This is our third time around. I can't say it's a charm. I'm not really sure what to call it. Our first time bringing a child home was more of a cautious experiment. This time it's more of a total lack of caution.
I think back to that precious baby boy over seven years ago. If I remember correctly, we actually rinsed the paci when it fell on the floor. I'm pretty sure he was dressed, out of his pajamas before 10:00am. And I'm fairly confident that we even had something called a schedule - play time, snack time, nap time, reading time.... I even remember that at dinner time, he had a separate meal catered to his desires until he was about 3. Granted, we deal with food allergies, but seriously? The world revolved around him. The sun rose and set on his precious dimples.
Seven years later, plus two more babies, boy have things changed. "This is what's for dinner kiddo, eat it or go hungry." "Paci fell on the ground you say? Great! soil has great probiotic qualities. Throw that sucker in her mouth! Besides it's her fault it fell anyway. Time to teach this 6 week old personal responsibility." "I don't care -- you better get back in bed! You know you are only allowed to get out of that bed if someone is bleeding, or if vomit is involved!"
Forget daily baths. As long as I can't smell them when we are sitting at dinner, we're good. Never mind, that precious Sweet G had a bath every night with toys and bubbles and quality time. Nowadays, we'll take quality time on the couch and forgo the efforts of baths if at all possible. Really, I feel that if we can get them in pajamas and in bed without tears (I'm talking about me crying - who cares if they are) and with no major injuries and sufficiently fed (never mind if they ate it off of the floor or a china plate), then the day is a success.
So today, I sit and type. Baby girl is swinging from my drapes in a t-shirt and a diaper. Wild man J is screaming his version of "rock and roll" while, of course, in his PJ's. Laundry is piled at the foot of my bed (I know, shocking isn't it?). There is cereal on the floor. And dishes in the sink. The day begins. Hopefully, by tonight, my children will get bathed, we will avoid too many snacks picked up right off of the floor, and perhaps even get our bedtime devotion done with a quality prayer time. But regardless, we will make it through. We've managed this far...
I used to be stylish. I used to care a lot about what I wore. Let's face it, when you are "plus sized" if you don't pay attention to yourself and if you didn't get blessed with "such a pretty face" (that quote will have its own blog one day) you really can't compete in the world of vanity... So, knowing I had to compensate for the extra this and that around here and there, I was a good dresser.
Then 3 kids later, a stay at home job - two of them to be exact, and chasing two of three of my children for most of the day, fashion has taken a backseat. I really didn't think it was too bad until my friend Cheri told me that by 3:00 if I haven't at least brushed my hair and put on at least some semblance of an outfit, even if it was sweats and a semi-matching t-shirt, she was going to stage a major intervention. I don't know, but if you ask me, that in itself was a sort of passive aggressive intervention... and there ain't nothin' passive aggressive about Cheri.
But then I observed the world around me. Maybe I'm not as bad off as I thought. OK, so I only have one pair of jeans, and I have too many over sized swing cardigans (we lumpy women are so thankful for this fad). but THANK GOD I do not have a denim jumper in my closet. Why oh why people? Please put them away. They hide nothing. They are ugly, and I don't care if you have let yourself go, there is no reason in the world to punish yourself for becoming a mother. Please, go to Wal-mart or Cato or a yard sale for goodness sake and update yourself.
So, there, I've made myself feel better. My hair still isn't brushed and I haven't changed clothes yet and I certainly have not had a shower, but I AM NOT WEARING A DENIM JUMPER!!! And if any of you ever, ever catch me in one of those things, please do more than a gentle reminder. Stage a full-on intervention, with locked doors, tissues and tears and perhaps a Visa gift card preferably minus Stacy and Clinton.
I love pretty things, and I love kitchen items, and when those two things combine, I can't help myself.
Things were all fine until this week. I was living in ignorant bliss - minding my own business - cleaning, folding clothes, working, sewing, cooking, wiping butts - the normal stuff. It's really all Troye's fault. I've been too crazed to check out Pioneer Woman's blog lately. I mean really - I haven't even been blogging myself. But she did it, that Troye, she changed my life forever. She said. "have you seen the Kitchen Aid on PW's site?" and within moments on that tiny iPhone screen... there it was... love at first sight.
I cannot even describe the lust... the coveting... the longing. I mean it's orange!!! There are flowers!!! it would match my kitchen AND Julia!!! It matches Julia! ahh Julia... my beloved Julia. My flame-orange dutch oven.
This photograph is now my laptop wallpaper. Sorry Baby Girl, you've been replaced on the screen.
I know it's ridiculous. And I also know that I will probably never own this. (and before all you people out there start chiming in about the giveaway's.... be quiet... I am entering... and I NEVER win..)
So I will put her in the category of loves never held. Desires never met. Dreams that remain dreams.
At least I have her on my screen.
