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Sunday, September 30, 2012

One week later

I went home for a too brief visit last week, to go to my paternal grandmother's (Dottie) family reunion. It was ridiculously good to be home, among family. I was spoiled rotten and catered to - because the LaBarge/Newman/Miller clan believe that pregnant women need to be spoiled. It's no wonder there are so many of us - a girl could get used to that kind of treatment.

My aunt Kathy and I compared many notes about our lives, likes and dislikes. We talked about family. We talked about friends. There was a good deal of sharing - even in the inconsequential stuff. Our bonds were reaffirmed and I felt validated. Here in the Sunshine state, I often get called crazy for loving the rain and complaining about all the sun. As it turns out, that's a family trait.

When Sunday rolled around, and it was time for me to head for points South, I didn't cry, which surprised me (because these days, I cry about everything). I felt more resolved to get home for good. WhenI walked in the door to a sleeping boyfriend and trolls, I was glad for those still packed boxes. We'll move those out to the garage for now, and keep them packed. It's stuff we want to keep, but nothing we're going to need in The next couple of years.

One week later, I miss home utterly. It's taking a great deal of strength not to huddle in a ball and cry about wanting to go home. I have to remind myself that there is work to be done here first. The necessary tilling and planting is happening now, so the harvest of home will await us in just a couple of short years. But I'm impatient and I want it NOW. But going home prepared for that first winter of obscene heating bills, with a nest egg socked away in case employment doesn't happen right away, will make everything better. I don't want to start the way I left home - sort of running away from a daily struggle to keep the lights on and feed the trolls.

I also have to remember to keep the hopes small, in terms of what I want when I get home. Ideally, I want a homestead that we can farm. I want self-resiliency and family under foot. But the monkey will be 15 and less likely to want to be underfoot. The nugget will be 12 and trailing his brother. A homestead may only happen with Lima Bean under foot and the trolls off on their own adventures - but I'm really OK with that. We'll be close to the large nest of family.

In the mean time, my dear friend Meeshka is working on getting her hand crafted pieces into shops around the area. I'm trying to convince her that we should go into business together. I would love nothing more than to have an established business to go home with (and to).

One week later and I am resolved. We WILL be home and soon, and all of this work of planting will bring a mighty harvest.

Saturday, September 15, 2012

Diddle, diddle dumping...

For some reason, that rhyme is running through my head right now. Why "with one shoe off and one shoe on..." seems appropriate at the mo I haven't figured out.

We have officially been living in our house for a month now and it still doesn't feel like home. A goodly portion of that reason is because it still seems like my parents' house, and I haven't lived "at home" (aside from a brief return when The Ex broke my heart) since I was seventeen. My independent streak could never abide living with my folks for very long.

The other reason for it not feeling like home is the lamentable lack of art on the walls and the piles of boxes in just about every corner. We really just unpacked what we needed and left the rest for later, which - if truth be told - I don't really mind. The more that's left packed, the less packing I'll have to do when it's time to move back to Massachusetts.

So as I rearrange the kitchen for the third time since moving in, this rhyme runs through my head because I've got one foot in the door and one foot out.

Thursday, September 13, 2012

Lesbian Porn (and other blog titles that are sure to drive traffic to my blog)

There comes a point in every mother's life - especially the mothers of pubescent boys - where she has to say the following things:

"I am no longer comfortable sitting on your bed" and

"You are now doing your own laundry".

I'll give you three guesses about what I discovered in The Monkey's Internet browsing history....

Tuesday, September 11, 2012

I have 17 minutes before I'm supposed to be awake

Every once-a-while, I like to pretend that I'm a list person, in that I will do those things that I put on a list. I'm very bad at accomplishing everything on a to do list, as a rule, despite the feeling of accomplishment I get whenever I DO complete my to do list.

Yesterday I made a to do list for the week, filled with lots of simple things. See, I'm trying to simplify. I'm trying not to be so scatterbrained despite scatterbraininess being part of my genetic make up. So I have this list, and I carry it around with me in my purse. On my to do list are things like "clean out purse" so I don't lose things, like my to do list... Or drivers license; and "make the bed", because I sleep better in a made bed (The Boyfriend™ does not share that quirk).

Because The Nugget will be getting on the bus earlier, starting tomorrow, I also have "wake up earlier" on my list, in an effort to make an early rise time a habit. Unfortunately, this means The Boyfriend™ and I are now waking up at the same time. Neither of us are morning people and both of us being awake at the same time may result in jail time for one or both of us. He is extra cantankerous in the morning, and I am extra sarcastic. Not a good combo.

Frankly, a world run by morning larks should be illegal. I am a night owl; all my best thinking happens at night, the way God intended it. And as I sit here on the back porch up earlier than necessary, sipping my coffee, looking at the pile of cat food on the floor (one of them just knocked a bucket of it down), I remind myself that patience is a virtue.

...One I don't possess. Especially in the morning.

Monday, September 10, 2012

12 Things... Why I'm 98% Sure Lima Bean is a Girl

It's been a while since we did a 12 Things around here and since The Boyfriend™ is dead to the world and there's only so much Pawn Stars I can take, I thought I'd regale y'all with baby talk. Fun, right?

1) I don't have any cravings...except when I do and then it's for sweet stuff.

If little boys are snakes and snails and puppy dog tails, then my cravings with The Trolls were just about dead on. Savory and meaty (except with The Nugget. I couldn't do meat with him). With Lima Bean, I want sweet: juice, fruit, candy and ice cream. She's already a bit of sugar and spice.

2) I have zero appetite. As soon as The Boyfriend™ actually gives in and goes to the store to get whatever-it-is-I'm-craving-which-of course-isn't-anything-we-have-in-the-house, I no longer want it. Or only want a bite of it.

3) I cry ALL THE TIME. No, seriously. It's like a waterfall up in here...a snot-filled waterfall. Over a lamentable lack of gummy bears. I wish I was kidding.

4) The teensiest thing will make me want to blow chunks. Yesterday, a wadded up piece of bread sent me reeling (I am holding back a gag even as I type this).

5) I am WHINEY. Especially when The Boyfriend™ farts... Which is all the time. I'm pretty sure there's a hole in the ozone his butt is solely responsible for.

6) I'm breaking out like a 13-year-old boy before his Bar Mitzvah. And since I currently live with a 13-year-old boy, I know from greasy skin. This isn't pregnancy glow, Loves. It's a super shiny t-zone.

7) I have a sudden love for all things pinky and fuzzy.

8) I change my mind more often than I change my underwear... Which is a LOT, since I'm also sweating like a nun in a whorehouse.

9) My mood swings more often than I change my mind. Those sob fests of waterfall proportions? Yeah, I've also taken to LAUGHING during them. Which is painful. And not just for The Boyfriend™.

10) Boys are icky.

11) My will is strong. When I was having the trolls, I insisted that I would have boys. I only wanted boys then. I have since learned my lesson, which is why....

12) I told The Boyfriend™ that I was not letting any Y sperm up in my vajeege. As a rule, I'm fertile Myrtle and it took us FOREVER to get pregnant. I'm fairly certain it's because my vagina was doing battle against invading Y-ers. The go 'round that put me in the family way, he must've been shooting nothing but Xes because (not to get too graphic), there wasn't a whole lot of opportunity to get pregnant, if you know what I mean.

Of course, I'll let you know for sure, once we have the official confirmation. But for now, we're either giving our son a wicked sexual identity issue or I'm having a girl.

Now I'm going to cry over my gummy bears.