Snow-slush outside. Green plants inside. And awesome expired film.
(We're trying to grow film trees. Ha.)
The film (all 45 rolls!) was scored off Kijiji for FREE. D-Hubby is loving life.

Love that Spring Thing.

Provided For.

I have several memories from way back yonder of my mom telling me I was too independent.


She was right.
Luckily, I figured that out at some point
.
I think I learned the difference between independence and interdependence while serving as a missionary for a year and a half at the age of 21. I was assigned another missionary as a companion. For safety reasons, we had to work together, live together, play together 24/7 for the time we were assigned to each other. It meant we had to learn to rely on each other and work together to get things done. The more unified we were, the better things went. It meant a lot of communication, a lot of honesty, and a lot of patience.
But they were lessons I had to learn. And they are ones that I'm still learning.

But that stinkin' too-independent streak flares up every once in a while, particularly in the area of being "provided-for."

D-Hubby and I agreed, before we got married, on what our general roles would be as husband and wife, father and mother. We decided that, generally, D-Hubby would be the primary provider (and that doesn't just mean money). And I would be the primary caregiver (and that doesn't just mean hugs and baked bread). Now, obviously those roles are not clear-cut and mutually exclusive. The ebbing and flowing thing, remember? We believe our roles are equally important, even though they're not the same. And we would stand beside each other in leading our family.

We agreed.
(Enter: wedding bells, chirping birds, riding off into the sunset, choirs singing.)
Ahhhh....
Thennn...
(Enter: reality.)
...I mean, the chirping birds and beauty are totally real, too. It's just that unexpectedly real stuff that comes with marriage enters here.

The unexpected struggle?
Going from being the single gal who made money when she needed money, provided for herself in whatever areas she needed... to sharing that responsibility with a hubby. To trusting him with the 'bread winning.' To learning to have faith in him to do it, and to do it well. To handing over the reins in that area, so to speak.

It really made me wonder if I did, indeed, have latent control-freak tendencies I'd never known about before. I worried about whether was really studying as hard as he could in school. Whether he was really searching high and low for a reasonably well-paying summer job. Whether he was really working as hard as he could when he was working at a full-commission sales position. Whether he really knew how much we really needed the moola.

Talk about pressure...for HIM!

I didn't--and don't--verbally express my mini-freak-outs to him all the time, but I know he senses my stress on occasion, especially the times when things are especially tight. My big fakie smile and feigned casual tone are all-too transparent when I'm asking, "Don't you have studying to do...? Sweetie, dear... future-breadwinner...?"
Poor guy.
And, like I said before, a major test of trust and faith on my part.

I don't think the solution is a dual-income household simply for the sake of eliminating the struggle.
I think that's a band-aid.
I really do think the set-up that we've got is an amazing opportunity for learning how to trust each other. I've got to trust he's doing his job. He's got to trust that he can come to me for love and support when the pressure is on...not apprehension and criticism.

And if our financial situation was ever so SOoo bad that it necessitated me working outside the home, then so be it. But it doesn't right now. And I'm so grateful. It means our clothes are cheap, and we stock up on bread when it's on the 50% off rack, but hey: cheap bread tastes surprisingly delicious.

I've got a long way to go. I still panic a little sometimes, and then start checking Kijiji for something, anything that I can feasibly do while still being at home with Baby-Rae (do you know how many times I've considered graveyard shift work, something I can do while Baby-Rae's sleeping? More than I care to admit.). My point is just that it's not because we actually need the extra income to survive, it's because I'm losing faith: fearing too much, and trusting too little. And that's not something I can afford to be without.
Money? Maybe.
Faith? Heck, no.

So here's to providers: you've got a tough job. Kudos to you. Thanks for working so hard.

And to the provided-for? You, too.

Lost in Translation.

I was unloading the dishwasher yesterday, and the Toddler was lurking close.
(You'd think I'd have learned by now to unload the dishwasher when she's incapacitated in her high chair or something...but nooooo.)

She was reaching for the utensils.
I stopped her quick and said "No. There are sharp knives. Knives." I wasn't sure if she knew what knives were, but I figured my chances were pretty good because she knew what sharp meant. "No: kniiiives." I repeated.

I soon figured out it was a word-to-be-learned, as she immediately, and gently, patted the handles of all the utensils saying "niiiiice.... niiiiice..."


...Oh well. :)

Go 'way, March.

Now normally, I have nothing against the month of March.

But this year? I've got something to deal with. Serious baggage.

I've spent the better half of this month feeling, at best, "under the weather." 

More often than not, it's been "limp like a wet noodle on the couch in a constant fog of pain and discomfort whilst barfing or other such unattractive body functions." 

(yes, you needed to know all that.)

I've had it!

I'm no fan of ill-health, I've decided. And yayaya, I know no one else who is either. But this is my pity post. Me me me. And Baby-Rae. 

Me and Baby-Rae, whine whine whine.

Okay I think I'm done.

The fun thing about this second round of down-and-out illness I've been battling? 

I've gotten to just lay on the floor beside my baby, and just watch her play for a total of hours. I've gotten to sleep while she sleeps. And eat teensy bits of food just like her. I had no plans. I could do no plans if I had them. So I just watched. 

I sure love my Baby.

Snotty face and all.


Okay, I'm a little grateful for March-oh-ten's beating, I guess.
But let's not let it happen again, hmm?

Sick Sick Siiiick.

This whole week--for Baby Rae and I--consisted of watching episodes of Lost, Community, and The Office while staying in our jammies and eating Cinnamon Toast Crunch, grated cheese, and apple juice. Which I definitely couldn't even taste anyway.
Would sound like a blaaaast if we weren't so SO sick.

Oh well.
We survived!
And the bonus? Lots of snuggles with my babe.
(My little babe, that is. My big babe stayed clear of anything we emitted...y'know, a cough, a sneeze, exhaled air, anything.)

Full Hands.

I saw a quote on an acquaintance's blog relatively recently. I loved it.
This particular family has three little girls, one that`s somewhere in the older-toddler age range...and then twins that are in the younger-toddler age range.
Hands-full?....I'd say so.

I think I`ll need a reminder of this one when I have more than just one little one scurrying around here...