Life is good again.

It's Friday afternoon. Little Blue Eyes is resting them. His big brother is watching the Little Bear Movie, and I'm baking the last of eight dozen pumpkin spice cookies. I didn't intend to make quite so many. My sister Lindsay was visiting us yesterday afternoon while I made the dough, and I accidently put in the whole can of pumpkin instead of just one cup. So I had to triple the recipe, and try to fit it into my Kitchenaide bowl, which was a challenge. Fortunately, Scott thinks they're the best cookies I've ever made. I've eaten too many of them by now to agree.

So, I am feeling better. :) Thank you to those of you who wrote or called to check in with me this week. God is good. All the time. I think the boys and I finally caught up on our sleep last night. I put them to bed a little after 8, and accidentally fell asleep while Grant was nursing. Didn't wake up until 7 this morning. I actually had 45 minutes of quiet time! The boys slept till almost 8 a.m., and woke up in great moods. (I don't think I mentioned that Green Eyes was sick last week. Spent the night before his brother's birthday throwing up every hour, so none of us slept that night. When I wrote last, he still wasn't feeling himself.)

Monday night Scott came home and eased my stress level by offering to do the grocery shopping Tuesday evening. Just knowing I didn't HAVE to do it helped. I ended up going Tuesday morning anyway, so we could have the evening at home to watch the election news, and because the boys were in decent moods after we took Carla to work. We got in and out of the store so efficiently, I drove through Starbucks afterward for a treat.

Wednesday we were able to go to our homeschooling co-op for the first time in a month. I set the boys loose in the huge yard, and gabbed with my friends. It's so nice knowing that they can play freely and safely, and there are always other eyes keeping watch if they wander out of my sight.

Then yesterday Mark and his girls came over, and we enjoyed a sunny day in the garden. I planted a few more flats of pansies; still have several shrubs left to plant, but it looks pretty so far. I was planning to start a private childbirth prep series with friends of mine last night, but she came down with a cold, so we rescheduled. Thus, the 8 o'clock bedtime.

Today we had friends over for lunch who we haven't seen much of lately, so that was fun. Tomorrow we have another work party all day, and then we'll host the potluck dinner. It's been a full, but good week. The house isn't perfect, but when has it ever been? (Besides when Franklin was five months old, still sleeping a lot, and not making messes yet.)

Alone at last

For the first time in months, both my boys are down for an afternoon nap -- in bed, and at the same time -- and I'm actually alone.

This is a good thing, even though I've been feeling lonely and isolated from my closest friends lately. My friend and her son moved out two weeks ago, so we've been working our way back to our old routine again. We've committed to helping her with transportation to work until she gets a car, so my week is still influenced by her schedule.

Actually, if I'd looked at the correct schedule, I wouldn't be typing this at all. My sister and I took the boys to Barnes & Noble this morning, thinking I didn't have to be back until 12:30. Turns out I was supposed to watch her son at 11:30 and she was going to take my car, but we didn't get back until 11:45. So she woke up her ex, who works nights, instead. No, I still don't have a cell phone.

The mistake meant I could actually put my kids down for a nap when they were ready, which was earlier than usual because of the time change. My 3.5yo hasn't been napping except occasionally since before he turned three, but lately he's been sleeping less at night and been cranky all day. I know some people could get three toddlers to nap at the same time, but I haven't figured out how to do that non-coercively yet. It's been easier just to keep them busy outside or turn on a movie, and if one of them falls asleep in my lap or on the couch, great.

So, here I am, writing again. I have a really hard time finding creative energy when my life feels out of control. I lose my sense of humor. Even though it might be good for me to sit down and just get all my emotional crap out of my head and onto the screen, I can't do it. Especially when I know people will see it. I don't want to feel sorry for myself. And I'm tired of hearing, "That's really nice of you. She's lucky to have you for a friend." Yes, I'm glad to be able to help. I'd do it all again. That's not really the point. The problem is figuring out how to make it work better. How to deal with the stress that comes on when you have extra people living in your house, and you weren't the best household manager to begin with. How to maintain your relationship with your husband and children when time and opportunties for one-on-one attention are always short. How to still connect with your other friends when you're never alone long enough to feel like calling anyone, and don't have transportation half the time.

That last issue, however, is not just because my friend was living with us for 2.5 months. Five weeks ago she went to work full-time, and wasn't around that much anymore. No, it's more because I still haven't learned to be direct about my needs. I still depend on other people's listening and intuitive skills too much. So, when an neighbor who loves to talk, is away from adult contact all day, and whom I need to maintain a decent working friendship with drops by three or four times a day, I feel trapped. I don't want to say, "You're driving me crazy! I have stuff to do! Go home and stop leaving your kids alone!" Because sometimes I'm really glad to have someone to talk to, even if it's fairly surfacy. Sometimes my kids are thrilled to have their friends stop by, because they know I probably won't get everything in order to make the trip across the street myself. Because I'm too anal. I like to shower and dress before I leave the house. I don't want my kids crossing the street barefoot, but I can't find their socks. Because I know if it's too close to a mealtime, we'll get hungry and cranky before we're ready to come home, and it'll be a nightmare tearing them away again.

And then we come to the next problem. My firstborn child's and my matching melancholy temperament. We've been driving each other crazy lately. Our blood sugar drops at the same time, and we're equally inept at recognizing hunger and seeking food before it's too late. In fact, he often rejects food when he most needs it, as I used to do, too. We're both impatient perfectionists, and react dramatically to the smallest problem, and then sensitively to each other's noisy emotions.

So this week, I've found myself disliking my own child, and disliking myself even more for it. I'm seriously no more mature than my 3-year-old. I need God's help in a big way, but I've forgotten how to ask for it. I've been focusing all month just on gaining control over the house, as though somehow if I can get that in order, I'll feel in control of my life again. But it never lasts long. Someone always stops by at the messiest time of day. No one sees it when thinks are picked up. So what's the point?

I'm going to stop here and call my sister who lives out of state. I miss her.

Labor means work

September was crazy. Crazy in the where-the-heck-did-the-month-go sense. Crazy in the can't-stop-to-blog sense. Crazy in the Mommy's-gone-off-her-rocker sense.

Spent Labor Day weekend at Family Camp, and came home completely exhausted. Took part in a very healing family reunion when one of my dad's brothers came to visit for the first time in 15 years. Got to help one of my best friends through labor, and watched baby Eloise Elisabeth be born! Celebrated my grandmother's 75th birthday. Finished teaching my first childbirth series. I'm really proud of that. Wish I'd been able to enjoy the process more and hadn't been so stressed out about finding time to prepare.

Carla went back to work full time three weeks ago, so her schedule's been varied and she's less available to help around the house. The cleaning I'm used to, but my friends know cooking dinner is not my usual routine. Scott likes to cook, and last year he got home early enough most nights to make whatever I'd planned. Yes, I was very spoiled. This year he's tutoring privately two afternoons a week, and has an extra class period to teach, so he's getting home too late and too tired.

Then this week we had a brief pregnancy scare. Followed by extended-PMSing. And at the same time, I finally had a chance to worry about how our home improvement co-op was going to be able to landscape our backyard this weekend considering that I hadn't ordered any materials or called my landscaper brother-in-law to ask for help.

My poor husband. On Wednesday he left school to see a doctor because he was having symptoms of a heart attack. The doctor didn't think it was his heart. I could have told him what it was: he was panicking that he was going to have to go home soon and deal with his already-crazy and possibly-pregnant wife.

But somehow -- with God's grace and a lot of labor from my husband and our friends -- it all came together. This afternoon, as I looked out my back door at the new brick-lined pathway making its way from the porch to the patio and the lawn, I felt rejuvenated. The vision that's been in my head for the last four years, the one that didn't transfer easily to anyone else's head, has materialized. The eight-inch deep home-insurers nightmare of a trench has been filled in and leveled. The flower beds are ready for planting. And I have a reason to sit on my patio and enjoy the table and chairs my parents bought for my birthday six months ago, because it's not just surrounded by dusty dirt.

So, if I don't write again for awhile, it's because I'm busy planting and relaxing in my new garden.

Scott, on the other hand, will be heading back to the doctor for further tests on his heart, and to check out the now purple and painful big toe he thinks he broke last night when he dropped a brick on it.

You know you have sons when...

Lately it's been all about body humor. Today my curious firstborn decided to inquire more openly into why Mommy does not have a penis. Where does the pee come out if there's no penis? Where could it have gone? Did it fall off?

I try to answer their questions as matter-of-factly as I would in a childbirth class. I have to be comfortable discussing genitalia, of course. And, in fact, it's a great opportunity to share with them the miracles of creation.

But they're not so interested in the details of how many distinct organs Mommy has that Daddy doesn't. They'd rather just be funny.

My blue-eyed secondborn was quite pleased with the topic his brother chose for the evening. This was even better than jokes about Mommy nursing the cat!

"Mommy peh-nis fall floor!" he giggled as we headed toward the bedroom tonight for songs and prayers. "Peh-nis fall bed!" he laughed again as we crawled under the sheet. Ten minutes later, big brother sound asleep already, he was still giggling sleepily, "Mommy peh-nis fall..."