Recently we were discussing whether or not Michael should buy a sword for the sword drill he will be part of in Eric's upcoming wedding. Now I am all for swords and spit and polish and all that, but we wondered whether it was worthwhile to buy one. On the one hand, he needs a sword beforehand to practise with and he will definitely need a sword in the wedding. On the other hand, perhaps he could just borrow a sword, as this situation isn't likely to come up again any time soon. Since Michael's not in anymore, we probably won't be attending any Marine Corps balls in full regalia, and technically he wouldn't need the sword anyway since only officers wear them.
'Well,' Michael suggested, 'I could just re-enlist, and work my way up to becoming an officer, and that would justify the cost of the sword.'
'But then you might be sent overseas, and killed before you make officer!' I pointed out.
'Then you would have the life insurance money, in which case you certainly wouldn't begrudge the money for the sword!'
**********************************
My blueberry bushes are dying. I didn't think they had survived last year, but two of them seemed to have pulled through this spring; however, the drought is taking its toll on them and the severe watering restrictions are limiting my ability to mitigate the situation. I deplored the course of events to Michael, who suggested that we improve the soil, as red Georgia clay isn't much good for growing anything.
That's a splendid idea, but in the three years I've lived here I still haven't gotten around to taking careful little soil samples and sending them off to the extension office for analysis and buying and applying the appropriate soil balancer, and I'm not likely to do so now. What I need is a quick fix. Quick and cheap. Requiring absolutely no effort on my part.
Late one night it came to me. 'Michael! I know! We can have another baby and then we can plant the placenta under the blueberry bushes!'
Tuesday, May 29, 2007
Monday, May 21, 2007
Links, at last
I finally discovered where all my formatting buttons were in this new computer. They were on the other browser! So everything I've learned about Safari this past week and a half is wasted and I'm back to square one in fiddling with tabs, scrolling, saving bookmarks, etc. But at least I can hyperlink now and use italics, which are so essential to an expressive post.
This is a website which everyone should have visited by now. I've been admiring the clothes for some time now, and appreciate something that can be appropriately modest without looking as if it's trying to be modest (aside from the swimwear collection, although that's not nearly as laughable as some of the deadweight sea anchors I've seen trying to pass themselves off as modest swimwear). Here is a picture of me in my, um, suit that I got for my birthday:
I do love this slick computer, with all its whiteness and nifty contemporary clear keyboard and camera feature, but I keep realising how cluttered it makes my kitchen look. I try not to let myself be photographed without lipstick; why can't I extend the same courtesy, or the equivalent, to my house? Here is the direct link to all the Mac ads, by the way.
This is the funniest birth story I have ever read. Perhaps it reads best late at night, but I was literally laughing out loud with tears in my eyes. The part about the trolls is priceless. (Note: as to be expected from a birth story, it's a bit graphic.)
Whew, I think that's everything for now. If I think of anything else I need to link to, at least now I know where to find it.
This is a website which everyone should have visited by now. I've been admiring the clothes for some time now, and appreciate something that can be appropriately modest without looking as if it's trying to be modest (aside from the swimwear collection, although that's not nearly as laughable as some of the deadweight sea anchors I've seen trying to pass themselves off as modest swimwear). Here is a picture of me in my, um, suit that I got for my birthday:
I do love this slick computer, with all its whiteness and nifty contemporary clear keyboard and camera feature, but I keep realising how cluttered it makes my kitchen look. I try not to let myself be photographed without lipstick; why can't I extend the same courtesy, or the equivalent, to my house? Here is the direct link to all the Mac ads, by the way.
This is the funniest birth story I have ever read. Perhaps it reads best late at night, but I was literally laughing out loud with tears in my eyes. The part about the trolls is priceless. (Note: as to be expected from a birth story, it's a bit graphic.)
Whew, I think that's everything for now. If I think of anything else I need to link to, at least now I know where to find it.
So much for that
We dashed out early this morning to accomplish errands and returned victorious but exhausted, with a longer-than-ever to-do list. So I put Jane down in order to proceed sans distraction, and realised that about half the things I need to do involved something in her room.
Monday, May 14, 2007
History repeats itself
So there we were, on our way home from an outing. We were stopped in a line of traffic when we heard a terrific crash and felt the impact as the car behind crashed into us. The girls were frightened but apparently unharmed, although I would love to get a recording of my 911 call to document their uninterrupted screaming for about five minutes until I could get off the phone and rescue them from their carseats.
I am grateful that:
- We always buckle them in and fasten their straps securely.
- We didn't hit anyone in front of us.
I am disappointed that:
- We are now going through this whole insurance hassle again. (We just settled from the last accident a few months ago.)
- Yet another car bites the dust.
Let's catalog the history of my cars and their mostly sad demises:
- Car #1 AKA The Motorcar: Hit by a deer, smashed in from the front, totaled.
- Car #2 AKA Fledge: Given away within two years, lucky for it.
- Car #3 AKA Black Rider: Rear-ended in an accident, smashed in from behind, totaled.
- Car #4 AKA Black Magic: Rear-ended in an accident, smashed in from behind, most likely totaled. (Still waiting for the appraiser.)
That's three out of four, a rather dismal track record. No car is going to want to come work for me now, despite my being SUCH a careful driver and NEVER having gotten a ticket.
I am grateful that:
- We always buckle them in and fasten their straps securely.
- We didn't hit anyone in front of us.
I am disappointed that:
- We are now going through this whole insurance hassle again. (We just settled from the last accident a few months ago.)
- Yet another car bites the dust.
Let's catalog the history of my cars and their mostly sad demises:
- Car #1 AKA The Motorcar: Hit by a deer, smashed in from the front, totaled.
- Car #2 AKA Fledge: Given away within two years, lucky for it.
- Car #3 AKA Black Rider: Rear-ended in an accident, smashed in from behind, totaled.
- Car #4 AKA Black Magic: Rear-ended in an accident, smashed in from behind, most likely totaled. (Still waiting for the appraiser.)
That's three out of four, a rather dismal track record. No car is going to want to come work for me now, despite my being SUCH a careful driver and NEVER having gotten a ticket.
Thursday, May 10, 2007
The substance of things hoped for
This was going to be a post moaning about the trials and tribulations we endure at the hand of our old computer, which has gotten increasingly impossible to deal with. At long last our new computer was ordered, and I waited impatiently for its arrival. It came, it saw, and it conquered. This it is on which I'm typing right now, and I absolutely love it! For one thing, it's a sleek white contraption, and for another, it's very compact (hence efficient): the whole thing fits on our kitchen desk. No more going upstairs for the hobbit! How, you ask? This is a Mac, and as such it comes with everything loaded onto its flat-screen monitor. That means that all we have of computer stuff sitting on the desk is the monitor, keyboard, and mouse. I wish I could post a picture of it. But our camera memory card is all filled up, and I need to transfer the pictures before I can take anymore. Meanwhile, we just sit in front of the computer and take pictures of ourselves, because the Mac comes with a lovely little camera mounted on the monitor.
If you want to know why we bought a Mac, you really must look at these hilarious ads from the Mac homepage. Well, I haven't figured out how to post hyperlinks yet, but go to the Apple home page, click on Get a Mac, and view the ads. Then do the same thing for the Mac UK site. The British ads are even funnier.
Actually, that's not the only reason we bought a Mac. Michael has been working with them for the past year or so at work and discovering that he really likes them. They run better, have fewer problems, have lots of really cool features, and are hardly susceptible to viruses. I never thought I would prefer one to a PC. But I certainly like this one. Especially the photo booth feature. As soon as I can figure out how to publish the photos I'll post some of us.
If you want to know why we bought a Mac, you really must look at these hilarious ads from the Mac homepage. Well, I haven't figured out how to post hyperlinks yet, but go to the Apple home page, click on Get a Mac, and view the ads. Then do the same thing for the Mac UK site. The British ads are even funnier.
Actually, that's not the only reason we bought a Mac. Michael has been working with them for the past year or so at work and discovering that he really likes them. They run better, have fewer problems, have lots of really cool features, and are hardly susceptible to viruses. I never thought I would prefer one to a PC. But I certainly like this one. Especially the photo booth feature. As soon as I can figure out how to publish the photos I'll post some of us.
Monday, May 07, 2007
What's watt, what?
In the interests of saving even more money (as if snatching cheap butter from the world's population of poor people weren't enough), I have decided to shift my energy consumption to the off-hours. I read recently that electric companies charge less for energy used in off-peak hours, so as of this week I am trying to run all major appliances (excluding things like fridge, A/C, etc.) after 8:00 (p.m.). It's proving to be a good discipline for me, as it forces me to plan my days better and schedule my time such that I'll be loading up the dishwasher or dryer at the stroke of 8:00. We shall see if it makes a noticeable dent in the electric bill next month.
Woman Blogger Opines About Frugality
Recently I read this article, and it interested me enough to ponder it, and consider writing a post about it. Not necessarily a rebuttal, because I agreed with a lot of what was said, but I felt it raised some interesting points which required answering. [For more discussion, see QOC's take on it here.] But the more I thought over it, the more annoyed I got at the tone, which caused the mental composition of this post to degenerate rather quickly such that by the time I got to typing it up in Word it became a full-fledged rant.
In the first place. (Deep breath.) Why on earth appears in the first paragraph the unnecessary and completely irrelevant clause: 'and women in particular'? What's wrong with blogging about frugality? Nothing, perhaps. But why on earth should it matter whether women or men are blogging about it? If the author of the article means to go on to suggest that most people so blogging are missing the boat on this topic (which he seems to imply), does it matter whether more frugal bloggers are women than men? Are women bloggers missing the boat more egregiously on this topic than men bloggers? Is that why we have to throw that distinction in there? Are women, from centuries of not balancing the checkbook, peculiarly ignorant in all matters financial and are therefore ripe for enlightenment ('Duh! The way I can save more money is not by using coupons but by not buying it at all? Boy, did I have it wrong! Thanks, Male Blogger, for cluing me in!') Or are women just so patently ignorant on all topics in general that it naturally follows that if women in particular are blogging about it, they are missing the boat and need this fine fellow to write an article to set them straight? I mean, that clause was kind of thrown in there at the beginning as if it were an explanation for the need to write this article: this article was in response to the proliferation of frugal bloggers out there, and as if that weren't bad enough, many of those bloggers are women. This is reminiscent of R.C. Sproul objecting to women posting advice or spiritual encouragement on their blogs, because men might read it, and that would violate the Scriptural imperative that women must not teach men.
Moving on...
I agree that frugality is a matter of the heart. But both extremes - spending and saving - are equally wrong: spending too much money evinces a love of stuff, while hoarding money evinces a love of money. Both involve making idols out of something.
Under the heading of Necessity, this author states that 'Many people who attempt to be frugal could probably get along just fine without being frugal.' He proffers the example of spending days finding the perfect cheap cake pan in order to invite people over to evangelize them, and suggests that it might be worthwhile to just spend the money on the cake and have people over all the sooner. This seems like a straw man argument to me. Where do any of you read a blog advocating, as one of their frugal tips, 'Spend days scouring thrift shops looking for cake pans'? I mean, hello! Most frugal people probably already bake their own cakes, using pots and pans they got as wedding or graduation presents! I can't imagine a frugal Christian blogger advocating ignoring the prompting of the Holy Spirit in order to save a few bucks. If you really don't have the money, then you will invite people over for coffee or tea and skip the cake.
But what if you do have the money? This is where the author should stop writing his opinions about how things should be done and simply reference Exhibit A, Check Your Heart. And that's about as far as you can go in giving people advice and telling them what the holy thing to do is. You can share what works for you, you can explain how to you it is worth it to buy a cake, in the whole money v. time continuum, but you should not opine about what the better or holier course to pursue is.
I personally could afford to spring $20 for a Publix cake (ouch!), in terms of actually having the money in my bank account, but I don't think it would be a wise allocation of funds. Let's remember that all this hypothetical money and stuff and time belong to God already. 'The earth is the Lord's and the fullness thereof, the world, and they that dwell therein.' I am a steward of God's resources, both the money and the time, and I will answer to Him for how I allocate those resources. Acknowledging that is the key.
Moving on...
We have next a rather laughable application of the Old Testament gleaning principle to the notion of bargains. For one thing, the author assumes that 'of course the wealthy landowners would have wanted to pick these up and increase their profits,' but I say of course not necessarily. As a former farmer and agrarian, I know that there is a certain unavoidable margin of waste, and when you're working a field or a garden or whatever it is, you just write a bit off. Nowadays machinery has made that margin far smaller than it used to be, but when you have crops to get in and another field to harvest, you're not going to waste your time mucking about with the odds and ends. You have bigger fish to fry. If you're a generous soul, you'd be delighted to know that the stray wheat stalks aren't going completely to waste.
The notion that shopping at second-hand stores (or accepting hand-me-downs from friends, or whatever) deprives the genuine poor people of their source of clothing is ludicrous. Our society is so rich, so overflowing with bounty, that there's more than enough to go around. It's just as well that us rich people (as he seems to define anyone with the means) are willing to participate in the salvage operations, or even more decent stuff would go into the landfills than already does. (Have you seen what some snobs throw away??) By dressing my children in second-hand clothes, I am no more causing some poor child to go naked than I am starving some poor child in Africa by throwing out the leftover oatmeal (which, for the record, I don't actually do either).
There is a lot of stockpile-bashing and entrepreneurship-sneering going on in the comment thread, but since the author of the article wasn't responsible for that, I'll leave that be. Except to say that by what stretch of the imagination is it greedy, nasty, selfish, and cruel to the poor for me to snap up multiples of an item at a good price if it is something I will use for my family, give away to someone, or even sell? It is a matter of the heart, and I am pretty pipped that anyone would judge another for his motives in acquiring something. Joseph stockpiled grain for seven years, which was an incredibly wise decision that had the blessing of God on it and saved the whole known world. The rich fool stockpiled so much grain that he intended to tear down his barns and build bigger barns, but God saw his heart of greed and took it all from him. Let's not pretend that we can read minds and hearts.
Random economic observations:
'Is it not lawful for me to do what I will with mine own? Is thine eye evil, because I am good?' ~Vineyard owner, Matthew 20:15
'No one would remember the Good Samaritan if he'd only had good intentions - he had money, too.' ~Margaret Thatcher
In the first place. (Deep breath.) Why on earth appears in the first paragraph the unnecessary and completely irrelevant clause: 'and women in particular'? What's wrong with blogging about frugality? Nothing, perhaps. But why on earth should it matter whether women or men are blogging about it? If the author of the article means to go on to suggest that most people so blogging are missing the boat on this topic (which he seems to imply), does it matter whether more frugal bloggers are women than men? Are women bloggers missing the boat more egregiously on this topic than men bloggers? Is that why we have to throw that distinction in there? Are women, from centuries of not balancing the checkbook, peculiarly ignorant in all matters financial and are therefore ripe for enlightenment ('Duh! The way I can save more money is not by using coupons but by not buying it at all? Boy, did I have it wrong! Thanks, Male Blogger, for cluing me in!') Or are women just so patently ignorant on all topics in general that it naturally follows that if women in particular are blogging about it, they are missing the boat and need this fine fellow to write an article to set them straight? I mean, that clause was kind of thrown in there at the beginning as if it were an explanation for the need to write this article: this article was in response to the proliferation of frugal bloggers out there, and as if that weren't bad enough, many of those bloggers are women. This is reminiscent of R.C. Sproul objecting to women posting advice or spiritual encouragement on their blogs, because men might read it, and that would violate the Scriptural imperative that women must not teach men.
Moving on...
I agree that frugality is a matter of the heart. But both extremes - spending and saving - are equally wrong: spending too much money evinces a love of stuff, while hoarding money evinces a love of money. Both involve making idols out of something.
Under the heading of Necessity, this author states that 'Many people who attempt to be frugal could probably get along just fine without being frugal.' He proffers the example of spending days finding the perfect cheap cake pan in order to invite people over to evangelize them, and suggests that it might be worthwhile to just spend the money on the cake and have people over all the sooner. This seems like a straw man argument to me. Where do any of you read a blog advocating, as one of their frugal tips, 'Spend days scouring thrift shops looking for cake pans'? I mean, hello! Most frugal people probably already bake their own cakes, using pots and pans they got as wedding or graduation presents! I can't imagine a frugal Christian blogger advocating ignoring the prompting of the Holy Spirit in order to save a few bucks. If you really don't have the money, then you will invite people over for coffee or tea and skip the cake.
But what if you do have the money? This is where the author should stop writing his opinions about how things should be done and simply reference Exhibit A, Check Your Heart. And that's about as far as you can go in giving people advice and telling them what the holy thing to do is. You can share what works for you, you can explain how to you it is worth it to buy a cake, in the whole money v. time continuum, but you should not opine about what the better or holier course to pursue is.
I personally could afford to spring $20 for a Publix cake (ouch!), in terms of actually having the money in my bank account, but I don't think it would be a wise allocation of funds. Let's remember that all this hypothetical money and stuff and time belong to God already. 'The earth is the Lord's and the fullness thereof, the world, and they that dwell therein.' I am a steward of God's resources, both the money and the time, and I will answer to Him for how I allocate those resources. Acknowledging that is the key.
Moving on...
We have next a rather laughable application of the Old Testament gleaning principle to the notion of bargains. For one thing, the author assumes that 'of course the wealthy landowners would have wanted to pick these up and increase their profits,' but I say of course not necessarily. As a former farmer and agrarian, I know that there is a certain unavoidable margin of waste, and when you're working a field or a garden or whatever it is, you just write a bit off. Nowadays machinery has made that margin far smaller than it used to be, but when you have crops to get in and another field to harvest, you're not going to waste your time mucking about with the odds and ends. You have bigger fish to fry. If you're a generous soul, you'd be delighted to know that the stray wheat stalks aren't going completely to waste.
The notion that shopping at second-hand stores (or accepting hand-me-downs from friends, or whatever) deprives the genuine poor people of their source of clothing is ludicrous. Our society is so rich, so overflowing with bounty, that there's more than enough to go around. It's just as well that us rich people (as he seems to define anyone with the means) are willing to participate in the salvage operations, or even more decent stuff would go into the landfills than already does. (Have you seen what some snobs throw away??) By dressing my children in second-hand clothes, I am no more causing some poor child to go naked than I am starving some poor child in Africa by throwing out the leftover oatmeal (which, for the record, I don't actually do either).
There is a lot of stockpile-bashing and entrepreneurship-sneering going on in the comment thread, but since the author of the article wasn't responsible for that, I'll leave that be. Except to say that by what stretch of the imagination is it greedy, nasty, selfish, and cruel to the poor for me to snap up multiples of an item at a good price if it is something I will use for my family, give away to someone, or even sell? It is a matter of the heart, and I am pretty pipped that anyone would judge another for his motives in acquiring something. Joseph stockpiled grain for seven years, which was an incredibly wise decision that had the blessing of God on it and saved the whole known world. The rich fool stockpiled so much grain that he intended to tear down his barns and build bigger barns, but God saw his heart of greed and took it all from him. Let's not pretend that we can read minds and hearts.
Random economic observations:
'Is it not lawful for me to do what I will with mine own? Is thine eye evil, because I am good?' ~Vineyard owner, Matthew 20:15
'No one would remember the Good Samaritan if he'd only had good intentions - he had money, too.' ~Margaret Thatcher
Friday, May 04, 2007
Party shots
Recently Michael was talking with someone who mentioned that her daughter was graduating from high school this spring, and, though neither one really cared much about a party, she was going to throw one anyway because the girl really needed the money she expected people to bring in order to help her off to college in the fall. The daughter estimated that she could get as much as $800 out of her guests, which would help a lot with books and clothes.
I was aghast and appalled to hear of this cool and collected intention of, well, collecting. When I tried to express my sense of astonishment to Michael, he asked me how it differed in any way from a bridal or a baby shower. ‘You throw a party and expect people to bring gifts to you! How is that any different?’
Well. That one stumped me for a minute. I admit that I’ve gone through baby and bridal showers sans a blush of shame for the extraction of lovely presents from innocent party guests, but something about this scheme just affronted my sense of propriety. Naturally I could not rest until I had catalogued all the reasons why a graduation party, as a deliberate money-making venture, differed qualitatively from a baby or bridal shower.
First, showers are time-honoured, long-standing traditions with the stated purpose of blessing the guest of honour with the support of the community. A graduation is a big deal, too, but it stands for the completion of something, not the beginning of something. If our culture has changed to the extent that we now need to add college showers as a rite of passage and accept them into our way of thinking, then for heaven’s sake let’s be honest about that and admit that you’re throwing your daughter a going-off-to-college shower.
Which brings us to our second point, which is that immediate family members are not supposed to throw showers. Originally, I suppose, this came from the notion that families were so close and ended up supporting each other’s needs to the extent that a question of conflict of interest might arise. I don’t have a problem with a family member throwing another one a shower. I’ve participated in such showers. But it has to be handled tactfully so as not to give the impression of a money-grubbing domestic enterprise.
Those were the main objections I could think of right off. But there have to be a lot more. So I fell back on elaborating my original points more bashingly. A shower is a shower, with the stated intent of gifts. A party is a party, given in honour of someone, to celebrate with guests. In our greedy and mercenary culture, many people have come to associate parties with gifts. But it is wrong to do so. I am always torn between writing ‘No gifts please’ on invitations, because I truly don’t want loot, and not doing so, because, as Miss Manners admonishes, so doing will imply that one was actually thinking that someone might bring a gift.
(Just to clarify: I love presents! But I don’t really need anything, and I don’t expect them, so they’re always a pleasant surprise when they do happen. And I love being invited to parties, and always enjoy picking out a gift, and only very rarely feel under obligation, and that’s so uncomfortable that I never want to impose that on anyone else.)
I was aghast and appalled to hear of this cool and collected intention of, well, collecting. When I tried to express my sense of astonishment to Michael, he asked me how it differed in any way from a bridal or a baby shower. ‘You throw a party and expect people to bring gifts to you! How is that any different?’
Well. That one stumped me for a minute. I admit that I’ve gone through baby and bridal showers sans a blush of shame for the extraction of lovely presents from innocent party guests, but something about this scheme just affronted my sense of propriety. Naturally I could not rest until I had catalogued all the reasons why a graduation party, as a deliberate money-making venture, differed qualitatively from a baby or bridal shower.
First, showers are time-honoured, long-standing traditions with the stated purpose of blessing the guest of honour with the support of the community. A graduation is a big deal, too, but it stands for the completion of something, not the beginning of something. If our culture has changed to the extent that we now need to add college showers as a rite of passage and accept them into our way of thinking, then for heaven’s sake let’s be honest about that and admit that you’re throwing your daughter a going-off-to-college shower.
Which brings us to our second point, which is that immediate family members are not supposed to throw showers. Originally, I suppose, this came from the notion that families were so close and ended up supporting each other’s needs to the extent that a question of conflict of interest might arise. I don’t have a problem with a family member throwing another one a shower. I’ve participated in such showers. But it has to be handled tactfully so as not to give the impression of a money-grubbing domestic enterprise.
Those were the main objections I could think of right off. But there have to be a lot more. So I fell back on elaborating my original points more bashingly. A shower is a shower, with the stated intent of gifts. A party is a party, given in honour of someone, to celebrate with guests. In our greedy and mercenary culture, many people have come to associate parties with gifts. But it is wrong to do so. I am always torn between writing ‘No gifts please’ on invitations, because I truly don’t want loot, and not doing so, because, as Miss Manners admonishes, so doing will imply that one was actually thinking that someone might bring a gift.
(Just to clarify: I love presents! But I don’t really need anything, and I don’t expect them, so they’re always a pleasant surprise when they do happen. And I love being invited to parties, and always enjoy picking out a gift, and only very rarely feel under obligation, and that’s so uncomfortable that I never want to impose that on anyone else.)
So It’s All Downhill From Here?
Recently I was remembering the discussion on Queen of Carrots’ blog regarding the WorldView fiction contest finalist story on a miserable life and the virtue of not being fake. At the time I was pregnant with Jane and horrified at the grim prospect of a life of misery unfolding before me. I can handle a bad day or two now and then, but the idea of being kept forever down by perpetual runny noses and sleepless nights would be enough to frighten the most easy-going of personalities.
At the time, it was easy to explain away my general bonhomie by the fact that I didn’t have two small children underfoot (reportedly the most difficult stage) and therefore had no authority on the topic of inevitable unhappiness. Perhaps my tune would change when my life really became as difficult as the author’s clearly was, and I would lose all the moral high ground of being really, truly happy and fall into the impossible dilemma of fake optimism or honest drudgery.
So it was with a degree of tentative anxiety that I anticipated the arrival of Baby #2 and embarked upon this next stage of parenting, evidently the motherhood crucible intended to show up my mothering skills and character for what they really were and bringing a screeching halt to the era of blissful ignorance. No more coasting on my good fortune to have simply been dealt flow’ry beds of ease as my lot in life.
Well, here we are, three months in (by the time I ever manage to get this posted it will probably be at far past that. O for a new computer that will support something better than Windows 98!), and I really think that things are going to be all right. It’s long enough out to stop saying things like, ‘Well, maybe reality hasn’t sunk in yet,’ or ‘We’ll see how it goes when the meals stop coming,’ because the meals have stopped, the family doesn’t live nearby, and the baby is getting over her initial newborn sleepiness (surely the saving grace of every nap-needy new mother). This is apparently Real Life With Two Kids, and I absolutely love it.
Of course there are moments, and perhaps even days, when I feel worn out with the monotony and feel as if I must just stagger along on through until Michael comes home and rescues me from the incessant drudgery. But I had a few such days with Jane, and apparently survived just fine. It appears that these moments are short enough to be fairly easily bounced back from.
Before I formed a conclusive opinion – thinking that perhaps this easiness is just first-stage, and once Ella ceases to be so immobile, portable, and relatively undemanding, things will fall apart – I asked a friend, who has an almost-two-year-old and an eleven-month-old, how she finds her life. ‘Oh, it gets easier every day,’ she told me.
Now, unlike the sad stressed woman in the story, I’d like to think that I’d have the honesty to admit it if things really deteriorated. I’m all for not airing dirty laundry and all that, but the purpose of true friendships is to build one another up, and if I had a valid desperate need, I’d jolly well like to have my true friends come rally round.
I’m part of a wonderful group of friends who meet every week for lunch and playtime and talking, and I was half wondering whether this issue would ever come up. But so far I really, truly have nothing to complain about, and I don’t want to sound like I’m just faking it when I keep insisting that everything is perfectly all right. I’d be quite happy to dish out sympathy and compliments to any obliging soul, in my turn (‘You poor thing! Would you like some butter? Here, take 5 lbs.’), and sometimes wonder whether I should work up a little woe-is-me repertoire just to blend in a bit better (not that anyone in play group ever complains! But sometimes, in the nursing room at church, mothers get a little carried away in one-upping each other with lack-of-sleep, multiple spit-up, or exceeded diaper tragedies, and I cringe down in silence because the one really bad day I had has long since receded into distant memory).
Part of this might be a personality issue, as I tend to have a very high stress threshold. I can enjoy the pressure of adrenaline, and as long as I’m not physically hurting, drastically starving, or dreadfully sleepy, I can pretty much laugh anything off.
So we shall see. But for now, I shall persist in thinking that the cry-worthy vexations of raising lots of little children are rather overrated. (And yes, feel free to check back with me any time in the next few years on that. I may have a second opinion for you.)
At the time, it was easy to explain away my general bonhomie by the fact that I didn’t have two small children underfoot (reportedly the most difficult stage) and therefore had no authority on the topic of inevitable unhappiness. Perhaps my tune would change when my life really became as difficult as the author’s clearly was, and I would lose all the moral high ground of being really, truly happy and fall into the impossible dilemma of fake optimism or honest drudgery.
So it was with a degree of tentative anxiety that I anticipated the arrival of Baby #2 and embarked upon this next stage of parenting, evidently the motherhood crucible intended to show up my mothering skills and character for what they really were and bringing a screeching halt to the era of blissful ignorance. No more coasting on my good fortune to have simply been dealt flow’ry beds of ease as my lot in life.
Well, here we are, three months in (by the time I ever manage to get this posted it will probably be at far past that. O for a new computer that will support something better than Windows 98!), and I really think that things are going to be all right. It’s long enough out to stop saying things like, ‘Well, maybe reality hasn’t sunk in yet,’ or ‘We’ll see how it goes when the meals stop coming,’ because the meals have stopped, the family doesn’t live nearby, and the baby is getting over her initial newborn sleepiness (surely the saving grace of every nap-needy new mother). This is apparently Real Life With Two Kids, and I absolutely love it.
Of course there are moments, and perhaps even days, when I feel worn out with the monotony and feel as if I must just stagger along on through until Michael comes home and rescues me from the incessant drudgery. But I had a few such days with Jane, and apparently survived just fine. It appears that these moments are short enough to be fairly easily bounced back from.
Before I formed a conclusive opinion – thinking that perhaps this easiness is just first-stage, and once Ella ceases to be so immobile, portable, and relatively undemanding, things will fall apart – I asked a friend, who has an almost-two-year-old and an eleven-month-old, how she finds her life. ‘Oh, it gets easier every day,’ she told me.
Now, unlike the sad stressed woman in the story, I’d like to think that I’d have the honesty to admit it if things really deteriorated. I’m all for not airing dirty laundry and all that, but the purpose of true friendships is to build one another up, and if I had a valid desperate need, I’d jolly well like to have my true friends come rally round.
I’m part of a wonderful group of friends who meet every week for lunch and playtime and talking, and I was half wondering whether this issue would ever come up. But so far I really, truly have nothing to complain about, and I don’t want to sound like I’m just faking it when I keep insisting that everything is perfectly all right. I’d be quite happy to dish out sympathy and compliments to any obliging soul, in my turn (‘You poor thing! Would you like some butter? Here, take 5 lbs.’), and sometimes wonder whether I should work up a little woe-is-me repertoire just to blend in a bit better (not that anyone in play group ever complains! But sometimes, in the nursing room at church, mothers get a little carried away in one-upping each other with lack-of-sleep, multiple spit-up, or exceeded diaper tragedies, and I cringe down in silence because the one really bad day I had has long since receded into distant memory).
Part of this might be a personality issue, as I tend to have a very high stress threshold. I can enjoy the pressure of adrenaline, and as long as I’m not physically hurting, drastically starving, or dreadfully sleepy, I can pretty much laugh anything off.
So we shall see. But for now, I shall persist in thinking that the cry-worthy vexations of raising lots of little children are rather overrated. (And yes, feel free to check back with me any time in the next few years on that. I may have a second opinion for you.)
Thursday, May 03, 2007
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