Uncommon Julia

Alive and...

When I called my mom last night after the worst of the move was over, she said she was glad to know we were alive and kicking.  I told her that I thought it was not so much "kicking" as "twitching" or perhaps plain 'ol muscle spasm.

The move actually went better than expected.  I am very much impressed by how well our furniture suits this house.  It looks like an entirely different place.  When I brought Hannah and Caroline home from my friends house (where they had stayed most of the day), Hannah ran around the whole house screaming with glee and saying "I LOVE my new house!" and informing me of each and every item that had miraculously relocated itself here.  She even told me the new cabin is "in her heart."

So I'm feeling quite good about this whole move.  Much more to be done though, as we still have a TON of packing and storing and cleaning left to do at the old house.  Not to mention the finishing touches here.  I'll post some pictures of it all soon.

Dark Side of the Moon

Tomorrow is Day One of operation country livin'.  It's the day we attempt to transfer our internet connection, telephone lines, and television service.  Which means something is pretty much guaranteed to go awry.  Theoretically, I could have internet connection by mid-afternoon.  But realistically, I may not be able to reach out and touch you all until later.  How much later, well, who can say.

It's really weird seeing my home devolve as things disappear into boxes.  I've got two weeks after the big part of the move to prepare for part two: which involves packing Everything That Is Left into well-marked boxes and transferring it to storage.

Please, please wish me luck. 

Nary a Peep

Filed under "Fortuitous":

As of this week, the chickens (including roosters, praise be) seem to be entirely gone.

Two more days.

This is Why I Will Always Look Trend-less

I stumbled across this site today while searching for jeans and pants that might fit me without requiring we sell our house and move to the country... oh wait...

Zafu has their heart in the right place, but their own search tells me what countless shopping trips of my own already revealed:  They can only find one pair of pants that fits my parameters.  Well, at least they got the name right.

T-Minus Six

grin, originally uploaded by uncommonjulia.

The big move begins on Friday.  Thus far, Caroline remains unphased.  She's my new mentor.

Hannah and I seem to be on the same page.  Namely, "let's get this done!"  Except that implies that I'm actually taking steps toward making that happen, which really, not so much.

The problem is that we're downsizing to the point that the only things we're taking with us are things we need and actively use.  And as such, they can't be put away in boxes until almost the last minute.

At least that's my story.

(More adorable pictures of Caroline on flickr.  If you're a "friend", there are even more.  Also, big shout out to Pioneer Woman for her awesome tutorials, including the most recent on burning and dodging.)

Walking That Fine Line in CrazyLand

Julia at I Won't Fear Love has a great post (and blogiversary celebration) up about the conundrum people find themselves in when something tragic has happened in their lives.  She references the Pain Olympics, which you might remember if you were blogging in the infertility world back in the stone ages.  She outlines the concept just fine, so I'll wait while you read her post.

Done?  Okay.

I couldn't agree more.  In the years after the loss of all our boys, and particularly after Thomas's death, I constantly walked this fine line.  I wanted people to know and recognize that something had broken my entire world - something momentous and irrevocable.  I wanted them to know that I was hurting in ways that defied description and that I would never, ever be the same.  I did not want them to try and lessen my pain with any of the lifeless verbal band-aids and lame condolences we are so driven to awkwardly give one another in times of crises.

And yet, I loathed the idea that people were feeling sorry for me - that my story had turned from one of a good girl living a good life, to a sad girl trying to survive tragedy.  It did not mesh in any way with my self-concept.

What I finally arrived at was this:

I wanted pity, but I did not want to be pitiable.

Read that again, because it's an important distinction:  I wanted PITY, but I did not want to BE pitiable.

The only reaction from friends, family, or even strangers that I found acceptable was ABIDING.  To simply be there with me.  To tell me that this sucked more than they could conceive of and that they had no words.  To sit with me and not try at all to make it better or to lessen the pain I felt.  To give me hugs or fall silent on the phone.  To bring me carbohydrate laden food or send me tasteless e-mail jokes or take me to a movie and just hold my hand when I cried in the concession line as a pregnant woman walked past.

Whatever the grief, whatever the cause, I can't help but feel that mine was a common response:  I am sad.  I am stricken.  But that does not make me OF that pain, and it is not my state of BEING.

I don't know if that makes as much sense on paper as it does in my head, but I thought I should share - for those who have been there and for those who strive to be there for their friends or loved ones in times if crisis.

Don't Mind Me... Just Flipping Out a Bit is All.

Today was most definitely a Monday.  And someone somewhere who has a sick sense of humor decided to throw me not one, but two additional balls to juggle.  And I gotta say, I'm running short a few arms.  So I'm gonna bitch for a minute.  Because, as I understand it, that's the basic premise behind blogging.

1. Apparently, my pastor is gone.  I don't know if she left the church voluntarily or under some sort of pressure.  I do know that there had been lots of tension (over what, I honestly could never figure out), and she had considered leaving before.  But now, she's gone.  There's no trace of  her on the church's Web site and I got an e-mail today about painting the new parsonage (which I didn't know we had) to welcome the new pastor(s) (whom I've never heard of).

Obviously, I haven't been able to attend service is a couple of months.  Caroline's naps and Todd's open houses have conspired against me.  I'm disturbed that she's gone and even more disturbed that I don't know why.  I really felt like I had found a home there, and now, I don't know.

I guess the whole thing just leaves a bad taste in my mouth.  I used to feel like it was a place of acceptance, but now it feels like a place where they run folks off for disagreeing.

I understand, though, that it was likely a moot point for the next few years anyway, since the cabin is too far away to continue going there.

Still.  Gah.

2.  This is the real zinger.

I went to pick up Hannah this afternoon from Mrs. Barbara's Academy of Stay Out of Our Hair.  I love, love, love Mrs. Barbara.  She's run a daycare that really functions as more of a preschool out of her house for something like 16 years now.  She loves Hannah and treats her like a true individual.  She's flexible, kind, patient, and affordable.   We're willing to drive a lengthy commute to let Hannah continue going there after the move.

Today, when I picked her up, Mrs. Barbara waited for another parent to leave and then told me she needed to talk.  Again, that sick feeling rose up in my belly.  For a second I thought she was going to say Hannah had done something terrible and wouldn't be allowed back.  I quickly dismissed the thought, but got even more worried when she prefaced her comments by saying she'd waited to talk to me because of all the stress we've been under.

The short of it is this: She's closing the school.  At the end of August.  I have two months to move Hannah and then find her another caregiver. 

I cried.  Even though I completely understand her motivation.  They're selling their home and moving in with her Mother-in-law to help her renovate the family home and take care of her.  She's been doing daycare for a long time and though she loves it, she's tired and needs a break.

What I need is some wine. 

Gah!  And gah!  And GAHHHHHHH!

Diaper Middle Ground

About a week ago, on an emergency shopping trip specifically to purchase diapers (something that never happened with my first kid, but happens all the time with Caroline), I saw Natural Choice diapers* next to the name brand I usually buy.

My earlier quandary and inquiries about whether or not to switch to cloth diapers was quashed in the subsequent sell-our-belongings-move-to-the-country decision, so when I saw these "green" diapers on the shelf, I was intrigued.  My grocery store breaks down unit pricing on their shelf label, so glanced to see how much more expensive these were when compared to my usuals.  Guess what?  They're cheaper.

So I bought a package thinking it couldn't hurt.  If they sucked, I'd just go back to my standard diapers.

But here's what's great: They don't suck!  In fact, aside from being less fabric-like, they actually function very, very well.  I believe they're actually better at concealing poop smell, too - which could be seen as a negative, though in my book, is a nice plus.  They work overnight, and we haven't had a single leakage issue.

I don't know exactly how much better these are for the environment, but any step in the right direction is a good thing.  So I do believe I'll be buying these from here on out.

*I couldn't find a link directly to the company, so I thought this would be the next-best.

Insert Knife, Turn Counter-Clockwises

Last night, clients-turned-friends of ours came to take what was left of our furniture (the stuff we can't fit into the cabin, that is) and took it home with them to use and store until we move back.  Hannah was quite the trooper, but was we watched them take the final straps to tie everything down in the trailer I noticed her walking slowly down the length of it, stroking and patting the sofa and a chair back.

I asked her if she was okay, and she replied yes, but wanted to be picked up. I obliged and she tucked her head into my neck and whispered, "But mama, our furniture is in my heart."

Instead of crying myself and urging our friends to kindly return the heavy, unnecessary furniture to its proper location, I reassured her that we would get to see this stuff again when we moved back and that we would have more than enough to fill up our home when we move in a few weeks.  But man.  On the inside?  Not so much with the strength.

Movin' to the Country...

Gonna eat a lot of peaches.

What?  You don't remember that song?  I heard it on the radio today and thought it timely, since we just signed a lease agreement with tenants.  So now it's official.  We'll move at the end of this month.

At this point, I'd say I feel gracious about the whole thing approximately 90% of the time.  That other 10% finds me flipping out internally, but keeping a lid on it while Todd or the kids are around.  I think Hannah is feeling the stress of moving a bit, and I don't need to add any to Todd's generally "glass half-empty" attitude.  Though, I must say, he's been much more optimistic as of late.

Perhaps it's because this month is night and day, compared to the last ten.  He's got a handful of listings, and even a few buyers.  We'll actually receive some paychecks this week!

So here's your next opportunity to share what you know: Small kitchens.  How to organize them and make the most of non-existent storage.