One of the side effects of Andrew getting older (growing up, as they say in some circles) is that he is also growing. up. as in taller. As in able to reach things that he could not reach before. As in able to reach up to the piano and disturb the quiet little cave that I call home. As in able to reach up to The Laptop Station of Joy and push some combination of buttons that causes three new menus and an error message to come up.

I admit it. I did not consider this eventuality when we started this whole process. Anyone want to trade me for a shorter kid?

On Friday night I had a really bad attitude. I was upset that Andrew was still sickly. I was tired and drained from a week that probably ranked about a 7 on my 10-point shittyness scale. My house was a mess. My chores were undone. I had to call Jen and tell her that we wouldn’t make it down to Cannon Beach on Saturday, a trip that we had been planning for months, because of Andrew’s issues. It was not a good night.

I complained to Justin and he let me talk and watch baseball instead of a movie because he knew that would help. I went to bed with a better attitude, but I was still really bummed about missing the trip to the ocean.

Then, while I was sleeping on Saturday morning, Justin did something spontaneous. (Now, this may not seem like a big deal but to those of you who live with non-spontaneous people on a daily basis, you know that it is.) He made the decision that we were going to go to the beach. He called my parents, who were taking care of Andrew, and had them get Andrew ready. He woke me up and told me to get my stuff together because we were going to leave soon.

I complain about Justin not being spontaneous, but part of me is usually okay with it. I am a control freak and sometimes things go wrong when they are planned spontaneously and I don’t like things to go wrong. So our normal pattern of months of planning and talking over every obscure possibility so that we have a plan in place works well for me.

But yesterday nothing went wrong and I feel a whole lot better about life today than I did on Friday night.

Andrew and I spent the night last night at my parent’s house so that Justin could sleep before his Big Test (he did well. we think. huzzah.). 

Today I noticed that the bones around my nose and right eye hurt so I asked Justin if there was a bruise there.  He looked and said that there was. 

“How did you get a bruise there?”

“Andrew and I had a disagreement in the middle of the night last night.”

“Really?”

“Yes. I brought him in to bed with me in an attempt to keep him quiet so that my sick parents could sleep.  He requested that I get up and get him something to drink.  I explained that I had no pants on and that he needed to wait until I had pants on before I could get his bottle.  He disagreed.  As he tried to crawl over me and dive head-first off of the bed, he kicked me in the face.”

Go ahead and laugh Alecia, everyone else did.

Here’s the scene - 

Me: (as Alaska is shooting poop in all directions) “Andrew has never thrown up, I think he has Justin’s immune system”

Kayla: “hmmmmm”

Cut to Monday night as I am horking all over the place.

Cut to the middle of Monday night as Andrew is horking all over my parents.

Cut to Wednesday night when Justin and my parents are all horking.

Cut to Thursday when Andrew shoots poop all over me.

Dammit.  I hate it when that happens.

Note to self: Do not confuse your child’s general tendency towards grumpiness with an actual change in demeanor that may signal something else. Something like bilateral ear infections and a sinus infection.

If you do, your week may go from this

to this

and it may end like this

consider yourself warned.

There’s nothing like getting you ass kicked by a complete stranger.  It started out as the normal grocery store checkout line conversation:

her: “What a cute baby.  How old is he?”

me: “14 months.  Thank you.”

her: “When is your next one due.”

me: blank look, “I’m not pregnant”

her: eyes down to my stomach, “oh. I’m sorry.”

There was total silence for the rest of the time we spent in line.

I guess I should get myself back on track with Weight Watchers.

I have had that restless feeling lately, the one where I want to change something about my world and I think I might explode if I don’t.  I used to do really drastic things at this time of year, skip class, dye my hair, drive to Canada in the middle of the night, steal banners or paint my bedroom.  But, in recent years, I have dealt with the glorious coming of spring by embarking on projects around the house. 

Last year I had more opportunities than ever, as we had just purchased our house that had a desperate need for some lovin’.  I actually got tired of painting and flooring and deck building, I longed for the cool, quiet days of autumn where I could read and sit without feeling like I was hindering progress.  Then autumn came and, as is common, it was followed by winter, long, cold, rainy, sad winter.  And so I have spring fever again.

This week is my mom’s spring break and my dad took some time off, so we are splitting the duties of the little one and trying to get some outdoor projects done.  Yesterday, we pulled up some of the offensive juniper in the front and started to clear the area to which we will move the shed this summer - I don’t know how we are going to move the shed, we just are. After taking a huge load of crap - kindly left for us by the previous owner - to the dump, we got a load of rocks and spread them in the flower beds.  Oh, happy day!  Rocks, not bark, not weeds, rocks.  So clean, so pretty, so fun for the little boy to throw and eat. 

I love the energy that sunshine, light and sore muscles give me.  My goal this year is the remember that and fight back when the winter blues come back.

I am a jealous person. I operate under the belief that if I could just have ____, then my lot in life would be different - better. So, a few weeks ago when I read this, the green eyed monster reared its ugly head again. I thought, “If I could just have a husband that wrote poetry for me, I would be happier.” I spent so many years believing that love had to look a certain way - the same way for everyone - and thinking that if I wasn’t being loved in just that way, I was missing out.

When things go wrong in my marriage, I immediately go to the thought that things would be better if Justin was just like _____. I have compared my husband to the ideals of Hollywood (and Jane Austen and L.M. Montgomery) and to the incomplete pictures I see of the people around me. I have wanted him to be something that he is not so that I can have the storybook romance.

I told a friend recently that love looks a lot more like commitment than 15 year old high school romance, and I know that those words were as much for me as they were for her. Justin does write me poetry, and it looks like this or this.

So tell me, what does your poetry look like?