Ridiculous people. Stop looking at me.
Mostly I cry, and try not to yell at people, but in an effort to be productive I've been checking off The List.
We've got the garden in, have I mentioned that? I think I have. Anyway, if I haven't, we have the garden in. And Samuel has already 'christened' it by falling dramatically on one of the nails and giving himself an impressive cut. The crying, oh the weeping and wailing that resulted from that cut. All I did was wash it and put a bit of aloe on it, and you would have though I was amputating.
I spent yesterday dealing with Samuel's bedroom. I think it just needs to be said that my children need to have nothing at all that is even rather sort of nice. I wish they could, oh I do. I picture them with lovely furniture and beautiful books and toys, but the reality is that I found a chicken drumstick on the floor, and dirty clothes at the bottom of the toy box, and, oh, general slovenliness. And I was terribly upset right up until I discovered the broken dresser drawer and then I was just angry. Mad. The drawer, despite both David and I working at it, will not allow itself to be glued back together with wood glue.
So I started throwing things away. Despite the tears (tears, my children, do not move me) the tiny plastic dinosaurs left, and the army men, and the duplicated trucks and the broken bits of things. All the very special papers, and the very special wonderful treasures that were SO amazing and necessary that they could not be parted with have been disposed of. And the pants. Surely *they* will continue to make pants in the future if I suddenly need more. And the ripped stuff. Ugh. And the colouring books. Worse invention ever.
Samuel's room now has a bag with some Lego, and a small plastic tub slightly smaller than my dish draining tray in area for wooden trains. And he has action figures lined on the window sill and a few other reasonable toys that I will debate in the coming week but that is all. His room is very spartan.
Clara's room is getting it's own sort of overhaul. A second rod installed in the closet and a lot of clothes purged and packed and what have you. If only there was a basement. Or the children could wear one outfit and play with sticks.
And in the meantime I think I have accomplished most of what I've intended to do before the baby arrives. Other things, things that fall into the amorphous category of 'Wouldn't It Be Nice' have mostly been pushed to the side.
We've got the garden in, have I mentioned that? I think I have. Anyway, if I haven't, we have the garden in. And Samuel has already 'christened' it by falling dramatically on one of the nails and giving himself an impressive cut. The crying, oh the weeping and wailing that resulted from that cut. All I did was wash it and put a bit of aloe on it, and you would have though I was amputating.
I spent yesterday dealing with Samuel's bedroom. I think it just needs to be said that my children need to have nothing at all that is even rather sort of nice. I wish they could, oh I do. I picture them with lovely furniture and beautiful books and toys, but the reality is that I found a chicken drumstick on the floor, and dirty clothes at the bottom of the toy box, and, oh, general slovenliness. And I was terribly upset right up until I discovered the broken dresser drawer and then I was just angry. Mad. The drawer, despite both David and I working at it, will not allow itself to be glued back together with wood glue.
So I started throwing things away. Despite the tears (tears, my children, do not move me) the tiny plastic dinosaurs left, and the army men, and the duplicated trucks and the broken bits of things. All the very special papers, and the very special wonderful treasures that were SO amazing and necessary that they could not be parted with have been disposed of. And the pants. Surely *they* will continue to make pants in the future if I suddenly need more. And the ripped stuff. Ugh. And the colouring books. Worse invention ever.
Samuel's room now has a bag with some Lego, and a small plastic tub slightly smaller than my dish draining tray in area for wooden trains. And he has action figures lined on the window sill and a few other reasonable toys that I will debate in the coming week but that is all. His room is very spartan.
Clara's room is getting it's own sort of overhaul. A second rod installed in the closet and a lot of clothes purged and packed and what have you. If only there was a basement. Or the children could wear one outfit and play with sticks.
And in the meantime I think I have accomplished most of what I've intended to do before the baby arrives. Other things, things that fall into the amorphous category of 'Wouldn't It Be Nice' have mostly been pushed to the side.
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