Twas Brillig

Well, this is it.  I’m shutting down this computer.  I’m moving all my files to a jump drive.  I’m burning all my music onto CD.

This is, obviously, the final step.

The U-haul is loaded.  Fully packed.  Done.

The house is… mostly clean.  Still a few projects.  But basically, we’re done.

Tomorrow we drive to our halfway mark.  The next day, around midday, we arrive at our new house.

I can hardly believe it.

For those of you who have been reading my blog for a while, you know that I’ve been in limbo for a very, very long time.   In fact, I started blogging in March of ‘07 from my Mother-in-law’s basement, where I was living while I was trying to figure out the next step in my housing issues.

It’s almost over.

Of course, it’s not over yet.  Two more days.  Two more painful, exhausting days.  And then?  Well, then there’s the unpacking.  But I’m not thinking about that yet.  Nope.  I’m only thinking about my pretty new house.

Mine.

What does this mean for us?  For you and me?  Well, it means that I will be offline for a bit.  Who knows how long.  Once we’re moved in, we’ll have to get a wireless connection set up.  Who knows when that will actually happen.  So, if you don’t hear from me, don’t fret.  Don’t scream.  Don’t think that the U-haul tipped over somewhere in the tippy tops of the Rocky Mountains and that I’m stranded.  While that would make for a better blog-post, I assure you that it will not be the reason for my absence.

In the meantime, remain merry.  I can’t wait to catch up on your lives.  When I’m settled and up and running, you’ll be the first to know.

I promise.

We’re almost there.

And what better format than a list?

1. I’m listening to INXS’s “Never Tear Us Apart” and laughing about how when I was a kid I thought the song said, “they could never tell us apart.”

2. We close on our house in Denver (Highland’s Ranch, to be specific— a delightful little suburb in the southern metro area) on Wednesday. We picked the one with the deck, view, and yard. All the T’s are crossed, the I’s are dotted, it appears that this is actually going to happen. I know! It only took, oh, TWO MONTHS LONGER than it was supposed to. But I’m grateful.

3. I was able to actually SEE said house last weekend. Yup. I loaded four kiddos into the minivan and drove the eight hours on narrow, winding roads across the Rockies… on three hours of sleep, no less. Possibly not the smartest thing I ever did, but hey! I lived! We met up with that hot hubby of mine that night and stayed with him at my brother’s house– my brother and his fam were in Hawaii, so they offered to let us crash there in the meantime. It was wonderful, though a bit hectic since Chris’s house is SPOTLESS and my children are… um… not good at spotless. Neither am I, for that matter. Anyway, we saw the house (and the others that we passed up on… or lost to the STUPID FRICKIN’ BRACKIN’ BRACKIN’ FRICKEN’ STUPID Federal Government— but I’m over it, can’t you tell?) and I was almost surprised that I actually LIKED it! Some things will have to be dealt with, of course. A loft will have to be converted into a bedroom (by simply adding a wall)— apparently we’re not in Utah anymore, and they don’t make houses (in my meager price range) with enough bedrooms for families like mine. Also, the cabinetry in the house is a gorgeous cherry wood, but the previous owners painted the kitchen red. Now, I really have no problem with a red kitchen—I’ve done that myself in the past. But this makes the cabinets blend right into the walls and therefore the beautiful woodwork is entirely lost. And we can’t have that. No, we can’t. So, I shall wield a mighty paint brush and transform it to a rich buttermilk color… or something. Okay, I’m rambling. Done now. But besides those little tiny changes that will need to be made, it’s the perfect house for our little clan and I’m excited.

4. While in Colorado, I went to church in what will be my new ward (congregation). When I got to Relief Society (the women’s group), I was asked to introduce myself. “I’m a writer,” I said. I think it may be the first time I’ve ever actually said that out loud in public. I felt like such a poser. I mean, I AM a writer, right? And yet… what exactly have I written? I don’t know. It just feels wrong to claim a particular talent that I may or may not have. Still, maybe if I say it out loud in the mirror every day— like a daily affirmation— then it will be true. In the meantime, though, you may call me Brilli-Vanilli. A total poser, who doesn’t deserve the title I apparently claim.

In fairness, though, I’ve been working on my book a lot, despite the mass chaos in my life. I have a story I like, characters that I care about (or hate, in a few cases). I’m still trying to find my voice— that’s been an interesting process. I went through a mind-shift, like, “I must put away the blogger in me and be the YA fiction-er.” I was working that way for a while, but I didn’t like it. It’s not me. Last night I thought, “I was told to write a book because people like my blogging. What if I can’t actually write a book? Or… maybe I should write a book with the same voice that I write my blog!” So I’m working on that angle now. I’ve re-vamped everything and made my voice sound a little more like my voice sounds here. I’m not sure it’s working. How on earth would I know? I mean, it’s not like I’m a writer or anything, right? Wait…

5. I then drove home from Denver. By myself. With four kids. Four very young kids.

6. …And I arrived home to an excessively messy house, full of half-packed boxes. Everyone’s belongings are strewn all over the house, including mine. I have less than a week to get this stuff in order. I know, I know. I’ve had two months to get all of this done. But keep in mind that I’ve been Single Mother to four little tiny ones with very big needs. Plus, I haven’t had an exit date until now, and how could I possibly have known what to pack if I didn’t know when I was leaving? But now. Oh now. The mind-bloggling insanity begins. I have no idea—NONE— how I’m going to do this. If you looked at my house right now, you’d think that a burglar came in and ransacked the place, desperately searching for some hidden treasure, and when no treasure was found (unless you count the endless supply of hotwheels…) he trashed the place out of anger. Can you picture it? Really, I’m afraid that my neighbors are about to call the police. It will be embarrassing to have to explain that actually it was just me.
*I think I can, I think I can, I think I can…*

7. My husband just hung up on me. I’m pretty sure it was an accident. Then again, I was being REALLY obnoxious. Then again, he was laughing his head off. That’s one of the things I love most about that man— he thinks I’m hilarious. Wait. Perhaps he really DID laugh his head all the way off, and his ridiculous bluetooth ear piece fell to the ground and hung up on me. Seriously, though, people. What is UP with the freakiliciousness of those bluetooth ear pieces? It turns my hot hubby into an icky-looking sci-fi creature.

I don’t like icky-looking sci-fi creatures.

All sci-fi creatures are icky looking.

Not a fan of sci-fi.

Moving on…

8. He hasn’t called me back yet.

9. My angelic mother-in-law is taking the kids all day tomorrow. Wow. Now I can sit around and watch The N all day. Yeah…

10. I’ve been nominated for a few awards. I know. How crazy is that? I’d be honored if you’d vote for me… (Meaning, I will hunt you down and attack you with a plastic butter knife if I don’t see your name next to the list of people who’ve voted for me. Don’t think that I won’t.) Just click the little image and it will take you there:

This is the one I like the sound of the best:

Or, though I don’t call myself a “mommy blogger” I’d be okay if YOU call me one:

11. Now I have Milli Vanilli songs stuck in my head. “It’s… a… tragedy for me to see-ee the dream is over! And I never will forget… the day we met. Girl, I’m gonna miss you!” Haha! Now YOU have Milli Vanilli songs stuck in YOUR head!

Oh my gosh, this is a YouTube moment if I ever heard one. Go on. Click play and remember how much you liked these guys…

Sigh. I’ll admit it. I still love them.

12. Going now. Thanks for staying with me. Remember that Soap Opera Sunday is over at Kate’s for “the duration.” And thanks again to my awesome guest-posters, every one of whom as come through for me in a huge way these last couple of weeks. We’ve got just a few more for you this week! And then I’ll have to go back to actually blogging MYSELF! What the…?

Welcome to dear Jo Beaufoix, a dear friend across the pond, who did not include a picture of Barbara, so I will have to do it here… 

Now, see why I love her so much?
———————Wow, I’m on Brillig’s blog.  I’m a little tempted to go through her drawers and check out her fridge, but I suppose that would be a bit rude.  My name is Jo Beaufoix, http://www.jobeaufoix.com, and I live in Nottinghamshire in the UK.  I’m mum to Miss E (7) and Miss M (3), and am married to Mr B, drummer and knower of weird facts.  I’m an aspiring writer and am just editing my first novel which is a book for children, and I also write daft poems.  Come and say hello if you get the chance, my Ostrich Bab’s will make you smile even if I don’t. 

I first ‘met’ Brillig about this time last year.  I think I may have found her through lovely Corey at ‘Living and Loving Every Minute of it’.  I thought she was kind of fantastic so I hung around.  I have met so many good blog friends through Brillig.  I nabbed an invite for cre8buzz from her and my world just widened.

The post I’ve chosen to share with you is one from June last year when I was very new at blogging.  It was an answer to a question set my Mama blogger, and I loved writing it, but a lot of people won’t have read it as it was in that tumbleweed period of blogging we all have near the beginning.

I promise it’s not too cheesy, so even if you don’t have kids you might enjoy it too.
‘3 things I want my kids to understand…’
1. That I will love them no matter what.
But that that doesn’t mean they can smear my lip balm all over the wall, Miss M (aged 2), or that they can have a food fight when their friends come to tea, Miss E(aged 6).
It doesn’t mean they are allowed to feed chocolate icecream to the gerbils, put raisins in their daddy’s sock drawer, or paint my face if I drop off for a minute.
It doesn’t mean that they can use my credit card whenever they want to buy bad music or barely there outfits.
It doesn’t mean they can borrow the car without asking or get very very drunk and vomit in their dad’s slippers.
But it does mean that if they do all these things, my love will not change.
But their view for the next month or so might.

2. I want my kids to understand that it’s ok to make mistakes.
Grown ups do it too and that is also ok.
As long as their daddy understands that mistakes do not include forgetting our anniversary, doing a whites wash with a pair of red boxers as company, or videoing over our kid’s baptism.
That would just be wrong….

3. I want my kids to understand that there is some stuff we just have to do.
I know tidying up is boring.
I now brussels taste a bit like old socks and can lead to unpleasant gaseous explosions.
I know homework time muscles in on fun time.
I know.
And Daddy would rather not be at work, or be stuck in traffic on a rainy day with only cheese on the radio, or play Barbie’s with his 2 small girls after a long day, (or probably at all.)
And Mummy would rather not have to wipe sticky hand prints from every visible surface, pick fruit flakes out of the carpet or read the nasty bill shaped letters that come through the door on a weekly basis.
But, all the stuff we don’t want to do is generally going to make our lives better in some way.
So yes Miss M, you do have to wear clothes, otherwise when you’re a grown up, people will avoid you.
Ask your dad….

Hey, look! It’s me! Brillig! Posting on my own blog!

Today I woke up to the frenzy I usually wake up to, though today there was a little urchin in my bed with me, who had climbed in after he’d had a nightmare during the night. Meaning none of us got any sleep last night.

Then I got a phone call from my delicious sweety pie, calling to tell me that not only had one of the offers we’d made this week been accepted, but TWO of them had. Wow. Now, instead of being homeless, we have TWO options. (Please note that the house we’re “suing” over is NOT one of them… though we still like that one best of all. But we’re so ready to be done with the federal government that we have no qualms about walking away.) So, both homes that have accepted our offers were built by the same builder, have the same layout, and the same upgrades. The differences are that one has a fantastic backyard with a deck and the other has a third car garage. Wow. Which one to pick? I’d always sorta thought of myself as a three-car garage kinda gal, which is silly because we, um, only have two cars. (My father tells me that a third car garage is used to pretend that you have a boat— we’ve been plotting to build a boat facade out of styrofoam so that all the neighbors will be intimidated or something. See? I TOTALLY need a third car garage for that!) But now that I think about it, a nice yard and deck would probably suit our family a little better. It even has room for the dog that my husband has promised our children… Yeah…

But, it’s all very exciting. Brian will go check out both of these homes in the morning and search his gut to decide which one is the right one.  Then we will close on June 20 and we’ll move out there officially on the 23 or 24th, I guess! YAYAYAYAY! I’m SO ready for this limbo to end!
…Which means I really ought to do something besides sit around watching the filth accumulate in my house. Seriously. I’m reading a book that talks about a child who would find his mother passed out drunk and the house would be a complete disaster. As I read the disastrous state of the house, I looked around my house and realized that it was a near-perfect description… except that I’m not passed out, or drunk, or in trouble with DCFS or anything. That was kinda scary for me. So I did some laundry and actually threw some garbage into the garbage can. Hey, it’s not a lot, but it’s a start. Hahaha. Maybe they won’t lock me up now.

Then I took the kids to Wal-Mart this evening. I won’t elaborate. I’ll let you picture it on your own. One word: Insanity.

Tonight, after all the children were in bed, I’d thought that I would actually, like, CLEAN. Like, with CLEANER and stuff. But then Isaac started screaming. And screaming. And SCREAMING! I went to check on him, half expecting to find he’d severed a limb or something, but no. He was pulling at his ear, screaming his brains out, and had a raging fever. Well, um, normally I would say “ear infection,” but he has tubes in his ears now and shouldn’t be getting ear infections any more (we didn’t have any all winter, which means that it’s working).

But, as my mother would say, “you can should all over yourself.” (Oh, my poor mother would die I she knew I’d just told you that she says that!) Isaac doesn’t believe in should, and has likely found a way to have an ear infection anyway. In the meantime, I didn’t have any Tylenol— at least, not any that wasn’t packed at the bottom of some random box sitting out in my garage. It was 11:00, and all of my other children were sleeping. What to do? I debated for a bit, and then decided to take the Screaming Isaac to the store… leaving the three other kids in bed, unsupervised. I know, I’m a terrible mother and I guess I should be locked up. I think we’ve established that now.

But, really, what were my choices?

So, we got some Tylenol, and then I got to thinking about taking Isaac to the doctor in the morning. See, we are no longer insured here in Utah. I’m sure that hubby’s new Colorado insurance has some kind of coverage for out-of-state services, but they are likely limited AND we don’t know what they might be, AND I don’t have that insurance card, AND it will be a Saturday morning.

(Somewhere in here, I could interject something about how rotten the American health care system is. And then I would have to mourn aloud about my dear Hillary, and then this post would turn politically controversial and snippy, which would probably result in lots of comments, but fewer friends, so I guess I won’t say any of that…)

So now I’m just crossing my fingers that he wakes up in the morning and is magically cured and we don’t have to deal with doctors and insurance companies at all. If everyone could just hold off on getting sick until the end of June, that would be lovely!

Besides, tomorrow I have lots of fun plans! I’m going to be going with my dear friend Charrette to see our friend and neighbor Hailey perform as Jo in a local production of Little Women. I’m so excited— excited to get out of the house (sans children— Charrette has a teenage daughter who will be babysitting!), excited to see Hailey (who I have already proclaimed to be brilliant on this here blog) perform, and mostly excited to hang out with Charrette, who is approximately ten billion times cooler than I am, and yet she puts up with me anyway.

It’s the perfect combination for recharging the old batteries.

And who knows? I might even clean up before Babysitter Jordan arrives (and by “clean up” I of course mean “clear a path one-foot-wide through the junk”) and I might even shower! I KNOW!!!! Extreme, ain’t it?!

By the way, thanks to all my dear guest-bloggers who have thus far graced my little blog with their fantastic posts. If you haven’t read them, please do. Each one has been excellent so far. We will go back to the guest-blogging on Monday. I have lots more fantastic bloggers lined up. Oh! And Kateastrophe is taking over Soap Opera Sunday for “the duration.” So if you’ve been missing that, go check it out over there. (And thanks, Kate, for picking up my slack!)

And now? I’m going to bed. Because I can… Therefore, I should.

Loving and missing you all,

<3 Brilly-pants

Please welcome my fabulous bloggy pal Lilacspecs as today’s guest-blogger!

—————————-

First of all, please allow me to squeeee at the opportunity to guest post on such a wonderful blog and to thank Brillig for allowing me to camp out on her bloggy lawn today.
I know most of you have no clue who I am, so I guess I better fill you in. My name is Lilacspecs and my blog is called Lilac Colored Glasses. I’m an American expatriate living in Belgium with my Flemish boyfriend and I’m currently jobless while I learn Dutch and attempt to acculturate myself to living in Europe. As you might have guessed, that means I have a lot of time to blog.
I leaped at the chance to guest post because both my and my boyfriend’s family read my blog and I was pissed at a situation and wanted to vent on neutral ground. I wrote up a whole post about it and everything but then it was resolved and I was left with no valid complaint, so in lieu of that, here’s a little something I wrote that sort of fits with Father’s Day (it’s June 8th in Belgium).

My Father’s Daughter

I am the firstborn of two children.

I have my mother’s eyes, my maternal grandmother’s chunky knees and a random pair of jumbo ta-tas. But my personality is a cross between that of my father and his eldest sister Ronnie. What does that mean? Well, it means that part of me is wise, keenly aware of my personal surroundings, somewhat controlling and a bit short tempered while the other part of me is perpetually green and oblivious, though passionate and well-meaning.

In my youth I learned to love, respect and simultaneously fear my father. He is a loving, sensitive man whose life has always revolved around his family. He is an extremely intelligent person both academically and street wise, but he was never motivated to explore his full potential. My father also has a mean streak in him that he inherited from his father. He always told us that his father had a terrible temper and that he had promised himself that he wouldn’t be the same way, but often times he was. He is meticulous and always wanted our rooms and the house and the bathroom to be kept very clean. Punctuality was also very important to my father and there were countless times we’d be reprimanded for coming late to dinner or getting wrapped up in an after school activity and arriving late for a scheduled pickup in the parking lot.

Did my father get angry frequently? No. At least, not in an outburst sort of way. I think he was angry about a lot of our behavior but the rage was set to slow simmer and incident piled upon incident until, when his temper did boil over, it was truly scary to a child; especially a child that was as introverted and shy as yours truly. I also think that my father’s harsh criticisms and frustrations were aimed more towards me than towards my younger brother and I felt that when I was younger but I never knew why. All I know is that there were plenty of times that I just never felt that I could be what my father wanted me to be. And in retrospect I believe that my father saw so much of himself in me that he unconsciously took it upon himself to cull the attributes in me that he disliked in himself while encouraging all the behaviors that he found favorable.

My father and his eldest sister were very close as adults. I had heard that I reminded people of her but the comparison took over my life after she died of cancer when I was almost 14. Suddenly everything about me reminded my family of Ronnie: my hair, my build, my skin, my personality…everything. After awhile I began to rebel. I did everything I could to set myself apart from both my father and the ghost of my aunt. I was sloppy, disorganized and passive aggressive. The only things I held in common with my father was my love of Hydrox cookies, Pepsi and cigarettes. This went on for years until my father recognized some things that he needed to change in his own life (he acknowledged his OCD and anxiety) and started taking Paxil. The medication did wonders for him and allowed him the clarity to understand a lot about himself, his life and his family. I think he finally saw our relationship for what it was: a father who loved his daughter and sister so much that the emotions merged and became more than his daughter could take. It took me a while longer to get my act together, admit my own anxiety issues, and understand that no matter how much I may remind others of my father or my aunt, I am, above all things, myself.

Now, as an adult in my late 20s, I often find myself expecting people to do things my way. I arrive most places at least a half hour early if not more. I put my backpack together the same way every morning and I always keeps my house keys in the same pocket. I eat the same lunch almost every day and have severe difficulty when my daily routine is interrupted. “Going with the flow” is a challenge for me. Often when my boyfriend lacks the initiative to scoop the litter box or do a load of laundry, after I feel like I’ve been trying to keep the cats fed and the house straightened up all week, I find myself brooding for days until I finally explode. I have started recognizing the eerie familiarity of all of these things and it overwhelms me. So I call my father and talk to him and ask him to help me find ways to get over that part of me that demands control and order. And he talks to me and guesses everything that is going on inside my head and he makes me realize that these are all feelings that can be dealt with and overcome. He respects me for doing what he couldn’t do for such a long time; seeing the faults within myself rather than those around me. Sometimes it scares me when I behave like the younger version of my father, but then I remember that no matter how many similarities there are, good or bad, I am still me.

I am proud to be my father’s daughter.

Please welcome my dear friend CanadianFlake as today’s guest-blogger!

———————–

Hey all, I am thrilled to be here today with a guest post for the

amazing and talented Brillig. I am grateful that brillig has

entrusted her readers in my care for one day. Of course, I

think she totally rocks…as I am sure all of you do too. I have

been a loyal “brillig-fan” since the first day I stumbled across

her blog (who could forget the SOS “chad” saga..lol)

I have been pondering the subject of this post for a few days.

I have been excited to be guest posting for the very first time

and wanted to sound intelligent, humorous or insightful (or

at least, I didn’t want to sound totally lame ..lol)

I guess I should start by introducing myself. My name is

Canadianflake and I have been blogging for just over a year

now. I have a gnome and 2 gremlins that I both love and

get frustrated with in equal measure. The gnome and I have

been together for 6 years. Like every good gnome, he can

drive me to insanity with the best of them but I love him so

very much with all that is in my heart. My gremlins are 16

and 13 and anyone that has ever had a teenage gremlin

KNOWS that this is never easy…but totally worth it!!

After relocating in 2006, I began working at a job that

is out of my home. Because I have no friends here and I

work alone, the material for my posts more often than

not comes from the antics and goings-on of the above

mentioned gnome and gremlins….and it is something that

happened this week that I wish to share with you all, as I

have shared with my regular readers.

I should first explain that both of my gremlins have a

learning disability. Both have really struggled in school

from the beginning and I have had to battle teachers and

principals on many occasion. This war that I have fought

is somewhat of a 2-sided coin. There have been many

tears shed and worries that neither of them would be able

to finish school and be able to make their own path in life.

The flip side of that coin is that I have grown to appreciate

every litte victory and taken hope in small things that others

might overlook as insignificant. It is one of these victories

I share with you today…

Earlier this week, gremlin #2 had to an assignment where he

(meaning WE) had to read a story and answer questions.

One of the questions asked him if he thought it would be

a good thing or a bad thing if everyone “was cut from the

same thread”. Right away, I knew that my answer would

have been to say it would be a bad thing…because we

all need to be individuals etc etc…

When I read the question, his answer was the following….

“It would be good if we were all woven from the same

thread because then we would all be equal both physically

and mentally. If everyone was equal there would be no

wars, no racism and no poor people”.

I was so proud of this answer I almost cried. I emailed

his teacher so she would know who impressed I was and

her response was the following…

“wow- what a breakthrough! I had tears in my eyes while

I read his response - that is fantastic! I am so proud of his

logic! If only our peacekeepers in the world could see his

viewpoint! ”

For a momma bear that has had to scratch and claw just

to get her gremlins to learn how to read and write (with VERY

little support from the school system), these words mean

more than any award!!

Thanks for having me brillig. Looking forward to reading

all the other guest posts over the next month!

So, remember how I was in the process of buying a house in Colorado?  Yeah…  The house has been considered under contract for over three weeks now.  We are dealing with the worst seller EVER.  Who is that seller?  Why, it’s the US Federal Government.  We had an agreement, we were moving forward.  Suddenly, they are trying to get out of it.  Yeah.  I’ve been waiting around for three weeks for the green light to go ahead and actually move in, and now they’re trying to get out of it.  It’s the most ridiculous situation in the whole world.  My brother—the one in Denver who my hubby is living with while we wait to have our own place—is a partner in a hoity-toity law firm.  He has been giving us legal advice and it’s looking like we may end up embroiled in a legal battle over this house—which is precisely what I was hoping to do with all my free time this summer…

Which means, among other madness, that I could be stranded here in Utah indefinitely while my husband is in Colorado.

“Shoot me now” is the phrase that comes to mind…

Also… there’s a leak in the basement.  Like, the kind of leak that caused the ceiling in the closet of my boys’ bedroom to collapse.  The kind of leak that has been saturating insulation and drywall for long enough that the smell of mold is enough to kill.  The kind of leak that I know nothing about fixing and will therefore have to call a plumber who will rob me blind.  The kind of leak that may just be the straw that breaks my camel-ish back.

My kids are all out of school now, which in many ways makes things easier.  It also means, however, that I have four children at home all day every day.  I adore them and they’re so much fun, but it’s hard to get much done!

Oh, and I’m sick.  It’s my fault, really.  I dragged my kids, my husband, and my sister to Lagoon yesterday.  I love Lagoon—I love amusement parks in general.  But it was pouring rain all day long.  Now, we all had our little $1 plastic ponchos and that helped a lot to keep us dry, but we were freezing.  I looked at my little children who were shaking and shivering, drenched, with little purple lips and frozen fingers, and thought, “wow, they’re all going to be sick.”  But no, I’m the one who’s sick.  Fever, chills, sore throat.  My kids, however, are bouncing off the walls…

In the above whiny paragraph, I mentioned that my husband was here.  Yes!  He flew in on Friday night and flew out this morning at 3:00 a.m.!  I can’t even tell you how wonderful it was to be with him.  We’d been apart for three weeks, which I realize isn’t all that long, but to us it was an eternity.  We had such a great weekend together, which made it that much harder to let him go this morning, especially since we have no idea when we might see each other again.  Sigh.  I just adore that man.

Let me be clear, though, that with all the whining that I’ve done in this post so far, I’m actually doing remarkably well.  Why?  How?  Well, I have the best friends and neighbors a girl could have.  People keep bringing in food for us or taking my kids for a few hours.  Not a day goes by that I don’t have half a dozen phone calls from well-wishers, wondering how they can make my burden a little bit lighter.  I’m spoiled rotten, that’s what I am!

And I’m also spoiled by all of you.  In my last post, I mentioned that I hate that I’m not blogging much lately, and would anyone be willing to guest-blog for me?  The response was amazing.  Twenty of you volunteered to help me out and keep my blog from dying!  WOW!  This will be so much fun!  If you are among those who offered to guest-post, then you’ll be receiving an email from me soon about when and how.

So, really, the insanity continues and there appears to be no end in sight.  But it’s all good, thanks to my friends—both the real and the online kind (who, by the way, are very real).

And now, I’m going to go lock everyone in the basement, throw some raw meat at them (because I’m kind-hearted like that), and take a nap.

Okay, people. I’m OBVIOUSLY having a very hard time blogging these days. And it’s sadly quiet around here. And I miss you. So I’ve decided to do something that only big-name bloggers (who I, unfortunately, am not) do. Yup, that’s right. I’m a wannabe (and all the girlies say I’m pretty fly for a white guy). But I thought it would be fun to have guest bloggers.

So, if you wanna blog here on my blog, please let me know. I’d absolutely love it. The rules are super lenient— you can write about whatever you want to (with a few exceptions… like, nothing that starts out with “Why I Hate Mormons” or, really, why you hate anyone) and nothing with profanity or vulgarity. If you use naughty words, I WILL substitute them with something else… which could be kinda funny. I’m just giving you advanced warning.

Also, your post can be something cross-posted from your blog, or it can be something from your archives, or it can be completely original for the occasion. See? I’m SO easy-going.

I figure this would be good for all of us. I’ll be happy, because my blog won’t be sitting here dead. You’ll be happy, because your post will link back to your blog (if you have one) and you will probably meet some fun new readers (seriously, my readers are the coolest). Basically, everyone wins.

I don’t know how long we’ll do this—it depends on how many people want to guest-blog, and it depends on how long it takes for me to actually GET OUT OF LIMBO!

So! If you’re interested, lemme know!

——

***ETA:  We’ve reached our guest-blog capacity!  Thanks to all who volunteered! 

(Bonus points for anyone who knows where this post’s title comes from.)

——

Shall I compare me to a frazzled mom?

I am more sleepy, and delirious.

Rough spills do mess up kitchens clean and fair,

And carpets here are far more vomitous.*

Sometimes too hot the voice of mother speaks,

And often are good children scared to death.

As sometimes mother yells more than she should,

By fluke, or mother’s full exhaustion’s wealth.**

And my eternal packing shall not cease,

Nor lose possession of the junk I claim,

Nor shall the toilet clean pee off itself

When little boys forget just how to aim.

So long as I wade through my duties deep,

So long lives limbo, I shall never sleep***

——

*We had a puking incident today, just after I finished cleaning all the carpets…

**Or possibly because my kids are big fat (but adorable, natch) stinkers

***Yup, still in limbo, with no official end in sight just yet.

(Did you notice that the whole thing is in full sonnet form: 14 lines, in iambic pentameter, rhyming, AND ending in a couplet? Yeah… I felt like I needed to point that out…)

I’m just waiting for someone to yell, “fire.” I’m ready, my aim is set. The limbo between “aim” and “fire” seems interminable.

I’m pattering around my quiet abode tonight all by myself. Four little darlings lie sleeping in their little beds—they’re so beautiful when they sleep, their long dark eyelashes splashed across their creamy pink faces. Everything is so quiet, so still. So perfectly right.

Brian is five hundred miles away tonight, and will be for a few weeks. It’s only been one day—hardly long enough to even notice that he’s gone. But I feel the distance acutely. I miss him.

He saw our house tonight. Our offer was accepted. I’m already contemplating the placement of our paintings and mirrors and photographs. Which child gets which bedroom. Which tables go where. Which couches I’d really like to give to charity because I don’t think I can stand to look at them anymore… In my mind, I’m decorating a house I’ve never actually seen in person. And yet, I consider it home.

Isaac was diagnosed this last week. No surprises. I’d been calling him “autistic” for a while now. But it’s official now. The psychiatrist who diagnosed him told me that he usually makes moms cry when he issues such a diagnosis. I assured him that I’d already done my crying. “But now I feel empowered,” I told him. “I can finally start getting him some help now.”

Not that I think there will be no more tears. I’m realistic enough to understand that this is going to be a lifelong journey, with ups and downs, tears and laughter and sometimes both combined. Usually both combined.

I’m beginning to look at our stuff. Our junk. Our ridiculous piles of “necessities.” I suppose I get peevish like this every time I move. I’m now looking at our possessions in terms of, “if I pack that now, will I need it before I actually move?” And the answer is almost always no. Goodness, if I’m not going to need it in the next few weeks, do I really need it at all? And yet, into the box it goes.

My gal-pal Charrette (have you checked out her new blog? You must!) and I were laughing about that yesterday at church. Come to think of it, Charrette and I were as irreverent as the children we work with in the Primary—snickering and chattering while someone else was teaching the lesson. Whoops. I’m sure the teacher really loved us yesterday. Anyway, the teacher was telling the story of Lehi to the Primary children. Lehi, Sariah, and family were commanded to leave Jerusalem and to leave all their possessions behind. “Lucky Sariah,” I whispered to Charrette, who readily agreed.

Not that Sariah was lucky. But I DO wonder if, since her plate was so very full and so very much was being asked of her, if God was truly blessing her by telling her she didn’t have to deal with all the stuff.

So, I’m packing, but I’m leaving out some clothes for everyone. Some pants, some t-shirts, and something to wear to church on Sunday. Princess Fluffy’s school uniforms are all left out, because she might as well get as much use out of them now. (When we get to Colorado, she and Bubba will enter that delightful world of… um… public school. Oh, it’ll be fine. But I’ll miss the strict uniforms we’ve had here.) Anyway, if somehow we end up staying here in limbo for longer than we expect, then we’ll each end up wearing the same outfits to church week after week. Isn’t it stupid that that bothers me? For all my talk of disgust with my possessions and my desires to just throw it all in the garbage, the truth is that I can’t bear to part with any of it. In fact, I went to the mall tonight and bought myself yet another new skirt and pair of shoes. Ludicrous.

There’s so much more to say on all of this, but really I’m just rambling. Filling the silence. Missing my sweety. Contemplating my life and the many new twists it’s suddenly taken. I suppose it’s easier to harp on tangible things like possessions than to actually figure out my new reality. Maybe that’s why I bought yet another skirt and pair of shoes…

Come on. Fire, already.