Winter.

I just finished my Christmas shopping, except for Dad. I met Jess out at the mall and we walked around in the cold from store to store. We got free hot cocoa from a lady dispensing it from what looked like a box on her back. It was so good, just the perfect temperature.
Ethan was a doll. I bought him a hat and mittens because all I had dressed him in was a hoody and too-short cords, so his ankles were showing. His new hat is the kind that have those flappies that go over his ears, and it's a little too big. Priceless, really.
I bought myself a soft, white down coat. I have about a bazillion coats, but not one that I can wear with whatever anywhere. So I bit the bullet and bought it. It was on sale, and I was cold too.
Did I mention Ethan was a doll?
It felt good to be outside, even though it was cold. My ears are still cold.
I came home to wrap and realized I was out of a key ingredient in this wrapping business: tissue paper. So I will have to pick some up. And some deep boxes.
It was a surprise to wake up to snow this morning. It was very pretty. I drove to kickboxing on side streets that were covered in huge sheets of ice, but we got there OK. I hate driving on ice. We only passed one accident on the freeway, the SUV like a dead bug flipped upside down.

Home.

I quite my job two days ago. There are a lot of things swimming around in my head.
A "big weight" has not been lifted off my shoulders, like I thought. Although in a sense a lot of pressure is gone--it's just been replaced with new pressure, pressure to train Ethan.
I know going to work for me was easier than being a "full time" mom; the problem was I couldn't handle working full time and even being a "part time" mom. I was getting crazy thoughts and dealing with Ethan was on the verge of making me violent.
I am in my bathrobe and it is two fifteen in the afternoon. I am sipping jasmine green tea. My nails are freshly painted.I've already taken a nap-my right eye is not twitching from lack of sleep. These are my luxuries now.
But Ethan is still awake, whining his room. He's been in there for a solid two hours. And you know what? He will do the same thing tomorrow.
I know staying at home will be good. I can remember what it's like to want to make a home really homey, to want to learn to cook good meals, to be a blessing to my husband (who's he?) and to Ethan, to have time to go to dinners and graduations and birthday parties without feeling like these "extra" things were going to make me snap.
I fought so hard to make this job work--I didn't realize that while I was fighting for it, it was digging itself a big whole in the middle of my heart. I didn't realize that I had actually succeeded in building good relationships with my customers. I thought we all hated each other, deep down. The emails and responses I got from them were so frustrating: "you will be missed" "please keep in touch" "if you ever come back, please call me" " I hope the next person treats me as well as you do"...I wanted to punch the computer screen, throw the telephone.
But it's done and over, and I am trusting that even though my heart is heavy, God guides us. Even when we are unsure.
Since I have not been working, I have had the chance to read Ethan stories without skipping pages because I'm afraid I'll fall asleep before we get to the end. We've danced together. When I kiss him goodnight, I don't question if I am wasting this time I have with him now. I'm starting to get to know him again; he's grown into quite a different boy from a year ago. Smart and persistently stubborn. He sings, even when he is in time out.
It scares the heck out of me to think he's training depends on me.
It scares me like work use to scare me, the same insecurity--Can I do this? Maybe the responses from my customers is one way of God telling me that I can do things that I think I suck at. Even being a mom.

Maybe.

The other day I was walking on my lunch break because I am trying to become more physically active and I stepped in fresh dog poo. The ironic thing is that the exact moment my tennis shoe hit the mushiness, I was thinking how strange it was that I saw two stray dogs roaming around.
The neighborhood I found was out of a story book--big, wide, winding streets lined with trees with houses that all had three car garages and double doorways welcoming you inside. It was quiet and almost eerie the more I kept walking, like I had just stepped into one of those fake worlds where all the people are beautiful and plastic. A good few of the houses had yard workers blowing leaves and cleaning out flower beds.
So anyway I sat down and cleaned the poo out of my shoe with a little stick. Then I walked back to work.
After work I had a mini meltdown, was over it by the time I picked up Ethan, and then it came back when I realized what a grumpy mood the little man was in.
The thing is I would really like to have another baby, I think. And also I feel overwhelmed right now with my responsibilities, so maybe I want to have a baby not only for the smell of new baby hair and everything but also so that I can quit all these responsibilities I have and focus on ONE thing--the baby.
OK, and Ethan and Joey.
This feeling has been growing for quite some time, so maybe it's time I do something about it instead of just feeling overwhelmed all of the time. Maybe.

Undies and the Kickoff to the Holidays.

He will wear them on his head, but he will not wear them like we all do. He's terrified of them. I mention the word "underwear" and he freaks. His diapers have become a necessity, like his blankies. This three year old marker is fast approaching and I am freaking, at least on the inside.
Starbursts have helped. He is way excited about those--when he goes tinkle on the potty he can choose one out the humongous bag I bought, and he always chooses the light pink ones.
Which by the way when I bought the bag I thought to myself, this is not such a good idea...being that I have always loved Starbursts, especially the pink ones. And the bag is humongous.

We went to a friend's Thanksgiving dinner last night. Joey was able to take a couple of hours off work so he could go too. It was nice to see old friends, the group that we hung out with when we very first were together.
There were babies and toddlers everywhere. All these young mothers, sitting on the couch with

bright, colorful apron like cover ups breastfeeding. Their was one tiny girl, just two weeks old, sleeping in her pink and brown car seat, her eyes clenched shut like she was forcing herself to stay asleep, like she wasn't ready for all the commotion and hoopla of the holidays. I guess sometimes we can all feel like that.

Heat.

It's Sunday morning. I slept in till a quarter to seven, fed the doggies, made coffee, and Ethan still isn't up, so it's quiet. I have come to appreciate, no more than that, hold very dear, like an old piece of jewelry, times such as these.
It's getting cold, most of the pretty yellow and orange and red leaves are all on the ground now. The cold air makes me want more coffee than ever and the sound of the heater coming on reminds me of growing up on Stardust St; when I smell that warm, heater air coming up through the vents (what is that smell? like fire, sort of?) it is very comforting to me in my grown up life, here in my own home. When I was a little girl, we used to keep the house pretty darn freezing. I wore pass-me-down nightgowns that I'm sure started out very soft, but by the time they got to me had taken so many turns in the washer they felt more like felt pajamas than anything else. There were elastic in the wrists that would leave red indentations in my skin. My socks would usually have a hole here and there. I'd wake up in that huge, cold house and the second I'd hear that loud heater warming up, I'd get to a heating vent as soon as I could, sit down, tuck my nightgown around me so no air could escape, and within seconds my nightgown would blow up around me like a balloon.

Purple Sky, Creepy Train, and Neighbors.

I drove home from work last night in my gold minivan and the sky was turning that pretty purple color, right before it goes dark. It made me a little sad. There is something about not being with your kid all day and then going to pick him up when it's dark--it seems sadder than before, in the summer, when it was still light out at five.
Some lady at work was selling her used DVD's, so I picked up the Polar Express, thinking Ethan would LOVE it because of that big 'ole train. I hadn't seen it but I heard it was good.
Well, no one told me it was freaking scary as hell. I mean, this movie is CREEPY. Ethan for the most part sat on the couch with his eyes the size of saucers and his mouth open a little. The only time his mouth closed and he relaxed was when they light up this huge, gorgeous Christmas tree at the end. Then he said, "Ahhh, Christmas!" and it broke my heart because he's just so dang pure and precious, and the rest of this supposedly wonderful Christmas film was dark and strange.
Fiebe is finally potty trained. Not trustfully potty trained, but I can't remember the last time I had to wipe up the stinky yellow puddles on my kitchen floor. Every time I see her race out the door, headed right for the lawn, and then assume the position, I want to clap my hands and jump up and down.
Ethan, on the other hand, is much slower at this. He'll go on the potty, if he wants to. Which is about point five percent of the time.
Candy, stickers, and movies have only helped a little.
To be quite honest this part of parenting has scared me since the moment I first held Ethan in my arms. I have absolutely no clue how to handle this transition, and good lord what if he is still loading his pants when he is three and a half?
We grew up with a little neighbor boy, the youngest of seven, who was still crapping his pants IN SCHOOL.
So don't tell me this won't happen.
Anyway--
Brian and Jamie move just down the street a ways this weekend. God has answered my prayers once again. It's so lonely to not live by friends--I hope that life won't be too busy for random dinners, things like that.
I really enjoy their company, and with Jamie having a baby, there will be even more things to connect us.

Wear it.

The frog keeps coming back. Even this morning, laying on the mat, outside the door when I go to feed the doggies. It's about half its original size now, and very much weightless. Not even recognizable as a frog, save for the fact that I know what it was. I believe Feibe is the culprit that won't let this frog lie in peace. I sweep his crusty decaying body into the wood chips and low and behold, she brings him back to me.
What does this mean?
Is the frog me? In some way? This is what happens when you major in English and everything is a metaphor for something else.
Well, I don't feel like a crusty, decaying frog but I do feel bloated and like my pants are too tight.
I bought some new sweaters, in a larger size than I was last year, and they feel like heaven, like I can breath. I guess I am waiting on the jeans because for some reason it is so much harder to buy a bigger size in jeans than in a shirt. Jeans seem so definitive. So for sure--YOUR BUTT IS BIGGER THAN IT USED TO BE.
And I guess I am thinking maybe I will be pregnant soon and it will be so much less painful to buy a bigger pair of pants then, versus now, because there would be a legitimate reason as to why my pants don't fit: the teeny, tiny, microscopic baby in my womb.
It doesn't make any sense whatsoever but that's how it is.
Work was nuts, what's new? I am learning that I am a freaking NICE person. This sales world is quite brutal, like everyone wants everyone else to just die so they can have their customers. And the customers think that I want to gouge them every chance I have, which is just not the case. I am learning though. To communicate, to not shake or sweat, or want to cry, whenever some hard situation presents itself. The growth is good, but very painful...makes me feel like a wet kitten. Like a beaten, wet kitten.
Maybe someday I will look back and see how all this made me stronger, but now I just feel weak.
It's a hard lesson for a nice, straight A girl like me to learn that business is not about being nice. Fair, yes. Nice, not so much. Not everyone is going to love you to pieces, and in fact, some people might think you are dumb or rude or or just plain annoying.
Wear it, that's what they say. It means move on, get over it (or yourself).
Wear it.
And that's what I tell myself, over and over and over: wear it girl. Move on.