Rainbows and butterflies

Today is one of those days I'm truly grateful for.

Ron and I went to the doctor's this morning for my post-op follow up ... the appointment I was simultaneously anxiously waiting for and hating the idea of going to since the day I called to schedule it. I think I hated the idea of going because I was so afraid there would be no answers.

But that's not what happened.

There were answers. A few. Enough to make the pain even more bearable; enough to guide me through the oncoming waves of grief. I know they're coming ashore again. They're going to wash over me once all of this sinks in a little more.

I am more than my miscarriages

Life changing news. I wrote about it because that's one of the best (maybe the only) ways I can get a grip on my emotions.

When I was younger, all this emotion and writing and pouring myself into an outlet was secret. There were notebooks and random stashes of folded up paper that lived in my back jeans' pockets that I would pull out and fill with angry, bitter poetry. A lot of anger. A lot of bitter.

This is where I come now. I try to make sure my thoughts are fairly well put together before I hit "publish." This is a space where I feel I can get out all my feelings - whether they're about stupid shit my kids are doing, the random places I find sippy cups, my love of cloth diapers, or my incessant need to finish writing the novel that should have been done months ago as soon as possible (because ASAP just makes more sense than an actual deadline when I have two small children) - but I also like to consider it a safe place for others to join some of these conversations.

Usually everyone just comments on the link I post on my Facebook page. That's fine.

Tonight, while I reflect on our loss - a child who won't get to spend Christmas with us next year - I also reflect on our gains throughout the year.

Growing pains and change

My free moments have been few and far between lately. Interruptions, events, appointments, deliveries, more interruptions.

Father's Day weekend started with a dance recital and birthday celebration. I'm still trying to grasp the concept that Josie is officially a 4-year-old.

We did the Father's Day run around where we didn't actually do anything special, but it was special because we were together.

Baby's First Haircut ... it still counts even if she's 4, right?

Then it was a week of doctor appointments, getting Josie registered for the Universal Pre-Kindergarten program offered by our school district (again, her being old enough to go to school is a concept I'm not fully grasping), actually celebrating Josie's birthday by taking her for her first hair cut, having the giant mattress delivered and our anniversary.

Our anniversary, which we did nothing special to celebrate other than bust ass to continue getting the house we need to sell ready for showings. After months and months and months of talking about how we needed to list it and all the things we need to do to get it ready, it's ready. Almost. As I sit here taking 15 minutes to pour my thoughts out on the interwebs, the Boy has taken a ladder and gone to paint the door frame on the back of the house and the supports on the front, maybe touch up the paint in the bathroom that I didn't get to and put the light cover back in the front light.

It's officially on the market and open for showing as of June 30.

In a diaperless society

Breathe.

In.

Out.

Repeat.

I should be packing up clothes, taking drawers out of emptied dressers, figuring out if that box of papers can be burned or if we need that stuff and making a grocery list of foods to fill my new, heart-stopping awesome refrigerator with because I'm so in love with it and feel it deserves more gifts that a pack of Juicy Juice juice boxes. Poor thing probably feels neglected being all the way over there without anything to chill and freeze yet. Soon, sweet machine, soon.

Clean freak chronicles: In a Lysol haze

I've been kind of secretive about plans to move. Or at least, after some careful thought and a strategically made Facebook post, that's the way it may appear to some.

Truthfully, I just haven't turned to social media with all my joy/panic moments over the decision because we (Boy Wonder and I) never sat down and did a serious house hunt.

But here it is — after almost five years in this house, we're moving on. It's happening slowly, because if I make a big move and do it too quickly I'll fall apart, and I can't afford to do that all over again. Moving into our current home was almost too much to bear and the clutter utterly consumed me. A lot of days it still does, but that's primarily because we don't have enough space for the amount of things we have. I've been making great strides to cut back on the material things here that are just pure crap we don't need to hold onto, but I can only do so much when we only get 24 hours each day to accomplish what's on my list. And that list is long.

Worth the break

Ten weeks away. This is like starting over.

And man, have I been busy not folding laundry while stepping away from my Internet addiction. I have been busy doing other things though, you know, because I have two kids both going through their own version of the Terrible Two's. Josie's trying to catch up on all the temper tantrums she didn't throw over the last year and Charlotte is keeping pace in order to be done with this nonsense by the time she actually reaches 2.

I can't complain much because compared to other kids, mine are relatively low-key and easily calmed. Like last night. We got ready to sit down for dinner and, as is my norm, I refilled the girl's milk cups. Josie insisted she didn't want more, so I just put a splash in to make sure she'd have enough for dinner. Oh the tears! You'd think I tore the head off her favorite stuffed animal and laughed about it in front of her. The fight was on, and I really didn't have much fight left in me (and what parent does at 6:30 p.m.). She was angry enough about it she refused to eat. She didn't want any macaroni salad, not even the eggs — which, as everyone knows, is every child's favorite part of any cold salad.

Superhero Mom took over, swooped down and guzzled that splash of milk and all was forgiven in the land of Temper Tantrumville. Seriously. I drank the little bit of extra I gave her and she was happier than a dog with a new bone, ate her dinner and went on for a fairly calm night. The whole incident lasted maybe three minutes.

Even the Boy shook his head, amazed that the only thing she wanted was no extra milk. I don't know where she gets this strong willed thing from ... nope, not a clue.