Life is good today

Well here we are kids.  Another year down, another one to go.  Me, I'm glad to have made it through the holidays and I'm anxious to get back to real life.  Don't get me wrong, the holidays were wonderful and Christmas Day with Sofia was pretty much the best day of the year.  But, I'm just ready to get back into the regular swing of everyday life.  So, bring on 2013!

However, we have to wrap up some loose ends so we go into the New Year so fresh and so clean clean.  Yeah I know, it sounded better in my head.  Nevertheless...

Drew's work dinner.  I ran out of time to go shopping.  I found so many cute things online but before I knew it, there was no time for shipping, so I had to make do with what I had in my closet.

PS, I detest taking pictures of myself, which is why I cropped out the ridiculous expression on my face.  It's all about the outfit anyway.  From what I understand, peplums are very now and the flowy-ness was very forgiving of my squishy midsection.

I felt very special with my fun jewelry and I even had a good hair and makeup day.

You'll have to trust me on that one because truly, I looked constipated in this picture.

I wore my pointy heels, even though it was 

freezing outside.  It was totally worth it because 

I felt a little like the old me.  

We had lots of fun, Sofia did great with the babysitter, AND I met a girl!  I knew we were going to be friends the minute I saw her sequined top and black leather jacket.  Finally, someone in Reading with some fashion sense!  PLUS, she's from Mexico so I got to spend the whole night speaking Spanish, which was pretty much the most fun thing ever.  

Me, as a mother.  So, I had this whole post written out about how I was turning over a new leaf as a mom.  But that was the day of the Newtown shootings and it just didn't feel right.  Plus, I tried to edit it from my phone and the whole post got deleted so the five people that saw it, go do something else right now because you already know what I'm going to say.

Anyway, in a nutshell, I'm going to calm the F down when it comes to being a mom.  My kid is amazing and awesome and it's due in large part to me.  I need to say that more often and I need to believe it because it's true.  So what her school isn't teaching her advanced calculus.  That's okay, because she *is* learning.  As you fine readers pointed out, she's learning to interact with other children.  She's learning to be okay without me.  Just because her teachers do her crafts for her, it's not going to ruin her life, and neither will a little tv.  They don't watch tv every day, she doesn't watch it a lot at home and it's not like when she does it's Law and Order SVU or something like that.  And those four hours a week that I get all to myself are way too sacred to just toss them aside.  There is plenty of time for her to learn and I just need to settle down.

But that's what happens when it's just you and the internet day in and day out.  All I see are the images of the perfect moms with their perfect kids who love every craft and activity their perfect moms set out for them, and I got caught up in subconsciously trying to be that mom.  I have actually sat Sofia down in front of an activity and said, "Pinterest says you'll love this!"

Yes, I've done that.  I need an intervention - preferably with wine.  Isn't that how interventions go?

But no more.  If she doesn't like something, I'm no longer going to take it personally.  I'll let it go and maybe try it again in a few weeks.  Or not.  Either way, I'm going to brush my shoulders off and keep it movin'.  Like a boss.

Or a thug.  Your choice.

PS, when I found this picture it pretty much made my life.

The canvas of failure.  Remember when I was totally defeated that Sofia didn't like to fingerpaint?  You know, like three posts ago?  I can't remember and I'm trying to finish typing before Sofia wakes up.  Anyway, once again you fine readers talked me off the ledge and I thank you so much for that.  One of you was like, hey, no big.  So what she doesn't like fingerpaints?  Give her a paintbrush and try again with that.

Y'all are geniuses - seriously.  And that's exactly what I did.  I put a paintbrush in her hand and we tried again and it was brilliant.

After dinner one night, we got to painting.

Drew and I helped with filling in some of the spots, so even though

this is an original by Sofia, it's also a bit of a family affair.

When it came time to put the words on the canvas, it was a no-brainer.  Drew loves his country music and Zac Brown Band is one his favorites.  I have to admit, some of the songs have grown on me and I don't complain as much when we have Zac Brown on Pandora.  Anyway, one of his favorite songs is Toes, which isn't the best name for a country song but what are you gonna do.  In the chorus it says "Life is good today" and that really resonated with me.  It's a good mantra and good sentiment, and an all around good way to look at things.  I'm thinking that's going to be my mantra for 2013.  So that's what went on our canvas.

Down the line, I may do some sort of outline so the letters stand out more,

but for now I'm celebrating the successes.

We did a craft as a family!

And last but not least, today is Drew's birthday.  I'm the lame-o broke-ass housewife and I didn't get him anything and I feel terrible about it.  I should have hand-stitched a quilt for him or something like that, but let's face it, I'm not that kind of girl.  Mostly because it would take me an entire year to sew even one square.  However, Drew is an amazing husband and didn't give me a hard time about it.  Getting him a great birthday present for the next birthday is my number one resolution.  Actually, not procrastinating is my number one resolution but if I don't procrastinate I can plan and make his birthday great because I really do feel bad, because Drew makes my life good every day.  Go on, vomit if you must but it's true.  My husband is the best.

With that, I'm outta here.  I'm going to do my best to make the rest of this day special for my awesome husband.

Happy New Year everyone!   

Merry Christmas

After this, I'm staying off the computer but I wanted to wish all of you, my wonderful readers, a very Merry Christmas!  I'm so thankful for all of you and for this little community we have in our little corner of the internet.  It means the world to me and you guys are the best!  I hope you have a wonderful day and we have one very tired little girl sleeping off her present-opening extravaganza.

It started with a Christmas Eve present.

She got a karaoke machine, and apparently shirts are not required.

But the star of the show was the play kitchen.

She loved it and was moving way too fast to get a non-blurry picture.

Checking out the microwave.

She got pots and pans, food, fridge and pantry items;

 the kid has a better-stocked kitchen than we do!

She also got some cutting food, which was a HUGE hit.

After she opened that one, she didn't care what else she got.

It was nothing but "Cut it! Cut it!"

It was an amazing morning and I loved seeing her little face as she opened her presents.  I haven't been this excited for Christmas since I was a kid and it was wonderful.  

Again, I hope you all have an equally merry Christmas and I'll see you soon!

Is that your final answer?

I was all set to write this post, but I was trying to be all diplomatic and the words were all stilted and forced and it's just not me.  Since when am I diplomatic?  So let me just tell you a story, the way I tell it.  But first, a reminder.  We've all been around long enough to know that when I say my husband pissed me off, it doesn't mean we're getting a divorce.  It doesn't mean I don't love him and it sure doesn't mean you get to bash him.  That happened a way long time ago, and no one does it now but just in case, sometimes you got ta be remindin' folks.

Because my husband pissed me off and it has to do with the computer cabinet/desk/built-ins.

Once upon a time, our house used to look like this.

I would not have lived in it.

When we moved in, it looked like this.  

Better, but not us.

The first order of business was to knock down that old bookcase thingy.  I actually got to swing the hammer a couple of times to get it out, and we lived with it like that until last week.

The wine rack wall was a different color, the towels stayed under the rack and the cabinet in case we wanted to move them (?), and the computer wall was all ugly and gross.

Drew and I spent hours and hours trying to figure out what we wanted to do with the wall.  We drew countless possibilities on the iPad and searched Pinterest and Houzz until we were cross-eyed.

We talked about a reclaimed wood wall.

source

If I didn't get bookcases in my living room, heads were gonna roll.

source

We went back and forth a thousand times, never truly settling on a final design.  That's the first tip y'all:  When having something built, settle on a final design.  Draw it out, write across the top FINAL DESIGN.  Put stars and glitter across that shit.  That way, *no one* can come back and be like 'That's not what we discussed!'  And then, no one *else* can be like 'How the hell was I supposed to know what we discussed, there were like fifty different options and you might think you were clear with me, but that must have been in that dream you had because I don't know what the hell you're talking about!'

Ahem.

I wanted a fully enclosed cabinet that hid the computer when it wasn't in use.  I wanted two doors on top to cover the cabinet and shelves part, and two doors on the bottom to cover the computer.  I thought it was pretty straightforward and I didn't want to step on our contractor's toes by questioning him over and over again about design.

That's tip number two:  Step on toes if you have to, because you're the one who has to live with the final product.  It would also help if you had a sparkly FINAL DESIGN to give your contractor before he starts building.

But we didn't and I'm telling myself that it's okay.  Because our contractor started sawing and hammering and it wasn't looking right, but I didn't want to say anything because he's the contractor and how hard is it to build four doors right?

This is what we had after all the sawing and hammering.

As you'll notice, this is not a set-up for a concealed computer.  This is a cabinet on top of a desk, because we did not give our contractor a FINAL DESIGN.  I take full responsibility for this.  Our contractor is amazing and can build anything we want; provided we're clear on what the hell it is we want.

He thought the four doors were all going on top, at the cabinet part, and that the computer desk was completely independent.  When I finally spoke up, it was way too late.  So now, we're going to have two doors instead of four and the computer will be out in the open and tell me that's okay because I can't do anything about it now.

In cases like this, there's not much you can do but paint so that's what I did.  

The wine rack wall finally matches the rest of the living room, and the bookcase part got some high gloss white to make it all shiny and pretty.

Since the desk part was going to be out in the open, I decided to stain it.  Stain is not my favorite thing in the world because when you stain, it goes like this:

• Sand the wood.
• Wipe off the dust. Twice.
• Run your hand over it.  
• Curse because it's still rough.
• Sand it again.
• One coat of stain. Go slow.  No for real, slow down.  
• Run for a wet rag because you got some on the wall.  So seriously, slow the F down.
• But don't go too slow because you want your stain to be even and uniform so make sure to blend well.
• Get a nasty headache from the fumes while you let it dry.
• Once it's dry, lightly sand it again.
• Wipe off the dust.  You missed a spot.
• Let yourself think you're ready for the second coat.
• Aww, that's cute.  Sand it again.
• NOW, do the second coat.
• Get high off the fumes while it's drying, but not the fun kind of high where you eat an entire jumbo box of Chex Mix while watching tv.  Not that I know anything about that.
• Lightly sand the second coat.
• THEN, put some poly on it.
• HEY GUESS WHAT?  Sand it again.  Wipe off the dust.  ALL of the dust.  Wonder if the dust is reproducing when you're not looking.
• Die from the poly fumes.  PS, make sure it's always two in the morning when you're doing this so your kid doesn't breathe the fumes.  You don't need sleep.
• Second coat of poly.  Curse the idea of using stain in the first place.
• Let it dry completely before you put stuff on it. 
• Sand it one more time and finally be happy because it's as smooth as a baby's bottom, and it *is* kind of pretty.

It's not perfect, but hey guess what I don't care because

that shit is SMOOV homie.

I also took some test pots of paint that we already had 

and painted the inside of the cabinet, because why not?

I should have my doors tonight so I can get those painted too.

But here's where I needed a picture of a built-in computer cabinet., because I suck at visualizing and Drew sucks at explaining things clearly to me.

Would you look at all those nasty wires?

That's what you call a hot damn mess.

And this kids, is why you draw out your FINAL DESIGN before your contractor picks up a hammer.  Drew claims that he told me that he wanted to have a tray-like thing that dropped down at the back of the desk so the wires could lay out of sight.  He may have said that but it definitely got lost in the twelve thousand options he drew up.  Additionally, I couldn't visualize what he was talking about when he said tray, and the day Chris built it I swear I wasn't thinking about anybody's tray.  I was thrown that the computer wasn't going to be hidden after all and I was mad about that.  I didn't get what Drew was talking about until I put everything in there and I was like, ooooohhhhh a trough! I totally see what he was saying NOW!  Why the hell didn't he speak up sooner!

I put some hooks on the underside of the desk so the power strip is somewhat hidden

but the mess behind the computer itself is straight up FOUL.

Drew is about to have a bunch of time off for the holidays and he said he's going to fix it all and that's why I love my husband.  Even though he gets mad at me and I get mad at him because we don't always communicate so well, we always come together at the end, and his solutions for stuff always end up blowing my mind because he's cool like that.

And that's all that matters.  We're learning how to work things out and we're going to be married forever.

As long as we never ever ever ever EVER try to build a house from scratch.

We all fall down

Normally I tend to stay away from world events because this isn't that kind of blog.  And God knows there are enough blogs out there that are hashing and re-hashing the tragedy in Connecticut; I don't need to be another one.

Yet, it didn't feel right to simply continue as if nothing had happened.  It didn't feel right to put up a post having to do with the latest thing I painted or GOD, my latest mothering crisis.  It seems so very small to write about whether or not it's okay that my daughter doesn't like fingerpainting in the face of such loss and grief.  That's what happens in times like this - everything you do seems so incredibly meaningless.  

'Oh I'm so worried about my kid watching tv.' I bet the parents of those murdered children would let their kids watch tv for the rest of their lives if they could have them back.

'Oh waaah, my kid isn't learning advanced calculus at her preschool.' I bet those parents could give two shits if their kids ever learned anything ever again if they could just have them back.

When I heard about the shootings, I went numb.  I guess it's the brain's protective mode, because I literally could not put myself in those parents' shoes.  Not the victims, not the survivors; I couldn't do it.  The thought of losing my daughter shuts my brain down.  I don't even know how I would breathe if I ever got that call.

When I heard, I did what I'm sure every other parent did and looked for my daughter, who was two inches from me and in no harm, yet I was panicked.  The fear squeezed my heart and of course, my mind started racing. My God, no one is safe anywhere.  I will never send her to school.  We're never leaving the house again.

Because that's what that scumbag did - he hit us where we were most vulnerable.  He hit our babies, in the place where they're supposed to be safest, in my mind second only to a church.  As parents, we make that promise to keep our babies safe and I know every single one of those parents felt like they failed.  I know I would.

And I hate that.  I don't go to church regularly and I stray from the path more often than I should, but I pray.  When I heard, I prayed to Jesus to have the compassion and grace that I can't.  I'm human and I'm scared and I don't have the compassion to be understanding.  Yes, he was mentally ill, but of course he was mentally ill.  Regular, stable people don't do things like this and I can't understand it and I certainly have no compassion.  I know I should as a Believer, but I'm just not there yet.  So I pray for God to do it for me, because I couldn't do anything but hold my baby and cry.

There is so much noise right now - cries for gun control, more attention to mental health issues, bullet control, video game control, and even arming teachers.  That, I do understand.  We want so desperately to find a reason, we want to know how this could have been prevented, and what can be done to make sure this will never ever happen again, even as we know that there is no reason.  You can't prevent someone's mind from breaking and God help us, it will probably happen again.  And that's the most chilling thing of all.

There are broken people the whole world over.  We can take away all the guns, and they'll find knives, or bombs, or poison gas.  I have no answers and I'm not smart enough to offer a solution.  I only hope that someone smarter than me will come up with something, because strapping my daughter to me for the rest of her life isn't as viable an option as one would think.

.................................

I've never been to a funeral where they say that the departed would like everyone present to wear black for the rest of their lives, cry every day or even keep an eternal flame.  You hear much more often that 'Grandma/Dad/Mom/Aunt Becky would have wanted you to keep going, keep smiling and live life.'

I'm not completely sure how to keep going, especially as a parent.  More than a couple of times, I found myself wondering what it would be like to get that phone call and then my brain says 'nope, can't do this.  We will LITERALLY shrivel up if you continue this train of thought.'

Yet somehow, you end up putting one foot in front of the other.  Me, I painted a bunch of stuff.  And I'll probably be back to show you.  I also want to tell you about the new leaf I'm turning over regarding my role as a mother, and I'll probably crack a few jokes.  I honestly hope you smile over it.

Because that's all we can do.  When we fall down, eventually we have to get back up and it's almost always sooner than we'd like.  As much as it feels like the world should just stop when things like this happen, it never does.  Somehow, the human spirit recovers.  Somehow, we start breathing again, and sometimes we even laugh.  That first smile feels stilted, the first laugh seems forced, but bit by bit, we figure it out.

I'm not sure where I'm even going with all of this, I just know that I was rocked by this just like everyone else, and it just didn't feel right to not say anything.  

I'll be back with my regularly scheduled programming,

but for now I'm just going to pray.

JTAKU part 2

Here's the first one, because even though I'm only a little buzzed you should still probably read these in order because it'll make a little more sense.

Okay, to recap, today was a suck day for me.  First because I'm a frump and I need fashion help.  That was the first post.

This one is for serious.  It's about Sofia and how I'm failing her.  And I'm about to get all drunk-sad so it's probably good you can't see me.  You guys!  I need to be a good mom to her and I feel like I'm failing.

It's her school.  I use the term so loosely because it's a morning program at a church and they really only just keep them alive until I come pick her up.  I'm unhappy with them and I need you to talk me off the ledge.  

Sofia is so smart.  Like crazy smart and yeah, I'm biased because she's my kid and maybe if you tested her, she'd just be regular.  But just the same, she amazes me hourly.  And I feel guilty when I have to do laundry or the dishes or vacuum when I should be teaching her calculus or playing Mozart because I bet she would get it.

I went to pick her up on Monday and when I walked in, the tv was on, and I got livid.

We don't have cable at our house and the tv is rarely on.  I say rarely because when I have to cook dinner or let's be honest, *I'm* the one who needs a time out, I sho'will turn on Yo Gabba Gabba so I can get a minute to myself.

I feel guilty as hell, but I feel like tv is *my* privilege.  I'm the only one who is with her 24-7 and if you're only watching her for two hours twice a week, you can get by without turning the tv on.  I know she's not in some hoity toity advanced boarding school, but damn!  It's two hours!  Do you need to have the tv on?  Can't you maybe teach her some shit?

But I'm torn because I've grown to love my two free hours twice a week.  One time?  I got Starbucks and wandered around Pier 1 for over an hour just looking at stuff and it was magical.  Because yeah, the yoga?  That shit was a joke.  I didn't even break a sweat and barely raised my heart rate above sleeping.  In my world, that's not yoga.  I need to be sweating, shaking and smiling.  

And their "crafts" are an even bigger joke.

Does it look like a one-year-old made this?

When I arrived to pick her up, all the "crafts" were lined up outside the room.

Every last one of them looked identical.

The teachers just made them and put the kids' names on them!

That's not craft time!  What was my kid doing while the teachers were crafting for them?

That annoyed me to no end and I was going to do better.  I was going to be better.  My daughter and I were going to make a real craft, one where she was in charge, where she would be the one to create.  It was going to be magical, I was going to guide my daughter to find her creative muse, to unlock that little toddler mind.  I was going to foster that greatness in her!

PSSSSSSHHHHHH.

I went to Michael's and bought a canvas because I was going to let her fingerpaint all over it and then I was going to paint over it like this.

It was going to be awesome.

source

I laid everything out and was like "Are you ready?"

She was all "Ready!!"

And then I died of the cuteness.

But this was as far as we got.

Because fingerpainting was a bust.

Bust-o-rama.

Bust-a-palooza.

Busta Rhymes.

My muse?  My little Picasso?  My artista?  Doesn't like getting her hands dirty.  She looooves her markers, she haaaates finger paints.  She dipped one finger in, rubbed it on the canvas and shoved her hand in my face and was all "HANDS" as in, my hands are dirty clean them now woman.

You guys.  I was crushed.  I was so proud of myself for being better than her dumb "school".  *I* wasn't going to stifle her creativity, *I* was going to let her blossom and explore and I felt like the biggest failure when I couldn't get my kid to be creative.  I felt like even more of a failure when after five seconds of painting she went to the living room and was all "TV!  Gabba!"

I felt like I couldn't do anything right.  I let her watch too much tv.  I'm not exposing her to enough stuff.  She's going to be the deprived kid and it'll be my fault because I read blogs when I should be teaching her.

Except that staying at home day in and day out is hard.  I feel so isolated, especially since it's gotten cold and getting out of the house is the biggest pain in my ass.  Kid mittens are the devil.  And getting the coat and the hat and the mittens and the diaper bag and putting the dog away and getting my keys and setting the alarm and walking out only to realize I left my phone and have to go back and then re-set the alarm, lug all that shit to the car, take off the coat and hat and mittens because they can't wear that shit in the carseat and it takes for-frickin-EVER and did I mention Sofia hates bundling up?  As soon as one mitten is on and I try to do the other one, she pulls off the first one.  The hat rarely stays on her head, the coat is a joke and as much as I plead with her that you can't go outside naked, child! she still fights to put all that stuff on.  It makes me so tired I just want to stay home.

But we can't stay home.  I have to get out in the world, I have to teach her, we have to interact, socialize.  So it takes us thirty minutes to walk out the door for an hour playdate that inevitably ruins naptime and the whole day is shot.

Because then she's all clingy and having a person attached to you for upwards of 8 hours a day every single day all the damn time is tough and I feel like a troll for wanting my space, and then I feel like I've failed again.  Too soon, she'll be all independent and not want anything to do with me and I'll long for the days when she refused to let me put her down.  I know that and it makes me feel that much worse for not being able to enjoy her clingy moments.

And that's why Drew got me drunk.  Because I was at the dinner table crying because Sofia was all "Hole you!" and the last thing I wanted to do was hold her because that's what I'd been doing all damn day with the exception of the five seconds I tried to be an awesome mom and encourage her creativity and failed at that.  And now I didn't even want to hold my own kid and I hated myself.  I just wanted to take five seconds to pee alone.  That's all.  Thank God he bathed her and those few moments by myself with that glass of wine were perfect.  And I hated that I enjoyed it that much.  I felt like a terrible person and the shame cycle started all over.

I want to take her out of school because they're not teaching her, but I obviously can't do any better and I'm scared to give up that me time.  I'm so torn and I have no idea if anyone else has ever gone through this.  I don't know what to do and Drew is encouraging me not to give up my time.  I just don't feel like I'm doing right by her keeping her in there, but I'm definitely not doing right by her if I'm so worn thin that I can't even hold her when she wants me to.

Please tell me you, or your cousin's neighbor's best friend's sister went through this.  Because I feel like the worst mother ever right now and I hate that.

Just try and keep up

Hey y'all.  I'm drunk.  My husband got me drunk because he's the best husband in the whole world and getting drunk is exactly what I needed.  And he's the best husband because he knows that and he opened up a good bottle of wine and gave it to me.  Because I've had a shit day and I don't know how much longer I'm going to be able to backspace and retype to make this coherent so I apologize if I get weird.  Just try and keep up because I'm 'bout to brain drain. I was gonna say dump but that's ugly and I'm not ugly.  So we drain.

But STOP.  Before I do anything else in my life, everyone who is reading this must click this link right here.  Click it, and read my love letter.  You know how long it's been since I've gotten a love letter?  From someone I'm not sleeping with?  That shit is unprecedented.  And it just took me twelve backspaces to type that right.  Sometimes, when you blog, you 'meet' a person who is your huckleberry.  Your blogging boo piece.  Ryan is mine.  Love.  Just love.

Okay, so did you go read my love letter?  Okay good.  Because we have important business to attend.  My brain drumping.  Draining.  Not dumping.  Seriously, I should just video this shit.  You know how hard is it to type drunk?  Like if I didn't backspace and sit here and stare at the screen to make sure you can read this, it would be all ridiculous.  I briefly thought about not backspacing, but then you wouldn't be able to read it and we have important business to attend.

Okay, but wait.  No.  I mean.......shit.  Where was I?  okay  wait.

Okay.

so, today I was just sucking as a mom.  Oh wait, I have to upload pictures so I can illustrate my suckitude.  Hold please.

Okay, so I'm realizing this might be the longest post in the history of the universe because I got issues y'all so I'm probably going to break this up.  This is so not going to make sense in the  morning.

Whatever.  Okay, the first order of business.  My fashion.  I needs help.  Drew is not having a company Christmas party this year but we are going to dinner with a group of his work people and I need something to wear.  Remember how I told you my dresser lived in the guest room?

Because the rules of blogging state that thou shalt put pictures in your posts

so thou's readers don't get bored.

Not because you don't know what a dresser looks like.

Y'all are smart like that and I would never insult you.  You're so pretty.

SO!  A few weeks ago, we cleaned out my dresser and Drew's dresser with the goal of combining them, and amazingly enough, we were successful.

Taking some time out to be cute in the midst of purging.

Real talk, I don't need anything else in my life.

I'm still kind of sad that I had a miscarriage.

Everything that was in my dresser.  

PS, we got a white duvet cover.

Herein lies the problem.

Okay, marinate on the above picture for a minute.  Goodwill got everything that was ridiculously huge on me.  PS, when did I ever think it was cool to wear XL stuff?  Even when I was nine months pregnant, I wasn't an XL.  Why did I think looking like a hobo was cute?

Then, all the summer stuff got put in bins to go downstairs, as well as all the maternity stuff that I hope I get to wear again someday.  Yoga stuff went in a drawer and the shirts that are in regular rotation went in the above drawer.  You see that?  I have about five shirts in regular rotation and four of them are long sleeve tshirts in different colors from either Target or Old Navy.

This is a problem.

When did this happen to me?  I used to dress cute and fashionably.  No lie y'all, I have about ten items of clothing and they're all long sleeve tshirts, cardigans, tank tops for layering and sweaters.  No cute button downs, no flowy blouses, no cute and trendy nothing.  Oh, and two pair of jeans, one bootcut one skinny.  

Now, to be fair, I'm a stay at home mom.  I don't really need an extensive wardrobe and at this stage in the game I'd rather spend money on house stuff.

HOWEVER!

We're going to Drew's work dinner next week and we got a babysitter and everything.  I want to be cute.  I want to wear heels and dangly earrings.  And I can't wear a long sleeve tshirt from Target.

ALSO HOWEVER!

Looking like a frump has an effect on your outlook.  That's why I've started to put makeup on every morning.  Because I was for real starting to look like an old hag and I was starting to feel like an old hag and then I would be sad.  No lie, putting makeup on every morning, even if it's just mascara and lip stuff, makes me feel better and more put together.  Except then I go and put on a long sleeve tshirt and one of my two pairs of jeans.  Oh well, at least they fit.

But anyway!

I'm lost.  I don't know where to go for a cute going out top and shopping is not an option.  One, because I live in Reading, Pennsylvania.  Also known as the place where shopping goes to die.  I was at Target today, because of course I was at Target today, and I noticed a Kohl's going in across the street.  And I got excited.  And then I got depressed.  Because I was excited about a Kohl's y'all.  What is happening to me?  I used to care about fashion.  I used to go shopping.  The cool kind of shopping.

You know, shopping where you spend all day wandering in and out of stores, trying on random shit, checking out your ass in the mirror from all the angles, taking your time, posing, standing on your tippy toes.  You know, shopping.  

Shopping with a toddler is more like, barrel into ONE store, beeline for something in a color that you vaguely like, check lightening fast that it's your size, snatch it up, buy it and run out before your kid realizes that they're in public and it's time to act a damn fool.  Then get home and be all pissed that you got an XL when you meant to get an XS.  Throw it on the top shelf of your closet and wear it when you want to feel like a hobo.  That's what shopping with a toddler is like.

So help me out y'all.  The work thing is next Thursday and this is my one chance Fancy don't let me down.  Most days I'm fine with my tshirts and jeans because let's be real, my kid and my dog don't care what I wear and I spend my life on the floor playing with blocks and you don't need designer shit for that.  But this one night I want to be pretty, I need to be pretty again.  It's been so long since I've been pretty.  I need websites, where I can order shit during naptimes.  I need the super secret cute-top-websites that make it where you buy a shirt and don't feel like a frumpy loser mom.  Where is that website?  

Because my Target-Old-Navy wearin' ass obviously doesn't have the first clue.

Next up, the next reason why I suck.  Because even though ya'll are the best readers on EARTH, I don't expect you to read through a long-ass rambly post.

SO!  Cute tops that go with jeans and dangly earrings!  GO!

Official diagnosis

I went to the doctor yesterday and it's official:

I have an acute case of Old Hag-itis and it's causing my Uterus Assholicus to flare up.  Lucky for me, there's no cure.

I know now why I was dreading going to the doctor yesterday.  Somewhere in my mind, I knew what she was going to tell me and I didn't want to hear it.  There was no real reason for the miscarriage other than something went terribly wrong in development, my body recognized that this would be a baby who would suffer horribly, and it stopped that from happening.  

I have to frame it that way so that I can be sane, because saying my body haaaaaaaaates being pregnant and will kill all new life is just depressing.  I can handle having Old Hag-itis and even Uterus Assholicus as long as I don't think about my body killing babies.

Because that's what it boils down to.  Any woman of child-bearing age is susceptible to miscarriage due to chromosomal abnormalities.  That's the polite way of saying that things would be so majorly fucked up that Mother Nature took pity on your soul and ended it before it got ugly.  So even though I have the clotting disorders that make me prone to that certain kind of miscarriage, the chromosomal abnormality miscarriage is always there.

And it stands to reason that since I also suffer from Old Hag-itis, there is a greater chance than zero that I will miscarry again.  As my eggs age, they are less likely to cooperate and give me a healthy baby.  The thought makes me look at Sofia as truly a miracle child.

The doctor wanted me to get an ultrasound to make sure everything was out of there, but then I showed her a picture of the tissue, because of course I took a picture.  I had no idea what it was, I didn't know if I should be worried and I certainly had no intentions of saving it.  I'm actually glad I did, because it turned out to be an intact gestational sac and once she saw it, she said she was confident that nothing else was inside of me.  She does want me to get a blood test to make sure my levels have dropped down to zero, but I'm kind of wondering what's the point.  I'm sure there's nothing left, I'm sure my body is working overtime to get back to its non-pregnant state, the state that it loooooves so much.  Fucking body.

I left the doctor's office and started home and that's when it hit me.  There's no reason for the miscarriage.  It'll probably happen again and there's nothing I can do about it.

And I started crying.  

Sofia was asleep in the backseat and instead of going home, I just kept driving around, having my mental tantrum.

I thought I was done with these stupid miscarriages.  That was the fucking deal - do the shots, get the baby.  There was no mention of more fucking miscarriages.  

How many more am I going to have?  How many more can I take?  What is this doing to my body long-term?  What is wrong with me?

This is so fucking unfair.  Why me?  But then, why not me?  Is this what I get, for wanting more than what I have in Sofia?  Don't be dumb, that's not how it works.  Or is it?  STOP IT.

Gah, am I really going to have more miscarriages?  Am I really going to have to do this again?  For real, how many more times do I have to DO this?  What if I end up with some god-awful number like ten miscarriages?  What would that even look like?

But I can't give up yet.  Can I?  Will the desire in my heart go away?  Will I always long for that little soul?  Will I be one of those old women with sadness in her eyes?  That can't be me.  I don't want that to be me.

What if that's me?

I cried softly, hoping not to wake Sofia.  I got Chick-Fil-A for dinner, because I certainly was not in the headspace to cook, and by the time we got home, she was awake and calling out "Chicken! Chicken!"

Drew had a work dinner so it was just the two of us and I have to admit, I was more than a little emo, gazing at her all deep and pensive-like, trying to see into our future and wondering how it would be if it were just the two of us forever.  Metaphorically of course, because in real life it's the four of us, but you know what I mean.

....................................

Sofia's new thing is dancing and every time I turn around, she's right there with her arms up, her angel face looking up at you and that perfect little mouth saying "Dance! Dance!"

So after dinner I turned on Pandora, scooped her up and we twirled in the kitchen.  Her laughter was so light and carefree and as I caught glimpses of us in the mirror, the love I felt for her threatened to have me start bawling right then and there.  But instead, I laughed.

That night, my daughter and I danced and danced and laughed and laughed and I felt a small peace return to my heart.

Grief painting

I spent the whole weekend wondering if I was still pregnant, or if this next minute would be the one where I'd start bleeding.  It was hell.  I hated not knowing and I found myself slowly going just a little bit crazy.  So when Drew stepped in and said "Hey, I'll watch the baby.  Why don't you finish your table," I was so grateful to have somewhere else to focus my energy.

A couple of months ago, I went to a consignment sale with a friend of mine.  I'd always wanted to go to one, but one thing or another always got in the way.  But this time, the stars aligned and we went to the JBF sale at the Reading Expo, which is a giant convention center.

I had a list of clothes I wanted to find but when we went in, I ended up making a beeline for the furniture.  I didn't know consignment sales had furniture, and I just knew the good stuff would get snatched up quick.  That's how I ended up coming home with this guy.

It was a little loud and scary but for $20, he was coming home with me.

Especially when West Elm's version, which isn't even available anymore,

was costing more than 100 bucks just for the table!

A little spray paint ought to quiet you down nicely.

I was paranoid about the designs showing through on the chairs, so I went crazy with the sandpaper and primer.  I must have put five coats of primer on the chair seats and backs.  I didn't put any on the legs because I ran out of steam.

Outside, ready for paint.

It took two full cans of Rustoleum's Gloss White, plus a little from a third can.

I brought them in to dry overnight and then I sanded them with a finishing block, so it wasn't so rough feeling.  I wonder if all spray paint is like that, or if it's just Rustoleum, but the chairs and table legs felt like sandpaper.  So much for glossy white, but it was nothing a little sanding couldn't handle.

Then I painted a chalkboard top for the table and that took forever.  That was like five or six coats too, but I'm really pleased with how it came out.  I even free-handed a little monogram on the back for Sofia - that's what I got at Michael's before I got stuck in their bathroom.

So, what do you think?

Behold, the power of white spray paint.

Sofia thought it was pretty cool too.

She's learning her colors and if you ask her, she'll tell you 

her favorite color is green.

So of course, we had to go green with the monogram.

"That's an S for Sofia!"

I like to imagine she's saying "Not bad, Mom!"

Getting a closer look.

I also got this rocking chair at the consignment sale - five bucks!

He's just waiting for his coat of yellow spray paint.

Thus ended our photoshoot, because someone thinks that being a daredevil is fun.

before

after

Not too bad, right?

It was so helpful to have something to do to pass the time, and I'm really happy with how her little table came out.  I still have lots to do before her room is done *coughcurtainscough* but crossing a project off the list feels good.

What about you?  Have you ever been to one of those consignment sales?  Did you score any good stuff?  I got Sofia's Christmas dress for five bucks!

*I go to the doctor in a couple of hours and I wrote this to distract myself while the baby sleeps.  It only sorta worked.