What I meant (and evidently said very ambiguously), is that if someone(else) has a baby at some point that isn't during a traditional school break, and needs to know how to get back in the swing of things in, say, February, I can help with that one. And if some imaginary family, who-is-not-us, is moving, I'd be happy to share my mid-move sanity savers. But moving again? No. In the eight years since James was born, we have moved ten times. Statistically speaking, there's a good chance we've moved in any given month. I just pulled November out of my hat. It was something like one in the morning. So, for clarity's sake, here's a quick run-down:
A) Not pregnant again. Still not out of the cards, but I'm not the one shuffling the deck, if ya know what I mean, so we'll see what happens.
B) Not moving again. At least not any time soon. We might like to retire to Tennessee. Or Wyoming. But for the forseeable future, we are putting down some deep, thick roots right here.
Today was, I believe, the last of the Whatever Wednesdays at church. Pioneer Club begins again in September, and I'm... really not looking forward to it. I liked having our Wednesday activity in the middle of the afternoon. We enjoyed being home for supper, even moreso just being home before nine or ten o'clock on Wednesday evenings. It's been delightful to get to the library (although Grandma Joy did let me know that August and September are amnesty months for our little library, so enjoy!) and then toodle into town shortly after lunch. It was a good pace. But now we'll be going back to the six-thirty meeting time. After supper. After being away from Zorak all day. More time away. Supper apart as a family. Supper in the car. Ick. It's one thing if we're apart because his work calls him away, or because one of us is out saving the world. But this... this doesn't count.
That I should write this at all is somewhat ironic. You know, the "I just ate what" kind of painful irony that those who know and love you find hilarious. I had just drafted a bit last night in reply to the "pace of life" angst that seems to be spreading like a psychological virus this month. My basic point: we set the pace. Why set it, then bemoan it? Doesn't make sense. *ahem* Yes. Well, then. It's almost as if someone chooses to drive an hour each way, at the end of the day, in the middle of the week, to drag her children to a one-hour function. Shyah. What a maroon.
*sigh* Well, I still stand by what I never got around to posting in the first place. I'll see if I can run a quick spell-check on it in the morning, okay? Don't want to move too quickly and burn myself out tonight. *if only you could hear my eyes rolling all over the place...*
Thankfully, no matter how dumb we behave sometimes, our children love us. Our spouses love us. Our friends with the blackmail photo editing capabilities love us. We are fortunate, whether we're harried or peaceful.
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
4 comments:
LOL! Thanks for clearing that up! I was feeling quite out of the loop, there, for a moment!
Yes, I, too, hate activities that occur during the supper hour. It's just bad. Fortunately, I've been pretty successful making my case to the powers that be and having things moved to an earlier time. Once again, though, I find myself with a 6:00 meeting once a month. Not too bad, really, but I'm pretty sure I can get it moved to 4 and have my husband home from work early, too!
Good morning, friend!:-
It's hard to slow down, especially when we were the one who set the fast pace, but it feels so good when we do.
Laney
I wish you were pregnant though, I want to live vicariously through you!
You know, after I posted my hasty response the other day, I started doing the math and then realized that you had just had Emily and were recovering in February...If you're anything like me, your cards aren't going to be shuffled again until perhaps next summer. Sorry for the confusion, I'll read more carefully next time!
Have a great day!
mere
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