One month down, 11 more to go. I like to think of the 365 project as an extended version of the Day In The Life days that we’ve done as a family over the last few years. If I manage to see the year through, I’d like to make a Blurb book, “A Year Pursuing Happiness”.

Every day I am able to find something beautiful in my life, if I just open my eyes wide enough.

These photos also show just how simple and repetitive our days are. Cleaning, playing, crafting, cleaning, playing. Maybe we’ll switch it up in February, but probably not. I’m a fan of “no news is good news” so more of the same, please.

You guys are great. Thank you so much for the responses on the last post. The last few days have been mildly better, in part because Meghan brought me chocolate, and I managed to get some acupuncture last night. My body is still broken, but hey, at least I’m not laying on the floor grumbling about it.

The great house purge continues over here, and last night we went through the girls toys again, and found another garbage bag of toys that we could cull out. Add that to all the books, kitchen stuff, clothes, craft stuff, electronics and furniture we are getting rid of, and we have the makings of a decent garage sale in the spring.

It’s astounding, and embarrassing, how much stuff we own. When I moved in with Tom, everything I owned fit in his car (except my mattress, which we do not even use now). He had some furniture, but not much, and for a few months before Ella was born, our little house felt almost empty. And yet, somehow, we are now drowning in 3000 sqft of stuff. A ton of it has been handed down from his parents – couches, beds, chairs, entertainment center, kitchen table, china cabinet, rugs, dishes – so it’s not as if we’ve been buying big ticket items, but truly, it’s not the couches that make our home feel so much smaller than it is. It is all the stuff. Stuff we wanted, stuff we found on sale, stuff we had plans for, stuff that seemed like a good idea at the time.

It’s overwhelming to think of how much work it will be to sort through it, and I am tempted to just box up the things that do matter, and then call it an estate sale and take a quarter or two for the rest.

A quick warning: This post will be about menstruation. It will also acknowledge the fact that I sometimes have sex. It will probably also contain cuss words in multiple languages . If that makes you all twitchy and uncomfortable, move along! Here, I’ll even provide you with a link:

50 things you should know how to do, complete with tutorial videos. You’re welcome.

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Since Ella is staying the night at her grandparent’s, and Alice should be falling asleep early tonight since she didn’t nap, Tom and I are planning to spend the entire afternoon eating junk food and catching up on Battlestar Galactica, 24, and Lost. Because when we were young and said “When I’m grown up I’m going to eat ice cream for dinner and stay up all night watching TV!” we meant it.

Also on the docket: wine.

Things have been stressfull here lately, but it’s all the same old things – money, kids pushing boundries, my feelings of inadequacy – that I’ve waxed poetic here too many time to do it again. Besides, I’m too busy crushing cookies to go over my ice cream.

I’ve been feeling very low and quiet lately. Not exactly depressed – cautious may be a better word. Earlier this week I found out that my maternal grandfather had died, and while we were not close, it does mark one less person on earth who ties me to my childhood. And with his death, I felt a bit of my own. The reality of death is one that makes me push back hard with two hands, and press my back against the wall. I’m looking forward to having 60 more years to get used to the idea.

So, I haven’t been blogging. It’s hard for me to write when all I can hear is the sound of my own heartbeat in my ears. Every so often I will stubble across the blog of a family in crisis, and the honesty which they are able to write about it all, as it is happening, always astounds me. Fear makes my hands go numb, so to speak.

I have been keeping up with the 365 Photos blog, so click over if you are curious what we have been up to. I’ll spare you the suspence – it’s mostly just cleaning and organizing. Because we’re cool like that.

My dear Alice, out of nowhere you are walking. Yesterday morning you refused to stand even when I gave you my fingers, and last night you stood up and walked across the room. I’ve been joking for months that you were refusing to walk because you are the baby, so watching you take little shuffling steps feels like one of the big milestones. First smile, first word, first step. All the skills you will need, really.

And Ella, you are so curious about the world. You found a magnifying glass at a thrift store a few weeks ago, and it may have been the best quarter I have ever spent. Everything must be examined – shirts, snow, breakfast and houseplants. You ask me all the time to “give me the word” because you know there must be a way to describe how an english muffin looks (craggy) or how toothpaste feels in your mouth (frothy). You consider these new words, and will pepper your sentences with them for a few days, testing how they sound out loud. “Mmm, my orange juice is frothy” you say, taking another drink and then examining the spilled drops on the table with your magnifying glass.”Give me the word, mama?”

“It’s a droplet” I say.

“Droplet. Droplet. Alice is a droplet,” you nod, and run to share this news with your sister, who is practicing leaning over to grab a sock monkey and walking away with it. “You are a droplet, and you are wonderful!” you say, as you grab the monkey and run down the hall, yelling “Come on baby, run with me!”

The “why”s are killing me, y’all.

Ella: Where is Daddy?
Me: He’s at work.
E: Why?
M: Because he needs to make money.
E: Why?
M: Because we have to buy food.
E: Why?
M: Because we don’t live on a commune.
E: Why?
M: Because hippies freak your Daddy out.
E: Why?
M: I don’t know.
E: Why?
M: Because I didn’t have coffee yet.
E: Why?
M: Because a little girl is hanging on my leg.
E: Why?
M: Because a lion ate her feet.
E: Why?
M: Because the antelope migration was late.
E: Why?
M: Because there was a drought in the savanna.
E: Why?
M: Because the river was dry.
E: Why?
M: Because little girls ask too many questions. Go play.
E: Why?
M: Must. Drink. Coffee.
E: Why?

That is my ENTIRE DAY lately.

I love you twitter, but you are killing my blogging. I realized today, while twittering about the possibility of us selling our home, that 140 words just isn’t enough to tackle a subject like this. Or maybe it’s the fact that I only have 140 words to state the facts, without emotion, that makes it easier to write about it.

So, the facts are these:  The Little House (coming in at barely 700 sq ft )  is owned by Tom’s parents, and he lived there for nearly 10 years before I moved in, threw out the roommates, and started in on the reimagining and renovating. By a stroke of luck , we had the opportunity to buy this home (with nearly 3000 sq ft) about two years ago, and we jumped at it. Tom’s little brother M moved into The Little House, and restored it to it’s bachelor glory, and all has been right in the world until this week, when M decided to join the Navy and abandon The Little House. (edit: we later learned that Tom actually owns part of the little house: details here.)

And this is where it gets messy: After our initial shock that M would join the military, Tom’s first thought was “Wow, now we can move back into The Little House!” to which I said “Wha?” and went down to my craft room and sulked because I like our house. Said craft room is a big reason, but also, we have room for family to visit. We have more than one toilet. We have room for a garden, nice carpets, and space for a dining room table. The girls can run around the yard and not crawl through holes in the fence. The paint isn’t flaking off the house, and the garage door doesn’t try to smash anyone who dares enter. The windows all open, and I have room for all my books. I am just a few blocks from one of my best friends.  Alice was born here, and if we have another one, there is room for a birth tub without having to put furniture in storage. I like our home.

But, it’s a lot of house. We have three bathrooms, and I refuse to clean more than one of them on a weekly basis. We can’t keep up with the yard, and since we live on a busy street, our front yard is essentially useless. The only time I ever go into three of the rooms downstairs is to put out spider traps. The Little House is actually in a better neighborhood, and we used to walk everywhere when we lived there. The kitchen floor is a pain in my ass (unsealed stone tile and grout), the heating bills are ridiculous, and the more space we have, the more we fill it with stuff. And the bottom line is that the mortgage eats over 50% of our income, and if we stay here, I will have to go back to work soon.

So, after I walked around kicking stuffed animals for a while, I came upstairs and told Tom to call his parents. They agreed to meet for dinner this week to talk about it, but sounded on board.  Since we bought our home at a steep discount and did quite a few renovations when we moved in, we should be able to put our house on the market for a competitive price, and still walk away with enough to finance Tom going back to get his Masters and to renovate the basement of The Little House so that we will have move room. That is, of course, if we can sell in this insanely bad market. But, we live in a good part of town, and even if it takes a while, that will give us time to work on The Little House.

I’m sure I will have 45 more panic attacks about this before it’s over and done with, because Hi, I like to over think things. But it makes sense for this point in our lives to downsize and live small. Tom will go back to school, I will be able to stay home with the girls, and bonus points for actually putting money in savings, rather than bleeding it dry. Imagine that.

A friend sent me this video today, and I look forward to finding the book this reading is from, The Middle Place.

Transcending: Words on Women and Strength by Kelly Corrigan

(embedded video)

I decided on New Years that my resolution this year is to sleep eight hours in a row at least once. I just want to go to sleep, and not wake up at 11 pm, and midnight, and 2am, and 3am , and 5am, and 5:30am, and 6:10am, and 6:45am, and 7:15am. I am not just making these times up – for the last three nights, I have been keeping a sleep log, ala No Cry Sleep Solution, and I am both stunned, and not at all surprised that Alice is waking up that much. Stunned, because on paper that looks like torture, and not at all surprised because yeah, I AM tired every single day. The really sad part is that those times were from the best night so far this week.

The worst night was Saturday, when Alice woke up at midnight screaming, and did not stop until 3am. She wasn’t hurt, she wasn’t sad – I know those cries. No, she was just pissed off. She nursed well at 11pm, so I knew she was not hungry at midnight, so I dared try to rock her back to sleep instead of nursing her again. Alice was certain this violated the Geneva Convention in some way, and wailed for three hours as I became more and more determined not to nurse her again, because I would WIN this battle, damnit. I am the MOM, she is the baby, I make the rules, they are my breasts and they were staying put away!

It’s embarrassing to write that out today, but sleep deprivation brings out the worst in me, and when Tom woke up at 3am and found Alice screaming in her playpen, with me laying on the floor beside it with a pillow over my head, I was not embarrassed. I was mad. After calming  down our sobbing daughter on his shoulder (something she will not do for me), he asked me why she was crying. I moaned from under the pillow. “Because she hates me.”

*

As I am typing this, Alice is folded up in my lap. She nursed to sleep while I read blogs, and is still making the booby face. Occasionally she squeaks and grunts like a baby boar, but for the most part she just presses her ear to my chest and listens. I could have put her down an hour ago, but Tom is home to wrangle Ella, and I am content to just hold my baby for as long as she lets me.

This thought process is so different than the ones I have at 2am. By the light of day, I realize that it will all be okay.  She wants to be with me because it is love in her world. And yes, it is inconvenient, and no, we’re not giving up on trying to space out those night wakings, but by re-framing the situation from her point of view, I am the tantruming  child, wanting to fight a war that does not even exist.

So, it probably will not happen this week. Or this month, or (oh the bags under my eyes are deepening with the thought) even before Alice is a year and a half. Or (taking a chug of coffee) maybe it will be after she is two. But soon she will sleep through the night. And if she doesn’t? December 31st, 2009, I’m renting a hotel room by myself.