Closet Cleaning

I know, because I checked today while having a fit of organizing. 

And now I shall eat some chocolate. 

Sunny Days

Hello All -
I hope you survived the holidays. Oh my.
And now we come to Winter. Real Winter. Winter without tinsel and a sugar-induced stupor.

Winter like you wake up in the morning to find that the sink pipes in your nearly 250 year old house have frozen solid and the Mr. has to rip the entire wall apart because the pipe actually just drains into the backyard (because it's Maine and that's how we roll) and therefore has to be completely removed and replaced. Winter like the frenzied stoking of the wood stove in order to keep the little bear from also freezing up and frantic rushing down the broken basement stairs (the stairs collapsed during the rain storm we had which flooded the basement) to make sure no other pipes are in danger of the frost.

I admire this sort of Winter. I do not like it, but I feel the more honorable for having decided to face it head on, with no whimpering or cowering or whining. Ok - sometimes whining - but I slap myself out of it.
This winter means business.
My rambling house feels tauntingly big and empty due to the fact that we are living in the kitchen, huddled around the stove in order to preserve furnace fuel. I feel a little cheated, but I enjoy the challenge.

I am constantly decluttering and cleansing and purging because even this spacious room gets a little claustrophobic around the edges by the end of the day and dinner is being made and there are toys scattered all over the floor and laundry tossed hither and yon (the washer and dryer are in the kitchen room) and the sun sets, completely closing us in at last. Sometimes I want to scream and run into the frozen woods - - but I don't.

So what's to do? The holidays are over, thank God, and Winter has set in forever, or so it feels.
Now I can get to the Winter activities I enjoy doing, such as:

*Drinking Lots of Tea
*Cooking up scrumptious things to eat with tea
*Reading a novel (I'm really feeling a Louisa May Alcott binge coming on)
*Knitting some thing(s) for my Little Men (did I say - we are expecting another man child?)
*Decluttering without Mercy
*Moisturizing. Everyone. Every day. Again, without mercy.
*Perusing Seed Catalogs
*Ordering Seeds - lots of them
*Planning out the garden(s) - I have 8 acres to fill with Eden if I so choose
*Being able to fully engage in preparing for this second child
*Learning something - this year I am tempted by greenhouses and four-season planting schemes
*Keeping Little Bear occupied
*Watching the days wax longer by minutes

How are you passing the whiles before Spring?

Oh, the books I could write...

My child has been sick for exactly one week and one hour.
Last Sunday he came down with a fever which we nursed until 2:30 Tuesday morning when it became a congested chest cold. Stuffy nose, cranky head, coughing... it's all here. Every morning he wakes up on the bright side, I've got his room so humidified it's like a cool sauna, but by 11 he's fallen apart once again.
I don't blame him - I HATE being sick. HATE. With violence. And so does my son. Thankfully, I make a better nurse than a sick person *and* I'm the adult, so we're getting along fair to middlin'. He's been smeared with eucalyptus infused oils, humidified, syringed, aspirated, wiped, hydrated, cuddled, coddled and fed copious amounts of oranges and pineapple while watching Pride and Prejudice. I hold him a great deal, but the Inside Baby doesn't care for that so much and makes his objections known by repeatedly beating my bladder until I move. Oh yeah.

Being of a literary bent, I've taken a few moments in-between nose wipings and tantrum soothings to imagine some of the books I could write using all the rich content I've been 'soaking in' the past few days.

"Everything is Covered in Snot; A Memoir"
by Mrs. Ann 'Nightingale'

"My Child Just Spewed Baby Tylenol All Over The Breakfast Table; and other adventures"
by Mrs. Ann 'Wet Rag'

"Somebody Smells Like Eucalyptus! A Guess-Who Book"
by Mrs. Ann 'Slather'

"Where's That Syringe?! An Eye-Spy Book"
by Mrs. Ann 'Hold-Him-Down'

"I Just Ate Half A Jar Of Gummy Vitamins; A Survival Guide"
by Mrs. Ann 'Confessional'

"Please Let Him Nap; A Book Of Common Prayers"
by Mrs. Ann 'Baby Tylenol'

"Don't Wipe Your Nose On THAT! A Book Of Every Day Objects"
by Mrs. Ann 'Grab-it-First'

"The Beast Below; Dealing With Early Sibling Rivalry"
by Mrs. Ann 'Gottapee'

So there you have it, from the trenches, 

Ann 

Darcy Day

My son loves Pride and Prejudice almost as much as he loves Baby Einstein - in fact, I think it safe to say that they are tied in his affections. 

When we have a cranky day, an icky day, a sick day, a 'just can't get out of our own way' day, I pop on some P&P and things immediately begin to smooth out. Little Bear sways and hums along with the ever-inviting introductory theme and always enjoys the ball scenes, twirling and clapping with the Bennet Girls and their beaus. When Mrs. Bennet gets her bonnet strings in a whirl, Bear throws up his hands and issues a loud wail of his own and every time Lydia elopes with the infamous Wickham, he grieves with the family as if they were his own, faking tears and throwing himself into the chair cushion with great zeal. 

He plays with his farm puzzles and blocks during most of the episodes, loving the dances and drama the best and stopping in the middle of whatever he is doing at the time to join in, but when each one ends he says, "Ohhhhhhhhhhhhh, mama! More?" 

There is *always* more Pride and Prejudice. It's such gentle entertainment, we go about our day with the lilting British chatter in the background and feel we are very much among friends and neighbors. 

Me Today; them lying hormones

This is how I feel Today:

And somehow, writing about it is going to cure me.  I need to laugh at myself - bear with me. I know of no other remedy so perfect for a funky mood. 

Little Bear is fed, changed and taking his afternoon siesta, The Mr. is sleeping after a long night at work and I am sitting here in my kitchen sipping cold coffee, wondering what to do with myself.  

I personally identify with this screaming, cleaning war dwarf. I'm convinced this is what my brothers picture when remembering me as a teenager. I am the oldest girl - I have three younger brothers - we lived on a farm with as many as three indoor dogs and up to five indoor cats. Mopping was intense. I stand by any actions I took while completing the task. 

This is how I feel - machete raised, hair aflame, spit-flying. 

I am embarrassed to admit this publicly, but I really am only now learning that how I *feel* isn't necessarily how I *am*. Seems like something you learn in day school, not during one's second pregnancy. My last pregnancy (and, honestly, this one too) was a bit of a nightmare internally because my feelings and moods and thoughts were so intense, so out of control and overwhelming it almost drove me crazy. I thought I *was* crazy.

 I live at an intensity most people can only experience while under the influence of untoward substances. I have this idea nestled inside that if my Whole Being isn't 100% - none of me is. I know this is a horrid fault to confess in front of people I have only just met - - - but it's true. If I *feel* like a raging dwarf, I must be a raging dwarf, no matter how I act or KNOW otherwise. And this brings on guilt and despair and dismay and discouragement and confusion... and every bad thing. 

Sometimes I do stupid or sinful things while channeling my war dwarf, but most of the time I just go on as I must and let the war rage on inside and unseen by anyone but me. 

Here's the truth - This is actually me today: 

I sat in the rocking chair holding my sobbing Little Bear who was in a good bit of distress for most of the morning. It was just one of those days. He was heartbroken when Dad went upstairs to go to bed. He was heartbroken when he couldn't get the book to shut. He was heartbroken when his cup was empty. He was heartbroken when my shoes wouldn't fit his tiny feet. He was heartbroken when Jane Eyre had to flee Mr. Rochester - - and he's never read that book. I tried to tell him it ends well, but he would not be consoled. He's pretty intense too... Hmmm. 

So I put my plans for the day aside and we hunkered down. I dried his little tears, we watched three episodes of A&E's Pride and Prejudice (which is second only to Baby Einstein in his affections), we talked, we cuddled, we played with his ball and his farm animal puzzle. Then I made lunch and we ate. And here I am.  

There was no screaming, no sobbing on my end, no machetes, no war. 

My adrenal glands were ready to charge into the fray, my mind was racing and tumultuous with battle plans, my entire being felt panicked and on the edge of desperation. But it was just hormones. 

Useful hormones, necessary hormones, but they lie, lie, LIE. 

And now I must go. Baby #2 is jumping on my bladder - and that's a feeling that needs to be believed and acted upon rather urgently.