The Suffering Has Ended!

I can't stand it any more, I have to blog. I lost sleep the other night just wondering if maybe I'd forgotten how. Then I lost some more sleep writing out practice blog posts in my head just so I could prove to myself that my brain still functioned in blog-mode. I'm still not sure, but I'm giving it a whirl. Hopefully there's at least one person out there who will read this and let me know?

So, I have to tell you all that I am cured! I know, I've been gone so long that none of you knew I was even suffering at all, let alone from several different seemed-like-chronic diseases. Today, I would like to report that all of them have disappeared without a trace, and it's kind of amazing. I now have a (mostly)clean bill of mental health. (Mostly. I do still have four children, so there are bound to be moments).

Naturally you're all dying to know what was ailing me, and how I've been cured, and naturally I'm about to tell you. It all comes down to one cause, and one glorious cure-all. I'VE MOVED!!!! I NO LONGER LIVE IN THAT OLD, ONE BATHROOM, TWO BEDROOM HOUSE!!!! AND MY NEW HOUSE IS BRAND NEW!!!!!

Like I said. Glorious. It's really the only word.

And now I no longer suffer from messifloritis. Messifloritis is something that one suffers from if one has seriously insufficient closet space in one's bedroom. It is a very serious disease. (Particularly if one also suffers from another disease known as luvofclothitis, which I unfortunately happen to have a rather severe case of). Messiforitis causes one's bedroom floor to be constantly strewn with clothing that has no where else to go. It causes one's husband to kick one's clothing into the corner every so many days - usually after the strewn becomes the piled - and that generally causes friction in one's marriage. Especially if the 'strewn' or 'piled' clothing had been strategically and carefully placed to avoid wrinkles, and aid in the locating of specific articles. Kind of like a personal filing system for clothing on the floor.

But now, thanks to my new WALK IN CLOSET!!!!!, this is no longer a problem. In fact, it has recently been revealed that He - as in the former clothing-kicker - is actually way more guilty than previously thought. It seems now that my clothes aren't taking up so much of the available floor space, the ones he leaves lying around are way more prevalent. But I try to be patient. And I try to pretend that if he had more closet space of his own he wouldn't suffer from messifloritis either. (Even though it's common knowledge that he never uses a closet for anything but hunting gear).

I also used to suffer from tripthruthedorococcus. This particular disease is even more dangerous, because it puts not only the sufferer, but the immediate family members at risk of injury or death. Tripthruthedorococcus is something you're at risk for if you have only one door through which to enter your house (because the other one can only be opened from the inside), and insufficient closet/coat storage/shoe storage space once inside your door.

The injuries connected to this disease are sustained by constantly tripping and/or breaking your ankle on all the dropped possessions and kicked off shoes that surround the area just inside the door. The death-risk comes in to play for those children (and spouses) responsible for leaving the articles lying on the floor that caused the mother to trip and/or injure herself.

(*Note: I did once discover another partial cure for this disease, but it required giving all children one swat for each article left lying around. It definitely helped, but finally I got tired of the beatings, so I gave it up and went back to risking my sanity.)

The last disease I'll mention here (because there just isn't time to list them all) is cramitin syndrome. This one is easy to diagnose. All you need to do to find a case of CS in your own neighborhood, is drive down the road and look for houses with no garage, or other outdoor storage facility. Anywhere you see this difficiency you know you've found a sufferer.

When one doesn't have a garage (or shed, or shop, or four poles and a tarp) it is really very sad. The suffering here is very, very real. Especially if one's husband is a carpenter and has lots of tools. Or is a hunter and has lots (and lots, and lots) of hunting gear. Or has other hobbies - like canoeing, fishing, weight lifting, etc - that all require gear storage. All of these things seriously heighten the impact of cramitin syndrome.

Said impact is found throughout the house (i.e. every available closet, drawer, corner, etc.), and finally - in advanced cases - the front porch and outlying areas begin to reveal symptoms. It isn't pretty. We managed to hide this disease for several years, but after the dog house, the table saw, and the chain saw came into the picture (not to mention the canoe), hiding our sickness became impossible.

And if one should one actually try to mix four children and a dog into this mix, the results are horrifying. The symptoms quickly escalate into full blown, sanity-threatening, stage four CS, and even one's neighbors begin to suffer second hand symptoms of the disease.

But now, thanks to my wonderful new house (which, if you click here and select plan number 2576you can take a virtual tour of, minus the amazing laundry room we added in place of the back porch, and the extra TEN FEET we added to the garage), I am free. Free from all my old house induced sanity-threatening diseases, and life is rather wonderful. I have done so much complaining about my old house (like in this post) that it seems sharing this good news is the least I can do to any of you who had to hear me complain before. I've actaully felt seriously guilty these last four months knowing that possibly some of you might still be praying for my suffering to end.

It's ended people! I have space! I have THREE TOILETS! (remember how bad the one toilet situation had become? I could have dedicated an entire post to the signs and symptoms of that disease). And I can honestly say that this blessing has met every single hope and expectation I ever had. Like I said, it's glorious.

Hey Blogland! Is Anybody Out There???

The good news, is that I actually remembered my login AND password. How are all of you?!? I mean, all three of you who might still occasionally remember me, and wonder where I am...

I really have nothing exciting to report - either that, or I have way too much to even begin to get into it. It depends on whether you want the rundown since the last time I graced you with my presence here in Blogland, or whether you just want this week's exciting list of mundane events. I suppose for starters, I could just give you the rest of the story on the Disneyland saga:

Shortly after my last appearance, I became overwhelmed with the desire to tell my family about Disneyland. (Could have had something to do with the payment in-full on the non-refundable/too-late-for-husband-to-back-out-of-them plane tickets, and the half-payment {also non-refundable, etc.} on the Disneyland package. Or it could have just been a coincidence. You decide...)

It went over well. Considering. I mean, yes, Mr. Husband's first words were something on the order of "Great. Have fun. I won't be going," but never fear, that didn't slow me down a bit. With a few choice words - like, "too late honey, it's already paid for" and he was putty in my hands.

True, on the plane he was still saying things like, "this is going to be so lame," and "I'll just stay in the rooms while you take the kids," but I was confident. No one can go to Disneyland and not love it. Right?

So right.

By day two, he was a worse Disneyland junkie than I am, and by the end of the week when I was saying, "Maybe we don't need to use today's pass, let's hang out at the pool instead," his response was, "Fine, you stay here with the kids, I'm going to Disneyland." And he meant it. Not to mention the fact that he was already planning our next several trips by the end of the week. (Including the one where he and I go with only little Miss Meara, and then when we get to come back just us - as in no kids.)

Mr. Husband LOVED Disneyland!

(I knew it.)

But now we're back in the real world, still sans computer, and I'm lucky to check my email a couple of times a week. With Christmas coming (along with a possible lay-off) I don't see a new laptop in my near future, so you may not hear from me for awhile. Which includes me visiting you, because it's too painful to be only half a part of Blogland. I want it all. As soon as I see what everyone else is blogging, my computer-less depression starts all over, and I have cravings to spend all my free time at my mother's kitchen table (on her laptop) so I can reclaim my place, and spout my opinions once more. So sad.

But before I go, I would like to dedicate this post to all of you who have actually taken the time to visit my nearly-dead blogstop to tell me you missed me. Seriously, it's enough to make a girl get misty eyed, and it totally makes my day to know I'm not completely forgotten. And who knows, someday my ship just might come in and I'll be back for good.

I hope...

Vacuuming Karma

When I was a kid we had chores. We actually had a lot of chores - which were solidified into permanence with the chore charts my mother hung on the wall. There were inside chores and outside chores, and as far as the inside chores went, we each had certain things that were "our" chore. I suppose you could say Mom had us specialize. For instance, Laura (age ten) mopped the kitchen floor and cleaned the upstairs bathroom, and I (age eight) vacuumed the living room and dusted. (I don't have any recollection of what Annie did, but I'm assuming she must have had to do something).

Anyhow, when it came to vacuuming I definitely specialized. As in, I vacuumed in a very special way. And might I just add that it had nothing to do with how well or quickly I did the job. My specialty was in style.

Every Thursday (i.e., vacuuming day) I would come home from school (Mom was usually still at work) and get ready to vacuum. Eagerly, I would hurry into the living room, sort through the records and make my selection - "Million Dollar Sellers Vol. (1,2, or 3, I can't remember)" side Two. Straight out of the 1950's, these were some rockin' songs. Songs like "The Wheel of Fortune" "Mule Train" and "Three Coins in the Fountain". As noted, we had three volumes - which translates into six sides - and I always vacuumed to the same record, side two.

It usually took me at least three renditions of "Wheel of Fortune" (using the vacuum as a microphone, of course), and a couple rousing trips through "Wild Goose" (or whatever the official title of that one is), and at least a few repeats of "The People of Paris".

These were all performance numbers, by the way. I had routines. I danced, lip synced, and/or sang my way through the entire record - sometimes twice - before I considered the job done. It took me a really, really, really long time to vacuum the living room.

And I relished every second of it.

And I have no doubt that had my mother been home to witness this recital, she would have gone mad watching me and wondered (and possibly yelled about) how long it took me to finish vacuuming.

Today I told N (my eight year old) to vacuum. I want you to know that every single time I came in the room and found him standing in front of the mirror vacuuming up his lower lip whilst making strange noises (which got even stranger as they echoed out of the vacuum), I tried to have patience. I pictured myself waltzing around the living room with the vacuum extension (which wasn't even hooked to the hose half the time), and I took a few deep breaths.

And then - in my most patient mother-voice - I would say, "Um, do you think you could do a little vacuuming?"

I love that kid.

What If I Posted Something on My Blog??

So, I'm up here at my mother's house looking at my very neglected blog, and I'm wondering. What would happen if after almost an entire month I were to post something?

For instance, what if I decided to inform Blogland that my husband finally got a job? Or that it ended yesterday, but he has another one coming up in a week? Would anyone even care that he'll spend the entire summer driving at least five hours a day in a car with no air conditioning?

Maybe people would assume that thanks to our state of employment I am now saving for a computer.

Unfortunately, this would not be a correct assumption. Often times when large, critical pieces of information are missing we make these incorrect assumptions, so I forgive any of you who may be guilty of this. How could you possibly know about the vacation I locked my family into back in February? This would be the one where Annie called me and practically forced me to take a seven day opening at a two bedroom condo half a mile from Disneyland for $250 for this coming October.

Of course in February we had a job. And a computer - which is why none of you know about this vacation. At the time, my husband was known to occasionally glance at my blog, so I didn't dare mention the vacation I locked us into without telling him. Now, however, since we're computerless and there's no chance he'll ever see my blog, I can tell you.

That's right, he still doesn' know. At the time, seeing how he hates Disneyland, hates crowds, hates flying, and loves taking a week off every Fall to go elk hunting (which he will be foregoing in favor of our California adventure), I decided back in February that it would be better if I didn't tell him until I purchased our plane tickets and there was no way out.

Then came the layoff. And now, although we may be currently employed, due to the hit our finances have taken I'm not sure now is the time to lay it all on him. Especially since I just purchased five non-refundable plane tickets, and five four day hopper passes to Disneyland.

Possibly it would have been much wiser to take the loss on the $250 for the condo, but somehow I just couldn't stop myself. As a family, we have never taken any real vacations. We have no debt but our house, and sink most of the spendable portion of our tax return into fixing the house. And now my oldest is ten, and I'm feeling a bit desperate. I want this vacation. I'm determined to do it, and one way or another I will make it work.

But when do I have to tell him? I thought waiting until it was fully paid for would be a good idea, so meanwhile I'm prepping him with conversations like:

Me: Wouldn't it be fun to take the kids to Disneyland?

Him: No.

Me: Why not?

Him: Disneyland is dumb. Besides, it would cost a fortune.

Me (carefully sidestepping the issue of cost): Seriously honey, you would have fun! We really should just take a week and go to Disneyland.

Him: A week?!? What would we do there for a week? I mean we only need one day to go to Disneyland.

So do you see the kind of progress I'm making? It might not seem like much to the pessimists out there, but to me we're making some significant gains here. Did he not just say he'd go there for a day? This is progress. Pure, unadulterated forward progression.

Maybe I just won't tell him till we board the plane - you know, "Surprise! We're taking a complimentary airplane ride! I wonder where they're taking us?" or something like that. It could work...

Right?

Too...much...pressure...

***Note - I'd like to thank my sister Annie for making this post possible. Without her there to cut an paste, it would have remained in my email forever. To show my appreciation, I'm letting her choose the title, AND giving my permission for her to give herself a little link - because we all know she'd do it anyway. Thanks Annie.

Role reversals - aren't they fun? Is it bad that I've kind of enjoyed watching my husband be mom for the last four weeks? I can't really count those first two weeks, because back then (in my innocence) I was still coming home and picking up any and all slack, i.e., laundry, dinner, dishes, general cleaning, etc.

Then I got sick.

It was a Monday morning, and I felt awful. We're talking lay-in-bed-actually-sleeping-because-you-feel-too-rotten-to-do-anything-else. Just think of it - I stayed in bed until ONE O'CLOCK IN THE AFTERNOON.

!!!!!!!!!!

Seriously. When is the last time you got to do that? (And if this is what always happens to you when you get sick because your husband is some kind of award-winning saint, we don't want to hear about it. Maybe later, but not right now. This is MY moment to shine!) As I lay there watching him take care of everything - and enjoying making comments like, "what are you fixing for dinner?" and "will you please go help L with his math now?" - I got to thinking.

How will he ever understand what it's like to be me if I keep being me? How can he appreciate what I'm doing if he doesn't ever do it? How can he know what it's like to work all day and then come home to a house full of people who strip out of their clothes as they walk through the door, leave a trail everywhere they go, and expect ME to pick it all up, AND make dinner, AND clean up after dinner, if I keep doing all of it as soon as I walk through the door? So I stopped. Tuesday came, I went to work, I came home from work, and I pretty much just hung around reading my book.

Now, in my husband's defense I have to say that he does pitch in around the house. He definitely has his stuff that he does - like mowing the lawn and home improvements/repairs (which are kind of constant at our house) - and he has assigned nightly tasks such as C and M's story, teeth brushing, bedtime, etc. He's also known to randomly do things like clean and organize my laundry room, or tackle the family room, and when he takes on the bathroom it's with boiling water and a toothbrush. (He was a Marine, remember?)

However. On a nightly basis, he generally remains completely unaware of what's going on around him as far as household maintenance goes. He'll play with the kids and let them sneak upstairs to watch movies with him (we have no TV, and movie watching is strictly for Friday-Sunday after school during the school year), but I have to say it rarely occurs to him to pick up toys, run a vacuum, help in the kitchen, or do anything related to laundry during the week.

Times are a changin'.

That first week of me doing nothing was a real eye opener. Even his usual daytime routine (which he does pretty well at during the day when he's home with the kids) suffered, due to several days of errand running. By Friday things were looking pretty bad, and I was still coming home saying obnoxious things like "Hey, what's for dinner?" It might sound heartless, but it was worth it. And kind of fun. As far as the husband goes, let's just say he noticed the difference between "helpful wife" and "oblivious, book-reading wife".

I must admit, however, that after that first week or so I put down the book and started picking up some of the slack. But overall, I think it's been a successful experiment. A few highlights:

I love how when he's the one keeping things clean, NO ONE is allowed to make a mess, and the kitchen is closed when he's done with it. Every time he says, "I JUST cleaned in here, what happened?!?" I get a thrill.

I love that he makes dinner. I never knew roast could get mushy, and I've never seen noodles boiled that long, but every time I sit down to a dad-meal it makes me smile. He can never say he doesn't know how to cook again. (And it's cute when he calls me all concerned, and says things like, "Was I supposed to turn the oven to 250? Oops, I turned it to 350. Is that okay?")

I'm amazed at how he can still block out jobs like the bathroom and laundry.

I love how every time I send him grocery shopping it's like Russian roulette. Let's just say we have some serious communication problems, and he is apparently completely unable to ask store personnel for assistance. (But Walmart really did stop selling my hair product, so he actually wasn't blind that time - I just haven't told him yet). (Do you think I have to?)

Overall, I think I just love him - employed or not.

To Whom It May Concern:

I am at my mom's, my kids are in the car waiting for me, and I have about five minutes to spare on this computer. I thought I'd read a couple of blogs. I had no idea I'd been gone so long. Seriously, like every single person on my sidebar has posted AT LEAST once during the last week, and I've missed all of it. There are about zero comments from me out there in blogland, and I feel totally out of the loop.

This stinks.

And it doesn't even take into account the posts I wanted to write this week - all of which have completely escaped my brain. My original plan was to get up here sometime over the weekend and write a couple of posts I could schedule for this week - but life kind of got in the way.

That said, I just want everyone to know how much I appreciate those of you still taking the time to read my blog (AND COMMENT!!) while I totally neglect you in return. I just have to say that my life is a bit stressed right now (week six of husband's unemployment) and every comment I got this last week really put a smile on my face. I'd been thinking about dropping my blog (since who knows when I'll be able to get another computer), but there is no doubt that being able to reach out and share things with all of you truly makes things better.

So really, this post isn't a post at all - it's just a big THANK YOU!! To all of you who care. Seriously. You may never know.

The Three Year Old - Proving the Existence of God One Tantrum at a Time

I so don't have time to do this right now, but here I am blogging. My old computer that was briefly resurrected after the loss of my regular one crashed last week (hence the lack of posts), so I am once again computer-less, and at the mercy of using other people's computers.

In other news, this past weekend Little Miss Two officially became Little Miss Three. But between you and me, this actually started happening some time ago. You know the whole now-that-the-child-is-three-and-talks-in-complete-sentences-this-should-all-get-so-much-less-frustrating feelings you have as your child nears three? I hate those. They are COMPLETELY false, and in reality this is NOT what happens. At all.

Instead, it gets worse. You think they'll become more reasonable, when in all actuality they're the definition of "unreasonable". They have opinions. They have preferences. You get major meltdowns over what color cup they want, which stool they sit on, which one of you is going to get them dressed, etc. Oh what I'd give for the days before color-knowledge and independence.

Miss Three has a particularly bad case of independencitis - aka, an irritation caused from three year olds who think they can and should do everything themselves, when in fact, life would be much easier if they just let you be the parent. Seriously. Do you have any idea how long it takes her to put on her shoes/climb into the car AND her car seat/get her pj's off and her clothes on? I'll bet that in the last few months I've spent hours of my life watching her accomplish these tasks.

And then there's the other category: The things you wish they would do for themselves, but insist you do for them.

Doll dressing falls into this category. Miss Three has an insatiable urge to strip and re-dress her dolls over, and over, and over again. Only she can't get the clothes back on, so I have to do it. Over, and over, and over again.

Thankfully, three year olds are also living, walking, and whining proof that the Lord does, in fact, know exactly what he's doing. Why else would he make them the cutest things on the face of the earth? Seriously, they are so cute. And they say the most hilarious things. And they do the most hilarious things. And they can be so incredibly loving as they wrap their cute little arms around your neck and tell you how much they "wuv you".

Clearly the Lord was well aware of just how maddening and exasperating the human three year old would be. Knowing the feelings a single tantrum would cause, he blessed them with fat cheeks, dimpled elbows, and complete adorableness, just to ensure their survival. Somehow, even when they're at their absolute worst three year olds manage to be cute.

And it's a good thing, too.