This was indeed a weird weekend. Friday night Eli went hunting and we had a last-minute pint-sized spend-the-night guest. That story is a little too much to go into right now, but let's just say that I learned that Elsie doesn't like to share with people other than Oscar, either. And she's bossy with other kids. And she doesn't understand what personal space is. Ah, my pride and joy.
Saturday evening, I let a Kirby salesperson in my door when she offered to shampoo my carpet for free. She stayed for a couple of hours, demonstrating how everything worked, dusting my ceiling fan, vacuuming the register return for the A/C and using the Kirby to vacuum couch cushions and pillows. It was quite a show--it was fantastic. The kids enjoyed watching all the vacuuming and touching the attachments. I put Oscar to bed before she put down the foam. Elsie loved the bubbles. Every time the girl went to put another attachment on, Elsie would ask her excitedly, "Are you making more bubbles?!?"
To be fair, I actually didn't know that she was selling Kirby brand exactly until her trainer brought in the equipment. Then I knew that I wouldn't be buying anything. They did give me a great quote if I ever have some cash to burn. I talked to the girl while she was there by herself, and she seemed like a very interesting girl. She had only been selling for two weeks. I told her the cautionary tale of my neighbor's brother when he worked for Kirby, and I gave her a monetary tip as well, just so that if/when she gets ripped off, she has at least a little something to show for her tireless work.
As we talked, she told me about wanting to move to Colorado with her husband to build an earthbag home--something about Colorado not having such strict building codes? I had to look this earthbag thing up because I had never heard of it before. Weird. But not as weird as the monolithic dome houses on I-35E north of Waco.
Anyway, time to get back into the mindset of the work week.
Cheers.
Sunday, January 29, 2012
Saturday, January 28, 2012
Jill
I've had this post sitting in the "draft" folder since the first of the year (along with four other posts, haha), but it's time I share this.
Back in the fall of 2008, we stepped out of our comfort zone at the new church that we were attending and went to a Sunday school class as well as to the worship service. As I looked around the sanctuary where this particular class was held, we were among the younger people attending the class of about 10 to 15, except for a girl sitting a couple of pews in front of us. She was obviously a college student. She had that sense of verve and optimism that only comes from those fresh from the roost. She smiled, she talked, she shared--she had opinions on theology. Uh. I was floored. I was 29, and I was still very timid about sharing my theological points of view. To say this was intimidating was a little bit of an understatement. She wasn't there every Sunday, but she was there often.
Then, in October, our church hosted a Fall Festival. There was a fantastic turnout from the community. I had volunteered for the face painting booth (remember, this was pre-Elsie), and as I got overwhelmed with children wanting designs on their faces, a scarecrow came over and sat down with me, helping me out. That funny scarecrow was none other that college girl from Sunday school. We finally met, and we hit it off big-time. Her name was Jill, and she was not intimidating at all, not in real life. She was the definition of "people person". We talked and talked and talked.
We would make a point to seek Jill out at snack time and chat it up. She brought her boyfriend to church one Sunday and introduced us. She came and made cards at my house when I had people over. She brought her sister to hang out and watch movies for a girls' night (I still feel bad that I picked terrible movies). She came and visited us in the hospital and took the most amazing pictures of day-old Elsie. In fact, our pastor asked me if we knew her when he came to visit me at the hospital, because she had posted on her Facebook page about getting hold a day-old baby. Yup. We knew her. She told people we were her "married friends." Haha.
I needed a last-minute babysitter for Elsie once, and I called her, then wrote her a thank-you note for being available at the last minute, and she commented that she hadn't received a thank-you note for babysitting before; I had to remind her that this was because I hadn't called her as "the babysitter" but as my friend.
Jill always had something brewing. She loved people. She loved travel. She loved photography. And she loved to talk. (Me, too!) And we loved having her around. We prayed her through her summers on mission in Latvia and Tunisia, and called on her more and more to come sit in the house after Elsie was in bed while we went to Christmas parties, etc, because she was so chill about it--she would study for finals while the kids were asleep. She became an RA in her dorm, so we talked residence life (Eli & I met through RA stuff in college). She came and visited us after Oscar was born. She went with me to see Tango Inferno at the OPAC while Eli was gone to JAG school. She worked the nursery and Sunday school, so she got to see the kids pretty often, and I got to see her when I worked the nursery on the same Sunday. She was a busy girl as she got further and further into school, and we didn't see her as much.
And so it happened that Eli was checking Facebook from Charlottesville, when he saw that Jill got an internship for the summer after graduation and was looking for a place to live on the cheap. He told her to call me, and she did. It was perfect. Jill came to live with us the week after graduation. She was a PR intern by day and a second mother to my children by night. She was not afraid to change diapers, bathe them, and put them to bed. She would take out the trash when it got full, and empty and reload the dishwasher of her own volition. I joked with Eli over the phone that she was a better wife that I am. (But was it a joke? Probably not. Haha.) And Jill was willing to be silly with us, dressing up like cows for Cow Appreciation Day at Chick-Fil-A. Now that's true friendship. :)
During the summer, with my people-loving friend around, I went out on a limb, out of my comfort zone, and hosted a weekly dinner for some of the young singles and college students from church that were hanging around for the summer with nothing to hook them in (our church doesn't do Sunday school classes in the summer, and we didn't do small groups, either). We had a blast. I never would have had the guts to do that without Jill around because she's just so easy with people when I feel terribly awkward.
When the end of the summer came, Eli and I went out on a date, and a good portion of the wait-for-your-dinner time was spent talking about Jill. We loved having her around. It was coming close to the end of her stay with us, but we let her know that she could stay with us as long as she needed to since her job extended her employment until October. We were delighted when she said yes.
Elsie and Oscar loved having Jill here, too, by the way. Jill's way with people extends to the shorter crowd. She's the oldest, so she's had younger people around her for most of her life. I'm the baby, and I never really did, so I loved watching Jill play with the kids. They loved playing with her. Oscar loved cuddling with her (still does).
When Jill moved home in October, it was hard to readjust to life without the extra set of hands, without the girlfriend to talk to about anything and everything after the kids were in bed. The room at the end of the hall, which was supposed to be Elsie's big girl room, still sits vacant, and Elsie still thinks of it as "Jill's bed." And when we see a green car, she points out "Jill's car." We miss her, but we are so excited for her newest adventures.
Two weeks ago (already?) we drove south of Atlanta to watch Jill be wed to a really amazing man. The wedding and reception were beautiful and a perfect mix of "Jill" and "Scott" styles. And there was dancing! With two toddlers, we didn't stay for the whole thing since the kids were getting antsy (okay, intolerable), so we didn't get to say goodbye before they left for their honeymoon road trip to their temporary new home in the cold north. Thankfully, they will eventually be settling in the same town as my in-laws, and we will hopefully get to see them a few times a year. Oh, yeah, and we have cell phones and Skype now, too, in this millenium.
So, my friend Jill, in all her youth, is refreshing for me to be around. She loves God and she loves people in a way I only wish I could. And she's very honest--maybe transparent is a better word--but not in an offensive way. I love that about her. Along with a million other things. I don't think that at 22 I had half as much going on as she does. I just consider myself blessed that she doesn't think we're too dorky (or too old!) to associate with. :)
Jill, we love you. We're so proud of you. And we're proud of the way you and Scott are starting your life together. We're excited for your adventures, because I can't imagine you not having adventures. And I will continue to pray for you and Scott and your future, sweet friend.
Cheers.
(P.S. You called earlier when I was in the middle of finishing this. Coincidence?)
Back in the fall of 2008, we stepped out of our comfort zone at the new church that we were attending and went to a Sunday school class as well as to the worship service. As I looked around the sanctuary where this particular class was held, we were among the younger people attending the class of about 10 to 15, except for a girl sitting a couple of pews in front of us. She was obviously a college student. She had that sense of verve and optimism that only comes from those fresh from the roost. She smiled, she talked, she shared--she had opinions on theology. Uh. I was floored. I was 29, and I was still very timid about sharing my theological points of view. To say this was intimidating was a little bit of an understatement. She wasn't there every Sunday, but she was there often.
Then, in October, our church hosted a Fall Festival. There was a fantastic turnout from the community. I had volunteered for the face painting booth (remember, this was pre-Elsie), and as I got overwhelmed with children wanting designs on their faces, a scarecrow came over and sat down with me, helping me out. That funny scarecrow was none other that college girl from Sunday school. We finally met, and we hit it off big-time. Her name was Jill, and she was not intimidating at all, not in real life. She was the definition of "people person". We talked and talked and talked.
We would make a point to seek Jill out at snack time and chat it up. She brought her boyfriend to church one Sunday and introduced us. She came and made cards at my house when I had people over. She brought her sister to hang out and watch movies for a girls' night (I still feel bad that I picked terrible movies). She came and visited us in the hospital and took the most amazing pictures of day-old Elsie. In fact, our pastor asked me if we knew her when he came to visit me at the hospital, because she had posted on her Facebook page about getting hold a day-old baby. Yup. We knew her. She told people we were her "married friends." Haha.
I needed a last-minute babysitter for Elsie once, and I called her, then wrote her a thank-you note for being available at the last minute, and she commented that she hadn't received a thank-you note for babysitting before; I had to remind her that this was because I hadn't called her as "the babysitter" but as my friend.
Jill always had something brewing. She loved people. She loved travel. She loved photography. And she loved to talk. (Me, too!) And we loved having her around. We prayed her through her summers on mission in Latvia and Tunisia, and called on her more and more to come sit in the house after Elsie was in bed while we went to Christmas parties, etc, because she was so chill about it--she would study for finals while the kids were asleep. She became an RA in her dorm, so we talked residence life (Eli & I met through RA stuff in college). She came and visited us after Oscar was born. She went with me to see Tango Inferno at the OPAC while Eli was gone to JAG school. She worked the nursery and Sunday school, so she got to see the kids pretty often, and I got to see her when I worked the nursery on the same Sunday. She was a busy girl as she got further and further into school, and we didn't see her as much.
And so it happened that Eli was checking Facebook from Charlottesville, when he saw that Jill got an internship for the summer after graduation and was looking for a place to live on the cheap. He told her to call me, and she did. It was perfect. Jill came to live with us the week after graduation. She was a PR intern by day and a second mother to my children by night. She was not afraid to change diapers, bathe them, and put them to bed. She would take out the trash when it got full, and empty and reload the dishwasher of her own volition. I joked with Eli over the phone that she was a better wife that I am. (But was it a joke? Probably not. Haha.) And Jill was willing to be silly with us, dressing up like cows for Cow Appreciation Day at Chick-Fil-A. Now that's true friendship. :)
During the summer, with my people-loving friend around, I went out on a limb, out of my comfort zone, and hosted a weekly dinner for some of the young singles and college students from church that were hanging around for the summer with nothing to hook them in (our church doesn't do Sunday school classes in the summer, and we didn't do small groups, either). We had a blast. I never would have had the guts to do that without Jill around because she's just so easy with people when I feel terribly awkward.
When the end of the summer came, Eli and I went out on a date, and a good portion of the wait-for-your-dinner time was spent talking about Jill. We loved having her around. It was coming close to the end of her stay with us, but we let her know that she could stay with us as long as she needed to since her job extended her employment until October. We were delighted when she said yes.
Elsie and Oscar loved having Jill here, too, by the way. Jill's way with people extends to the shorter crowd. She's the oldest, so she's had younger people around her for most of her life. I'm the baby, and I never really did, so I loved watching Jill play with the kids. They loved playing with her. Oscar loved cuddling with her (still does).
When Jill moved home in October, it was hard to readjust to life without the extra set of hands, without the girlfriend to talk to about anything and everything after the kids were in bed. The room at the end of the hall, which was supposed to be Elsie's big girl room, still sits vacant, and Elsie still thinks of it as "Jill's bed." And when we see a green car, she points out "Jill's car." We miss her, but we are so excited for her newest adventures.
Two weeks ago (already?) we drove south of Atlanta to watch Jill be wed to a really amazing man. The wedding and reception were beautiful and a perfect mix of "Jill" and "Scott" styles. And there was dancing! With two toddlers, we didn't stay for the whole thing since the kids were getting antsy (okay, intolerable), so we didn't get to say goodbye before they left for their honeymoon road trip to their temporary new home in the cold north. Thankfully, they will eventually be settling in the same town as my in-laws, and we will hopefully get to see them a few times a year. Oh, yeah, and we have cell phones and Skype now, too, in this millenium.
So, my friend Jill, in all her youth, is refreshing for me to be around. She loves God and she loves people in a way I only wish I could. And she's very honest--maybe transparent is a better word--but not in an offensive way. I love that about her. Along with a million other things. I don't think that at 22 I had half as much going on as she does. I just consider myself blessed that she doesn't think we're too dorky (or too old!) to associate with. :)
Jill, we love you. We're so proud of you. And we're proud of the way you and Scott are starting your life together. We're excited for your adventures, because I can't imagine you not having adventures.
Cheers.
(P.S. You called earlier when I was in the middle of finishing this. Coincidence?)
Sunday, January 1, 2012
New Year Debt Update
Just a quick New Year's Day debt update. As predicted, we didn't do much more than pay minimums on loans in December. But, we did pay cash for all of Christmas (including gifts, gasoline, baking ingredients & gift packaging, postage, etc.), cash for much-needed car repairs, and cash for Eli's trip to Scotland to see his best friend.
First 10K Chunk, started 10/1/11
Fundraising Thermometer
And we have a revised plan for debt repayment. I'm bound and determined to be debt-free except for the house before I'm 35 or before Elsie starts kindergarten. That's the same year--2014--just different parts of the year. That's under three years.
WE CAN DO THIS!!
I've looked at our budget and trimmed some fat. Without really stretching we can put double our minimum payment every month toward debt reduction by cutting some things that are luxuries. It just awaits final approval from the husband when he returns from his overseas adventure at the end of the week.
My general philosophy on this type of thing is that anyone can do anything for a limited amount of time. Two years really isn't a long time. I mean, the four years since we took FPU have flown by, so what's two more?
And based on this plan, we can blow this thermometer out of the water by the end of April. Something to look forward to!
Fundraising Thermometer
And we have a revised plan for debt repayment. I'm bound and determined to be debt-free except for the house before I'm 35 or before Elsie starts kindergarten. That's the same year--2014--just different parts of the year. That's under three years.
WE CAN DO THIS!!
I've looked at our budget and trimmed some fat. Without really stretching we can put double our minimum payment every month toward debt reduction by cutting some things that are luxuries. It just awaits final approval from the husband when he returns from his overseas adventure at the end of the week.
My general philosophy on this type of thing is that anyone can do anything for a limited amount of time. Two years really isn't a long time. I mean, the four years since we took FPU have flown by, so what's two more?
And based on this plan, we can blow this thermometer out of the water by the end of April. Something to look forward to!
Saturday, December 31, 2011
Stuff
I look around me and see stuff. Lots of stuff. Not a Hoarders amount of stuff, but a real lot of clutter that has no home except my home at large. I open my pantry and I’m stressed out. Once, there was order in there. Now there is not. I open my fridge and I cringe—how long ago did we make that penne pasta? Last week? Last month? The plastic-ware in the kitchen is crammed into cabinets, with lids and cups falling on you as you open the door. Dishes pile up in the sink because nobody cares to look in the dishwasher to see if it’s empty, because if it’s not then we’d have to take the time and energy to empty it before putting the dirty stuff in there. It’s just easier to pile them in the sink.
The living room is usually pretty clean—wait are those ants carrying off the latest toddler crumbs?—except for the toys. Lots of toys. Toys that stress me out because there are so many little parts. I want to get rid of some of them, but I think maybe another child of mine who is not soon to be present will want to play with them…someday. And for some reason, that’s enough to keep the blasted toys and the books that I hate to read.
Up the stairs, there’s a door to the right that remains closed. Always. The spoken reason for this is so that the cats don’t get in there and put their “predator scent” on the hunting stuff. The unspoken reason is because the “office” is a storage closet of randomness—office supplies, musical instruments, boxes of stuff from our closets from when we lived in...Waco? Surely not. It’s overwhelming at best.
The master bedroom is another matter entirely, and it’s really my fault. I’m a piler, people. When I don’t want to deal with things, I put things in piles. And then I put those piles in boxes, and then I stack the boxes out of sight, out of mind, in Elsie’s “big girl” bedroom. That worked until it was time to make the spare bedroom a place for a person to actually sleep, and then I moved the boxes into our bedroom, into the little sitting room nook, where they’ve sat, basically untouched, since I moved them months ago. The toddlers help to unpack them, piece by piece, leaving junk everywhere. We then ignore the mess like it doesn’t exist, until we step on it in the middle of the night and say made-up curse words as we hop on one foot into the bathroom. Stress and overwhelmedness have nothing on whatever constraining feeling has a hold of me when I think about the “sitting room” in the bedroom. If the mess that I try hard to ignore is even brought to my attention, my first instinct is to get defensive. Look people, I work full time, have two toddlers, and no spare time. I CAN’T DO IT ALL! But I know that only I can remedy the situation because it’s MY junk.
Just so you can get the full picture, I need to tell you about the rest of the house. The master bath is now clean on the surface. It feels like the cabinets and drawers are full of junk—haircare products, first aid supplies, never-used makeup, random samples of hygiene and cosmetic products--but if they all stay closed, I can forget that it’s a problem. Until the toddlers go drawer-diving and come up with stuff they shouldn’t have (please hand over my deodorant, and quit eating the Chapstick). The walk-in closet is usually maneuverable, just so long as you can step around the giant pile of dirty clothes in the middle.
The kids’ room is clean, except for more toys. But the dressers are empty. The closet is full of boxes of newborn clothes that Elsie outgrew over two years ago. And the rest of the clothes—those that currently fit, those that will fit, and those that will not fit again—are in the bedroom at the end of the hall. On the floor, on the bed. A room FULL of clothes. And I need to go through them and put the ones that currently fit in the dressers, get the ones they have outgrown ready to sell/give away, and box up the clothes that will fit next season. But it takes time and motivation, two things which have been lacking recently.
And then there’s the garage. It’s actually not that bad. But there are boxes of memories in there, and I’m not sure what to do with them right now. And there are recyclables that need to be taken to the recycling center. And currently there are various and sundry things left over from our garage sale blocking one side.
So why have I given you the run-down of my cluttered life? 1) Because I want you to feel better about yourself, if possible, and if not, just feel okay that you and I have something in common. 2) Because in my effort to be a transparent wife, mother, friend, I want you to see that appearances aren’t entirely reliable (the oatmeal smeared on the shoulder of my shirt is 100% authentic, though). 3) Because once people know about how I live from day to day, I hope that I will be motivated to fix the problem—not from shame, but from accountability.
Look, I’m not insane. I know it’s not going to fix itself overnight. I was doing well with the FlyLady while I was on my own last spring, but once Eli came back, I got lazy again, and lazy breeds lazy. I make excuses:
“I don’t have time.” Right. But somehow I have time to blog? To cruise Facebook? To read others’ blogs? To watch full episodes of USA Network shows on Hulu? To watch House Hunters International? But somehow I don’t have time to take care of my environment. Wrong. I’m just not using my time well.
“I can’t do anything with the kids around.” I admit I use this excuse a lot. The kids “help” me, and most times it is counterproductive. It is definitely easier to get stuff done when I’m by myself, but let’s face it. I’m a mom. I can’t even use the restroom by myself. So, if I’m waiting for all this elusive “alone time” I’m dreaming. Besides, if I do get precious alone time, I’m not really keen on cleaning. But the little ones have to sleep sometime, right? All kidding aside, I am going to try to do more with their “help.”
“I’m tired—I just want to veg out.” Every. Night. From wake-up to bedtime, I’m wife, mother, teacher, and with each of these comes its own responsibilities. From bedtime to wake-up, I’m exhausted.
“I’m so busy.” This goes back to the time thing. Yes, we are busy. Yes, we have to set out our weekly schedule at the beginning of the week to make sure we aren’t two ships passing in the night. But it’s a choice, I know. I think I’ve come to accept that we are just at a busy time in our lives, and if I use that as an excuse, then I’ll never do anything. I have two children, a husband, a full-time job, some friends who I rarely get to see, and a church family we are devoted to. We’re going to be busy. I have to get over it.
Well, guess what? I’m tired of making excuses. I’m tired of being overwhelmed. Just like our debt situation, I’m not going to face the whole hog at once—it’s too much to swallow. I’m going to break it up and take care of business. And I hope that by this time next year I will be able to say that I’ve “trimmed the fat” around the house. I don’t know what this will look like, exactly.
I turn 33 this coming year, and I acknowledge the blessings I have received from my faithful Father. I’m going to try to be a better steward of them, Lord willing.
The living room is usually pretty clean—wait are those ants carrying off the latest toddler crumbs?—except for the toys. Lots of toys. Toys that stress me out because there are so many little parts. I want to get rid of some of them, but I think maybe another child of mine who is not soon to be present will want to play with them…someday. And for some reason, that’s enough to keep the blasted toys and the books that I hate to read.
Up the stairs, there’s a door to the right that remains closed. Always. The spoken reason for this is so that the cats don’t get in there and put their “predator scent” on the hunting stuff. The unspoken reason is because the “office” is a storage closet of randomness—office supplies, musical instruments, boxes of stuff from our closets from when we lived in...Waco? Surely not. It’s overwhelming at best.
The master bedroom is another matter entirely, and it’s really my fault. I’m a piler, people. When I don’t want to deal with things, I put things in piles. And then I put those piles in boxes, and then I stack the boxes out of sight, out of mind, in Elsie’s “big girl” bedroom. That worked until it was time to make the spare bedroom a place for a person to actually sleep, and then I moved the boxes into our bedroom, into the little sitting room nook, where they’ve sat, basically untouched, since I moved them months ago. The toddlers help to unpack them, piece by piece, leaving junk everywhere. We then ignore the mess like it doesn’t exist, until we step on it in the middle of the night and say made-up curse words as we hop on one foot into the bathroom. Stress and overwhelmedness have nothing on whatever constraining feeling has a hold of me when I think about the “sitting room” in the bedroom. If the mess that I try hard to ignore is even brought to my attention, my first instinct is to get defensive. Look people, I work full time, have two toddlers, and no spare time. I CAN’T DO IT ALL! But I know that only I can remedy the situation because it’s MY junk.
Just so you can get the full picture, I need to tell you about the rest of the house. The master bath is now clean on the surface. It feels like the cabinets and drawers are full of junk—haircare products, first aid supplies, never-used makeup, random samples of hygiene and cosmetic products--but if they all stay closed, I can forget that it’s a problem. Until the toddlers go drawer-diving and come up with stuff they shouldn’t have (please hand over my deodorant, and quit eating the Chapstick). The walk-in closet is usually maneuverable, just so long as you can step around the giant pile of dirty clothes in the middle.
The kids’ room is clean, except for more toys. But the dressers are empty. The closet is full of boxes of newborn clothes that Elsie outgrew over two years ago. And the rest of the clothes—those that currently fit, those that will fit, and those that will not fit again—are in the bedroom at the end of the hall. On the floor, on the bed. A room FULL of clothes. And I need to go through them and put the ones that currently fit in the dressers, get the ones they have outgrown ready to sell/give away, and box up the clothes that will fit next season. But it takes time and motivation, two things which have been lacking recently.
And then there’s the garage. It’s actually not that bad. But there are boxes of memories in there, and I’m not sure what to do with them right now. And there are recyclables that need to be taken to the recycling center. And currently there are various and sundry things left over from our garage sale blocking one side.
So why have I given you the run-down of my cluttered life? 1) Because I want you to feel better about yourself, if possible, and if not, just feel okay that you and I have something in common. 2) Because in my effort to be a transparent wife, mother, friend, I want you to see that appearances aren’t entirely reliable (the oatmeal smeared on the shoulder of my shirt is 100% authentic, though). 3) Because once people know about how I live from day to day, I hope that I will be motivated to fix the problem—not from shame, but from accountability.
Look, I’m not insane. I know it’s not going to fix itself overnight. I was doing well with the FlyLady while I was on my own last spring, but once Eli came back, I got lazy again, and lazy breeds lazy. I make excuses:
“I don’t have time.” Right. But somehow I have time to blog? To cruise Facebook? To read others’ blogs? To watch full episodes of USA Network shows on Hulu? To watch House Hunters International? But somehow I don’t have time to take care of my environment. Wrong. I’m just not using my time well.
“I can’t do anything with the kids around.” I admit I use this excuse a lot. The kids “help” me, and most times it is counterproductive. It is definitely easier to get stuff done when I’m by myself, but let’s face it. I’m a mom. I can’t even use the restroom by myself. So, if I’m waiting for all this elusive “alone time” I’m dreaming. Besides, if I do get precious alone time, I’m not really keen on cleaning. But the little ones have to sleep sometime, right? All kidding aside, I am going to try to do more with their “help.”
“I’m tired—I just want to veg out.” Every. Night. From wake-up to bedtime, I’m wife, mother, teacher, and with each of these comes its own responsibilities. From bedtime to wake-up, I’m exhausted.
“I’m so busy.” This goes back to the time thing. Yes, we are busy. Yes, we have to set out our weekly schedule at the beginning of the week to make sure we aren’t two ships passing in the night. But it’s a choice, I know. I think I’ve come to accept that we are just at a busy time in our lives, and if I use that as an excuse, then I’ll never do anything. I have two children, a husband, a full-time job, some friends who I rarely get to see, and a church family we are devoted to. We’re going to be busy. I have to get over it.
Well, guess what? I’m tired of making excuses. I’m tired of being overwhelmed. Just like our debt situation, I’m not going to face the whole hog at once—it’s too much to swallow. I’m going to break it up and take care of business. And I hope that by this time next year I will be able to say that I’ve “trimmed the fat” around the house. I don’t know what this will look like, exactly.
I turn 33 this coming year, and I acknowledge the blessings I have received from my faithful Father. I’m going to try to be a better steward of them, Lord willing.
Friday, December 30, 2011
Potty Training, Day 3 (Updated with Photo)
At some point in the night, I heard a child cry out, and I thought for sure that Elsie had either peed the bed or awakened needing to go potty. I rushed into the bedroom and...she was fast asleep. It was Oscar talking in his sleep. But while I was in there, I checked, and she was dry. That was at 3 a.m. So, she went at least seven hours dry.
And then, because I stayed up too late watching the Baylor game, I snoozed through my alarm, and jolted out of bed when I heard a child cry out at 7 a.m. I thought for sure that it was Elsie again. But, alas, it was Oscar, awake. Elsie stirred, and informed me that she needed to change her jammies. Then she refused to stand so that I could strip her down. She wanted to lay down and cried to me that she wanted a diaper again. I told her no, and went and put her on the potty. She turned into spaghetti and wouldn't stay, so I let her get off. Then she remembered the chocolate, smiled at me and said, "I want chocolate," and went and sat on the potty on her own. But she didn't do anything.
And then, the rest of the day:
10:15 a.m. -- PEE IN THE POTTY -- Elsie was watching TV in my room, stood up and took off her panties. I said, "Elsie, you need to go to the potty! Hurry!" And she went and peed.
Noon-ish -- Fashion Diva -- Elsie decided that she didn't need to use the potty, but that she wanted to wear flowered underwear instead of what she was wearing. Um. We don't have any flowered underwear. After a minor tantrum, she settled for stripes.
::whistling to pass the time:: And the day continued to wear on. I kept reminding Elsie to tell me if she needed to go potty, and she'd say, "Okay."
3:45 p.m. -- PEE IN THE POTTY -- Finally, since it had been five and a half hours since she peed last, I may have mentioned something about the chocolate in my pocket when she asked for an apple. She went into the bathroom and peed on the potty.
4:45 p.m. -- PEE IN THE POTTY -- We were playing in the kitchen, and Elsie said, "Mom!" So we went to the potty, and she peed some more.
7:30 p.m. -- PEE/POOP IN THE POTTY -- Bath time. Elsie gets in the bath and then we realize that she needs to potty. So, she sits on the potty and pees, and then has a little bit of poo, too. Yeah!
So, no accidents today, aside from the nighttime wetting. All human waste went where it was supposed to. There's a part of me that is ecstatic. Then there's a part of me that thinks it was too easy--I must have done something wrong, and she's going to relapse. Which she may.
So, is that it? Is she potty-trained now, you know, aside from night-time?
I will continue to remind her to tell me, and I'll make sure I have a spare set of clothes for her on hand. And we'll work on the night-time stuff.
But really. Is that it?
It just seems so anticlimactic...
::knock on wood::
So, yeah. We'll enter the new year with a child who uses the potty. Peasy.
Cheers.
And then, because I stayed up too late watching the Baylor game, I snoozed through my alarm, and jolted out of bed when I heard a child cry out at 7 a.m. I thought for sure that it was Elsie again. But, alas, it was Oscar, awake. Elsie stirred, and informed me that she needed to change her jammies. Then she refused to stand so that I could strip her down. She wanted to lay down and cried to me that she wanted a diaper again. I told her no, and went and put her on the potty. She turned into spaghetti and wouldn't stay, so I let her get off. Then she remembered the chocolate, smiled at me and said, "I want chocolate," and went and sat on the potty on her own. But she didn't do anything.
And then, the rest of the day:
10:15 a.m. -- PEE IN THE POTTY -- Elsie was watching TV in my room, stood up and took off her panties. I said, "Elsie, you need to go to the potty! Hurry!" And she went and peed.
Noon-ish -- Fashion Diva -- Elsie decided that she didn't need to use the potty, but that she wanted to wear flowered underwear instead of what she was wearing. Um. We don't have any flowered underwear. After a minor tantrum, she settled for stripes.
::whistling to pass the time:: And the day continued to wear on. I kept reminding Elsie to tell me if she needed to go potty, and she'd say, "Okay."
3:45 p.m. -- PEE IN THE POTTY -- Finally, since it had been five and a half hours since she peed last, I may have mentioned something about the chocolate in my pocket when she asked for an apple. She went into the bathroom and peed on the potty.
4:45 p.m. -- PEE IN THE POTTY -- We were playing in the kitchen, and Elsie said, "Mom!" So we went to the potty, and she peed some more.
7:30 p.m. -- PEE/POOP IN THE POTTY -- Bath time. Elsie gets in the bath and then we realize that she needs to potty. So, she sits on the potty and pees, and then has a little bit of poo, too. Yeah!
So, no accidents today, aside from the nighttime wetting. All human waste went where it was supposed to. There's a part of me that is ecstatic. Then there's a part of me that thinks it was too easy--I must have done something wrong, and she's going to relapse. Which she may.
So, is that it? Is she potty-trained now, you know, aside from night-time?
I will continue to remind her to tell me, and I'll make sure I have a spare set of clothes for her on hand. And we'll work on the night-time stuff.
But really. Is that it?
It just seems so anticlimactic...
::knock on wood::
So, yeah. We'll enter the new year with a child who uses the potty. Peasy.
Cheers.
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