Dagnabit!

Here I had this great spot where I was gonna post all kinds of things regarding cloth diapers and all related paraphernalia and OTB pics of fluffy little babies.
Guess what. While life continued happening all over me, my tiny little one has grown (not so much in size, but in maturity) and started potty training herself.

 

W-W-W-WHAT????

 

Yup. At 13 months she knocked on the bathroom door and said “Mommy potty!” I put her on it, lo and behold, she peed right on it.

Now she’s almost 2. Not out of diapers yet, but steadily indicating that she needs to use the toilet and more often than not is correct. It amazes me.

 

So what does this mean for my love of all things fluffy, cute and tushie covering?? Am I going to have to quit cold turkey? What shall I do with my stash? And how will I channel all of the obsession for cloth diapers into something else???

 

Then it came to me. Cloth trainers. There are lots to try, and many are beyond adorable. *huge sigh of relief*  I have a little longer to indulge, thank goodness.  I’m really not ready to give it up yet.

 

Whatever happened to the day of rest?

Ahhh, picture it. Waking up when your body says, “I’m done sleeping”, having a leisurely cup of coffee while gazing blankly out the window. The birds are chirping, the sun is shining. Spending the day enjoying hobbies or other leisurely activities.

WE’LL HAVE NONE OF THAT NONSENSE HERE.

Thought I’d share with you my itinerary for the next couple hours.

2:40pm-5pm: Clean, organize, launder, fold, put away, vacuum, mop, repeat until return of children.
5-?: Make and serve dinner to two incredibly hyper children. Clean up dinner. Carry children to bathroom for bath as they fight to escape. Run water. Chase and (hopefully) catch 3 yr old, returning her to bathroom. Convince her to take clothes off (normally she is refusing to put clothes on). Wrestle (literal, actual physical exertion) clothes off 21 month old. Help her on and off potty 17 times. Retrieve naked 3 yr old from hiding place. Retrieve naked 21 month old from hiding place. Figure out how the heck to keep the stupid ear plugs in the ears and not in the hair.
Put kids in the tub. Lather while 21 month old screams and tries to climb out of tub while 3 yr old plays mermaid. Rinse little one while convincing other one why she needs soap. Take little one out and roll in towel like burrito. Finish washing and rinsing now crying 3 yr old because she wasn’t first. Dry, lotion and pajamafy both. Carry them, one in each arm back to bathroom to brush teeth while explaining (as I do twice every day ) why we brush at least twice a day. Put little one in crib. Begin desperate search for pacifier. Find it. Wash it. Insert it. She’s out. Find 3 yr old back on the computer doing her kids learning games. Carry her back up to bed. Play musical beds. After 2 hours give up and go downstairs. Sit down, wipe sweat from brow, and find you have been joined by 3 yr old.
Get self ready for bed. Drag self into it. Find 3 yr old already in it, taking up all the space. Lay on floor. Sleep.

(Crap now I’m 16 minutes behind schedule)

How do you spend your Sundays?

*LE SIGH*

I keep thinking about posting, and what I want to write about. I jot little notes of funny or crazy things that pop into my head throughout the day. Yet here I am, at the computer, kids asleep, and all I want to do is go to sleep.

 

For now I will just say Hello, I have missed you. I would love to hear from you; please feel free to leave me comments so I know you haven’t forgotten about me.

 

I promise I will have something fun or interesting or at least longer than this really soon. I will. Really. But if I sit here any longer I will end up like I did last night, out cold with my face on the keyboard.

 

 

Yes, that’s really how I woke up.

 

Then I went upstairs, sat on my bed to get situated, and woke up an hour or so later still sitting on the edge of my bed. I bet this is the kind of exhaustion those famous people have when they have to spend a week at a fabulous spa getting rested and pampered. My plane ticket and spa voucher must have gotten lost in the mail so for now I’ll settle for a twin bed with a toddler or two in it.

 

Nite all.

Undulating just beneath my conscious mind, floating into the oblivion of sleep

Makin’ Moves

*HUUUUGE SIIIGHHH*

Finally sitting down. My mom and I have been steadily making progress for about 5 hours.
Ok that’s not true. My mom did awesome. I pouted for a while, had a temper tantrum, played with my phone, and wandered semi-aimlessly around my living room and picked apart my coat closet, replacing and tossing random stuff I haven’t been able to categorize for the past two moves.

Here I go. Moving again. Back home. With my mom. And my two little monkees. This should be interesting.

The good news is, I have a part time job, my mom is an absolute saint, and I finally feel like I’m getting out of this bad relationship-depression-anxiety-stagnation rut I’ve been in.
The bad news is, I’m still totally freaking out. My acceptance level is very low, I’m bitter and resentful and acting like a brat. I need to get over myself. It’s not about me anymore. I have two little angels who need me to be strong and loving and help make this a smooth transition. It’s hard enough on them that they don’t see their dad every day. It’s hardest on my older daughter. It breaks my heart. It makes me second guess myself.

In my heart I know this is right. I know we will be better for it. Everything will work out. I just need to keep reminding myself and being reminded by all of you wonderful people.

I’m taking my tired old butt to bed. Moving sucks.

*THUD!* (head hitting pillow)

Sweet Dreams?

I think I get the bizarre dream of the night award.
At one point I had been banished to Hell. It was very gory and I’m pretty sure Otto from Sons of Anarchy was repeatedly biting off his tongue.
Then, somehow, I escaped only to discover that demons or something had escaped and turned Tom Cruise into a zombie. (Which really, he probably is anyway, except he kept climbing in bed with me and trying to convince me he wasn’t a zombie.) Also, important to note, he was terrible in the sack.
So there I am, trying to fight off Sex Crazed Zombie Tom Cruise, and now I’m in a pool in a meadow full of flowers. Someone had de-zombified the zombies and Tom Cruise was back. I had a really pretty flowered dress on and great hair. We hopped on his Harley and drove off.
The end.

I wonder what Freud would have to say about this.

Babbling away, trying to remain positive.

Babbling away, trying to remain positive..

Babbling away, trying to remain positive.

I don’t know where to begin. I’m afraid my blog is all over the place. Then again, so is my mind, so I suppose it’s quite reflective of my thought process yet perhaps hard to follow. 

Some days are good, some days are less than that. But every day is a blessing, right?

I have several drafts about several different topics that I had intended to write about, yet I find myself typing nothing of importance. Random thoughts, for the world to read. 

I can say this: I have been working hard every day to be better than the day before. Some days I succeed, some days I do not. Whatever kind of day it has been, as long as there were no major injuries and we go to bed having eaten well and laughed some, I’ve not been a failure. Despite what my brain tries to convince me of. 

This PPD business is a total bitch.  I’m SO OVER the intrusive thoughts, the lethargy, the mood swings, the panic attacks, the feelings of inadequacy, the constant mindfuck of it all. It’s terrible. If you’ve never been there, consider yourself lucky. If you’re stuck in the boggy recesses of a horribly depressed mind, I feel your pain. I know it. And I’m sorry. It can be a slow road to recovery. They tell me this illness can be overcome. I have to believe that. I have to KNOW that. I draw strength from the many women I speak with who are going through the same struggles.

Things are getting better. They will continue to get better.

Today I am grateful. SO GRATEFUL. That Superstorm that ravaged NY and NJ? The shores that were destroyed? Those are the beaches I grew up on. The town next to the one I grew up in was almost completely underwater. The town next to the one I live in now was almost completely underwater. My family and I were spared. I have friends and extended family that were not. I am grateful. And I am doing my best to help the people who need it. I can only imagine what they are going through. It will be a long, slow recovery. But there will be a recovery. I will do whatever I can to help. Many others are doing the same. 

Perhaps this was less of a babble about how I’m trying to remain positive and more of a story about how I am hopeful and AM being positive. It’s all I can do right now. And that’s all I have.