Wednesday, February 9, 2011

Stream of Consciousness

I hate getting behind.  But last week Special K and Middleton were out of school for not one, but two non-snow snow days.  The weather was below zero with wind-chill, but the roads were clear and not hazardous in our area with very little actual snow, so I didn't really get why they got two days off, seeing as it IS Colorado and things do get cold from time to time, but hey, whatever, right?  We mostly did alright, with little to no altercations, save for the incessant undoings of anything I attempted to do domestically, which then resulted in subsequent RE-doings to the power of x, x being that mysterious value of "you will never get anything accomplished today, bahahaha!"  Quality time with the kids, good.  Falling behind in laundry, housework, my Finance Mgt for Non-Profits class, and life in general: Bad....very bad.  I'm digging out.  Slowly.  Obscene amounts of caffeine are predicted in the forecast.

Mr. Fixit and I had a date night on Friday.  The first since.....our anniversary???  Which would have been July.  Sad, I know.  It was GLORIOUS.  My BIL and his wife had given us a gift card to The Outback for Christmas, and some friends had graced us with a gift card to the movie theater, also for Christmas.  Last month, after a snow storm during which Mr. Fixit had done his usual neighborhood snow-blowing, I came home to a note on the door from our neighbor which had a gift card in it - also for the Outback!  We had a friend's daughter come sit our kids since she is saving money for a missions trip this summer (also - tangential side note....14 years ago, if someone would have told my 18 year old self that the then toddler with the cute blonde hair and brown eyes would be babysitting my own children - kids, me? and plural no less? - in what would seem like a blink, I would have laughed at them maniacally).  So we ate at Outback in conversation that was blissfully absent of whining, pinching, or some other activity warranting parental intervention, and then went to see 127 Hours.  It was a good movie.  But, I was unprepared to be hit with torrential emotions as I seem to have drawn some keen parallels between Aron Ralston's plight with that of my own glance at mortality nearly two years ago.  Vastly different settings and details, but that familiar roller coaster of hope and despair, coupled with a mutually experienced, primal, and determined will to survive, left me shaking in my seat as the credits rolled, hands fanned out in a vee and my thumbs attempting to dam the tears.  PTSD's adrenaline had been coursing through me, unbeknownst, and culminated at the scene where he finally knew he was going to make it, for reals, as the helicopter hovered over first just a few tears flowed down, but then I was sobbing and shuddering, borne of something extremely similar to that very potent cocktail of joy and adrenaline one experiences moments after giving birth.  *sigh*  life is good, eh?

I got my first paycheck as a free-lancing, independent contracting, non-profit consultant on Saturday!  And I now have me a fancy-pants business account with a registered trade-name and DBA and everything.  I'm so excited about what the future holds for this endeavor and just know that 2011 is going to be a great year for us.

I don't remember how I landed on this article about extended nursing awhile back, but I swear, it rings so true to my life, particularly this part:
...They are his breasts now. He strokes them lovingly through my shirt and cups them with his palms. He blows raspberries on them and giggles. He nurses in a toddler variation of Downward Facing Dog while simultaneously thumbing the pages of Goodnight Moon. He slaps my chest with both hands and shouts....
I don't know that I'm as embarrassed as the author of the article says she was re: Screech's extended nursing, but we've definitely cut out nursing in public at this point not because I worry about what other people will think, but 1.) his acrobatics are mutually exclusive with any attempts for modesty, which is MY preference, and 2.) there has to be some sort of balance around teaching him boundaries, no?  I still enjoy the quiet moments, the cuddles.  Though it did a number on my body's balance of supply/demand, I had incredible peace of mind when he had 2 GI bugs back to back because I knew through nursing he was getting nourishment as he simply would not eat any food or drink other liquids.  But there are times, like Saturday night in bed, when I get tired of always having an unwieldy toddler stretching my breast into positions once filed in the erstwhile mental category of  "humanly impossible."

French's yellow mustard has something going on.  Special K is something of an anomaly for kids when it comes to her tastes in sandwich spreads - that is, she is a mustard and lunchmeat only kinda gal.    Same goes for burgers, hot dogs, and other condiment-requiring foods.  She'd do great in TX, no?  Last week at the International Festival, Middleton just about popped a gasket b/c the mustard at the concessions stand, French's yellow, was too spicy.  I tasted it, and sure enough, it had the vinegary twang of yellow mustard but the heat of the hottests of Chinese mustards.  I assumed it was an isolated incident.  Until today when I was making lunches and Special K insisted that I NOT use the mustard I used yesterday because it burned.  Sure enough, the brand new bottle I bought was not the same taste we've relied on for years.

Well...this has been days of SoC writing, best to hit publish and get to work.

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1 comment:

  1. The date night sounds wonderful!
    Congrats on your new journey.