Well, that didn’t go as planned..

Today has been EXHAUSTING.

Like for real.

Lets take a walk through my day…

We got up, we had breakfast, we got dressed in clothing that doesn’t contain the words “pjs”, “sweat”, or “yoga” (ok, confession, I was wearing leggings. But they were LulaRoe and a fun springy blue flower pattern, so they are basically real pants OK!?). We put a movie on TV and played on the floor. It was a soggy, grey morning, but who cares, we were having fun. It was gonna be a good day.

My phone had been dead when I woke up, which was weird, because it had like 25% when I went to bed, so it should have been fine. Maybe I had a billion notifications on Facebook (or a certain blog that had been recently updated) and it had killed my phone. I plugged it in and went about my day.

Yea. My phone was dead because Wonderful Husband had been trying to get a hold of me for about three hours regarding the DMV, transferring our registrations to WV, and Uhaul receipts we needed to turn in to his employer to get reimbursement.

Whoops.

Soooo, by the time my phone turned on and one of his 6,000 phone calls came through, you can imagine what I heard on the other end of that line.

What ensued, can only be described as complete an utter chaos, or also commonly referred to as a normal day in a house with two under 3.

As I was trying to simultaneously call the bank with our car loan, make a bottle for Little Littles, and explain to Little Darling that I was, in fact, NOT on the phone with daddy, some random old guy shows up at my front door.

Thankfully, old dude was looking for a different house. Easy peasy. Nope, wrong house, k bye.

The bank is drolling on and on about how if the DMV has faxed the paperwork and they haven’t received it there is nothing they can do. Perhaps I could personally fax a request on DMV letterhead, and then wait 2 hours and call back with the date, time, number of pages, and fax number from which the fax had come from and perhaps they could track it down. Then they could fax the title to me, and I could hand deliver it to the DMV.

I can smell poop.

I look over and Little Littles, while still wailing for a bottle, is on all fours and poop is leaking out the top of her diaper, centimeters from her shirt, and mere inches from my brand. New. Rug.

So now I get to argue with The Bank about how I am not doing any of the nonsense they are suggesting, they and the DMV need to handle it or my car will just stay registered in PA forever, while I wrestle a screaming baby to floor and try to change a poopy diaper with one hand. All while Little Darling is still circling me saying “I TALK DADDY??”

I finally completely lost my shit, told The Bank to go to Hell, and hung up. Click. I got the bottle warmed up and ready for Little Littles, we are only about 15 minutes behind schedule for LL’s first nap,  and Little Darling announces she has to go potty.

This is my life.

So we run to the potty and spend 3 minutes fiddling around until I, again, lose my cool and shout GET OFF THE POTTY!

Now Little Darling is laying on the floor pouting, Little Littles has her bottle and is happily eating, and Wonderful Husband is blowing up my phone for the Uhaul receipts that I have, yet again, forgotten to send. I can’t imagine how it slipped my mind.

Little Littles drinks her bottle and goes to sleep. I send the Uhaul receipts. I get a load of laundry going, Little Darling gets a snack, and we head to the basement to clean.

Little Darling is playing in the guest room, getting in and out of the bed and fluffing the covers. I am cleaning the litter box, organizing some items in the pantry, and realizing it was much, much too quiet.

I head over to the guest room and Little Darling is sitting dead silent and still in the bed.

She looks at me and says “potty”

I became a raging lunatic. I ripped her out of the bed and saw the huge wet spot where she had indeed peed on our guest bed.

I spanked her. And then for good measure, I spanked her again. I couldn’t even form a sentence I was so angry. I was screaming words like BED and BATHROOM and JESUS CHRIST over and over again.

I grabbed her hand and half dragged her up the stairs to her bathroom. I forced her into the shower, which was too cold and she started crying. I rinsed her off, gave her a towel, slammed her into bed and told her not to move until I came back.

I could hear the wails echoing as I was stripping the bed, starting a new load of laundry, and cursing whoever thought up potty training. I cleaned up pee prints up the steps and down the hallway. I scrubbed the mattress with vinegar and set up a fan to help it dry.

Wonderful Husband calls to tell me I have sent the wrong part of the receipt (with much more colorful language) and requests I take new pictures and send the correct part.

I have had about as much of this day as I can possibly handle.

I finally went to face my child, who was still half sobbing in her bed. I explained that she is definitely old enough to know better than to pee anywhere but the potty and it was totally unacceptable to pee on the bed. However, I know I was a bit harsh in my reaction and I should have handled it better. We hugged it out and I told her that while I was sorry, she still couldn’t watch tv for the rest of the day, and if she pees on another piece of furniture I will beat her until she can’t see straight. She agreed and asked if we could color at the new table. Yea, really scarred for life. Not.

We spent some time coloring and building with blocks. Little Littles woke up and we had a nice lunch. We re-entered the basement and the girls played happily together while I dragged all the gym equipment into the house from the garage and set up the home gym in one of our spare rooms.

Then it was nap time. Glorious afternoon nap time. When both girls nap at the same time and I get two hours of child-free, mommy time. Today, I collapsed in bed and decided I would take a nap and not even feel guilty.

Little Littles had other plans, of course, and only slept for about 40 minutes.

Since she was up, I decided I would start on some dinner plans. Which is how I came up with this delicious Chicken Spinach One Pot Meal. Easy, full of veggies and protein, and just enough pasta to be a comfort food on a crappy day.

Chicken Spinach One Pot Pasta

3 chicken breasts, cut into pieces
Olive Oil
1 Tomato
1 small Zucchini
4 Garlic Cloves
2 Cups pasta- I used Penne
3.5 Cups water
Salt
Pepper
Basil seasoning-  I used Pampered Chef Sweet Basil
3 Cups chopped Spinach
3oz Cream Cheese
1/2 Cup Milk
Parmesan Cheese

1.In a big pot, heat up some olive oil and add the chicken. Cook until the chicken is about done, no visible pink on the outside

2. Add tomatoes, and garlic. Cook until tomatoes start to get tender.

3. Add water, salt, pepper, and seasonings. Bring to a boil.

4. Add the pasta and cook until pasta is tender, most of your water should be about gone.

5. Add milk, cream cheese and zucchini. Stir and bring to a simmer.

6. Add the spinach and stir well. Keep it simmering and add some Parmesan cheese to taste.

There you go. Easy to make, easy to clean up, and super delicious. Little Darling cleaned her plate, and had seconds. Little Littles ate almost a whole portion by herself.

So. Today was a shitty day. I fought with my husband. I flipped out on my kid. But tomorrow is another day, and I intend to make it great!

 

 

Nobody Cares About Happiness

Why is it that when we are happy we have a hard time telling people about it?

I don’t mean your super peppy status on Facebook, or your Save the Date announcement.

I mean general, every day happiness.

When was the last time you texted your best friend and said “everything in my life is amazing! How are you?”

I can probably answer that.

Never.

Here is the way most of my conversations with friends start:

“You are never going to believe what Wonderful Husband said”

“Guess who just started their period, not pregnant again :-(”

“So mad ______ just died on SOA!”

It is basically never positive. And when they text me it is the same thing. It seems to be a general rule that the only time you can talk to other people is when you have something to complain about.

But why is that? Why don’t we tell our friends when we are really happy?

When I am home alone for weeks at a time, or when Little Darling is having a really crappy day I reach out to my friends to vent and complain and bitch about my unhappiness. But when Wonderful Husband is home and we are having a great time being a family and Little Darling is being pleasant and sweet, I forget my phone exists and live in the moment. I almost feel guilty to reach out to my friends to tell them what a great time I am having in my life.

When did this stigma happen where we can’t just call up a friend and say, hey I was thinking of you, how are you?

I am generally always happy. I have my times where I want to scream in frustration and I need to vent. But why is there this compelling need to complain about things? Even when you are having a good day and someone complains about something, you feel the need to complain too. When you are in a conversation with a stranger or someone you don’t know that well, do you talk about good things or do you find yourself complaining about things? i.e. yea this store used to be good, but the service lately sucks! We have been in line forever! Or, yea she is a really good walker, but she isn’t talking yet!

Think about it. When was the last time you complained about something?

Was it truly worth it?

Lets all resolve to be happier this year, and not just be happier but to share that happiness with our friends and family. If you are having a really great week call someone who means something to you and ask them how they are doing and tell them you are doing good. If someone pays you a compliment in a store or at a party say thank you, don’t dismiss it. It isn’t bragging, it isn’t bad. Sharing happiness and love is a good thing and we could all stand to do a little more of it.

 

Thankful Stepford

Yesterday was Thanksgiving.

So this is my thankful post.

I have tried writing it three times, hence why it is so late getting posted. But I just can’t make the words get typed correctly.

I am thankful that Wonderful Husband got to be home for the holiday. We went to his parents for a few days and I got to experience a true family holiday.

Arriving at his parents house is like something out of a Hallmark movie. They have a huge beautiful old house that is impeccably decorated for whatever season is happening, their house is warm and cozy and welcoming. They meet you at the door with hugs and kisses and there is a solid five minutes of crazy while we try to get the car emptied and coats and shoes off and juggling Little Darling. We always bring Pixie to play with their two dogs and there is a furry gauntlet to be run every time you come back with a load from the vehicle.

Once we are in and settled, there is coffee and beer and everything in between while we meander around the kitchen and dining room discussing what has happened since we last saw each other. Being that it was a holiday, MIL, FIL, and I ended up in the kitchen prepping food with soft chatter while Wonderful Husband caught up on some sleep in the living room recliner. We made cranberry jello, and a strange orange cabbage jello that I have been reassured multiple times is a family tradition. We ripped up bread for stuffing, and I was regaled with stories of how MIL puts so much stuffing in the turkey that she has to stand on it and stomp it in. We drank and talked and worked on food for several hours and then sat around the dining room table while FIL told stories about growing up and his family history.

Thanksgiving morning, I stumbled downstairs to find the kitchen filled with smells of turkey, gravy, and all things holiday. Greeted warmly by the In-laws we sat and drank coffee while discussing who was coming for dinner and what time they would arrive. Then we took turns going to get dressed with the others watched Little Darling, who was happily playing in the dogs water bowl as if it was a tiny swimming pool.

The boys went to split wood and work in the garage while me and MIL got down to business. We washed dishes, we dried dishes, we made food, we set the table, we laughed, we drank. The atmosphere was nothing but warm and comforting and a snapshot of exactly what family should be. When the other guests arrived there was hugging and laughter and good times. We all gathered around the table and passed food around until our plates were more than full and then we ate until we couldn’t manage another single bite. People slowly filed out until it was just us and the in-laws again. We watched tv and the boys took naps. We slowly packed up and got ready to head home.

Sunday I will go to my dads parents for their Thanksgiving dinner, I won’t see my mom for this holiday. And, while the atmosphere will be warm and welcoming at my family’s house, it won’t have the same air of family that is so potent at my husbands family home. This is the only time of year that I ever feel a twinge of regret at my parents divorce. I will never have the childhood home to return to, I will never have the family sleep overs and late night history lessons. I can never again have my two parents in the same room without an awkwardness and tension that makes everyone uncomfortable.

Don’t get me wrong, I am not sad or mad or anything negative about my parents divorce. Everyone is waayy happier now and I am thankful that both of my parents are genuinely happy, even though it means they aren’t together anymore.

I am thankful that I get the best of both worlds. I am a child of a broken home with parents who no longer love each other, but I am the daughter in law of two parents who love each other very much and I get to experience wonderful holidays with all 3 of my family’s.

I am thankful for a wonderful holiday spent with my amazing family. I am thankful that I married into a wonderful family who loves me like their own and fulfills the needs my own family can’t. I am thankful that my own family was true to themselves and did what was best for them. I am thankful for such fantastic people in my life. I am truly blessed.

I am thankful for my husband and my daughter. I am thankful for my husbands job that provides for our family and puts food on our table. I am thankful for our warm house and our vehicles that, while they may not be the fanciest, they are still reliable and run. I am thankful for my furbabies who snuggle me at night and purr on my lap.

I am thankful for this life that I worked very hard for and have been rewarded with fully.

I am thankful.

Are you?

 

Doomsday Prepper Stepford

So lets talk about the attacks in Paris last week.

For anyone who isn’t watching the news (Seriously, turn on the news for an hour a day, it won’t kill you) Isis ran rampant in Paris on Friday the 13th and killed over 100 people. They opened fire in a crowded concert hall, they blew up suicide bombers outside of a soccer game, they fired guns out of cars into street cafes, and they gunned down shoppers at a mall. It was horrible, and it was terrible, and it left everyone with a sick feeling in their gut.

Then President Obama came out and said it was a setback in the containment of Isis (eye roll) and we should start letting Syrian refugees into the country so they can be safe. Because they are running from these same terrorists who are committing attacks across the world.

I call bull shit on that.

These refugees are all strapping young lads who are well fed and well dressed and don’t look a thing like war torn orphans trying to escape the terror of Isis and Assad. They look slightly more like Isis members in plain clothes trying to infiltrate countries so they can better commit more acts of terror. In fact, one of the terrorists that was killed after he murdered people in Paris was.. you guessed it…a Syrian refugee!!

So how are we going to protect our country if we are openly letting the threat into our country? Would we have opened our borders to the Nazi’s? What did we do to the Japanese after Pearl Harbor? I mean seriously, the Japanese were already American citizens and we rounded them up and marched them into Fema camps to hang out until the war was over. Now here we are welcoming the wolves in sheep clothing with open arms. How stupid are we?

Well I guess the real question is, how stupid is the president, and the general public? Pretty effing stupid obviously.

I refuse to be a victim. For months now, I have had a BOB (bug out bag) ready and waiting for both me and Wonderful Husband should we ever need to evacuate the house in a hurry. Up until now I just had basic items, some MREs (Meals Ready to Eat), a flint fire starter, a flexible saw, some wet naps. Just enough that if we had to hike out of town we would probably make it. But after last weeks events, I am redoubling my efforts to be prepared for any situation.

Here is a little peak into some things I am working on, I am not posting all details, because in the event of an emergency I don’t want to be targeted because I am well prepared…

Wonderful Husband and I each have a BOB that either already contains, or will contain by the end of the month, the following items:

  • change of clothes (pants, long sleeve shirt, t shirt, socks x2, undies x3)
  • MREs x6
  • baby wipes
  • hand sanitizer
  • lighters
  • flint
  • saw
  • eye glasses
  • hair ties
  • bobby pins
  • duct tape
  • compass
  • maps
  • tarp
  • mylar blankets
  • rain poncho
  • flashlights
  • batteries
  • watch
  • band aids
  • lotion
  • chapstick
  • pens
  • notebook
  • pads/tampons
  • ib profen
  • vitamin c
  • vitamins
  • anti nausea meds
  • napkins
  • knife
  • ammo
  • multitool
  • life straw (water filter)
  • stainless steel canteen
  • foil wrapped gum
  • bungee cords
  • personal documents
  • dryer lint (for fire starter)
  • hatchet

This is not an all inclusive list, and all BOBs should be customized for what each person needs. I tried to include things that would allow us the basic needs or food, water, and shelter.

The house is being stocked with both food and water in case we have to hunker down and stay here, and the vehicles will have some supplies as well.

I don’t talk about this to scare people, I talk about it to inform people. It doesn’t have to be a terror attack, it could be a natural disaster, or a house fire or something. Everyone needs to have to skills, and supplies to protect themselves and their family in the event of an emergency. It doesn’t hurt to be prepared, but it definitely hurts to not be prepared.

The future of the country, and the world itself, is really looking bleak currently. If we can’t get  handle on this terror organization, and get our president to step up and stop being a pansy, we are in a world of trouble. They will come for us, and they will show us no mercy.

In Islam women have no rights, they are subjected to female genital mutilation, they are murdered for shaming their family for simple things like showing their ankles or taking off their veil. They are forced into marriage with men who will rape them and beat them and force them to do unthinkable things up to and including wearing suicide vests and blowing themselves up in crowded courtyards. Is that what you would want for your daughter? I know I don’t want it for mine. And I will do WHATEVER it takes to keep her from being put into a life like that.

In a world where whites are now the minority and are targeted for hate, and crime, where illegal mexicans are flooding into sanctuary cities where they can commit crime and not be deported, where college students can whine and complain about a swastika in poop on a bathroom wall and actually force a president to resign.. We need to be ever diligent and protect ourselves. It is obvious the government is not our friend and they are not going to be there when we need them.

Not only is the country tearing itself apart from the inside out, but we are actively allowing terrorists to destroy us from the outside.

Get ready. It is only going to get worse.

Wake up America!

Cause we are living in a material world

I am constantly preaching at my friends about not caring about material things. I have a friend who recently downsized and moved to a smaller house to be closer to her husbands work. She was having a rough time with it and was really upset she would be leaving her home where her kids were born, the first home her and her husband owned together, a lot of good memories that she had a hard time leaving.

I did my best to try and cheer her up with my go-to speech about not caring about material objects and how they would make new memories at this new house and while it may be smaller it isn’t about the size of the house but the size of the love of the family… yadda yadda.

Then I immediately spent 15 minutes complaining to Wonderful Husband about how I needed new winter sweaters because the ones I had were old.

He firmly planted his work booted foot down and told me I couldn’t have anymore clothes until there were hangers to put them on in the closet, and no, I couldn’t go buy more hangers. I must get rid of some clothes in order to get new clothes.

This should be really easy for me, the queen of minimalism, the goddess of donation, the non materialistic Stepford. Wrong. I sat and stared at my closet for a good while, unable to find anything I thought I could actually get rid of. Every item that I removed held some special meaning to me. I had worn it to an event, I had worn it in highschool (yikes!), it was a great deal, it was a great designer…the list of reasons goes on and on and on.

The only problem is that most of these clothes no longer fit me. Seriously. I put on about 15 lbs of solid baby weight that doesn’t seem to be budging anytime soon and some of these clothes were a tight squeeze pre-baby when I was boasting my 120lb frame. Day after day, week after week, I will take these sweaters out of the closet, put them on, wiggle, squiggle, and sigh. Then I will take it off and hang it back up, ya know, for when I am a size 2 again..

I have three sweaters that I have NEVER WORN. I bought them at the thrift store for about $10 total. One is Michael Kors, one is wool, and one is hand stitched in India and a beautiful shade of kelley green. However, Michael does not fit, not even close, never did. Wool is scratchy, itchy, and boiling hot in anything other than arctic winter, and India is heavy and boxy and does not look good on me in any way, shape, or form. But, for almost three years now they have hung in my closet, waiting for me to wear them.

Well wait no longer! Those were the first ones to go. I ripped them out and put them on the floor. Followed by all my size 5 jeans. As I went, it got easier. Before long I had a huge piled on the floor of clothes that were stained, old, too small, or ill fitting. I even added shoes! Me! I got rid of shoes! There are shoes that I only ever wore to work and even then I didn’t like them, and shoes that I wore out in highschool but I am too committed to to get rid of. They are in the pile as well.

So now, I have a solid section of my closet cleaned out and I no longer feel an emotional pull to those materialistic things I thought I needed to keep.

I also found several sweaters I completely forgot I owned that fit me really well and look really good on me!

So here is my advice:

Start small. You don’t have to do it all in one day, and you don’t have to get rid of everything. If you are feeling particularly attached to your highschool prom gown, keep it, put it in a rubbermaid bin in the attic. But that stained t shirt with a random band logo that you bought at a random concert your cousin dragged you to? Ditch it. You won’t miss it.

Remember, you keep the memories in your head and in your heart. Not in your closet.

I can’t win

I swear some days I can’t win for losing. Nothing goes right and no matter how hard I try I just break everything I touch. It probably comes as no shock to most women that this normally happens close to my cycle. It’s like my body can’t handle the extra hormones so it just funnels together and makes me clumsy and stupid.

Last week Little Darling and I were both really sick with some weird cold/flu bug. Fevers and coughing and snot and stuffy noses. It was awful and ultimately led to a disgusting house, a lack of laundry, and a general sense or disorder. I did five loads of laundry yesterday to catch up, all the sheets and blankets and dirty clothes. It was insane. I still had to wash and switch out a bunch of Little Darlings new winter clothes that were given to us by a friend, so that happened. I had to run the dishwasher twice to catch up on dishes and that didn’t even include last nights dinner dishes. It was a rough, rough week.

Today we had to go grocery shopping to replenish the empty fridge and cabinets and get ourselves back on track with healthy food. Little Darling had a hot mess melt down in the middle of Aldi with screaming and crying and flailing so hard she lost a shoe. Then in Walmart I tried to buy a new pair of skinny jeans and ended up having to buy a size 11- I have NEVER been in double digit pant sizes before- so that led to depression and guilt and promises that I was never eating again and I was a fatty-mcfat-fat, a disgusting cow, ugh. I don’t care that all pant sizes are different, and I don’t care that my size 7 jeans at home fit just fine. I care that I was a size 2 before I had the baby, and while I know I will probably never be a size 2 again, I can’t stand being this big.

I was feeling so guilty when I got home that I decided to make fat flush cabbage soup for dinner. Basically cabbage and tomatoes and a few other veggies in chicken broth. I added some cayenne pepper and lime juice to punch it up a little bit.

Really, in the back of my mind, I knew, that anything with “fat flush” in its name should just be called “toilet flush”. And I don’t really know why it didn’t dawn on me while I was making this soup that I was probably going to regret it quickly. But, nonetheless, I made a huge pot. Wonderful Husband informed me he wouldn’t be eating it and instead asked to go to the bar with some friends. I said fine, I had big plans of working on the remodel tonight anyways.

Within about twenty minutes of eating the soup I was regretting it. I will spare you the gory details and lets just say that I will probably lose some weight from eating this giant pot of soup over the next few days. So that’s a silver lining.

With the fat flushing out of the way, I geared up to paint the newly installed crown moulding in the bathroom. It’s a long story, but we ended up using moulding instead of finishing the corners where the walls meet the ceiling so now the ceiling needed painted to up to the moulding and the moulding needed painted to match the ceiling. I crawled up in the attic and got the paint and a paintbrush and went to work opening the can.

Wonderful husband had already given me the lecture about not getting paint all over the brush and how to clean it properly etc. He is still steamed that last week while I was trying to clear coat the trim for Little Darlings door I ruined a $20 brush. My bad. He was currently downstairs getting ready to head out to meet his friends. I first used a screwdriver and jabbed at the edge of the can. I have painted many rooms and have opened many cans of paint. However, this can would not budge. I got a bigger screw driver and tried again. No luck. I dug through Wonderful Husbands tool box and got what appeared to be a small file and started pushing it under the lip of the can. The file glanced off the edge, skimmed across the top, and lodged in my hand. Legitimately, the file was stuck in the webbing between my thumb and pointer finger. I stared it for several seconds while curse words formed in my head. Too shocked to even make a noise, I slowly pulled the file out of my hand and held it up to look at the damage. Blood started seeping out of the perfect slice across my skin. Shit.

I wandered around the room for a second, sort of dazed and confused and not really sure how to proceed. I finally headed down the steps to the kitchen so I could rinse it off. Halfway down I heard Wonderful Husband in the dining room- What did you do now?

Not wanting to seem stupid, I said I couldn’t get the paint can opened and I accidentally cut myself. He asked what I was using to open the can and I replied that I was using the little file from the tool box.

I washed my hand off and got a paper towel and he followed me back upstairs to open the can for me. While I was in the bathroom getting a band aid I hear him sigh resignedly and say “By -little file- do you mean the wood chipper?” .. I dunno.. isn’t a wood chipper the thing they put bodies in in Fargo? I sure as hell know not to put a can of paint in a wood chipper. Come on.. I’m not that stupid.

I exited the bathroom to see Wonderful Husband holding my small file and I said yea that! He looked at me… “And again.. Dearrr.. This is an expensive tool and you are using to try and open a can of paint! This is a wood chipper, it is made to chip wood. Ya know, like to cut it. See this?? (points to end of file that sliced my hand) This is a blaaaaadddde, it will cut you. And now its all broken from you jamming it in to the paint can”

Well geeez, sue me. I didn’t know it was so fancy and important. Looked like a little file to me. And those are dime a dozen. Maybe he should label his tools. Or maybe I should stop trying to do shit on my own.

He grabbed a screw driver and popped open the can of paint. Gave me one last warning about not messing things up and went on his way to meet his friends.

I got my step stool and proceeded to paint all the crown moulding and the bits of ceiling that needed done and then put the lid back on the can of paint and went to wash out the brush. Needless to say, I got paint all over those bristles. His nonsensical warning about not getting paint past the top inch of brush- HA. What kind of painter can paint like that? Ok, probably most good painters can, but guess what, I’m a house wife, not a painter. So there was paint EVERYWHERE. I couldn’t get it all off and ended up having to text Wonderful Husband for instructions on how to get it clean to the best of my ability.

When I got all done and had the brush properly cleaned and put away, I was gathering up my stuff to head downstairs when I heard a dripping sound. It sounded like it was coming from the new master closet, you know, where we just ran all the brand new plumbing? I panicked. I had to investigate, because GOD FORBID there be a leak in our brand new plumbing and brand new master closet. Never fear! Stepford is here! I will surprise Wonderful Husband by being construction-y (?) and find the leak and fix it and save the day.

I proceeded to walk into the closet and electrocute myself on the newly installed light switch which isn’t screwed into the wall yet. After recovering from the shock of my life- for reals- I crawled all over that closet (with a flashlight of course, I wasn’t about to touch that stupid switch again), Little Darlings room, the kitchen, and even the attic looking for the source of the drip. I finally texted Wonderful Husband that I feared a leak, only to receive a response that it is just the stink pipe dripping down the inside and falling onto the elbow of the pipe. Nothing to be concerned about.

So, if anyone needs me, I will be in hiding until my period is over. It obviously isn’t safe for me to be out among real people while on it. The hormones can’t be trusted.

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Crafty Stepford

With all this free time of Wonderful Husband being away, I have been trying to catch up with my party planning for Little Darlings birthday, shopping and baking for holiday gifts, and scrapbooking for Little Darlings baby book.

I. Am. Exhausted.

Here is a peek into my day today…

Last night Haven came back on Syfy – if you have never watched Haven before… Go. Go now. Go and watch every season until you are up to date on Haven because HOLY GOD is it like the best tv show ever. I love Haven more than I love The Walking Dead, and that. is. saying. something. Duke Crocker on that show- HOT DAMN is that a piece of man, I mean I would still probably pick Daryl Dixon in a fight or the apocalypse, but Duke is a close second. And he is taller. And he showers significantly more often than Daryl. I have put a lot of thought into this, in case you hadn’t noticed- so I was up until midnight watching the two hour long season premier. Since Wonderful Husband is away, I spent the rest of my night tossing and turning and hearing every noise within a 3 mile radius. My alarm went off at 7 and I dragged downstairs to get my coffee and a bottle for LD.

LD wakes up at 7:29am almost every day. Very seriously. I have started timing it. Her little eye balls pop open at 7:29 and she is instant action, standing up along the bars of her crib like a tiny fleecy inmate. She gets her bottle, which she, thankfully, now holds on her own most of the time, and I get my coffee, while we watch the news. We lounge like that in bed until about 8am. Then I get up and get dressed and we start getting ready to go downstairs. The only difference today, was when I went to get her at 7:30, I was greeted by a snot nosed, hollow eyed, coughing, grumpy inmate. She wasn’t too bad, just enough for me to know that she wasn’t feeling great, and that it was going to be a longgg day.

She played on the floor while I made the bed and gathered up the dirty clothes and any dishes I carried up the night before. I piled everything that needed to go downstairs in the dirty hamper and sat it at the top of the steps. I made sure her blankets didn’t need washed and tidied up her room a little bit and then we headed downstairs. She played quietly in the living room while I sank into the couch with my coffee and turned on Jungle Junction. She played on the floor, sometimes watching the story, most of the time ignoring it.

At 9am, we headed into the kitchen. She gets an egg with cheerios and fruit while I wash any left over dishes and tidy the kitchen and dining room. Sometimes she also gets yogurt, sometimes she doesn’t want anything to do with her breakfast at all and she sits there slowly feeding it all to Pixie who has taken up residency underneath the high chair any time she sees tiny legs poking out of it. Some days we skip the high chair and eat breakfast on the living room floor and catch a second episode of Jungle Junction. She may not care what happens to those crafty cartoon characters, but I kind a like them.

By 9:45, breakfast is over and we play in the living room or snuggle on the couch, or go upstairs and have story time in her bedroom. By 10am she is wiping her little eyes and yawning. She goes down for a nap and I have the house to myself for up to two hours.

Today, during her nap, I got a plate of food and climbed back in bed myself. I ate, surfed the internet, and then fell asleep while watching an episode of Disappeared. I must have been exhausted because I didn’t budge until she woke up at 11:45. We came back downstairs and I gave her some lunch- ravioli with mandarin oranges, colby cheese, acorn squash, graham crackers, and sippy of juice. We played in the living room with some country music playing and then at about 1:30, a horrible rain storm hit. It pounded on the windows and ricocheted off the front porch. I suddenly had a hankering to watch a movie and snuggle, so we turned on Tangled and curled up in blankets in the recliner. About 20 minutes in, she was crying and wailing and had tears and snot streaming everywhere. I finally caved and gave her tylenol, no idea what is going on if it is teeth or if she caught a cold or what but the Tylenol seemed to greatly improve her mood and we finished the movie snuggled in the chair with a bottle.

At 2:45 she had another round of crying and I put her down for another nap. This time, I got busy. I swapped laundry and washed dishes and tidied the house. Then I got a shower and settled in at my computer desk to work on some party planning.

I ordered a pirate onsie for LD for her first birthday party in December. I ordered witty pirate shirts for both me and WH to wear at said party. I ordered a Pirates of the Caribbean replica necklace of the gold coin for me to wear too. I planned what food we would have and what decorations we would have. I pinned all of my ideas so I would have them when it was time to order the decor and invitations.

I wrote out a list of all the goodies I want to put in my holiday gift baskets for friends and family and then marked off everything I already have made. I made a grocery list of what I still need to get to finish the gift baskets.

I suddenly remembered that I had a Red Box movie sitting in my diaper bag that I had promised WH I would return on Wednesday. Whoops. Then While checking my bank account after my ordering spree I realized I had forgotten that my school loan payment came out this week. I had to text WH and tell him I had like $10 in my bank account. Whoops.

at 4:30, LD woke up. I made a bottle and put her in the car. We went to the bank to get some money from our joint account and put it into my personal account. Then we went to Walmart to return the movie. We went into the store to get glue sticks, and jars for homemade hot cocoa. We left with glue sticks, jars, and two boxes of Cheez-its. whoops.

We got home around 6pm. LD and I shared a turkey sandwich. She had a meltdown because I wouldn’t let her eat Cheez-its. She played on the floor, sipping her night time bottle and climbing on pillows until 7 when I got her into her pjs and held her on my lap for the last of her bottle.

at 7:15 we went upstairs, I wrap her up in her favorite blanket, sing Hallelujah, and put her into her crib. She went right to sleep.

When I got back downstairs I remembered that I had bought glue sticks to work on her scrap book. This led to almost three hours of me pasting and cutting and gluing and folding all of her hospital bracelets and paperwork and memories into her scrapbook and then getting on shutterfly to order corresponding photos so when the photos get delivered I can paste them into the scrap book. Then while I was at it, I figured I might as well work on her baby book too, so I don’t get too far behind.

Now it is 10:48pm and I am so exhausted I can barely see straight. People who craft for a living must have some sort of genetic disorder that allows them to focus that hard for that long. I feel like my eyeballs may turn to liquid and fall out of my face. But, I am so close to having her scrap book up to date and I am so excited! If I can get it up to date, then all I have to do is keep up with it and it will be finished right after her first birthday! Then I think I will switch to just making shutterfly photo books. I would do that now, but I have all these items that you can’t incorporate into the books. I don’t want to get rid of her hospital bracelets or her first fingerprints.

So, now I will write a few blog posts, drink some wine, and head to bed way later than I should. And tomorrow, we will repeat the entire day. And I don’t even mind.

I love my life.