One Tired Girl

I think The Bee is growing.

It's that or she's got something wrong. And as the daughter of a lifelong diabetic (Mom was diagnosed at age 13), who has heard for her entire life questions of "are you sure?" regarding early signs of diabetes ... I don't like her sleeping this much. I know it's probably nothing, but you can't just "undo" years of questioning.

This is where I found her yesterday at 4:00 in the afternoon.

You'll have to excuse the after school mess, and I'm not sure why snow pants were in the dining room, but hey ... that's how it works around here.

You can see Q at the table doing his homework, like it's an everyday occurrence to do your homework while your sister is taking a nap on the floor under the kitchen table.

Let's just hope it's nothing.

had a thought

I had quite the craptastic morning, complete with yelling (me) and crying (The Bee).

Not pretty, not good.

She was whiny, has been for a while, and I don't tolerate whine. Drink it, yes, otherwise, no.

So I yelled. She cried. I felt like crying.

We apologized, several times over, and all seems to be well.

So, after all of this, while heading to the Land of Plastic & Batteries (aka Toys R Us), I had a thought:

Running through the flower field with my hippy dippy dress is not easy.

Huh?

Yep - running through the flower field with my hippy dippy dress is not easy.

I try to be one of "those" parents - the one that doesn't yell, doesn't hit, ya ya ya ... we try to talk about what was done wrong, explain options and so on ... for the most part it works. It's tough, and believe me, there are some days when it would be so much easier to be the parent that yells, offers no explanations or discussion and leaves it at that. And yes, we occasionally do have those days.

In the mainstream world (you know, the world to my right, the one that I skirt the edges of) I would be that hippy dippy parent - I cloth diapered, made baby food, breastfed for over a year, co-slept - although I generally don't wear broomstick skirts and Birks.

I have Birks, but no broomstick skirt.

So yes, the type of parenting we have chosen, me, more than The Husband, since I'm with them all the time, is tough. It's worth it, definitely, but it's tough. I get criticized and have been made fun of.

So yes, todays jaunt through my hippy dippy field of flowers with my hippy dippy broomstick skirt was a rough one. But, for now, it looks like we're back on track.

This is good.

seriously?

We're coming down to the wire for Christmas ... no surprise, since it's always been the same date, for, oh, pretty much ever.

I offered to help one of my grandmothers do the shopping for the grandkids (ages 10 (December birthday), 8 1/2 and 7 (December birthday too) in one house and ages 7 and 5 at my house). I managed to get the other crew what I thought was a pretty cool gift, and I know they'll like it, for $52. Not bad. So, I figured that I'd go and find something in the $40 range for my kids, thinking that I was spending per child.

Nope.

I was told yesterday, that the goal was $30 per child, and that I had to spend the same amount per household. I have to go back out and spend an additional $40 for one house and then still some more for my own.

Why does this make me want to cry?

I feel like I am now shopping for spending moneys sake, not for the reason behind the gift. I was thinking that Gram would be pleased, because I came in under budget. Well, nope.

I look at the amount of things that the children in both of these houses already have, and the space limitations we're all working with, and with the thought in mind that they will be getting more "stuff" in the next week. I don't want to shop for shoppings sake, I want to get gifts for these children that I know that they will like, that they will appreciate, that they will take care of. Not just something to open on Christmas morning.

Perhaps I'm looking at it from the wrong angle, I don't know. I know that I've slowly been removing myself from the retail cycle, trying to give experiences and consumables, and things that last. It goes back to the "I just want to live simply" mantra that runs through my head.

So now, as I prepare to head out and shop some more, I don't do it with any joy, but with anxiety.

Am I a scrooge, and do I just not know it?

really, I do

I really want to blog, really, I do ...

But why can't I get over here to do it?

I hate feeling like my life is a list of good intentions, but that I lack follow through.

Has facebook taken over my blogging? I know that it has definitely taken over some of my other "freer" time. I now do my best to hop on in the morning and at night, and to limit my time to an hour a day. Otherwise, it's a huge time suck.

I've also found about two dozen other blogs that are so beautiful, so inspiring, so creative ... all the things I aspire to be ... that I live vicariously through them, and let my own little blog wither from lack of attention.

I've got a mental list a mile long of things to share, but they still remain, in my mind, not yet shared with my oh so pathetic readership of two.

I don't think I ever openly shared my blog with my friends or family, because, you know, that would mean that I am putting myself "out there" for my friends and family to see further into our lives. I'm pretty open about it anyway, but for some reason, actually admitting I've got this little slice of the blogosphere is a risk I haven't taken yet. And it's been a while, so I probably should get over it, but ... not only is it withering from lack of attention, at least I am not sharing my blogful neglect with anyone else, except the couple of you that pop over here to check on things. Thanks, you two.

zipped through September

And now we're halfway into October.

I think of a half dozen things every day that are "bloggable" and worth mentioning ... I know that I hit facebook on a fairly regular basis, so that is one outlet of mine.

Right now, for example, I wanting to blog here, but am being distracted by other things ...

Perhaps I'll make a blog date for Friday, when both kids are at school.

Back then.