PMS & Turkey: Thanksgiving for Cootie

I’m 32 years old. At this point in my Life I’ve finally made peace with my period. Or, at least, as much peace as one with a relatively healthy reproductive system can make with it anyway. I never can freaking remember when that magical date is each month that it’s supposed to start, but X can recite it at a moment’s notice (he is the best husband ever, have I mentioned that?). However, I do know when I tear up at fucking AT&T commercials, it’s coming soon.

Last week on Thursday was Thanksgiving. On Wednesday I started my period. Needless to say, I cried a lot last week. I don’t fight it like I used to. Don’t get angry about it or try to hide it wrapped in something else. I’m a girl. I get hormonal. Whoop-dee-fucking-do.

At this point in my Life, in addition to being ok with the insanity of crying for no REAL FUCKING REASON for at least a week out of every month, I’m finding myself being comfortable with a lot of things I never was before. I’m moody, that’s ok. I’m getting better at recognizing triggers for my mood swings. When I feel like it, I let them go. When I don’t, I don’t. I understand now that is my choice. I have a corny sense of humor & I laugh loudly. I cackle even. It’s a wicked sort of appreciative laugh. I am indulgent of my own whims and the whims of those I love. Self discipline isn’t really in my vocabulary. As a result, my weight yo-yo’s between 150 to 175 depending on the time of year & my stress levels. Additionally, my accounting skills leave something to be desired.  I hate balancing the checkbook. So I really just don’t. We fly by the seat of our pants with our bank accounts and sometimes have to pay for it.  I drink a lot. More than some, less than others.  I cuss like a sailor.  A pirate even. Some people are REALLY uncomfortable with that and I have a difficult time censoring myself… especially around those people.  I love my family. They are very conservative Christians and we have very different views on Religion & Politics, but I love them. And they Love me. I’ve missed having a good relationship with them over the past… oh… 17 or 18 years. I’m glad to be developing that with them again now.  All of these things, and more, make up who I am.

If I like you, if I’m interested in you at all, I want you to like me. I have a propensity for behaving/talking/acting in a way that will make you like me. I’m pretty good at it. I guarantee that if I have met you, I’ve done it with you at some point or another. At this point of my Life, I don’t want to do that anymore. I don’t want to pretend 8 hours a day 5 days a week at work. I don’t want to pretend around people who are supposed to be my friends. I don’t want to pretend around family. And I ESPECIALLY don’t want to come home and pretend. So I don’t anymore. Well… I still have to at work sometimes. All of us has to sacrifice a bit of ourselves on the altar of  Corporate America at some point and time. It brings in a paycheck.

I spent all last week contemplating the things I am thankful for this year and crying… a LOT. Every time I’d think about it, I’d cry. I cried at work.  I cried at home. I cried in the car.  And then I got blitzed on Sangria and sat on our couch and flat out WEPT at Fiddler on the Roof then passed out… still on the couch.

So, with no further ado, at this point in my Life (drum roll) I am thankful for:

• My Friends:  They are Awesome. Hoodie Mafia, Hoodie Triad, Hoodie Family, and most recently, Hoodie Mafia UK; my out of state friends (whom I don’t get to see or talk to nearly often enough) SpiritWheel Coven, my Weasels in Hotlanta, Skan & Steph in AR, my dear Jack in KY;  my Belle & Bella; and all my Twitter & Facebook peeps; you are smart & funny & inspirational. I depend on you on a regular basis for support & entertainment. Thank you for being part of my Life. Thank you for sharing your Lives with me. I appreciate you so very much. Thank you for loving me for me.
• My Family: Mom, the older I get the more I think I’m like you. I think about you daily and I hope that you know how much I love you. Dad, I’m still a Daddy’s girl. Every time you smile at me I feel proud & happy. Lauren, I love you so much.  I miss you. I hope one day we can be close again. Alisha, you are my little sister. I am SO glad that, after all these years, we are building a relationship. It means so much to me I don’t even have the words to express it. I know I’m difficult. I know sometimes I’m blunt & undiplomatic. I know I’ve done some crazy stuff over the years and made no apologies for it. But through it all, you have loved me. You have never turned your backs on me. Even when you didn’t understand where in the World I was coming from, you stood by me.  Thank you.
• The Loves of my Past: Gods…that sounds like some cheesy movie title doesn’t it? But I am thankful for each and every one of the people that I have loved & lost in the past. My first husband created Punky with me. You loved me with an intensity that would set a standard in my mind that I wouldn’t recognize until many years later. J, you were my best friend. Sometimes I still think about the days of driving around East Knox county in your little silver pick-up truck, listening to Nirvana and smoking camels. You taught me what it meant to embrace the simple things in Life and be carefree & indifferent to those things beyond my control. Rain, you…well, you were the one that got away. You were the only person I ever wanted, pursued, and didn’t get. You were smart & strong, creative & spunky. I looked up to you so much. And you are still my Friend, which is wonderful beyond words. My second husband, you were my Teacher. You helped me gather some of the most basic building blocks for my Spiritual Path. You taught me everything I know about Ritual. You encouraged my love for road trips, introduced me to hard liquor & BDSM, you opened the door for me to be the geek that I am today.  You taught me how to be cynical & hard. You crushed my naivete.  K & J…I fear this is still too close for me to be completely objective about…but you took me in at a time when I was shattered, vulnerable, hungry & hurting.  In bringing me into the Collective, you probably helped me more than anyone else to develop my understanding and appreciation of myself as an individual.
• My kids: Punky, we’ve been through some shit, you & me. I haven’t always been there for you like I wanted to be. I haven’t always put you first like I wanted to. I haven’t always been able to buy you the things you wanted, and sometimes I haven’t been able to buy you the things you need. I’m not about to win any Mother of the Year awards, I know this. But you make me feel like the best Mother in the World.  I am so proud of you… sometimes just looking at you makes my heart swell so much I don’t think I can bear it.  B, our Walk together is just beginning. I have adored you since the first time you walked into my home, hiding behind your Dad, trying to make yourself small. You are fun & funny & amazingly intelligent. I am thrilled to be in your Life & I love you for accepting me and blessing me with your affection.
• My X: My husband, my Beloved, my High Priest, Brother, best Friend, Lover, my Knight of Cups, my King Mob, my Partner, the Love of my Life, my Last One, Darlin’; and all of the other names that I have, and have not yet, given you. You are the best thing that has ever happened to me. You Love me without fail. You are patient & kind. You are strong & supportive. You have leaned on me and allowed me to lean on you as we have traveled together to this place & time where we both finally understand what it means to be whole & happy & fulfilled. You have built this wonderful home with me. You have laughed, cried, yelled, whispered, smiled, frowned, ran, crawled, danced & sang with me every step of the way. You have promised me your Forever & you have accepted mine. I am thankful every morning when I wake beside you and every night when I fall asleep beside you.  When we are apart nothing seems completely right and when we are together I don’t want to be anywhere else in the Universe. You are the embodiment of everything I’ve ever wanted/needed/desired in a Partner & more. You are perfect for me. And I am perfect for you. Ultimately, you have made it “ok” for me to be me. Thank you for choosing me. Thank you for Loving me. Thank you for accepting my Love for you. And thank you for being you. Because I Love who you are. So very much.

Happy Holidays, dear reader. I hope that you are Loved & Blessed.

Be excellent to each other, my Friends.

 

Well, what do you expect?

Well folks, we did it.  X & I got hitched on Halloween in a wonderful ceremony officiated by three of our best friends. We were surrounded by people we love dressed in a multitude of Awesome costumes.  We had SO MUCH FUN! It was the perfect wedding IMHO.

Three days into our married Life together, the inevitable happened. I made a comment on Twitter about not feeling well and before I knew it we were balls deep in ribbing & teasing about being pregnant. On any normal day I could have taken that in stride, but that was not a normal day. At that point, I had been feeling queasy, head-achey, irritable, and emotionally raw for about a week. Hormonal, maybe. Emotional backlash from getting married a third time, potentially. Who knows for sure, but the ribbing continued and by 6:30 in the evening I’d had enough and had a bit of a breakdown. So I did what any unstable Woman would have done in my shoes, I went upstairs and took a shower.

While showering I pondered what it was about the playful teasing from the people closest to me that set me off.  I realized that for the better part of the last 9 years of my Life I have spent a lot of time and energy on wanting another baby. Sometimes very desperately, so that I became depressed over it off and on for years.  I know that my first husband would have given me another baby, had I stayed with him. I know that my second husband would have never agreed to it. He never wanted kids. In the beginning of my relationship with J & K, K promised me a baby. “You are going to have my son.” he said, and OH MY GODS my heart ached in my chest at the words. I clung to that promise like a life raft through the uncertainty, fear and heartache the three of us went through together trying to make that relationship work. But J wanted another baby. More desperately than I did it seemed some times… at least she was more vocal about it. Part of me has always believed she needed it to prove that she could. Part of me believes it was her way of establishing something with K that I would never have, whether it was a conscious effort or not will never be known.  Regardless of the motivation behind it, we supported her and worked towards making it happen, and it did. She had his son. She bore the baby that was supposed to have been mine. But I helped in the conception and gave him a name, I took care of him, fed him, bathed him, changed his diapers, played with him, LOVED HIM LIKE MY OWN… and now, I am not allowed to see him. I haven’t seen him, nor his sister, since February. And often my heart aches with missing them.

When I told K & J that I had fallen in Love with X and was leaving, K desperately and passionately tried to convince me to stay. It was so hard… it was heartbreaking on so many levels… much of our conversations happened in the middle of the night when he would wake me, unable to sleep in his distress, and try to nail down the issues, try to fix things, try to repair the irreparable… much of our conversations I have lost and cannot remember.  But I do remember a couple of things he said to me, probably because they made such a profound impact on me and my understanding of how it was definitely time for me to leave that relationship.

“We knew this was going to happen,” he said, “We’ve been expecting it.”  He explained that he and J had been wanting to Handfast to me but were “waiting for this to happen”. He thought of me as his Wife, he told me.  If I had only waited a little bit longer, he explained. If I had only waited?  What?! So, let me get this straight… you’ve been expecting me to cheat and fall for someone else for the LAST FIVE YEARS and it was only AFTER I passed that test that you were going to make that commitment to me?!  It was only AFTER I passed that test that you were going to tell me how you felt?! Only then would I be deserving of the title?!  How backwards is it that you are going to wait until something threatens the relationship to tell someone you want to be with them for the rest of your Life?!

At some point after that conversation, I was sitting alone of the front porch, smoking & thinking. He came out to join me and, as was his habit, tried to nail me down to talk about what was on my mind. So I told him. I had been sitting there thinking about how badly I wanted another baby and was struggling with coming to terms with the fact that I wasn’t going to have one.  He apparently didn’t believe me because all hell broke loose after that, none of which is pertinent to this particular story…

Expectation rules Perception.

They spent our entire relationship expecting me to stray. I went into that relationship expecting the home & family I’d always wanted.  At least one of us got what we expected…

X expects the best of me. He expects me to choose him, every day. I expect the same from him and we expect to spend the rest of our Lives together. I also came into this relationship expecting I would never have another baby.

X had a vasectomy shortly after B was born.  12 years ago.  When our friends were teasing us about being pregnant they educated us on a little thing called recanalization. Apparently, some men’s little swimmers have overcome the seemingly impossible and found a way back to the urethra, in spite of the vasectomy.

So, suddenly I was smacked in the face with a real, however remote, chance that I could, in fact, be pregnant. Given the fact that X & I are intimate when ever and where ever possible AND given the fact that our sex has been a large part of our Spiritual & magickal workings for the last 9 months, it wouldn’t surprise me one damn bit if it happened to him.

Well, fuck-a-doodle-doo, hail Eris.

The emotional whip-lash of that realization is what caused my anger at our friends. As misdirected as it was.  We Cancers, sometimes it takes a while for things to filter down and come to full understanding.

So, X & I talked about it. I really don’t want to actively pursue getting pregnant. That’s a whole mess of Crazy that I just don’t want to delve into. He could have a surgery to try to reverse the vasectomy, but there’s no guarantee that it will work. I don’t want to be artificially inseminated with someone else’s sperm. And neither of us are really keen on the idea of inviting one of our male friends to do the deed. So, we are left with the remote possibility that somehow one of his little guys makes it through and manages to find one of my little gals and by a near miraculous act 9 months later little Ripley is born.

After three long term relationships, years of on-again off-again bc, and many nights of using the thrills and spills method producing nothing, I’m ok with letting the Fates decide this one.

 

So, speaking of Love…

…I’m getting married, in precisely… 1 day, 22 hours, and 54 minutes… so sayeth the Countdown Clock on my cell phone.

To say “I’m excited!” would be a severe understatement.

To say “I am excited-scared-happy-outofmymind-giddy-nervous-ecstatic-andbeyondunderstandablespeech” would be a bit closer.

Have I told you, dear readers, about my X?  I know that the last year or so of my blog Life has been sporadic and full of half-entries spewing whatever happened to bubble to the surface at the moment that I was feeling the need to blog. But have I really told you about my X?

…and immediately I struggle with words…damn the shortcomings of language!  Give it a name, right?  I will try…I will fail… but I will try.  He is smart, funny, sarcastic, handsome, thoughtful, romantic, considerate, respectful, genuine, caring, sexy… he inspires me, he makes me think, he encourages me… he Loves me, adores me, worships me, cherishes me… he cooks me dinner, he makes me drinks, he does laundry & washes dishes, he loves my family (!),  he decorates with me, he sings with me, he cries with me, he laughs with me, he will listen to me without talking, he will hold me without asking what’s wrong, he will drive when I need him too and let me drive when I want to, he is my High Priest, he is the Love of my Life, he is my Partner, he knows when to rub my back or when to rub my feet, he listens to my dreams and supports them, he expects the best of me, he takes pictures of me and brags about me, he LOVES MY KID and she loves him, he vacuums, he brings me sangria and chocolate, he will make Love to me and he will fuck me AND ALL OF THESE THINGS ARE SEPARATE AND CONNECTED AND IMPORTANT BEYOND WORDS.

In short, X has made me a believer.

Before his Love:

I felt the idea of “soul mates” was fairy tale-ish and immature. I thought the concept of “true love” was a simplistic and unrealistic idea. I thought happiness was what you made of it. I thought love stories were bull shit and I loudly heckled television shows & movies that portrayed romatic relationships. I struggled with the concept of romance and ridiculed myself for wanting it. I talked myself into a desperate place where I tried to balance deep thinking with shallow feeling.  I tried to drown believing with thinking.  I tried to hide myself from myself.

Now:

Well… if you’ve read my recent blog posts you know, I’m a believer.

And in less than 2 days, I will be Mrs. X.  Hail Eris.

 

I am a night owl.

And I work a day job.

Suck.

I hate getting up before 10 am. I don’t really get geared up and going until right around 4 pm. Then I’m jazzed until around 1 am.  It’s a grueling schedule when I have to get up at 6:45 am to get myself, my X, and my Darkling going for work/school.

So, case in point, at the moment I am emailing zip files to B. He got an iPod shuffle for his birthday and he needs MP3s.

What the Darklings need Cootie & X provide.

Thankfully, X is a night owl too. Of course, that just means working a day job is just as hard on him as it is on me.  Poor bastard.

This time next week, X & I will be in Wilmington, NC. At a resort hotel. With a private balcony overlooking the ocean. Does it get any better than that?  I think not, my friends. I think not.

In two weeks we are getting married.

Yeah. Married. The big “M”.

And I’m so excited and so happy and so In Love it’s nauseating I know.

I’m rambling now, so I’ll let you go before I lose you and me and everyone else in the ride. But let me say this, watch for the Future, Friend. It’ll be here sooner than you think.

 

The house on the hill.

 

Thursday of last week, on December 4^th my Mammaw passed through the veil. (And yes, I know there is actually only one ‘m’ in Mammaw but I’ve been spelling it with two my whole Life because that seems more grammatically correct to me and I’m stubborn, so there.) Some of you may have heard me talk about my Mammaw before, some may not. I have spent the last five years trying to mentally prepare myself for her passing.  Over the past few years she has slowly deteriorated as Alzheimer’s destroyed her mind.  It’s a terrible thing, to watch someone you love so much waste away so slowly. That is the only reason that, until last Tuesday, I hadn’t seen Mammaw in two years. I couldn’t bear it. My worst fear was to have her look me in the eyes and not recognize me. So, instead I chose not to see her. I chose to keep the memories I have of her close to my heart and wait for The Call.

 

It came about three weeks ago, from my sister.  “Mammaw fell this morning.” She said. Apparently she had two collapsed vertebrae. Whether that happened because of the fall or over time due to the severe osteoporosis my Mammaw had the doctors couldn’t say for sure. But there wasn’t anything they could do for it. She also had pneumonia so they doctors were going to give her some strong antibiotics and make her as comfortable as possible.  There isn’t anything else you can do for an 81 year old woman with two collapsed vertebrae really. After talking to my sister I turned to my friend Michelle, “My Mammaw is dying.” I told her. I knew in my heart it would be a matter of weeks.  And it was. They sent Mammaw home with a hospital bed and medication to keep her as comfortable as possible.

 

Monday night of last week my sister called me again. Mammaw was not doing well.  Her breathing was very labored and she wasn’t eating, they were barely getting any liquids in her at all and the hospice nurse said that she didn’t have much time left. Tuesday I left work early and went to her home for the first time in over two years. It was nearly bursting with family.  I saw aunts, uncles and cousins that I hadn’t seen in years and some little ones that I had never seen before. It was surreal. I walked around the house and the yard reminiscing about all the years I had spent there playing. I remember every single tree in that yard as if they were childhood friends, even the ones that had long since fallen or been cut down. My Pappaws old red Snapper riding lawn mower is still in the shed in the backyard. I’m amazed. I wonder if it still runs… I sat in the porch swing and remembered warm summer days spent there shucking corn and breaking beans.  I walked through her garden and remembered springtime when everywhere you turned something was blooming, bees were buzzing, birds were singing, and there was always a cat or two slinking around the yard waiting to catch one of those birds unawares. I sat in Mammaws chair at the same beat up old kitchen table that she’s had for longer than I’ve been alive. I ate peanut butter and crackers, Mammaws favorite bedtime snack, and looked around the little kitchen.  I remembered early mornings that would find Mammaw making biscuits by the sink.  I could see her standing there in her tattered old bathrobe stopping periodically to brush hair out of her face with the back of her hand and peer out the window at the rising sun. She would always hard boil an egg for me because I didn’t like them fried. Now I do, but back then they were gross, lol. Those were the days when I would actually eat pork. She always had bacon or sausage patties, or both depending on what Pappaw wanted. And she made grits.  I love grits to this day. When I was with Thing 2 I started trying to make biscuits but never really got very good at it.  I haven’t tried in a long time. Maybe I will again. You really can’t beat good homemade biscuits.

 

I loved helping Mammaw, whether it was working in the garden or with her flowers, or feeding the chickens or gathering eggs, or cleaning house or cooking, or if it was just sitting on the porch swing relaxing and looking around the yard at nothing in particular just reveling in the beauty of it.

 

I have a pretty large family and surprisingly enough, for the most part, we’ve all managed to stay close through the years.  Mammaw and Pappaw had 11 children, 24 grandchildren, and 33 great-grandchildren (so far). My Mom and Dad built a house next door so I literally grew up there.  Family was always around so I always had cousins to play with. Mammaw and Pappaw had this large wrap-around porch that provided an excellent place for the kids to play under.  The dirt under there was fine and soft and cool.  It was a perfect place to build towns and drive cars through for hours on end.  They had hardwood floors throughout the house and whenever Mammaw would do her Spring cleaning she would arm whatever grandchildren were around with Pappaws old tube socks and old towels and set us to polishing the floor. That was a blast, it really was.  Slipping and sliding around on a newly waxed wood floor with a half dozen other kids. I don’t know how she put up with that many kids around all the time, lol.  But she did.  She loved it.  At least, that’s how it seemed to us anyway. In her kitchen there are two columns of drawers that go from the floor up to the countertop.  I remember climbing up the handles on those drawers like the rungs of a ladder to sit on the countertop and watch Mammaw work in the kitchen.  Mammaw loved to sing.  When she wasn’t singing old church hymns you could hear her singing Barbara Allen or Pretty Polly or In the Pines.  They are old songs that most people wouldn’t know today.  But I know them, thanks to her.  Mammaw was a wiz with plants. She knew about home remedies and old folk cures.  Sometimes I jokingly referred to her as my Christian Witch Mammaw. She grew up on Lone Mountain in Claiborne County TN.  They didn’t have indoor plumbing up on Lone Mountain when Mammaw was a little girl. She lived through the Great Depression and World War II. She washed out plastic bags and pieces of aluminum foil to be re-used later. She composted. Grocery bags were her garbage bags. Lights were only on when they were needed. A wood burning stove was used to heat the house in the winter. She raised chickens for the eggs and for the occasional roast chicken for Sunday dinner. She drove herself to the same Church every Sunday for longer than I’ve been alive. She read her Bible faithfully every night before bed. She was loving and kind and charitable. And by gods she was Strong. For as long as I have been alive she has been there, in that little brick house on the hill, working in the house or in the yard in a dress, an apron, with her hair pulled back in a bandana. For as long as I have been alive she has had the same phone number, the same address, the same routine.  The day that she died I took the eldest darkling with me and we both went there and spent all day with her. We took her a bouquet of flowers, mostly lilies.  For most of the day her bedroom was full of her children and grandchildren and great-grandchildren.  We gathered around her bed, taking turns holding her hands or stroking her hair and we sang. All day long we sang for Mammaw.  I joined in hymns that I haven’t sung since I was a little girl. My voice is out of practice.  It was weak and unsure, but I sang none-the-less. Less than an hour after I left her that night she passed. But before she passed I kissed her forehead and told her that I love her. I am so glad that I spent that time with her and with my family. She was the one and only constant in my Life… and now she has gone.  I am so sad.  She has left a huge void in my Life.  I’m afraid this post has long since lost coherence, it started out with a poignant point but I think I’ve lost it in my remembering.  It doesn’t really matter though… not really. I miss my Mammaw. I only hope that I can live to be the Woman that she was.

 

Living with thanks.

Yesterday morning J walked the middle darkling to the bus stop, like she does every morning. But yesterday middle darkling says to her mom “I miss Aunt Tony, Mom.  I want to visit him.  When you talk to him will you tell him I miss him and Love him?”.  J assured her that she would.

 

A little less than an hour later we received a phone call to let us know Aunt Tony had died unexpectedly of a heart attack the night before.

 

To say that we are sad is, I’m sure, a given.

 

Tony was a flamboyant and fun person. At family functions he always made sure to pull me and the eldest darkling out of the corner and make sure we felt welcomed. He always made us laugh. My only regret is that I didn’t have the opportunity to spend more time with him.

 

The title of “Aunt” was a bit of a tongue-in-cheek term of endearment because he was definitely “the bitch” in the relationship he shared with K’s uncle. They were together for 15 years, they had just celebrated their anniversary. But, because Florida does not recognize same-sex marriage, his body still lies in the hospital morgue while they try to get in touch with Tony’s “family”.  Not even in Death will they release him to the man who loved him and stood by him for 15 years of his Life.

 

To say that we are angry is, I’m sure, also a given.

 

Today the SO’s, the darklings and I are together at home sharing together in the Love of our Family and remembering Aunt Tony with tears and with laughter. 

 

Remember my friends, there is no promise of tomorrow. Love those close to you with that in mind. Live each day with gratitude and thanksgiving in your heart for the Love you are given. Remember that Love does not know any boundaries; not gender, race, religion, or nationality.  Gay rights are HUMAN rights and thus affect us all.

 

Namaste.

 

Hormones and the drive to procreate.

I had my child when I was very young. She was the product of my first love, right out of high school. For most of our Life together it has been just the two of us. Even when I was married it seemed that the family was V’d with myself at the crux of it; she and I on one side and he and I on the other. Still, through the rocky relationships and the alliance she and I shared I have always wanted another child. Even when it was completely against all logic to do so. But through the years I have always said that if I were to have another child it would have to be before I turned 30. Well, my 30th birthday has come and gone and since then I have still found myself, from time to time, wanting another child. Together, the SO’s and I have three children. It seems laughable really, even with the fantastic relationship we have, three children are a handful! Our youngest is two and a half. Many of you know what it’s like having a two and a half year old child in the house and those of you who do not have undoubtedly heard the phrase “terrible two’s”.  There is a reason that phrase exists. There is a five year age difference between all three of our darklings. It’s a good span I think. I love them all as if I had given birth to all of them and couldn’t imagine my Life without them… but, I think that three is enough. In my more… unstable… moments when logic falters and I find myself longing for the experience of carrying, birthing, and raising another tiny bundle of joy I remind myself of the con’s of such a course of action.

Number one, children are expensive. It seems we can’t leave the grocery store without dropping $250. Back-to-school shopping always finds us spending around $500, and the littlest hasn’t even started school yet!  Yule shopping is unbelieveable. We typically drop at least a couple of hundred at each birthday. And I can’t even begin to calculate the incidentals in between like lunch money, field trips, school fees, allowances, shoes (omg the shoes they grow out of so quickly!), etc. etc. etc. Number two, adult time. Yeah, it’s hard to have quality adult time when you’ve got young kids. Especially three young kids. We have to plan a month in advance before taking an overnight trip. A vacation? Take in a movie?  Dinner alone?  Those things require extensive planning too.  I’m not complaining, mind you, I’m just saying. Having another baby would be like starting all over again. Diapers, late night feedings, the crying, potty-training, school, not going anywhere for the first 2 years… ugh. It’s a lot. Each individual child is a huge investment of time and energy and money.

This train of thought comes and goes for me but it’s been brought to the forefront of my attention this weekend. We are babysitting my niece and nephew, ages 7 and 4. That’s five children in the house. Five breakfast/lunch/dinner/snacks to prep. Five baths/showers/hair-washings/teeth brushings to supervise. Messes to clean up, “Don’t do that!”’s to yell, and a shit ton of toys to pick up. Granted the oldest has been helpful in supervising and picking up after the younger ones (I need to drop a few bucks in her hand for that) but still, it’s overwhelming at times. So, yeah… three’s company, five is fucking insane.

 

 

Moving on.

Moving on is hard when you’re forced to.  We spent the better part of today driving to the opposite extremes of town looking for a new home.  Out of all the places we’ve looked at we have narrowed it down to two that are viable options.  That doesn’t seem like a lot to me… especially considering we have so much riding on finding a place ASAP.  This causes a bit of stress.  As I’m sure you can imagine… both of these houses are way out on the West side of town too.  That’s the last place I would have picked to move to.  : /

Oh well, at least I know we’ll be together, come what may.