[Certain actions and characters in this image have been dramatized for
television blogging, but are inspired by true events and a real baby]
I was worrying away while feeding Arden her last bottle before bed–no dirty diaper all day = midnight poopie surprise? Shudder. Just then she spits out her bottle, looks at me with cross-eyed distress and starts whimpering. I hoist her up, look deep into her eyes and say, “what’s wrong, baby?” in my most confident mama-will-fix-this, sugary sweet (just) slightly higher pitched voice.
“oh, no….” she says (with only her quivering eye muscles)
whimper, whimper. spurt
whimper. squirt, blurp, whimper, bloop < smiles
doo~ doodoodoo doo doo doodoodoo doo doo doo doo
doo doo doo doo doodoodoo
don’t worry. be happy.
I took a night off today to do “nothing.” It felt great to pig out on chips and a summer lovin’ popsicle whilst watching a surprisingly entertaining Mandy Moore flick from 2007. Until. ["Until," what a hateful word you are right now!] Sigh, until I looked over to my left and saw the piles of boxes in the next room.
When will each item find a place to live in our new home? I feel anxious all the time because I have an active (read: tornado like) 4 year old who needs a place safe enough to run around in. Other than the obvious unboxing that must be done, I dread having to clean the floors to asian standard. I will not feel 100% at home until i can walk around bare footed on sparkly clean floors. Will I ever find the time to edit and publish this post?
At this point, I’m willing to pay a middle aged Korean woman (aka ajumma) sizable change to scrub the floors cinderella style. Since no one has inherited the useful talent of knowing where all of our stuff should go, I suppose I must do that myself, but I could use a mary poppins ajumma right about now, and just this once, I will shut my eyes tight and click “publish,” despite the person in me that dies a little thinking of all the typos and poor grammar in this post. OH WELL.
Until. Until I can get to those things, can I be at home? The profoundly simple answer I mockingly say to myself (in an annoying imaginary voice) is “I am home, therefore I can be.” Ah, the irony of a “good problem.” It only makes me feel ashamed for complaining…perspective, shmerspective.
Please, I beg you, spare me the Jesus jukes. I’m just taking an honest minute. All will end right wrapped up in a well edited sound track, I am sure, but today I know that it is hard. And that is all. No diy crafty finishing touches.
Its hard and I’m living with it.