Lifelines

Creux was really quite excited about crafting today.
So excited, in fact, that he forgot to get DRESSED.

Never a dull moment around this place.
NEVER.

(And HA! Should’ve let HIM answer the door for that time-sucking solicitor!
“No Miss, we don’t need books, just socialization. We’re homeschoolers. Yep, the WEIRD ones.)

Argh!
I’m stressing as I write this, having just watched the 4th of July tie-dye tshirt that we made this afternoon at Jenny’s turn the all the water in the washer Pepto-Bismol PINK.
I’m not currently optimistic that the shirts will look as um, properly festive as they did BEFORE I sent them through the laundry room.

Stay tuned–maybe you’ll see them in these shirts tomorrow for Red, White, and Boom (Yep! TOTALLY planning on going because I know if I do, I’ll probably have my baby! IN THE CAR!!!) and maybe you won’t.
My boys aren’t afraid of a little pink but we’ll have to see what we’re working with before I commit to any sort of wardrobe promises on their behalf.
(There’s only so far I can strong-arm Chas into something these days!)

(JENNY! Is your water pink, too? I stood in front of my front loader and moaned and banged against the door, “No, no, NOOOO!!!! And here we were worried about PURPLE!)

(Please, please, please let them sort of look like this in an hour. They were so excited when they saw them tonight and I DON’T want to hand them shirts tomorrow that are purple and pink!)

Maybe it’s me.
Maybe I’m just easily annoyed and it’s certainly possible these days.

But I HATE soliciters.

Today it was unavoidable–she could see me sitting at the Wall of Desk and had caught two of my children in the front yard.
But it was 9:30.
And I was in my nightie.
And when I say nightie, I mean NIGHTIE.
In my current condition, this should draw a gasp of horror from you.
It does from me but it’s one of the only thing I can squeeze into.

Not only was I in my nightie, I just wasn’t prepared to open my door anyway.
What the hell do I want to talk to a stranger about with scary bed-head (and I mentioned the nightie) first thing in the morning?
Is she peddling crack coffee?
Because that’s the only thing I can think of that would be of interest to me at that hour, in that condition.

So she starts talking and I’m sort of humoring her.
This means I’ve decided to give her five seconds to tell me what she wants.
After five seconds, I start interrupting.

Unfortunately for her, she spent her five seconds listing for me the neighbors she’s just talked to.
“Maybe you know Nadine? Or Leslie? Or…Beth?”
No, yes, don’t like her.

STOP.

“I’m sorry, what do you want?” I asked. “It’s 9:30, I’m in my pajamas and I’ll be totally honest and tell you, I’m not going to buy anything you’re selling. First of all, I just won’t and second of all, like I said, I’m in my pajamas and am not really in the mood…”
At this point, I now have three children swirling around my legs, interested in this stranger, and my dog has taken off.

“Oh, okay, sorry,” she says.
“Well, let me show you really quickly. Can I sit here?”
She motions to my swing.

“No. I’m sorry but this isn’t a good time, I mentioned the pajamas, yes, and now my dog is loose and my kids are swarming…”

“So you just have the two?” she asks, ignoring me and staring at my third.
Child, that is.
And it ain’t Chas, who would at least help round up the troops and annoying dog.
It’s Creux.
Do I even need to continue?

I take a deep breath.
I don’t want to be rude.
But then again, isn’t it kind of rude to assume that I have the time to give or the desire to do so for someone to show up here and watch my life start to spiral out of control (it’s uncomfortably obvious as my attention to her is broken time and again as I call kids and dog back repeatedly) and when I say, “No, thanks” to ignore that for their own benefit?
So maybe they can push harder?

She pushed again and whipped out some children’s textbooks.
I was done.
I, as kindly as possible, with my nightie on and now my life disrupted and spread out over the neighborhood in four different directions, told her to beat it.
She asked when would be a good time to come back.
I pretty much said never.

In the end, I don’t even really feel bad about this because the way I see it, you knock here and you have a 50/50 chance of stealing someone’s time.
You will probably steal Charlie’s because he is nicer and far more indulgent than I am.
He’ll let you talk, knowing the whole time that we’re not buying whatever you’re selling, but he’ll give you his time and then he will come check with me, knowing full well that I’ll say no anyway.
But me, I will stop you cold.
I don’t particularly feel obligated to give my time or attention to strangers when I’m busy doing something…or when I’m busy doing nothing.

If I really wanted it, trust me, Google would have shown me the light.

So it’s awkward sort of prematurely dismissing someone, yes, but as soon as she left I felt like–you know what?
The way I spend my time, even 15 minutes of it, should not be dictated by my feeling like someone else’s is more important.

And in the end, when people push, I feel like this is exactly what they’re saying.
They see that I’m in my pajamas, they see the dog run, they see the kids drifting out into the yard and street and can tell that I’m trying my damndest to be polite while also trying to reign my life back in and do they feel obligated to say, “Hey, obviously it’s a bad time. Can I come back?”
Maybe if they did, I’d be more open.
Actually, what am I saying? I wouldn’t.
But at the same time, I’d feel less…annoyed.

Stepping off soap-box, back to willing contractions to pick up, am still not buying the children’s bookset, and am getting OUT of this nightie!

This song has always been a favorite of mine though I first remember hearing it when I was struggling with secondary infertility while trying to get pregnant with Rhyse.
We tried unsuccessfully for two years and I truly wondered if I’d ever have the priviledge of being a mother again.

Lucky for me, the days of that kind of heartache are over.

But this song has always stayed with me and when I hear it, it’s like the words are written on my soul.

So as I prepare to begin what I hope is my last week of this very special pregnancy, I would like to dedicate this song, “Blessed” by Elton John, to the one who grows inside me for just a bit longer, to the one who lives in my dreams, to the one I’ve spent my whole life waiting to meet.