Thursday, February 07, 2008


You know what I hate about Rice Krispies? Chasing the last few out of the pool of milk in the bottom of the bowl.

You know what I hate about realtor websites? They sometimes list houses for cheap that aren't even for sale just to draw business.

You know what I hate about nursing? Thrush. That develops into a seeping open infected wound with red streaks.
You know what I also hate about nursing? When the baby bites hard enough to draw blood in multiple spots--on the other side (the one without the thrush infection). Don't worry, though. Just a moment's thought led me to lots of antibiotic ointment, a prayer, and giving up nursing on that side, at least for a day or two (and forever if I dry up). And now the red streaks are gone and the wound is closing up and hooray for antibiotic ointment! Too bad it's poisonous, so I can't nurse until I'm SURE it's gone.

The stuff moms go through....

So I'm trying to rearrange my house to make it possible to clean. Right now it's not even possible. I am putting all the still-packed and sort-of-still-packed boxes into a big pile in the living room. The couch and end tables can stay in there. And the dining table is going in there, too. Then the toys won't get lost and stuck under it, where they catch the food the baby drops and make a horrid unsanitary mess, which the baby loves because it's like a pantry he can reach (dried cookie half, anyone?), but which I detest.

Meanwhile, I'm house hunting still. Probably can't buy a house, but that's where I prefer looking while I dream. Come April, though, I'm hoping to find a different rental that is less fancy (so nobody cares if we spill red kool-aid) and more livable. This place is really a glorified condo, complete with lack of privacy and lack of places to put stuff. Living here is like trying to cram a family of six into a four-man tent for a week. Seems like it should be possible because four of the men we have are very small, but somehow it doesn't work anyway.

The only thing that IS working is the stuff we jury-rigged--the clothes room, which we made out of a long table and four bookshelves, some of them back-to-back to form a wall. It replaced the dining room, which is why I can't find a place for the dining table. But I am actually getting the clothes folded and put away on a regular basis. I have come to the firm conclusion that keeping clothes anywhere except in the room with the washer and dryer (and preferably bath and shower, too) is like keeping your dishes in a closet upstairs even though the sink, dishwasher, and food are downstairs.

I still can't find the bowls and spoons, but we finally found most of the cups. I found both my wedding dress and my mothers, and all the kids' winter boots. But I can't find the wedding ring I need to return to my mom, and I can't find my knives. I did finally find the nightlights. Still don't know where my scriptures are, though. Hmmmm.

This is why I've decided to unpack and repack every single box. Okay, maybe just open them all and look inside. They were packed well in the first place, just not by me, so I can't for the life of me remember what size and shape of box the knives are in.

And all of this while the Grand Opening of the show is coming (with a positive review sneaking out early already!), kids are settling in to home schooling (finally--I had to take the nintendo controllers away each day until they do their lessons online), and I'm suffering from Writer's Block. I know where I need the story to go. I'm just struggling to get it there. Not for lack of ideas. I don't know why I'm stuck unless I messed up some previous detail somehow.

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