print a picture for C's language arts project. Luckily it's only around the corner, because I wasted a trip. I hadn't realized it was a picture of a book cover and therefore subject to copyright restrictions. They had emailed me after I emailed them the picture, but I hadn't checked my email. Lessons learned.

It was my fault anyway, since I had decided not to go to the shop today, which is where we print things. C wasn't upset; she decided to do without it and get the project turned in early. (Her freehand drawings are impressive enough, in her mother's totally unbiased opinion. I'll have to take a picture when she gets it back; it's an ABC book with words describing the book she'd read.) She's had a busy week, with tests and projects plus her regular homework, because the teachers are trying to get everything done before the break. She's looking forward to a well-deserved holiday: a week of relaxing!

I went back to the house and did some reading with L. He is enjoying reading more, and taking on more challenging books. His class has named him "Mr. Vocabulary" because he is so quick to point out words they are learning (the teacher encourages him to do this, and he jumped at the challenge.) He's always loved math the most, so it's cool to see him taking after me in some way.

Justin and C didn't get home till about 9:20 since the choir (they practice on certain Wednesdays) had to learn about the new sound system. I'm sure she enjoyed the extra time to talk to her friends. But neither kid complained about going to bed: an unexpected benefit of sports! L is definitely not used to being that active in the evenings, so he was tired. After Thanksgiving, his team will have two practices a week, and one is on Thursday nights--and C's games are on Thursdays. So: Justin and I will take turns with each kid. His games are on Saturdays, but luckily she only has one more Saturday tournament.

It makes me very thankful that I have a more flexible schedule now. And that's the news from our house.

Progress!

Everyone was too polite to comment on my hot mess laundry pile yesterday, or maybe I just posted too late in the evening. I don't know how The Devil Facebook (that's how I'm going to refer to it from now on, or maybe just TDFB for short) configures the posts in everyone's timeline, either.

If you want to feel superior or at least not inferior, you can go look at the picture here.

But this is the same basket (that wasn't even visible in the first picture!)

 Progress, am I right? However, true progress would probably involve not leaving the laundry basket out in the living room all week for all and sundry to see, but let's not get crazy here. It needs to be there for intermittent loads of laundry I occasionally do during the week, usually when C begs me to wash some article of clothing that she HAS to wear before the next laundry day. (As you can see, most of the laundry is done at one time, on the weekend.) L never asks me to do this; he's a 4th-grade boy, he wouldn't care if his clothes ever got washed. I am annoyed that he often puts perfectly clean clothes in the dirty clothes hamper because he doesn't want to fold them, but that's another post. (Spoiler alert: he will soon be doing his own laundry, or at least a good portion of everyone's, depending on how I decide to divide it up.)

I can't believe I am writing about my laundry procedure, but I do like hearing about household systems and how they work (or don't work) for other families, so here goes.

Way back when I was a young SAHM, I did a load of laundry or two a day because we HAD to stay on top of things or the children would have been running around naked. Which they did anyway, because toddlers, but I digress. Once I began working again that was no longer optimal, as I was usually too tired on a weeknight to remember to put the wet clothes into the dryer and you know how that goes. If you are thinking my husband should have helped, let me just say that he is happy to help, he just apparently lacks the ability to remember that a certain task needs to be done. And since I was not able to remember, the laundry had to be done on the weekend, when it was impossible to ignore.

The laundry system in our house has evolved into the following highly functioning, well-oiled machine system that works pretty well as long as we stick to the schedule and don't slack off.

1. Sometime after breakfast on Saturday morning, I remember it's time to start the laundry.
2. I sort the laundry in the master bedroom laundry hamper into piles.
3. I yell at the kids to come sort their laundry. Not yell in a mean way (yet) but because they literally can't hear me since they are plugged into their various devices.
4. I yell in a mean way for the kids to come sort their laundry.
5. I start a load that doesn't depend on their clothes, because this is going to take a while.
6. The kids sort their laundry. Sometimes they do a good job. Other times could be what is optimistically called "a teaching opportunity" but let's be honest, I don't take the opportunity because it's Saturday and I would rather be doing an infinite number of things other than laundry.
7. Yes, I know I choose to do it this way. Shut up.
8. As each load is finished, it is placed with tender loving care thrown willy-nilly into the laundry basket. The laundry basket is only for CLEAN clothes. It just is. If you put something in there dirty expecting it to be washed, well, you're just going to be disappointed, that's all.
9. Yes, I realize that allowing clothes/sheets/towels to be strewn all over the living room floor may render the idea of "clean" negligible. I also accept that we are a wrinkled people. And again I say: unless you are going to come over and do my laundry, shut up.
10. Laundry day is always Saturday unless there is some compelling reason to move it to Sunday. It must be done by Sunday or the children will have no school uniforms and Justin will have no jeans. (I could get by for a while.) We strive to have the laundry folded by Sunday night. This didn't happen this week, which is why the pile of laundry looks like it was attacked by wolves.
11.  The worst part about laundry is putting away the clothes. Here's how we do it (not necessarily recommended). Justin and/or I redistribute the clothes to each family member by hurling them in a different corner of the room assigned to each person. 
12. We call to the kids to start folding. Usually C will start folding and L will flop on the floor next to his pile of clothes (remember I said he throws a lot in the hamper?) and act like we just asked him to climb Mount Everest. 
13. We all fold our clothes in a peaceful, timely fashion. Or rather, all of us except L fold our clothes while he stares at the TV or dust motes in the light, pesters the dog or his sister, or kicks a soccer ball incessantly against the couch OH MY GOD JUST FOLD YOUR CLOTHES ALREADY.
14. Finally the clothes are put away! (Except for the pile on the ironing board in our room that I will put up later. Definitely later, almost certainly before the next laundry day.

Booties Are For Babies

Nobody asked what kind of booties ankle boots I was buying, which, psssh, it's almost like y'all have lives or something, gaaahh. I ended up not buying either of the two pairs I was looking at because when I logged onto dsw.com, I saw these cuties on the front page of the boot section for 49.95 plus I had a 20.00 off of 49.00 coupon and the ship-to-store option made the shipping free.

Aren't they cute? They have a lower heel than I've been looking at, but really I don't have any longer pants that will rule these out. They are supposed to fit true to size and be really comfortable, and there were enough reviews to make that sound legit. I hate it when there are 7,286 reviews and the average is 3.2 stars out of a possible 5, which turns out to mean that half of the reviewers gave it 1 star and wish they could give it 0, want it to die in a fire, and I especially enjoy when they want it to be way better than anyone has a right to expect at that price point. "It can't raise the dead like I thought it would!" 

And then, lest you feel confident about passing it up, there are the gushing 5-star reviews that read like the item cures cancer and walks on water and also, the reviewer is the designer's mother or perhaps is being paid by someone. So that makes you unsure. How can the same item inspire such abject hatred and transcendent adoration?

It's a mystery. I just wrote the previous sentences and realized it sounds like I'm talking about a religious belief system. In a way, I suppose I guess I am: the modern religion of Materialism.

Ooooooh, Deep Thoughts with Hairline Fracture.

So I guess I did my duty by sacrificing at the Temple of Online Shopping (motto: Free Shipping Both Ways) and for now I give them 5 stars. (That also really bugs me: people who write a review without reading the book, or wearing the piece, or whatever. Usually they blame the manufacturer for the retailer's mistake instead of contacting customer service, meanwhile skewing the ratings average. Those kinds of people are too stupid to merit my consideration of their rating. It annoys me. If I ever write a book, I shouldn't ever check its reviews on Amazon, is what I'm saying.)

The shoes are in stock at a local store 30 minutes away (we measure distance in minutes if not hours here in Texas, and the speed is assumed to be "like a bat outta hell") so I could theoretically pick up these beauties in 4 hours, but I'm not feeling so great again so it will be at least tomorrow afternoon if not Monday. My husband is once again tyrannically insisting that I get dressed in actual clothes and leave the house to do something unenjoyable like eat a delicious dinner. 

I'm thinking I need more ice cream as an incentive. It's a good thing shoes always fit 'cause my pants may not after this weekend.

Human Reset; Creative Process; Blue Bell; Basketball

WARNING: Unlike yesterday, this post will not be deep, religious, emotional, or anything except random ramblings. So if that's not your thing, come back tomorrow. Apparently when I blog every day, I'm full of surprises. Who knew?

(I bet today's post totally gets more comments--at least on Facebook--than this one. That's okay. Sometimes it's hard to know what to say when someone gets really up close and personal with the Bible.)

I woke up with sinus pressure in my head and a scratchy throat. By the time I dropped both kids off at school--a circuitous route that makes me feel like an Uber driver--and plopped down on the couch, I realized my throat actually hurt and I was achy and tired all over. Getting off the couch was not going to happen that day...or at least only for small intervals, such as going to the bathroom or fetching something to eat. My body said, "We are certainly not going to drive for 45 minutes to an office to sit in a less-comfortable position, when there is nothing urgent to accomplish there."

I've always believed I should listen to my body, so I called my boss husband and told him I wasn't coming in. He made the appropriate sympathetic noises and told me to rest.

I read blogs for about an hour (I'm behind on my blog reading since I took a week off for anxiety, and doesn't it make me seem like such a nerd that I feel like I'm "getting behind" on entertainment. I think of it as "Internet homework" and a full DVR makes me feel the same way). Then I realized my head was hurting worse, but I couldn't take a nap because I felt too gross. I decided to take a shower because my mother always said when I felt yucky, "Take a shower and eat something." She still says that, and I've found that (along with taking a nap and medicine if necessary) it's the human equivalent to turning your electric device off and on again. Solves at least 75% of my problems (it would be 95% except I sometimes can't sleep).

Anyway, I told you yesterday that I sang in the shower and got the idea for yesterday's post, yada yada yada. Actually, it was not like an idea just peacefully came into my brain and I though, "Huh, yeah, that's interesting. Maybe I'll write about that," and I continued with my shower like a normal person. 

Yeah, no. (No one ever said I was normal, anyway.) It felt like the top of my head opened up and something outside me downloaded into my brain almost faster than I could keep up with. Notice I said it felt like that--I am not actually delusional enough to believe that my ideas came Directly From God. But it felt like it was not coming from me at all, which I hear is very common among creative types. You'll be feeling uninspired, do your daily word count, then stomp off moodily to do something else (like take a shower) and WHOOP, there it is. I believe Anne Lamott said it was incredibly similar to amoebic dysentery. It really felt that urgent that I get to a computer. In this case I was speaking the words out loud, which made me glad I was alone. I was just talking, saying all these things I'd never thought of before, with tears leaking out of my eyes because once I get emotional I can't stop crying, and then I stopped talking and said, "Oh God, oh God, please don't let me forget this, don't let me forget this." And I rushed through the rest of my shower and barely dried off so I could run to the computer and I didn't forget it and the rest came out easily as well, which is hardly ever the case with writing, in my experience (unless it's not any good, and/or you're plagiarizing.)

Maybe it was also like giving birth. Or there was this episode of "Dr. Who..." 

You know what, I'm going to stop with these weird metaphors. (You're welcome.) It was just really interesting to see my creative process working again. Anne Lamott also says that the muse doesn't show up unless YOU show up every day whether you feel inspired or not. This hasn't happened in YEARS, probably because I've never committed fully to writing every day. Oh, I've made promises to myself, but somehow making a promise to other people who claim to enjoy reading my words is quite different. Maybe I'll keep blogging every day for forever and ever.

MUAHAHAHAHA!

Okay, I feel better now. Quite possibly because I have again tasted manna from heaven, aka the nectar of the gods, aka Blue Bell ice cream. If you've never tasted it because you don't live close enough to Brenham, Texas, then I'm sorry and I hope you get to try it someday, sooner rather than later. Why did I say "again?" Well, everybody down here knows that Blue Bell voluntarily shut down its plants after an outbreak of listeria hospitalized 12 people and 4 of those died. It was a very sad and scary time. It seemed that the "little creamery in Brenham" would go out of business and then, judging from the ravings in my Facebook feed, life would not be worth living.

Well, Blue Bell arrived back in North Texas on Nov. 2 and FB was full of 1) Halloween candy and 2) Blue Bell cartons with the familiar gold rim. I didn't go to the store because 1) I had already done my grocery shopping the night before and I don't go to the store any more than I am forced to; and 2) I prefer to wait until a craze quietens down--one might almost say the trend becomes passe`--before reluctantly getting on the bandwagon 3) There was still Halloween candy in the house. 

Which is why when the only thing that sounded good with my sore throat was ice cream, I called my darling husband and asked him to stop by CVS for some Sudafed. "Oh, and if they have some Blue Bell, you could get some of that," I said nonchalantly, pretending my mouth wasn't full of saliva.

He's been married to me for 18 1/2 years, so this is not his first rodeo, honey. This is what he came home with:

Ohhhhhh yeaaaahhhh. Note that two of the flavors are chocolate.

Finally (because it is now three hours since I started this post and was interrupted and am now remembering that I woke up at 4 a.m. because my throat hurt), C had some exciting news today. After four days of tryouts, she made the basketball team!!! Well, one of them. We don't know if she's on the A, B, or C team, but it really doesn't matter. 85 girls tried out and only 30 made it. I am so proud of her and excited to cheer her on in her first middle school sport (cross country doesn't really count since she never got to run in a meet). 

L starts on a select (as opposed to recreational) team next week. More thoughts on that later. At first I thought I would get a T-shirt with her school name on it, but maybe I'll get one that says "Basketball Mom" and cover all my bases.

Although if I keep eating all this Blue Bell, I'm gonna need a larger size.

Finishing

So my husband and I were at the gym Tuesday night...

Do you hate me already? Please don't. I should preface this by saying a few things (I always have a few things to state before I make my main point.)

1. I am not trying to exercise to get a "bikini body," whatever that means. I love a post with the clickbait title: "How to Get a Bikini Body," which when you click through, had these simple steps:
     1) Get a bikini.
     2) Put it on your body.

In THEORY, I completely agree with this. I certainly agree with it for anyone who feels comfortable in a bikini, no matter what their size. I just don't agree with it for ME. I will not be wearing a bikini, this summer or any other. Last year I bought an adorable skirted suit that I feel great in. And since research shows that even liposuction doesn't get rid of cellulite (it's a skin issue, not a fat issue), I'm fine with keeping my thighs covered.

No, it's not about bathing suit season. I'm just trying to be LESS LAME. How pathetic is it that I am just now, after 4 weeks* of the 5K Runner app (which I highly recommend, by the way) huffing and puffing my way through 3-minute runs? But hey, at least I can run that long now--anything over 10 seconds used to make me break out in a sweat. I could run out of a burning building now if need be!

*Actual time to get this far: about 8 weeks, since we keep only going to the gym 1 day a week, then having to repeat the last day we did. WE ARE BUSY PEOPLE, DAGNABIT.

2. I also have two other goals: keep fitting into the clothes I currently own (and lose enough weight that I am more comfortable in them) and not becoming the old woman who can't get up out of a chair without assistance.

I know. Some of us have lofty goals. It is a lonely road we travel. *stares into the distance pensively*

So, anyway, Tuesday night we were at the gym. I don't exactly know why we go together, because a) we spend all day and night together already and b) he is faster than I am, so we only warm up and cool down together anyway. OH WAIT, I do know why we go together--because I would find an excuse not to go if he didn't push me. 

I was huffing and puffing in the middle of one of those "long" 3-minute runs, listening to music on another great free app called Rock My Run, when a boy-teenager passed me going approximately 90 mph. Or, you know, some speed above a walk (I'm pretty sure most people can walk faster than I "run," especially during the second half of my workout.) 

I see these type of runners every week. They're usually very thin and young. They zoom around the track a few times, passing everybody up, and then they're done. And I don't see them there every week--it's seemingly random.

Now, I don't know for sure if this is part of their training regimen, but "run as fast as you can for five minutes every two weeks" doesn't seem like a good way to stay in shape. I have to admit that I'm okay with feeling smug about being better than these roadrunners. Someone weighs 500 pounds and is struggling around the track? More power to them; absolutely no ridicule here. Someone is overweight and never works out? None of my business. Someone is "thin" but out of shape? FIST BUMP, MY SISTER.

But I DO feel superior to these kids (they are all kids to my nearly-40-year-old self). They are in good enough shape to run fast...for five minutes. I could have done that at their age. Big whoop. At this stage of life, what I value most is perseverance. If I have to walk in between my measly 3 minute runs, so be it. I NEED to walk, simply to catch my breath since my lungs feel like fiery lumps of metal that are useless at supplying oxygen to the rest of my body. I love the walks. I welcome the walks. You go on ahead and sprint--but I'll still be here plodding along 20 minutes later while you're off cherishing the delusion that your body will always be this perfectly svelte while you demolish a carton of ice cream and a bag of chips. 

*weeps for my dearly departed metabolism* 

Sorry, I didn't mean to depress myself. I'm back.

What was I saying? Oh, right: perseverance. It's something I've come to value in the last few years, and not merely in regard to exercise. There is something to be said for not quitting even when everything in you screams that you should. Like most people who have been married more than 5 years, I've thought about divorce. But Justin and I made a deal that whoever left had to take the children, and I've never been able to face raising them on my own.

I'm kidding. (Kind of.) But I'm not kidding when I say that I'm so, so glad I didn't take the easy way out. Our marriage may not be glamorous, but it works for us. We never would have gotten to this excellent place if we had zoomed through a few years, then parted ways when things got hard.

Same thing with business. Six years ago, the shop we were renting burned down, destroying $60,000 worth of cabinets that we had to replace out of pocket (insurance didn't cover them) and damaging or outright destroying most of the machinery. We considered closing our doors, but realized that other shops were closing due to the economy, and if we could hang in there, we could be one of the top cabinet shops in the area. Which is exactly what's happened. 

It wouldn't have happened if we had stopped when the going got tough. 

The same is true for our spiritual lives. We are all going to face valleys and dry spells--it's just part of being human, and we are fallible even though we love Jesus. No wonder the Bible says, "The race is not to the swift or the battle to the strong, nor does food come to the wise or wealth to the brilliant or favor to the learned; but time and chance happen to them all" (Ecclesiastes 9:11 NIV). 

Let's look at the second part of that verse first: you're not going to be successful just because you're talented. Time and chance (i.e. luck) have a lot more to do with it than we think. Now, that may sound almost as depressing as my realization that I can't maintain my weight while eating that same amount in chips and queso, but bear with me. 

The comforting part of the verse is to realize that just because someone starts with an advantage, it doesn't mean that they finish with an advantage.

Because finishing is the REAL reward. They don't give medals for "fastest starter." If you run a marathon, your time isn't important unless you run all 26.2 miles. 

(Which is why I'm going to go out on a limb here and predict that I'm never going to run a marathon. Can you imagine how long it would TAKE me to finish?)

Just ask the hare who decided to take a nap while the tortoise kept plodding forward. Slow and steady wins the race. 

Anyone can start well. How well will you finish?

It's Good to Have Goals

The last day of March! Less than 10 weeks of school left--woo-hoo!

I am really looking forward to summer. Although I will be going to the shop several days a week, it will still be fun. C was trying to talk about a summer schedule with me the other day, and I had to say, "Dude, stop. There's no way I can know right now if you can spend the night with your friend every Sunday so you can go swimming on Mondays, and if we can always go to the shop on Tuesdays" (I have no idea what her plans for the rest of the week were).

Our salesman has a son who is a senior in high school. He is here vacuuming, and I enjoy that I am not in charge of the cleaning just because I am, you know, a woman. I have done a little bit of cleaning in the bathroom, but haven't volunteered to vacuum or wash the dirty dishes (not dirtied by me) because I didn't want to set a precedent for being the "mom" who cleans up after everyone. It's good that the boy knows how to do these things--a sign of a kid who's being raised right. His dad says he's a good worker, you just have to tell him what to do. This is a lot like my son. He doesn't complain and does a good job; but he has to be told what you want. Come to think of it, that's like a lot of guys. I actually don't mind that. Some women feel like, "I don't want to have to tell him what to do--I just want him to notice it on his own and take care of it!"

Well, that doesn't bother me IF the man is willing to pitch in when it's brought to his attention. Justin has even told me to ask him to help when I need it. I try to ask in a nice way because flies and honey and all that. He usually takes care of it right away. There are some repairs/cosmetic fixes that have been unfinished for years but luckily that is not the kind of thing that bothers me--I'm able to tune it out just like he has. When we have guests coming over, he gets in gear and takes care of those details.

I once saw a saying: "When a man says he'll do something, there's no need to nag him about it for two years!"

There are a few things that will probably not get done until we sell the house. I'm okay with that. But I should make a list of easy fixes that will improve the look of our home with little effort.

1. Hang pictures in our room and L's room. Ours were taken down when he painted our room--I don't even know how long ago. My dad gave L a picture of a beautiful golf course when he semi-retired and downsized his office. It turns out I had originally given him that picture, so it's cool that he gave it to my boy since they play golf together. I'd like to hang the picture before my 9 yo graduates from high school.

2. Buy and put up curtains in our room. Before we painted, we changed the color scheme and the old curtains didn't really match. But we do need curtains as the current miniblinds are not very pretty.

3. Paint the kids' rooms. L's just needs two of the walls repainted--I guess Justin just stopped in the middle of the job. C's needs to be completely repainted because it currently doesn't match the furniture and bedding at all. The problem there is how heavy her furniture is but it does need to be done. We have considered hiring a contractor friend of ours. I should probably just schedule it when he has time to do it.

I'm just going to stop there because there isn't that much more that can be classified as "not too much effort." As a cabinet builder, Justin has plans to remodel the kitchen and I think we can all agree that is major, even though he swears that once the cabinets are done it will only be a couple of days to install the new ones. Up till now, I have been saying, "But how long am I going to be without a stove?" I should probably just take advantage of the opportunity not to cook, but the truth is I'm actually more apprehensive about not having a sink. Even if we use paper plates, I'm not wanting to wash a million dirty glasses in the bathtub.

Oh well. Given his track record, it will probably be a couple of years before this proposed kitchen remodel even happens.

Sunday Night Shopping

I finally hauled myself off the couch and went grocery shopping. I was too busy yesterday and really didn't want to go tonight but we were down to a third of a loaf of bread, half a bag of clementines and two blueberry toaster strudels, and toaster strudels are the only thing that motivates my children to wake up in the mornings. Even though they probably would have been on board with my idea to eat Girl Scout cookies instead.

(Seriously, what is it about those cookies? Are they so delicious because we can only get them part of the year, or do they bake crack in with the batter? All I know is it was a blessing and a curse when Miss Pink became a Girl Scout. I have a trunk full of cookies and that is a dangerous thing.)

Anyway, I have some thoughts to share about the Mall of Warts, as I call Sam Walton's brainchild.

1. First of all, the Wart-Mall and I have a love-hate relationship. It's the closest store to my house and also the cheapest. On everything. If I go to any other store I inevitably end up complaining about the prices. W-M also price matches any item that another store is offering for a lower price, so I save quite a few dollars that way. IF W-M actually has the item. Things are often out of stock there, or else shelved in some wacky place where it wasn't located last week. This week they didn't have avocados. In Texas. How do they expect us to manage without our guacamole? So occasionally I have to go to HEB or Aldi, which is a nice change but I always come crawling back to W-M.

Wart-Mall, I wish I could quit you.

2. I am an impatient person. I wish it weren't so, but I am. I can't stand to be behind someone who is barely moving down the aisles. I try to remember that most of them can't help it, but really, people, if you are that slow, the polite thing to do is scoot over to the far side of the aisle and let the rest of us pass you. Yet some people block the aisles while they locate the perfect can of beans and act like they don't even notice the line of carts backing up into the frozen foods. I bet they are the same people who drive my husband crazy by going 40 miles per hour in the fast lane.

3. W-M should give a raise to the cashier who checked me out tonight. Not only was she efficient and fast, she was also friendly and hilarious. She told me about her 99-year-old great-grandmother who has been married 80 years. I told her that was the longest I had ever heard of anyone being married.The cashier's great-grandfather is barely hanging on, and her great-grandma says he needs to go ahead and die.

"Ohhh, does she hate to see him suffer?" I asked sympathetically.

"No," she said. "She's eyeballing other men." We laughed. "She's a mess."

 99 years old and looking for her second husband. That just made my night, even if I never did get any avocados.

Just the Two of Us

My husband and I haven't gone away for the weekend together for a couple of years, so it was time.

I took the day off on Friday. Justin was going to, too, but he ended up going to work for a half day. As I mentioned, I took a 2.5 hour nap. My dad picked the kids up after school. Justin and I went to dinner, then drove to our hotel and checked in. We went to a big Barnes & Noble downtown (bookstores are our usual date night destination but we hadn't done that in a while) and had dessert and coffee. The city is alight with white lights on the buildings and in the trees, so we enjoyed walking around downtown. Then, thanks to the very comfortable bed, I had no trouble going to sleep.

We had a nice breakfast in the hotel restaurant, which was free for us but would have cost $17.95 per person plus tip. My favorite parts were the made-to-order omelets and mini Belgian waffles. I want to find a waffle iron like that. Then we went back to the room and I fell asleep again. Yes, really!

For lunch we went to a kosher deli we like and shared a corned-beef-and-turkey sandwich and a piece of chocolate meringue pie. We decided to drive to some houses Justin has been building cabinets for. After that we went to a movie at the Modern Art Museum. The movie was called An Education; it's about an English high school girl in 1961, and how she meets and falls in love with an older man. We liked it a lot. Then we had dinner at a Chicago-style pizzeria and watched another movie on pay-per view.

The next morning, breakfast again and I AGAIN dozed off for a little while before we left to get the kids. I feel more rested than I have for a long time!

Justin and I enjoyed being together without interruptions, holding hands without having to yell out, "DON'T GET OFF THE SIDEWALK!" or eating dinner without having to take anyone to the bathroom. Sometimes it's all too easy to forget you're a couple because you're so busy being parents. We got to revisit being a couple again this weekend.

Of course, we were happy to see the kids. But I am glad we were able to be alone together, too.

Remembering To Count My Blessings

It feels like I just posted here, yet it turns out that was nearly a week ago. Huh. Time for an update, I guess! I'll be glad to get to write posts that don't have to do with all the challenges we're facing, but I am slowly starting to realize that I'm never going to get to a place this side of Heaven with no problems. They truly are part of life, they apparently come in packs, and yet I am choosing to believe that I can learn to deal with them and remember how blessed I actually am.

First, my MIL did get to come home from the hospital on Thursday. On Wednesday and Thursday, Justin went to her house and finished up the tile on her shower. (It was undone because she is normally a bath person but it would be too hard for her to climb in and out of her deep tub in her weakened state.) Then he got home Thursday night and the kids and I were so happy to see him. For me, the relief was palpable. Just knowing he is home takes a huge burden off my shoulders. I only worked three days last week, but I was SO tired by the kids' bedtime because I just never got a break. With him home, the effort of taking care of the kids' needs is cut in half--he does half the snacks and drinks, Mr. Blue's bath, and we take turns doing the bedtime routine with each kid. Then on Saturday we made blueberry muffins for breakfast, vegged for a while and then cleaned the house. I felt so much better after that--the previous Saturday, I just could not make myself clean anything besides the necessary dishes and clothes. I have always admired single parents but every time I have to pretend to be one, my admiration goes through the roof.

Anyway, my MIL may start her next chemo treatment by the end of the week. I am praying that this time she will not have any complications because three weeks in the hospital is not fun for anyone involved.

Oh, also our air conditioner stopped working one day when it was eighty degrees. On a day when I was insanely hormonal, so I cried a lot during Mr. Blue's nap. This is when it was good that Justin wasn't here, because I didn't take it out on him or anyone else. A friend who has an A/C business also happens to owe Justin some money for a cabinet, so voila--free repair. It wasn't that extensive, just a few wires and a switch, but given the current state of our bank account, free is good. Then it promptly turned rainy and chilly, but the heater wouldn't have worked either, so getting it fixed was good.

I started trying to write about another big decision I had to make last week but then I realized it was going to make this post way too long. Miss Pink has a fever today, so although she didn't miss school today due to Columbus Day, she will need to stay home for tomorrow at least, and I will post about it then. Sorry if saying "I was going to tell you but now you're just going to have to wait!" is annoying.

Thanks for reading my thoughts. Writing things down helps me process things so much better than when my brain goes around in circles trying to figure everything out. I have a journal in a file on my computer in which I REALLY get transparent with myself even when it's ugly, but a lot of the time I just put a copy of what I wrote here. And your comments always mean a lot to me.

So thanks. Thank you very much. I wasn't kidding when I said I am blessed.

Where to Go From Here?

In a previous post, I reflected on the path of academia which I didn't take, and wondered if I've missed out. Obviously, I've been questioning what to do with my life--specifically, wondering if I am still being called to be a SAHM, or if I should be considering other options.

I've ruled out working full-time because I don't feel that being a full-time employee, especially after having been home for so long, would be good for my family right now (unless, of course, there was no other option financially.) But a part-time tutoring job using my teaching skills would be doable, and the extra money would be helpful. I've been thinking about it too much, especially since I wouldn't start working until the next school year starts. I'm trying to make myself wait until it's time to apply before I start trying to line up childcare and so forth. I can't help it--I'm a control freak planner!

I just want to make sure that if I get a job, I'm doing it for the right reasons. When Miss Pink was around two, my husband's business was in trouble and I wanted to go back to work. He refused--and that is saying a lot since he's always been supportive of my choices. But she is his daughter too and I felt I couldn't put her in day care against his wishes--not to mention the damage it would cause to our marriage if I steamrolled over him. The money problems worked out and later I came to realize that he had actually been against it because I wanted to work for the wrong reasons. I wanted to work because I was angry at him for not providing enough (real nice, right?) and I wanted to be the savior of the situation. I'm sure that every time I had a bad day, I would have held it over his head: "Well, I wouldn't feel so terrible if I DIDN'T HAVE TO WORK AND IT'S ALL YOUR FAULT GAH!"

I've grown up a lot since then. And learned to appreciate my husband more. This time, Justin is fine with me working part-time if the right job opens up, especially since the kids are older. I guess I'm just questioning whether I'm falling into the trap that I need to be making money to be "worth something" to society.

This post by Jennifer of Conversion Diary has fueled my soul-searching. (Seriously, click over and read it--she is such an awesome writer.) If I am called to stay home at this point of my life, I need to accept that calling and stop fighting against God's will for me. Then and only then will I find peace. On the other hand, if the restlessness I'm feeling is a sign that I need to explore another path, then that's where I need to go. It's possible that I just need to wait, as I originally intended, until Mr. Blue is in kindergarten.

Sigh. I guess I have my direction: to wait until I find out whether the job would work with our schedule. I just wish I knew in advance what to do! But I was never promised a guarantee for next year, or even tomorrow.

Hello all! I have missed being around the past couple of days--in fact, I meant to post Thursday night about where I would be all day Friday, but I ran out of time. Several friends and I were in a courtroom for a hearing in case we were needed to testify for our friend M. Obviously, I can't go into the details, but basically her estranged husband (the divorce is not final) decided to keep her son away from her for the past few weeks, which is WRONG WRONG WRONG but anyway.... Her family, friends, coworkers, and day care providers filled up one side of the courtroom to show their support because she is truly a wonderful mother and she should never have had to go through this. The judge appointed a child advocate to help determine the best interests of the child, and in the end both sides were able to come to a temporary agreement of joint custody. It meant a lot to M to have us there, so I am glad I went.

Then last night my brother Bo and his lovely girlfriend Heather came over to watch our kiddos so we could go out. We went out to dinner and went shopping so Justin could spend his Christmas money. (It's my turn next.) It was so nice to look around and let him try things on without keeping the kids from pulling stuff off of shelves or hiding under the racks. So if they are reading this, thanks again, Heather and Bo!

Some funny things happened last night. Over dinner, Justin and I were discussing ways to trim down our eating-out budget. Ironic, no? I mentioned a birthday dinner for one of my friends next week, which is being held at a casual-chic restaurant here in town. When I said there the dinner was being held, Justin said, "That's a little expensive!" And he seemed upset about it, especially when I said, "Well, I have to go--she's one of my best friends!" I thought that was unusual since he normally doesn't get his feathers ruffled over things like that.

Finally he said something that made us realize that I had mispronounced the name of the place, making it sound like the dinner was at one of the fanciest steakhouses in our city, where dinner for one would be about $70 (as opposed to $15 or so at the actual restaurant). Here I was talking about cutting down on Sunday morning doughnuts, and he thought I wanted to spend that much at dinner--and that our friend would expect me to! Thank goodness we figured it out so no bad feelings remained!

The other funny thing that happened while we were out: Mr. Blue had his toy laptop out, tapping away at the keyboard, and he announced to everyone, "I just checking my email!" I claim full responsibility for that since whenever he wants to play on the computer and I'm on it, I always say, "Just let me check my email!" (Or your blogs, but he doesn't have to know that!)

Week in review, 10/19--10/25

I'm sorry I wasn't around much this week. It was a strange week for me.

On Monday, I thought my husband might be about to die.

Yes, I AM always this overdramatic--why do you ask?

See, last week a spot under his arm swelled a little and got sore. We both felt a little concerned and said that he should probably go to a dermatologist and get it checked. (We've been saying that for a couple of years; he has a family history of skin cancer. Also, his father died of sarcoma, which is similar to skin cancer; it's a very rare cancer of the connective tissue and soft tissue. So we know firsthand how nasty these things can be.)

Then by Sunday the spot had turned black and was still sore. That alarmed us. I knew when a mole gets sore and changes color that it needs to be checked right away. Even my husband, who is normally the most optimistic person I know, was worried and he called the next day to get an appointment with a dermatologist. The appointment was Wednesday afternoon.

I was holding together pretty well, but I had the possibility of a nightmarish situation in the back of my mind all day. I wrote in my journal that the cold hand of dread held my heart. Finally, during my prayer time, I broke down and wrote about it and wept while I was writing. I asked God to help me face whatever was coming even while I was hoping the worst wasn't going to happen. I thought of the women I know who have lost husbands while their children were young. I wondered how we would survive if Justin couldn't work. I asked God to let us keep him even though I knew that prayer might not be answered. After all, bad things do happen to good people. I don't believe that I am protected from catastrophe because I am a Christian; I don't think I can say the right words or promise to do the right deeds to stay safe because I don't think faith works that way. The rain falls on the just and the unjust. I do think God can work everything out for good if you participate in the process, but you might not like everything that happens in that process.

Anne Lamott once said that the two best prayers she knows are "Help!" and "Thank you." I said the first and hoped I would be able to say the second. And then I wiped my eyes (well, really my whole face because I am an ugly crier) and went to pick Miss Pink up. I was hoping Wednesday would get there quickly so we could find out what was going on.

That night Justin went to choir practice. A nurse who works for the dermatologist he was going to see was at practice--that's why we chose that particular doctor--and Justin told her what was going on. She asked if she could take a look at the spot, and as soon as she saw it said, "That's not cancer; that's a skin tag that's been cut off from its blood supply." That's why it turned dark so suddenly. When Justin came home and told me I sighed in relief. Sure enough, when you looked at it more closely you could see it wasn't a mole, but a tiny flap of skin like one he had under his eyebrow. I slept so much better that night.

He went to the appointment and had that cut out and several more places burned off (sounds wonderful, doesn't it?) just to be sure, and from now on he will go once or twice a year to be checked. If something ever DOES come up, it will be dealt with properly. So that was good--and it only took a few years and a scare to get him set up with a dermatologist.

As for me--yes, I may have overreacted. (Story of my life.) However, in the past I would have freaked out, cried all day, scared my children, and made harder for my husband to deal with the situation. All while neglecting to pray or do something to manage my own feelings instead of wanting someone else to make me feel better. So this was progress.

After all that, you would think I would have a wonderful week, like a woman in an inspirational article. The thing which I feared had passed us by! And now I would cherish my dear husband EVEN MORE because I realized what a fleeting thing life is, and we should all live like we are dying, etc., etc.

In actuality, I didn't enjoy the rest of the week all that much but I'm glad we still have our normal life. Except I had to take Miss Pink to see High School Musical 3 for a birthday party, and the High School Musical world is definitely not normal.

But here's something Mr. Blue said which cracked us all up. At lunch with my parents, I asked him if he wanted chicken fingers. He said very plainly in a puzzled tone, "Chickens don't have fingers!" While we were laughing he continued, "Chickens have thumbs!"

Here's to next week. We're all still here and healthy, and that's plenty for me to be thankful for.

How to Stay Happily Married

UPDATED TO ADD: I did have him show me what I was supposed to do. Turns out I was measuring from the wrong end of the wall.

Now I have to say I can't really blame him for getting frustrated with me!

*
Justin, getting very aggravated with me over the phone because I can't understand his directions as to how to take a measurement in the playroom: FINE. I'll just do it myself when I get home.

Me: Hey, don't get mad at ME because no one ever showed me how to do this stuff just because I'm a girl. [I don't say, "Because I never wanted to learn how."]

Him, still mad but realizing he can't win an argument about gender roles: Okay. I'll just shut my stupid mouth.

[I don't say, "You do that."]

How to Break a Husband From Ignoring Your Calls

A couple of weeks ago, during gymnastics class, I had a conversation with the woman who spends mega-bucks on her teenage daughter’s highlights. And no, we didn’t talk about beauty procedures (good thing, because I don't know all that much about them).

I’m glad I didn’t avoid her, because she’s not as shallow as I’d first thought. For example, she is a part-time reading tutor, and she obviously doesn’t need to do it for the money. We talked for a while about that (I’d love to have a job like that again, when both kids are in school) and then she mentioned that her husband works long hours and travels a lot. Then she proceeded to tell me a story about how he used to be too busy to answer her calls.

(Notice I said “used to be.” We English majors call that “foreshadowing.”)

(Oh, and you have to imagine this story being told by a typical Texas lady-who-lunches with perfectly coiffed hair, manicured nails and a Tiffany silver necklace, with a small, slightly breathy voice, just a tiny bit reminiscent of Minnie Mouse. Somehow that adds to the drama.)

The minivan this lady drove started having transmission problems. She told her husband about it, and he said he’d arrange to have it fixed, but he kept putting it off because he’s so driven dedicated. Then one morning after she dropped her younger daughter off at school, the minivan gave up the ghost and she ended up in the ditch. As you might expect, she called her husband. He didn’t answer his phone. Some Good Samaritans came along and helped her get the van home. It took a couple of hours, during which she called her husband several more times. He still didn’t return her calls.

At home, she wondered what she should do and decided to call her parents, who live out of state. Her dad looked up the blue book value of the van and told her it wasn’t worth much with a dead transmission. To make a long story short, our heroine remembered that she liked the Nissan Pathfinder that she’d seen on commercials for a local dealership, and she called them. They told her to have her van towed to a gas station next to them, but to get in it and coast into their driveway. If she drove it in, they could get her $1000.00 on the trade-in, as opposed to almost nothing if it was towed in.

So that’s what she did. She negotiated the deal, got a couple of thousand off the asking price, signed the papers, and drove her new car to pick up her daughter from school. Her husband had still not called her back, even though she’d tried him several more times during the process.

At 5:45 he finally called her back. “Honey, what were you calling me about at eight o’clock?” he asked. (Can’t you just hear the false innocence in his voice?)

“Sit down, because it’s going to take a while,” she told him.

He started to get mad that she had bought a brand-new vehicle without his approval, and she said, “Hold it right there. I did what I had to do because you wouldn’t answer my calls. So I’m going to hang up and you’re going to think about what happened today and call me back when you’ve calmed down.”

He called her back an hour later and said, “I’m ready to see the beautiful new car that you’ve picked out for our family.”

Now, she says, when she visits him at work, his coworkers point her out as the woman who makes $35,000 decisions because her husband didn’t take her calls.

Now, she says, he is much better about calling her back.

Happy Anniversary to Us

Tomorrow, June 7, will be our eleventh wedding anniversary.

Put like that, it seems impossible that so much time has passed since we said, “I do.” On the other hand, I feel like I hardly know that girl, who was so happy to have found the love of her life after she’d thought she might have to give up on love—at the ripe old age of twenty-one. (Snort.)

Specifically, I wonder, What was I thinking?

The plain facts, without the gloss of romance to soften them, make me shudder a little, imagining how I’d feel if my daughter got married ten months after meeting a guy. In fact, we didn’t tell our parents, but we talked about marriage after only a month of dating. After we got engaged, I asked Justin when he wanted to get married, and he said, “As soon as possible.” Since he’s seven years older than I am, he’d been dating long enough to know what he wanted: “And I want you,” he said.

He could have been a murderer, an abuser, or a garden-variety jerk who ignores his wife’s needs. So much could have gone wrong. And yet it didn’t.

Because, despite my naïveté and impulsiveness, I chose well. There was an inexplicable feeling of rightness that everyone who knew us sensed, and I think that’s because my husband is a man of great integrity. He is who he is. Like the Bible says, there is no guile in him.

Here’s the kind of guy he is.

He doesn’t begrudge me anything. If I say I need it, it’s mine. (Luckily for our finances, I don’t take advantage of his generosity.)

The night I met him, I thought, “This guy couldn’t tell a lie to save his life.” And I was right; he’s a man of his word. I can always count on him.

Every evening when he walks in the door, no matter how hard his day was, he gives me a hug and scoops the kids up and plays with them. He supplies all the physical fun and games that I’m no good at. He’s such a good father.

Before Mother’s Day, he got some extra money and instead of following my instructions to get me something under $20, he remembered that months ago I had mentioned in passing that someday I’d like a strand of pearls. More than the pearls themselves, the fact that he remembered was the sweetest thing.

He is an optimist and a dreamer—which balances out my Chicken Little tendency to think the sky is falling at any given moment. Amazingly, thanks to his hard work, the dreams are starting to come true.

He is not a pushover. Although he listens to my opinion, he doesn’t let me--or anyone else—steamroll over him. In fact, I appreciate his decisiveness because I am capable of waffling over any issue, including where we should go out to eat, which drives him crazy.

I could go on and on, but I think it’s clear that I married the right guy. As my own mother has said, no one else could have put up with my emotional roller coaster for this long. Justin has stuck by me for better or for worse, in (mental) sickness and in health, for richer (which hasn’t happened yet, but he says it will and I’m starting to believe him) and for poorer. I wouldn’t trade anything for the past eleven years, because even the hard times have brought us closer together. The girl standing at that altar wouldn’t have believed she could love her groom more than she did at that moment.

But I do. Happy anniversary, honey.

My One Recurring Dream

I have a rule about dreams, which is: do not discuss them. No one cares what nonsensical thing you dreamed. (The corollary to this rule is: do not use them in a short story. Just don’t.) Of course, I violate this rule all the time, but only with my husband, and only if I dreamed something really weird. But I have to write about this, because I don’t understand why I am having a particular recurring dream. Maybe someone reading this will understand me better than I understand myself (it could happen!)

In these dreams I am younger than I am now, and unmarried. But I want to get married. I want to find someone, fall in love with him, and spend the rest of my life with him. I am always, in the dream, desperately worried that this will not happen and I will end up dying alone and no one will notice. Usually there is some guy (either fictitious or someone from my past) who is a possibility, but there is always some obstacle preventing us from getting together. I always wake up without having “caught” the guy, and for a few seconds I feel completely bummed, until I realize that there is a man lying next to me with whom I have already fallen in love, married, and had babies with. An enormous sense of relief follows. Then I wake Justin up and inform him that he is not allowed to divorce me or die, so that I will never have to date again. (Just kidding, I would never wake him up to tell him that, but he knows how I feel about this.)

Why in heaven’s name would I be so agitated in a dream about finding a love I already have? I don’t think I have conveyed the depth of the anxiety I feel during these dreams. They certainly aren’t pleasant fantasies that explore the idea of “what might have happened if I hadn’t met Justin, would I have ended up with that guy?” No--in fact, I’m not even that interested in the “dream guy” for himself; it’s more like he’s a security blanket for me to say “I’m married.” Is that what I secretly think of marriage? I don’t think so—of course there’s the added benefit of never having to find a date for any event, but marriage is so much more than that for me. I do love spending time with my husband—he’s my best friend, and sometimes we still can’t stop talking after we turn the lights out even though we know we need to get some sleep—but I value my time alone, too. Still, I guess there’s a big difference between being alone and being alone.
And I guess on some level I’m afraid of being alone.

See, I didn’t mean to get all serious with this idea. It was supposed to be more of a “look how crazy my brain is” post. And to prove I can write a post that's not about my kids. Who knew I would end up blubbering about my “abandonment issues” or whatever.

Sorry about that.

In the end, I guess what matters is that I wake up happy to be in my life instead of the one my brain has conjured up while I sleep. I’m happy with the man I chose. I’m happy he’s the one who tells me, “I’m here. You’re not alone.”

Underwhelming Transformation

This morning I said to my husband, “I think that after 10 years of marriage, you’ve changed me more than I’ve changed you.”

And then I couldn’t immediately offer any concrete evidence, except that I now eat toast this way: bread buttered and toasted under the broiler instead of toasted in the toaster and then buttered. (There is a whole complicated process to Toastmaking Justin’s Way, which involves spreading the butter ALL THE WAY TO THE EDGE of the bread to prevent excess browning, and turning the bread over to let the back firm up just a bit so it’s perfect for holding jelly so he can fold the piece of toast in half with the buttered side outside and the jelly inside—it’s making me tired just thinking about it. So I figured if I had to make toast according to his specifications anyway, I might as well make some for myself. If you can’t beat him, join him. And it is yummy.)

But at least that was ONE thing that marriage has changed about me, whereas I couldn’t think of ANY way he’s changed to accommodate my habits. I mean, we’ve both had to change since we had kids—but just for each other? Ha! The only change I can think of was mutual, and happened even before our kids arrived: we both decided that sleep was more important than staying out late so we can feel cool. We both know we are uncool; we embrace the uncoolness and OWN it. (This will come in handy when our kids tell us we are uncool. We will just smile and agree.)

OH! I just thought of something! I make a concerted effort to close the cabinet doors after I get something out, even if I am just going to open them up again in 2 minutes, because he can’t stand seeing the cabinet doors left open. It is his profession to build beautiful cabinets, after all. So I close them. But does he remember to put the lid back on medicine bottles or re-fold the towel after washing his hands? NOOOO! (He is in deep denial about this, by the way; doesn’t even believe he forgets to do these things.)

Okay, I can see that dwelling on this issue too long could lead to marital conflict. Better move on.

Justin said he didn’t think my statement about our comparative changing was true. When challenged to name ways that I’ve changed him, he did. 1) He feels he is less harsh with Miss Pink than he would tend to be, because I have helped him see when discipline needs to be tempered with gentleness; and 2) I force him to express his emotions when he is upset and tries to bottle them up, and he is glad because then we can work things out.

After he said that, I told him that he had helped me to become less dramatic and overemotional. For the first seven years or so, he tried to do this by telling me not to have negative emotions. I think he actually said once, “Well then, just don’t feel that way.” Might as well tell me to become a guy: it was impossible. Then he learned to make me feel safe and appreciated, so I gradually didn’t feel that I had to make a big scene to get my needs met.

Thanks, honey. We might not have changed each other much, but we’ve learned to live with each other pretty darn well.

Behavioral Modification

I've mentioned how my kitchen floor remains perpetually dirty? Well, on Saturday my husband swept, mopped, and scrubbed the really dirty spots on his hands and knees. I was mystified but grateful.

Of course, after three meals today, the space around the high chair looked like the bottom of a monkey cage. Justin cleaned up the high chair and the floor--again. He said he just didn't want his work undone so fast.

How can I get him to clean the floor next weekend so he takes pride in his accomplishment again?