After Midnight jonesin'

(Prologue-y side note: What is wrong with my internal clock that I am most awake at this time of day? Seriously effed up. Internal clock, how dare you screw with me that way. I need to function along with the rest of the world, and this messy Australia time you've put me on really sux. [extra side note: I recently pondered this particular spelling of "sucks" and decided that I think it's hilarious. I want to use it in texts, sentences, email, etc. Admittedly, it's funniest when used as a one-word sentence response. As in, "my dad's standing in the kitchen internally combusting an egg and I want to clean my nostrils out with bleach," followed by the succinct reply, "sux."])

Where was I?

Ah, yes. I am grateful. Some people are grateful for loved ones, food on the table, yadda yadda. Oh, believe me I value those things, too, but right now I'm really thankful for the beauteous bounty that is Amazon dot com. Exhibit A:


The harvest is in, and it includes lemony vampire and werewolf-filled fiction from Kresley Cole and J.R. Ward (Wharden me, baby!). Interestingly, it also includes three Kleen Kanteen sport top cap replacements, because Baby Wright

**This blog has been interrupted by Baby Wright**

I can hear him whimpering on the monitor...wait for it, wait for it...? Okay, I hear nothing. Child has been a complete wreck the past couple nights, whimpering & keening half the night from, I dunno, molars coming in or growing pains or something. He keeps chewing on his hand and drooling, so I'm wondering if his last set of molars are finally coming in. Oh joy. He's in such a good mood all the time already, molars just really put some sprinkles on the whole thing by eliminating sleep. Yesssss!

Okay, another scream...I better type fast.

**Interruption maybe slightly over for the time being, but imminently about to possibly be interrupted again by Dee Arr Bunsington**

...anyway, Baby Wright keeps throwing his Kleen Kanteen and saying, "ball!" which merely dents the Kleen Kanteen, but let's face it the plastic cap can't really hold up to that. Not to mention two of our other caps lost their pressure plug thingee and are total drip-fests. Upon drinkage, they completely soak Dr. Buns and cause Violet to whine uncontrollably. Enter Amazon, where hardcover fiction can be bought at a deep discount, and Kleen Kanteen sport caps are a mere $3 each! Hello, these cost $4.20 each on the KK website. I ordered three, but I should have gotten five, just to be on the safe side. (Crap, what was I thinking?!) Anyway, they have free shipping over $25, so all this stuff came unencumbered by outrageous shipping costs, gasoline, or stress from trying to take kids to the bookstore and/or crunchy place where you might be able to buy BPA-free water bottles. Not to mention, it was all in one package. Where else? God bless America, it freakin' kicks kicks capitalist a$$.

I have, like, a test in the morning

I totally pulled an all-nighter last night. My inconsiderate roommate was up for freaking ever chatting it up, watching TV, and um, whimpering?

Yeah. Unfortunately my annoying roommate is my son. :p~ For some reason Wright was just, up, resulting in what I think might be my first all-nighter since college. I mean, sleep deprivation, I am good friends with. But this whole less-than-one-hour thing is an unwelcome flashback.

It was very interesting, going through today with literally almost no sleep under my belt. Here is what I observed:

-I feel rather disassociated from my body, like I am drunk or high, but without the happy giddiness. My driving responses are delayed, and I have tunnel vision. It's like that scene towards the end of Insomnia where Al Pacino's character drives to Robin William's crazy novelist's cabin, and the road looks like it is coming up to meet him and he can't stay awake, but somehow he does, and he goes to the psycho cabin, and you're like, don't go in there! I just asked Sam if he remembered this movie, and he said that yes, he does, but that he didn't enjoy it. Huh. I found it to be an exceptionally visceral movie and it sticks with me to this day. Checking IMDB, and ah, yes, it's a Christopher Nolan movie (a la Batman Begins?). Totally explains that. But not Sam's lack of enchantment. Sniff.

-My loud and boisterous children bother me much more than usual. I cannot concentrate when they are shouting and laughing. It's like I have hyper hangover hearing or something. Maybe the post-alcohol and non-sleep chemicals in my brain are related? I feel stressed out and want to yell at them to be quiet. I find myself snapping and ranting far more than usual. My Dad's presence alone is cause for immediate under-the-breath swear-filled sentences about smells and being in the way and stinky mulish annoyingness. My patience is sooo MIA. :)

-My stomach tells me it is hungry, but I am not in the mood to eat anything because I am too tired. Huh. The exception to this was a lovely tortilla soup I had for lunch, which I think was my main fortification today. It was like chicken soup for when you're sick. And being this tired is kind of like being sick, so it fits. My head is pounding, and I want to lay down, but my heart is racing. (Thanks, Coffee who is my best friend but also kind of my enemy. No time to sleep anyway what with kids running around and Baby Wright non-nappish, so it's cool.)

-I keep writing in present tense lately and, coincidentally, Sam recently told me that he hates to read stuff in present tense. Asking him now to clarify his opinion. He doesn't remember. Looking over to our Ikea "coffee table", I see a Blue Moon. And it IS 10:30pm. Poor man's brain has shut down. S'kay. I think he said he thought it was lazy. Well, I think he is wrong, because I keep making tense mistakes when I write in present, so therefore it must be hard. Or at least harder than past tense. This paragraph is getting all English-y and bo-ring...

-I think I must talk about Sam, pretty much, all the time. Sorry about that. I am like the tedious high schooler who gets a boyfriend, then builds her life around him and starts every sentence with, "well, my boyfriend says/does/thinks..." Blegh. Except that, after almost 9 years together, we are a little like halves of each others' psyches. They're hard to separate. This year (that never ends) at my parents' house has been like 5 years in one, too, because we're building this intense us-against-them experience that's like bonding on crack. I wonder if when we move, and we have all this living space between us I will be like, "hey, you over there...I miss you?" Like maybe McMansions are physical synonyms for how we all self-depend so much, whereas tiny houses and living rooms used to force families to get in each others' faces and learn to deal with each other and be together. Or maybe not. Maybe it's just nice to have space sometimes. :)

-Okay, ramblicious sleep-deprived thoughts, much? Why is it that, at 10:47pm on the day after the night in which I did not sleep at all, I am finally, finally wide awake? What is wrong with my internal clock? I mean, hello, that's just messed up. I should go to bed now, except that I can't, because I would totally insomnia it. Grr. Well, c'est la vie, I believe I will wake Sam up off the couch and convince him to watch The Soup with me. And then if I'm not tired after that I'll crack open my Twilight re-readathon and at least get some o' that in.

Off to go LMAO and drool over my favorite Married Dad of 2 Kids Who is on Community and Hosts An Hilarious Half Hour of Cable TV Commentary.

Shrieking coffee

Before I get started with this post, I would like to point out that Glee is so genius for putting a mohawk on a pretty face. So pretty. So mohawk-y. Oh baby, it's Lima Loser all the way! Finn who?

Now that's out of the way, I have a confession to make, and this is hard for me.

*deep breath*

I went through the Starbuck's drive-thru twice in one day.

*sigh*

Obviously I am a weak-willed person, to be justly condemned for my sinful indulgence in sugary caffeinated drinks.

First Drive of Shame

I woke up, stumbled to the bookcase and groped for my Blessed Pink John Deere Travel Mug of Joy. My Celestial Husband places it there for me every morning after he fills it with the Miraculous Nectar of the gods. I felt in vain, not to mention in blur. My eyes completely suck without vision correction. They can generally pick out that glowing pink fuzzangle, though. Not on the bookcase. Not on my nightstand. My dresser. NO COFFEE ANYWHERE. !!!! Then, head smack, I remembered a conversation I had had the previous day with Sam, in which he mentioned that we were...

Dun, dun, dun.

Out of coffee.

Eeek! Place kids in front of Wow, Wow, Wubbzy. Hurredly brush teeth, wash face, etc. Throw on what is probably my dorkiest outfit ever because I need to do laundry. Think, like, ironic pleated khaki shorts that are no longer ironic, and a striped tank top. Because I am from Ohio circa 1998 (sorry, Ohio people, just tellin' it like it was). Pawn Violet off on her Meemah & toss Wright in the car.

Order:

1 Grande Pumpkin Spice Latte (What? I needed comfort. I woke up without coffee! I am sad inside and need corporately manufactered holiday spirit in the form of flavored syrup shots. Sooo sad.)
1 Cinnamon chip scone (Freaking hungry.)
1 Short coffee cup filled with half apple juice, half water (for B.W.)
1 lb. Anniversary Blend coffee beans (No lady, I don't want you to grind it. Blasphemy!)

Total = like, $20+ or something. Sacre bleu, have I ever spent this much at Starbucks? I am officially blaming it on the coffee beans.

Text Sam that I have bought coffee. Receive this text back: I am drinking sh!t. <---do not read if you think fake swearing is taboo. (Later, when I asked him why he used the !, he told me that he wanted to accurately convey his drink's awfulness, but felt that in case I might object to his word choice, the ! made it more kosh. In reality, of course, it just made me LMAO.)

Think to self, "aww, poor Sam didn't even stop at Starbucks for himself, and now he is stuck drinking whatever crap they serve in his cafeteria at work! I shall be a good wife and bring him coffee, to thank him for his daily service & give him comfort as he toils!" (Totally think like that.)

Second Drive of Shame

Order:

1 Grande Pike Place drip coffee with cream (What? He doesn't want fou-fou. The man needs coffee!)
1 Kid sized chocolate milk with ice & whipped cream on top (Had to go pick up Violet since her Meemah urgently needed to visit Sam's Club--an oft-felt urge, TBH.)

Blissfully drive the 20 minutes to Sam's work, high on good-deededness and, frankly, just the plain ol' sugar & caffeine that I am still drinking. Park in visitor lot and call Sam. Drive to one of the other 50,000 parking lots at his work to meet him (I can never remember wherever his latest stupid building is). Field many, many questions from Violet. Like, "do all Daddys work here?" and "If Mommys work here too, where is your parking lot?" and "Yes, you stay home to take care of us, and I take care of Baby Wright. I need to brush his hair."

When Sam steps in the car, hand him his coffee with a triumphant flourish and then sit there for 15 minutes of his "break", in which Wright makes high-pitched screaming noises at the top of his lungs the entire time.

Oh snap. Sugar high wearing off. Drive home while enduring more screaming and chants of "ball! Ball!" *gritting teeth* Wright, I do not see a ball ANYWHERE. So obsessed with balls and screaming.

Put Baby Wright down for his nap, but he is all fidgety and won't sleep. Keeps saying, "ball! Got it! Ah got it, a ball!"

Realize, I don't really like Grande Pumpkin Spice Lattes, and they are definitely not worth $4.10.

He'll change

PSA: Last night Sam showed up for TV time with some sort of Fanta & vanilla ice cream concoction that I'm calling a Creamsicle Float. He presented it in two matching mugs, each with its own bendy straw & spoon, the better for optimum individual Creamsicle Float devouring. OMG, yum! Am I the only woman who goes all melty--me, not the drink--when her man brings her delicious treats out of the blue? We sipped & ate them merrily while reading skanky Harry Potter fanfic (me) and watching Psyche (him). Happiness.

Speaking of men, back to my intended topic: man-myths. Ish.

I was thinking about them last night when I came into our crowded bedroom to sleep in my crowded bed which currently features a) Sam, b) sleepybeautifulevil Wright, c) 12 inches of space for me. Did I mention that Violet now sleeps on on her toddler mattress on our floor? Yes, well, we are all struggling here at the 'rents. I finally gave up and decided that we would get through these last months in whatever way possible, and if that means that we all seek comfort from each other through shared sleep, so be it. If I were her, I wouldn't want to sleep in the office/bedroom that we call "Violet's room" either. Anyway, our current setup has something so comfy and time-honored about it. It's like we are giving echoey props to our homesteading forebears, for whom living in one room was a given, not a hardship. In our case, however, we will hopefully have a spacious dwelling of cookie-cutter stucco waiting on the other side of our synchronized snores.

But was talking about myths?

Right. Um, a well-documented man-myth, one that is the basis for many--dare I say most?--romantic stories is this: a worthy woman takes a bad man and, with her superior feminine wiles, turns him into a good one. Here's a similar one: a woman takes man who is bad on the outside and, maybe not outwardly turns him around, but at least turns him enough so that he is different and sweet when they are alone together. The "I see behind the veil, and I'm the luckiest woman ever" myth. We might scoff at these ideas as sorta silly, but nevertheless they are time-honored, powerful themes. Pay attention, and you will notice them in many, many of the stories that we see today in movies/TV/books, heck, even life. I admit that I am a HUGE sucker for them, considering that my absolute favorite type of hero is the bad-boy type. To take it even further, I might even say that I married a bad boy of sorts. :) (The other ones just made me yawn.)

Coming to bed last night with my precious Wright laying there taking up an unreasonable amount of space and looking like an angel, I was struck with the thought that Baby Wright and I are a classic man-myth. Because, let's face it, this kid is a complete terror during most of his waking hours. He is full swing into what I like to call The Witching Year, that horrific period between 18 - 30 months old when my children are just plain frustrating and un-fun to be around. He is adamantly scream-y and stubborn about every single little detail in his life. He has an unapologetic, rafter-shaking cry/scream that he whips out at the drop of the hat. I mean, no doubt he communicates efficiently, but in the most annoying way possible. I can't take him anywhere without becoming completely embarrassed, stressed out, and in general only nominally able to complete my errand. I walk out of any room he is in and it is like I died, based on his reaction. Also, I'm pretty sure my dad might not admit it, but he hates him (a clue: when he stomps around with shooting-range earmuffs...ya think?). Even my mom has expressed ample frustration at his constant running, screaming, throwing, and general disobedience.

But...I get this private, intimate little side of Baby Wright that no one else does...and I am IN LOVE. I mean, like, I have a huge crush on my child and want to gaze at him lovingly for hours. He is so perfectly formed, so beautiful. I adore his guileless gaze and golden curls. His puffy cheeks and block-y feet. Oh, I could go on and on. *sigh* When I hold him in my arms to nurse him and he is still and I can admire him, when I come upon him groggy and cuddly post-nap, I not only forgive him his awful behavior, I actually forget. I am just in awe of this...this being that I helped bring into the world and am charged with. I only focus on that. And, when reality comes crashing down, as it inevitably does, I hope. And I think...he'll change. :)

Too hot to exist

Oh wow, do I get grumpy on 3 hours of sleep. Sheesh. See, other people will blog in "dating mode" and show you their best sides. Not me. My true inner dialogue, flaws and all, is here for your horrified perusal.

I am in a much better mood today. (Actually, most days I am in a better mood than that!)

It is like hot, sweaty fire at my parents' house. Good lord it is unbearable. Last night when I was putting Wright to bed at 8 o'clock, it was freaking 90 degrees in our bedroom! I am not exaggerating, either, because I check our thermometer religiously. It is like, I am hot--let me check the thermometer and feel vindicated: hah! I was right! I mean honestly, what post-pregnancy woman wouldn't sweat like a pig in that kind of heat?

Here is how I am getting through:

1. Complain a lot. Set up all the fans & windows for maximum cooling, then complain more when it doesn't make a whole lot of difference. Darn this house's heat-sink insulation!

2. Lay around and try not to do much. When I do get up and clean, run around the house like a wet shrew and snap at all the a) children in your way who are making messes behind you, b) parents who are oblivious to the entire world, especially your stinky dad.

3. Remember that (Lord willing!) next time this year I will be in my own house WITH air conditioning and no parents. Mantra is, "this will end. This will end. This will end. Etc."

Another strategy I have been using, somewhat sparingly, is to just get the heck out of this freaking house. The other day Sam and I went to the mall for an hour, merely to walk around in the A/C. We were also hoping to let the kids run around the indoor playground, but nada--dern thing was OOC. Figures. Anyway, I learned some tids while we were there:

1. The mall has an Aldo! How did I not know this?? I saw many lust-worthy boots while peeking through the windows. Maybe they will be in next month's budget...

2. H&M is coming! Woohoo!!! Oversize Mickey Mouse sweatshirts for everybody! Seriously, I am totally going to raid their accessories section every time I go there. That store is awesome.

3. Starbuck's Cinnamon Chip Scone is pretty much a masterpiece of butter, sugar, flour, and other tasty ingredients. Loooove it. And it had this lovely message on the wrapper:

Hi,

We're making a change. Using simpler recipes and taking out artificial ingredients. So your food not only tastes better, it is better. It's a start. But we think it's a good one. Hope you do too. Enjoy.

Your Friends at Starbucks

P.S. More to come.

Okay, now I know Starbucks is totally a guilty pleasure, but still. I am happy about this. Like they said--it's a start!

And now Wright is pulling on my arm and my blogging session is ovah.

Dude.

Baby Wright doesn't mind if you play Guitar Hero...you just have to make sure you give him the 2nd guitar. He likes to push the neck buttons, pluck the fret bar, and wiggle the whammy bar back and forth. I discovered this after unsuccessfully trying to play and swat him away from my guitar at the same time. Not so good for the "You Rock!!" screen.

Last night while we were playing through "Paint it Black," Violet came in (*ahem* GOT OUT OF BED) and whipped out her keyboard to play along as well. When I forced her back in bed later, she told me, "Mommy, but I was so happy when we were singing songs!" :)

Eau de _____

For some reason living at my parents' house involves quite a bit of smell-mystery-solving. I'm not sure why this is...maybe it has something to do with it being a 30+ year old house where older folks AND small children reside. Or, my dad. Heheh. No seriously, as I have a somewhat sensitive nose, I generally can't rest until I've found and eradicated the source. Otherwise. I. Die. Here's a few recent cases:

Q: What is that god-awful pee-filled-diaper-that's-been-sitting-in-a-hot-car-for-a-week stank in the hall bathroom? Is it a diaper someone stashed in the wall? Is it faulty plumbing? Is it my dad?
A: Nada, it's a cretin-brained opossum who decided to amble into the basement and die directly underneath the bathroom. Eeew! This odor was so pervasive, it remained for weeks after my dad and Sam removed the bastard and buried him. Apparently some hair fell off his carcass when they picked him up, and long after it was gone we had to endure a game-y wet animal odor every time we ran the shower. Deees-gusting.

Setting: playing with Violet on the living room floor
Q: Why does it smell like nasty feet? Did Violet fart?
A: It's my dad's feet.

Setting: playing with Violet in her playroom on the porch
Q: Dear God, can I smell my dad's feet all the way out here?
A: Nope, it's Violet's feet. She took off her $9.99 Target no-animals-were-killed-in-the-making-of-these shoes, thus releasing a waft ranker than a Parisian cheese shop.

Q: Why does Violet suck her thumb standing next to me and PINCH MY ARM!!
A: This is not a smell question, but it makes it dang hard TO TYPE!! *swat* *swat*

Q: Why does it smell poopy yet chemical-y outside? Did Sam just take an excrement-filled diaper out to the trash?
A: The neighbor's propane tank burst a pipe, filling the air with a difficult to identify sewage-ish/gas od-our. Side effect of harmful air was one heck of a headache for us all.

Q: Why does this mysteriously wet microphone on Violet's new keyboard reek like nap-breath?
A: When Violet sings into her microphone (Song of choice is "We Are Awana Cubbies"), she puts it in her mouth. I wonder if it's harmful for her to suck on a recently Clorox-wiped microphone?

Q: Do I smell popcorn? Did Sam make popcorn? Why does the baby smell like popcorn?
A: The baby pooped. Oddly, the resulting odor calls to mind butter, salt, and corn product.

Q: Why do I sense a homeless/unbathed personage in the near vicinity? Am I also detecting mildew? Is it my Dad? Did he funk up his chair so bad that it smells even when he's not there? Why do I also smell when the door to parents' room is open?
A: This one was a toughie. Source of the problem turned out to be *deep breath* for some reason the hot water was off on my mom's washing machine, and she couldn't turn the spigot, so she was washing everything on cold. Cold water does not kill bacteria and such, so all the bedding/towels/clothes were not getting cleaner AND causing all to get mildew-y-ish and yuck. So, I had Sam turn the spigot on and now everything has gotten clean and is now fresh and said odor has disappeared. Whew.

Q: This is not a smell question, but why the FRICK does Baby Wright (BW) kick the crap out of my stomach everytime we side nurse in bed? He is laying there basically trying to climb up AND push away, all the while attached at the boob. Did I mention this makes me feel violent at 3am?
A: I have no earthly idea. The insult is twofold; firstly, we have the stomach area which, if I thought was damaged after Violet (BW: Hah!), contains stomach muscles split in half 2 inches apart covered by skin stretched to heck (my OBGYN: The collagen will not recover!) thanks to the BEHEMOTH that is BW. I have accepted the first, but Secondly, we have the incessant kicking that goes on while BW tiltshis head back and tries to see if he can get my nipple to reach 9 inches. Gah! Urgh.

Sorry for whipping out the B and N words.

Red eyes. Foggy brain.

I have so many things to say, and yet I don't write. Sometimes it's just too hard to put my thoughts into words, and then my words into letters and sentences in the--literally--five minutes at a time that my kids are giving me these days.

Ugh, the kids. Seriously.

Wright: Wakes up every hour. Takes minimal naps. Makes a screaming noise if you're not holding him. Grabs at everything you're doing and puts your back out if you are holding him.

Violet: Wants me to hold her. Play with her. Gets up for an hour after I put her down for her nap/to sleep at night. Water. Song. Books. Potty. Ugh. Has sibling jealousy.

Update on the small group situation: it's going well! We decided to leave Violet with my mom every week, which has helped me enormously. Wright is doing super well sitting on my lap, and I'm enjoying getting to know different people with various ages and backgrounds. Sometimes I get so pissy and tired that I look at everything through negative glasses, and I think this was one of those cases.

Sam's mom is coming to visit this next week, and we are going up to Julian with her to pick apples. I have--OF COURSE--taken it upon myself to make Violet a special trip-to-Julian-with-Grammy apples dress. Why do I do this to myself? I am a crazy craft person with no time. Need. Crafts. To. Breathe. Anyway, if this goes well we might add it to our Fall traditions.

I can't think of anything else to write about. Question: Is extreme lack of sleep anything like being impaired by drugs? I am seriously concerned about my driving.

It's my birthday, yay.

Here I am at 12:30am typing because I couldn't sleep, ugh. It's a real travesty when every moment of shut-eye is sooo precious (due to Baby Butthead's mommy addiction), yet your body will not respond and TAKE ADVANTAGE. Hey body, this is going to suck tomorrow!! Body: screw you, let's think and worry ad nauseum instead!

I am not going to sugar coat this, I am not having a good day/night/early morning (whatever). We had our first "study" small group tonight, and Sam called me from work a couple of hours before to let me know that he would meet me there so he could work late.

??????????!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Sure honey! I'll just make a side dish and corral a high-energy toddler + non-sleeping, needs-constant-holding infant all by myself and still make it to group on time! Awesome! The only way I accomplished this was to have my mom watch Violet and Wright for pretty much 3 hours while I cooked, cleaned up, and got us all ready, etc. I really hate taking advantage of her like that. As grateful as I am, it makes me feel like I can't actually manage my own life.

Then we get there and...it's just hard to do a study with little kids. I've got to juggle papers and Wright on my lap, and half my attention is on Violet in the other room, even though she's being good--how is that fun? Hence why I was not sure it was a good idea for us right now. I'm doing it for Sam because he basically held a shotgun to my head and said I owed him one. I'm thinking at the end of this he owes me a coverstitch machine, hah!

I know I am such a complainer. In the grand scheme of things this is so inconsequential. I hate being so whiny (ugh, now I feel worse).

Anyway, I am 28 today. I get to spend my birthday watching the children while Sam goes to work on stuff at our old house so we can get ready to rent it. Yay.

OOh, I thought of something happy! The Office premier was tonight and there was such a GOOD Pam and Jim thing that went on (y'know, with a ring), and also they made out a bunch, and, yay, romance always cheers me up. Glad I thought of that.

On that note I'm going to try to go back to bed.

ZZZZZZZZzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

I came home tonight from a meeting at church + girl time at Starbucks, expecting both my children to be in bed, blissfully asleep. See, it was 10:15, and I had bathed them, fed them, AND put Wright to sleep before I left. Piece of cake for Sam, right? All he technically had to do was put on a movie for Violet and put her to bed. Riiiiiiight.

I walked in the door to find Wright fidgeting/fussing in the Boppy on Sam's lap and a whiny Violet sucking her thumb next to them. Sigh.

(*Commercial break* I am typing this next to Sam's nasty bag of Cheetos he was devouring before I stole the computer from him. Smell. Is. Overpowering. Smells like socks.)

Apparently every time he asked Violet if she wanted to go upstairs to bed, she politely declined and said she wanted to stay downstairs with Daddy. So he let her. Really, I wasn't aware bedtime was optional?? Huh. Just...y'know...hey, whenever ya want/don't want to go to bed s'fine.... Wright had woken up a little before I got home, and Sam seemed unaware that he might need to go back to sleep.

I've read that you just gotta let dads be dads and do things their own way, even if it's NOT the way YOU would, *ahem*, do it. In this case, the method was see-if-we-can-hold-out-until-Mommy-comes-home-and-then-she-can-
fix-everything.

So I put both kids to bed. I guess that's what Moms are for.

New baby, new blog

It seems like I only feel like writing when I have a new baby in the house. Maybe it's because they bring out such strong and complicated emotions that I suddenly feel inspired to journal them. Anyway, I'm going to give the blogging thing a second shot, if only to give myself an outlet right now.

Our new baby, Wright, was born this past weekend. Just like when Violet was born, I fell in love with him immediately and think he's just about the sweetest thing in the universe. That seems so easy to write, but I'm honestly not using these terms lightly, in fact writing that just made me cry. I tend to cry a lot and uncontrollably after I have babies, it seems. I thought I was doing better this time around until the second day in the hospital, when I realized that I'd been away from Violet for longer than I ever have in her whole life ,and I missed her. So much. I wondered how she was faring without me and was so scared about how our relationship would change now that Wright has entered the picture. I should be so happy that God has blessed me with two healthy babies, and I am so grateful and full of love, yet I just feel ripped in half.

My nursing book says that all these feelings are normal. It's always difficult to adjust after you have a baby and then have those pesky hormones coursing through your system. And I know we'll figure it out, but in the meantime...it's kind of hard. Violet has a cold (any kind of illness always makes her uber-cranky) and alternates between super-hyper, whiny, and disobedient. Where is my calm Violet who reads piles of books to herself and serves me tea all day? Argh, right now we are all fed up to here with her; I am so wishing for a peaceful household where I can love my toddler and enjoy my new baby, too. So far I am loving the heck out of Wright, and just wishing that Violet would SERIOUSLY take a chill pill already.