two and three.

day two

Day two, I wore those shoes and clothes with light gray jeans.

1.) Retro sneakers have a special place in my heart but I know I'm getting to be Practical Pam because I have only a few pairs left in my collection I've saved because they are... comfortable (*shudder*).

2.) I really do wear a hat and scarf indoors some days. Winter is not my favorite, especially when we live in a drafty house. I have my sister-in-law, Anne, to thank for the cute hats and scarves she knits for me. Thanks, Anne!

evening of day three

Even better than pretty clouds is a completely cloudless day. When we have a really clear and cloud-free day in Minnesota, that usually means it's frigid. The sky is a beautiful, bright blue and you zip outdoors to enjoy the warm sun for a minute until your lungs spasm from inhaling ice. Today was no exception but with 'frigid' being 15 degrees, we can hardly complain.

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My Google search for 'sequin hedgehog shirt' is pulling up no real results. Dang. I had a sudden realization that I should own one.

I'm glad for this photo challenge. It's pulling me out of a what-to-talk-about blogging funk.

One more day left to the weekend. Aah! They go to fast. I'm going to soak up any relaxation and fun that I can tomorrow. We're planning to go on a tour of an airport fire station with the boys and they are thrilled! What to wear, what to wear.

photo challenge: day one.

self-portrait.

It's 11:10 pm. On the telly I'm watching (I turn British at 11:00 pm), some excited blokes are asking for money to support their network. The small child next to me is being infused with immunoglobulins. He has been lulled to sleep by said persons. We are catching some snuggles and I'm switching between the television and the laptop but not paying attention to either for long. Mostly, I'm just enjoying the little one and making a mental to-do list for the weekend. One more hour until the infusion's finished and I hit the hay. All in all, the day was a success.

Want to join in? Here's the link for the thirty day photo challenge.

types.

(Photo taken at The Little Red Hen Shop)

We mostly had an uneventful eleven days when Andrew was out of town. Mostly. And I was happy it went as well as it did. Well, we did have an army helping out but given how 'meh' the month of January was, I was pleasantly surprised the time flew by. It was good for both my husband and I to have some quiet time and miss each other and I was so busy every day, I was already snoozing by the time I hit my pillows.

There may have been a funeral for three fish that had happily coexisted with us for four months prior to my husband leaving. And a light that exploded. (Helpful hint: direct spray nozzle away from lightbulbs.) And two important school projects not completed and turned in. BUT, man, did we pull it together otherwise.

Before we left, Andrew was reflecting on his coffee pot. It's not really a pot, it's a fancy-schmancy Keurig that I got for him for a steal last year. He was so appreciative of the gift but when he thought aloud that maybe we shouldn't sell the old pot "in case company comes over", I didn't take the hint and figured he needed time to come around. The individual cup of coffee concept is brilliant. Hot, perfect, medium or large mug of coffee every time in seconds. It's handy, especially if you don't go through loads of coffee. But, I've gathered over the past year that there are some downsides: it's not inexpensive to drink loads of coffee and it only makes one cup at a time. There can be wait time involved if you make more than five cups in a row which is awkward with guests. Heh. And monkeying with the Keurig reusable filter is frustrating because the grounds almost always end up in the coffee. The sweet dude hasn't complained much about it but he does carefully ration his coffee and I feel a pang of guilt for the java-loving guy.

A week before he left, he finally confessed that he missed his old coffee pot. So, when he was gone we packed the Keurig away and bought and put out the most basic Mr. Coffee pot on the counter with his favorite (cheap) coffee, Eight O' Clock brand. As I was getting it ready, my heart swelled with mushy feelings. I kind of dig that he's not a Keurig kind-of-guy. It's probably partly due to our small pocketbook and thrifty ways but I think it's more than that. I like his ritual of making a pot of coffee, the grinding of the grounds, putting just so many grounds in the filter but not too much, hence it turns to sludge. And I like hearing the noise of the water when it's sputtering away and almost done. And there's nothing like the smell of a fresh pot of coffee. But, back to him. He's a low-maintenance guy who doesn't care if his car is a little beaten up and his socks have holes in them. And I've come to really appreciate the little details that make him, him. So, I shouldn't have been surprised when he suggested keeping the old pot around, 'just in case'.

I think we all have an idea of what our idea type of mate would be. Not every man could love a diamonds-are-overrated-girl who romantically says, "if your plane crashes on the way home, I'm going to be really pissed at you". (I later amended it to say what I actually meant: "I miss you very much and it makes me feel vulnerable.") The best part of loving is finding your preconceived notions of 'perfect' challenged and learning new things about the individual while discovering pieces of yourself at the same time. The fact is, if he had loved his Keurig, I would have been just as pleased about that and found at least seventeen reasons why. But, when I spotted him grinning as he made up his first real pot of coffee in months, I have to admit that I found it pretty darn endearing.

P.S. Gently used Keurig for sale for you or your dashing Keurig-liking-guy.

Here and Now.

Yesterday was a handful. It was one of those days where Gregory was so wild that I sort of stood back at a safe distance, my arms crossed in front of me for protection from flailing limbs as I willed myself, unsuccessfully, to blend into the walls or be magically transported to a summer beach somewhere. We haven't had a day that difficult in a long time, where none of the tools and coping mechanisms we've learned were of any help. It was the last straw for me and once the boys were sleeping soundly, I spent the evening alone in my room.

I can do crisis. There are a series of things that need to happen with crisis to bring closure or at least a more manageable state. The goals are big, they need to happen fast, it's all short-term. There's a full team working on crisis and together, we put crisis back in its little box. Crisis brings adrenaline, clarity, focus. All of these things are necessary to move a person through the difficult time.

Awhile back I journaled about grief and moving from the 'new diagnosis' phase with all its chaos and crisis to the 'new normal' state. It's an incredibly painful, long process. And in a conversation with my mom, I told her that sometimes I still have the most gripping, awful feeling in my chest and finally will realize that I just need to make time to have a good cry. She said that in a situation with serious illness, there will always be grief.

Now daily, I find myself thinking or whispering, "I don't know how to do this". I don't want to sound ungrateful: our little guy is stable right now (thank you God!) and I can't even count the ways we are provided for and blessed. We aren't in a state of crisis. But for the uncertainty- the daily ups and downs, the wonderful hope of a possible cure, the stable-in-a-still-life-threatening-illness, the sensory-seeking behaviors- there is no manual or little box. The adrenaline and clarity? That, I miss!

I honestly *don't* know how to do the here and now but I do recognize that I'm given just enough of everything I need each day. And I have faith that eventually, we'll look back on this with understanding and we'll know how it changed us for the better and helped prepare us for the next phase in life. In the meantime, I'm hoping for respite on that warm, sandy beach. Hawaii sounds perfect but California will do.