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Browsing Tag: SAHM

And Yet I’ve Never Been Diagnosed With Anxiety

The night before last, Quinlan, still recovering from allergies or a cold or something, appeared beside our bed (always my side) and said she could’t sleep because she’d had a bad dream. So she spent the night (again) with us (on my side. Of course). It’s become a pattern that, frankly, I’m too tired to break. Judge not unless you’ve heard a weeping child say that the shadows in her room give her nightmares. Last night, Quinlan slept through the night, in her own bed (well, not her own bed. She was in the bottom bunk in Saoirse’s room. Because this child has some issues with being alone that we should probably work on, if we weren’t so tired to do so). Cian, though, was up at 3:17, fussing because of a wet diaper and a chilly room. David went in to get him. Fastest one out of bed wins. Or loses. Whichever. My alarm went off at 5:30. I was going to get up and work on Book #2 (a new project is finally, finally, starting to bloom), but when your eyelids don…

You Get the Idea

I don’t have my wits about me to write proper paragraphs today, so bullet points it is, my friends. You’ll find that I’m on a roll with the  things: We took our house off the market, at least until the contract with our agent is terminated/expires. And because I’m too chickensquat to tell our agent to her face (or ear, I guess) why we’re so unhappy with her, I just sent her a long, detailed, professional-yet-oh-so-pointed email explaining all that David and I have been railing and gnashing our teeth about in private. I even included bullet points. A bit much, maybe, but seeing how we’ve talked with our agent about once in two months, I figured I have to get everything out while I can, right? Yeah, that’s how bad it’s been.  Someone please tell me that this process can happen without being so draining. Anybody? Anybody? I scrubbed the kitchen floor just now, hands-and-knees style.  It’s all rainy and dreary out so I really had no excuse to leave the house and avoid…

Staying On My Mat

Last Thursday was “What I Want to Be When I Grow Up” dress-up day at Saoirse’s preschool, which is a really hard concept for a four-year-old whose picture of the world is limited to her teachers, the mail carrier, and the little family living within the four walls of her home.  A couple of days beforehand, at the table during lunch, I asked Saoirse how she wanted to dress for the big day. “What do you want to be when you grow up?” I asked her. Saoirse frowned.  “I dunno.” “Well,” I said, “when you become a grown-up, and aren’t a kid anymore, what do you want to be? What kind of job would you like?” SK’s face brightened, a small smile breaking open. “A mommy,” she decided, satisfied. I swallowed. “What’s that?” I asked. “You want to be a mommy?” “Yeah!” Saoirse replied, nodding. “I want to be a mommy.” Inside, in my brain, I involuntarily called out, Wait, no! You want to be more than that…