Hey, would you look at that, two whole weeks, huh?
I can always look back and pinpoint major and minor crises in my life by glaring gaps in the ‘ol online record, particularly in the summer time when things tend to get more intense. (No shingles to report thus far this July, praiseyouJesus). Just, things have been a little raw. All the house hunting and contract signing and then, oh joy, signing more termination paperwork after a big bummer of an inspection this morning because, you guessed it, the F word. Foundation damage.
We seem to have developed an uncanny knack for turning up homes who are literally considering sliding off their cement pedestals, and at this point I’m thinking I should reach out to Joanna friggin Gaines and offer to partner with her in identifying fix uppers in the Denver metro area just in case she ever gets the itch to expand beyond scenic Waco.
Joanna, girl, I’m here for you.
So life has been a little hectic. I’ve also had to come to grips with the reality that this time – and whether it’s pregnancy alone or just a big old pot of circumstance soup, I can’t rightly say – I seem to be wrestling with prenatal depression which is some of the fun of postpartum depression but without the added challenge of sleep deprivation. So that’s been fun. I’m feeling better now thanks to lots of babysitting and a wonderful, compassionate and responsive doctor, progesterone, and more sleep and I’m so, so glad that I have air conditioning and live in America. With a minivan. Because as far ask pregnancy goes, those are the trifecta of luxury if you ask me: medical care, minivan, climate control.
I’m really bummed about this most recent house, and while I’m trying to channel that deflation into gratitude that we didn’t buy another POS that needed 50k in repairs, I’m really, really tired of driving all over God’s congested creation looking at crackhouses with my four darling offspring in tow, so I’d love your prayers. (And if you have snarky comments about what idiots we were to sell our last home in this market, you can go ahead and keep those to yourself. Or face the wrath of Twitter Jenny who is far less magnanimous than blogger Jenny.)
If I were to step forward 5 years in the future for even an hour or two for a glimpse of what might await our family down the road, I’m sure I’d come crawling back to this particular moment, throw my arms gratefully around this particular cross, and be completely at peace. So I’m trying to go there imaginatively and remind myself it’s temporary, it’s temporal, and it’s oh-so-preferable to any number of other sufferings and situations so many families find themselves in. Also, Jesus I trust in you. Really, I do. Help my unbelief.
In addition to the aforementioned babysitter (two sisters who’s mom is a blog reader and reached out with the suggestion – God bless the entire H family forever and ever amen) I have the two big boys headed to “saint camp” next week and have been trying to do at least a couple of fun activities (library or pool – basically Vegas) every week. Last Saturday we took the kids to a small time, tame little amusement park outside of town called Heritage Square where I proceeded to ride every ride defying my gestational situation in a flagrant display of Kendra-style maternity, and it was wonderful. Also wonderful: my terrified not-quite two-year-old who was somehow vetted as tall enough for the Tilt a Whirl. It will live on in his mind as either the most terrifying or seraphic experience of his brief 23 months ex utero. The expression frozen on his face at the duration of the ride was hard to read.
(Forthcoming topic: “things you’d never do with your firstborn, volume 1: amusement park rides and the
5 10 second rule”)
Luke is very helpfully trying to potty train himself by tearing his diaper off wandering around stark naked. I am grateful that all our surrounding neighbors work full time and/or are allergic to the outdoors. So far we haven’t had any biohazardous situations precipitate from this behavior, but there’s always tomorrow. I think if I really wanted to potty train a 23 month old I probably could? But I’ve never had lasting success with anyone under 3, so I feel like adding to the current load of life would be, how can I put this, unspeakably stupid? Plus, won’t he be regressively finger painting the walls with poop when the new baby comes at Christmas?
School starts in just over a month and I have all supplies (and supply kits – glory!) ordered or purchased, including back-freaking-packs and water bottles. The uniform orders are starting to trickle in and Evie’s plaid jumper is the cutest thing I’ve ever laid eyes on. I almost wish I’d sprung for the optional Mass day tie. Swoon. I just finished my favorite (to date) Rosemund Pilcher novel, “Coming Home,” and the first half is set at a boarding school in Cornwall and oh, if only I had to buy her a smart little beret and some tweed outerwear too.
Oh, one last piece of housekeeping: I’m (finally) starting a podcast. I’m just starting to record episodes this month so we’ll see when things get up and running, but I’ll keep you guys in the loop. I know sometimes it’s easier to listen to stuff than to read, and that some people (horror) DON’T READ AT ALL, so it’ll be a fun new demographic to reach. Expect kind of the same stuff I talk about here: motherhood, bioethics, moral theology, current events, maybe a little politics and some cultural trends. Speaking of podcasts, I had the pleasure of returning for a chat with Haley and Christy over at Fountains of Carrots last month and we had a lot of slightly irreverent fun talking about NFP. Go forth.
Here’s to another Monday on the books.