Version 4.0 Coming March, 2013

Well, I can't say that with absolute certainty, since I haven't taken a test yet; but I am fairly sure. For all of you lovely people who chart, you can see my little implantation dip at 7 dpo (days past ovulation, for those of you who don't chart).

I had a teeny little bit of pink this morning when I went to the bathroom (yes, I'm putting that on the internet. At least I didn't say vagina. Oh. Wait.), but nothing came of it (I've been half-expecting my period, because I'm suffering from a progesterone deficiency, so my luteal phase has been between 6 and 7 days long). So the only other thing I can think of is--that we'll be needing a minivan before March of next year. Yay!

(Edit to Add:)
This new version has now been confirmed!

Wandering Thoughts for a Bleak Day

It's 1:39 am, and even though my eyes are crossing and my head is pounding, I can. not. sleep. Today, my dear friend Linda took her sweet little 8-week-old baby girl to the emergency room because she was doing poorly (the baby was born with hypoplastic left-heart syndrome), and she is at home now, with empty arms and full breasts, and mountains and oceans of grief that she will have to climb up and be buried beneath and swim through and drown in, and I cannot bear to think about it, but I cannot stop thinking about it.

It doesn't make sense to me, that God would allow little babies to die. I know He is, well, God. I know He has His own plans and that He exists in a completely different realm from us, so even though His action seem horrifically unkind to me, that to Him they are completely rational, and probably just. But I have to admit, I am just a little bit mad at Him right now. How dare He give them a baby, let them have her for a few weeks, and then take her away again, leaving them saddled with mounds of hospital bills, an empty nursery, and broken hearts? 

The worst part, or one of the worst parts (because how can you choose which part is "worst," when you're talking about a baby dying) is that it was completely unexpected. There was no preparation time, no getting ready for it. She had been doing well. Very well. She was feisty and fighting. They were making plans for the future--not college plans, or career plans, or even starting-kindergarten plans. But plans--she was to have some surgeries later this year to correct several things that were bothering her. She was having casts fitted to correct her club foot. Lowell, Linda's husband, left for work this morning planning to come home and snuggle his infant daughter to sleep. Linda planned to awaken many times in the night to tend to her sweet little girl. And all of a sudden, she was ripped from them, leaving a gaping wound and--why? She was a baby. 

She was a beautiful baby, actually; and I say that in complete honesty, not in the coochy-coo way that we say it to wrinkled and blotchy old newborns. She was beautiful. She had chubby little cheeks, and squinty little eyes, and the pinkest, sweetest skin, and a little smudgy nose that would just break your heart to look at, it was that adorable. She had a little scar on her chest from her first heart surgery, and a giant cast engulfing her little misshapen foot (and yet, it wasn't misshapen at all!), and a tube coming from her nose and taped to her face for feedings, so that she wouldn't exert herself too much at the breast or with her bottle. She was perfect and amazing, and wonderful, and I just knew that she was going to grow up, and...grow up. 

And yet, here they are, picking out caskets, and folding empty little shirts, and jumping up to check on a baby that they no longer have. And I really wish I had some conclusive piece of pithy wisdom to wrap these wandering, venting thoughts up with, but the truth is, I don't. I keep coming up empty. And a little bit angry. And a lot sad. And guilty, because while I ache inside for her, there is a little part of me that is so very thankful that it is her and not me. I kind of hate myself for that. 

Still Feelin' Crafty

My last post? The one that I posted back on April 17th, about my Fiber Book that I'm sewing up? Well, I've done three more pages on it, now, and all that's left is to sew up the cover of the binder that I'm using, and then I'll be done! I have to say, sewing is not my strong suite. At all. As in, if I had to sew to save my life, I'd better have a funeral plot all paid for because...

This is page 1, for my double-pointed knitting needles. If I had it to do over again, I would have made it front/back pages instead of facing pages, because the binder rings make it not lay flat. I also would have added snaps to those flaps so my needles wouldn't fall out every time I flopped the page open (and that's the only way I open the page, apparently). Experience:1, Me: 0. 

This is page 2, for my circular and cable needles. The circular needles are interchangeable, so there's a bunch of pockets that I neglected to get a picture of on the other side of the page for my cables, couplers, stitch holders, etc. I learned that I hate sewing Velcro, and that practice does not always make perfect, because while my technique sucked on page 1, it sucked a whole lot more on page 2. Oh, and I did the whole facing pages thing, again. Experience: 2, Me: 0.

This is page 3, which is finally a front/back page. What? I'm a slow learner, okay? The front holds my crochet hooks, and the back holds all my little finishing accessories: scissors, tapestry needles, T-pins, stitch markers, and buttons. You know how I hate Velcro? Well, sewing ribbon trim and Velcro on the same fabric piece is really rotten. I know that now. Experience: 3, Me: 0.

This is page 4, for dispensing my ribbon and thread that I use for trimming. I am actually a little proud of page 4, considering that I didn't know how to sew when I started page 1. If only I'd cut my little fabric pieces so those darned stripes were straight. Whatever. 

I actually had a totally different idea which I won't detail here, but which involved suspender clips, spools of ribbon, pleats (ha! Because I totally could have done pleats!), and a visit with the Dahli Llama. Or something impossible like that. Anyway, it was a really complicated idea that ended up costing me $44 for suspender clips that I never received and for which I am now disputing to my credit card company because, apparently, customer service is as dead as chivalry and that deer I hit tonight, but that's a totally different story that I will vent about later. Suffice it to say, my idea that I came up with after the Case of the Disappearing Suspender Clips was a totally rockin' idea, and I love it. So, ha! Experience: 3, Me: 1 (because I'm taking this one, whether I deserve it or not).

I'm Feelin' Crafty...

I have recently taken up knitting, on top of my crocheting habit that I've had for several years. It's getting expensive, what with my yarn snobbery requiring me to buy only the nicest, most expensive yarns for these  yarning projects. However, with my knitting stuff crowding into my yarn basket, and my baby always running off with my hooks and needles, I decided to make myself a yarning book. I bought a giant 3" three-ring binder, and I will make four "pages" for it: one page for my double-pointed needles, one page for my interchangeable circular needle set, one page for my crochet hooks and sundry items, and one page for ribbons and buttons. So I spent nine hours today sewing up page one. It was my very first real sewing project, so please excuse my amateur stitching, but here it is, Page One:

A Day of Gratefulness

I came to this morning, drenched in my own cold sweat, my husband leaning over me, coaxing me to drink chocolate milk through a straw. Low blood sugar. Again. I'm pretty sure this has been my wake-up every morning so far this week. I'm trying to keep my sugar under tight control, and--well, sometimes my mornings are a casualty. These incidents take a lot out of me; I'm usually exhausted and weak (not to mention freezing, after drowning in cold sweat in a house that only gets heated to 60º during the night), and so I end up showering and going straight back to bed for a while.

These mornings are hard on Aaron, too. He gets a late start at work, which pushes his clock-out time later; he has to get the kids their breakfast, and deal with a crying baby because mommy isn't aware enough to take care of the baby herself (I can't tell you how many times these crying babies have saved me from hypoglycemic shock, though!). The kids have it pretty easy; they get to strew toys all over the house, dance naked on the dining room table while eating chocolate chip cookies for breakfast, and cause general mayhem in the absence of coherent adult supervision.

And of course, once this chain reaction gets started, it's harder'n'heck to stop. I don't drag myself out of bed until lunch time, or so; the house is completely decimated by then, and the kids are squabbling over who gets to drive the CozyCoupe Police Vehicle, and the baby is eating garbage that has spilled out of the bathroom trash can. By the time lunch is microwaved (because, really, do you think I'm going to cook on a day like this?) and shoved onto passably clean plates, the day is shot, and all I want to do is sit down and wait for my Fairy Godmother to show up and tidy things up for me. Except, of course, it doesn't work that way.

So here it is, midnight. I have stepped on stray Legos about fourteen times since I tucked the kids into bed four hours ago, toy cars and a Melissa & Doug rhythm band set are littering the living room floor, dirty supper dishes are still on the dining room table, non-perishable groceries and empty grocery bags cover my kitchen counter, one of the dining room chairs sits all askew in the kitchen by the counters where my son pulled it up this morning to retrieve cookies from atop the microwave, the beds haven't been made, the animals are staging a revolt, the baby is wearing clothes that were stained about four days ago, and I'm sitting here, drowning in chaos, so very, very thankful for my life.

I have three beautiful, healthy, and moderately obedient children (I'm giving them a pass, here, but I'm being grateful, so that's allowed, right?). I have a husband who cares enough about me to straw-feed me chocolate milk when my sugar turns me into a raving lunatic (have I told you about the conversations we've had when my sugar has been low? No? Good.). We have a great big giant house that we are not renting, which has enough rooms and closets for all, and is not located in a trailer park, nor is it located in town (yes, I'm counting that as a blessing). We have a paid-for car, and Aaron has a job that pays all of our bills. Have I mentioned my three beautiful, healthy, moderately obedient children and my husband, who drive me all kinds of crazy? Because seven years ago, I had none of that. My life was orderly and organized and perfect. And lonely. So tomorrow I will wake up early and whip my house back into shape, and yell at my kids for playing instead of picking up their cars, and nurse the baby a million times, and cook lasagna for supper, and slouch into my chair at the end of the day exhausted and frustrated, glad the kids are finally in bed. But today--today, I will just be grateful. Chaos be damned.

A Few of My Favorite Things

300 piece Battat Krinkle Blocks set, available on Amazon.com for $69.95

Krinkle Blocks 
Or, as they are known at my house: "Spikey Blocks." Next to Legos, these have to be the best invention in the entire world. My kids can make everything out of these things, from guns to houses to cars, and if the baby gets a hold of them, which he inevitably does, I don't have to worry about a) performing the Heimlich  maneuver or b) finding little half-digested lego pieces in his poop. I also don't have to fear walking around my house in the dark, because while stepping on these things isn't exactly a "spa experience," it's no "steppingonsharplittleLegosinthedark" experience, either. Win/Win, right?

Image from http://www.equinenow.com

Adjustable Waist Bands

My kids are all skinny. My oldest finally grew into his 6-9 month pants at 15 months. Of course by then, they were much closer to capris than pants, which is, fashionably speaking, unacceptable for little boys. At least, as far as I know. My daughter and youngest son followed this trend, as well, which makes it a horrible chore to keep my kids in pants. Last Christmas, my mother-in-law bought my daughter several pair of blue jeans that had these amazing little elastic contraptions built into the waistbands. They are amazing; I can just pull out the little piece of elastic hidden in the waistband until the pants are tight enough, then hook  the little hidden slit in the elastic over the button, and voila! instant happiness. Or, as the case may be, a perpetually clothed child. More or less, anyway.

Hershey's Take5 Candy Bar

Take5 Candy Bars

I go grocery shopping every two weeks. I shop for the entire two-week period, which means a) it takes a while to finish, and b) I sometimes have to visit several stores. No biggie, right? Except that I am accompanied on my shopping forays by a four-year-old, a two-year-old, and an eight-month-old. By myself. Without any help. So, at the end of my shopping trip, I reward myself for not a) being reduced to a screaming, slobbering hunk of crazy, or b) "accidentally" leaving my kids in the public restroom, by buying a Take5 bar. It's pretzels, peanuts, caramel, and peanut butter, shoved into a creamy chocolate pouch--it satisfies my sweet/salty, soft/crunchy cravings in one blow. And, of course, keeps me sane enough to drive me, my three kids, and two weeks worth of groceries home safely. 

Melba Toast

The baby recently started eating solid food, which is nice, because he's starting to see that the world consists of more than just mommy's milkie dispensers, but it's frustrating, because I don't always have the time to go cook up veggies for him, and cut them into little bite-sized pieces, so he can safely ingest them. Melba toast is amazing because it's (relatively) healthy--I mean, it's not a combination of high-fructose corn syrup, sodium, and artificial apple flavoring--so I don't feel terribly guilty doling it out to him. Also, he doesn't need help eating it (although, the dogs do volunteer their services, anyway). It's crunchy to make his little teething gums feel better, and it sogs up nicely, which is the number one most important feature in any food that babies eat. I mean, how else is he supposed to get really-hard-to-get-out white streaks on my only clean pair of black church pants?

Dog Crate
And why would I include this in my "Favorite Things" list? Because ^ this prevents this:

Image from http://www.fark.com/comments/4152360/

 which is definitely not one of my favorite things.

Why I Need to Learn German

I spent all stinking morning, looking for a pattern that would show me how to do this :

Image from VintageHomeArts.com

I want to make a scarf, and and I want to try adding beads to my work, and I'm sure that once I get started, I'll find out that this was a terrible combination of ideas, but it looks amazing in my mind. Which explains a lot, if you know me. Anyway, so I spent all morning looking through google images, googling crochet stitches, searching youtube for instructional videos, bargaining with God that if He gave me a lead on how to work this technique that I would fold the 87 loads of laundry currently on hold in my laundry room, instead of making my husband sift through towels, rags, and baby shirts to find matching socks.

He heard my prayer. He answered me. My heart leapt for joy when I found a link on youtube to this video:

"Here it is!" I thought, "The answer I've been searching for!" And behold, I followed the star to youtube, and found the video, lying in the related videos sidebar. And after I handed over all of my gold, frankincense, and myrrh, I realized Something. A Bad Something. And can I tell you what a ginormous let-down it was when I realized that I do not know German? I mean, I can count up to, like, 67, and I can offer up a very passable "Good morning/afternoon/evening," and I can ask "What is that?" I can sing the fragments of Brahm's "Weigenlied" that I remember from my voice recital, But, alas! These are not useful phrases in crochet patterns. And all was lost. The End.

No, actually, given the fact that if I stopped searching for this pattern, I would have no excuse for not getting up and cleaning up the house. Or folding those 87 loads of laundry. So I kept looking. And then, in my darkest hour--success! I found this:

from http://crochetguy.tripod.com/id11.html

So now, I can put it in my queue of projects to start someday in the future, and I can spend the rest of the day watching the Justice League because I had such a productive morning. Laundry can wait, right?