In transition

So I know I’ve written far too much in the mommy department, but I couldn’t let this one go even if it is embarrassing.  Last warning guys, bodily fluids and hormones ahead.

Lately the boys have been sneaking into our bed at night and when Tim is away I appreciate the body heat.  What I don’t appreciate is being awoken at 3:40 in the morning by pee.  Not just a little pee, a whole lot of it; soaking my pajamas, me, the sheets, the mattress cover, of course the pee-er.  So let’s just set the scene.  I’m soaked, I have two crying boys, one covered in pee, the other just mad that he’s being sent back to his own room so I can strip my bed.  Not two minutes into this, the baby wakes up with a lovely case of the runs.     So, three kids crying, pee, a dirty diaper, and for icing on the cake the dog is whining because that’s what he does best. At the precise moment I pick up the screaming baby, my period starts.  No, not a trickle, it’s a post pregnancy nightmarish episode.

Sufficient to say I spent a moment telling God that I didn’t find this particularly funny and that I would appreciate some patience STAT.

Well, it’s a little funny now, but then again I’m not currently covered in pee.

It’s haircut time.

Yay or nay?

I escaped.  I am catching up on local posts at the Atlanta Bread Company in N. Chuck and generally enjoying not having any children trying to perch on me as I type.  If only this were a regular escape and not due to screwing up and mixing up the time of an appointment.

I believe it is time for me to begin making an effort to pay more attention to my actions.  I’ve grown quite careless in recent weeks and I am not sure when it began.  Each time I prepare a meal, I recreate the scene in The Sixth Sense where the cupboard doors and drawers open each time the mother turns around.  Sure it’s a mostly harmless quirk, but it may be a symptom of an underlying issue.

I wonder if I’m that inattentive while cooking, how am I doing while driving?  Don’t answer that.

I promise I’m still here. Kadie’s death took me much longer to process than I imagined. Yesterday was the first day I didn’t feel as though I were moving through molasses. I cannot imagine how her family is carrying on.

Tonight is the first time since it happened that I’ll be seeing others not involved with this event. It will be nice to get out.

Unrelated:
[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=afNIRFCiKEo&rel=1]
Ever since I showed this clip to Tim, taking pictures for Home Ec has become much more entertaining. In an ironic twist, if I get frustrated trying to get a good shot he’ll ask, “Did you scream at it?”It’s amusing, if nothing else.

I had a last chance to call to see how you were doing, to stop by, to see the baby, to do more than say we’d get together again soon; it passed and I didn’t know it until I got the phone call today. I keep going through my hard drive. Searching.

I know there was a picture of you happy, smiling with your baby girl. I can’t find it, I know I didn’t take it long ago. I remember meaning to e-mail it, so you could see yourself as I see you. I didn’t know it’d be the last.

My heart isn’t letting me believe what is on the news and in the paper. It doesn’t make any sense.

Someone tell me I wasn’t blind to a cry for help.

I think of your baby, cold, in last night’s rain. You had hoped it would snow.

Did you know that we hear every train that roars by?

Were you frightened? Sad?

We are.

Isn’t declaring “I’m voting for Clinton because she’s a woman!” just as blatantly sexist as “I’m not voting for Clinton because she’s a woman!”?

Back to your regularly scheduled doldrums.

Most of the world is still sleeping.  While I know better, the dog insists he hasn’t been let out for days and if he doesn’t get out this moment, he will wake the whole house.

There is only drip, drip, drip of fog condensing on tree branches, muffled stillness, quiet rumble of a train rolling by.

I stand in the darkened driveway waiting, it is peaceful here.  Until it is shattered by the piercing whine of a two year old emanating from the house.

“Mo-om what are you dooooing?”

“Why are you taking so long?”

“I neeeeeed you.”

I sometimes wish the dog would take longer.