I Am Much More Cheerful Than This Post Would Indicate.

So. That happened.

And by "that" I mean I spent Christmas Eve night hunched over the toilet in fervent prayer to ye olde porcelain gods as a raging 12-hour stomach bug had its way with me.  It wasn't pretty, it wasn't pleasant, and only my husband will ever know the full extent of what he cleaned up for me that night.  Suffice it to say that it was maybe the most thoughtful and self-sacrificing Christmas gift ever.  Nay, perhaps "Christmas Miracle" is not too strong a word for his actions.  But my perspective could have been skewed by the fact that I was incoherent with the vomiting and the diarrhea and such.  I might also be half-convinced I saw Elvis in a Santa hat streaking naked through our back yard out my bathroom window, so my impressions of that evening should likely be taken with a grain of salt. (A really, really big grain of salt.  Perhaps a salt lick?)

So the whole family has been through that bug and back again, and we're all well just in time for New Year's Eve.  Also, just in time for me to realize exactly how boring we have officially become as our NYE plans consist of a bottle of champagne (which I keep forgetting to put on ice - one sec - okay, done!) and probably several hours of me whining about my husband playing Gears of War 2 instead of hanging out with me because there is nothing more interesting to do.  If we're feeling frisky, we may break out the Scrabble. (And not Strip Scrabble, either. Also not "Scrabble" in the euphemistic sense, but the actual game of Scrabble.... which, incidentally, became way less interesting to play together after I scored an opening Bingo with "tornado" on my first turn when we played one time at a bed and breakfast in Maine and do you love how I am rambling this sentence on in the hopes that you'll just go ahead and realize there's nothing useful to be read in this post?)

Oh 2008.  You brought us Milo, for which I am forever thankful, and of course the candidate on whom I have pinned my hopes for a better future for my country ... well, he got elected. (Obama Mama - Hollah!) but beyond that I'm struggling to find anything else that was good to mention.  I mean, we are fortunate to have a roof over our heads and my husband is still (for the moment, anyway) employed -- allowing me to continue my decadent lifestyle of Pop Tarts and network television -- and on that point we are doing better than a lot of other people.

2007, for us, was the year of The Miscarriage, the year of the Herniated Discs, the year of Appendicitis and Emergency Surgery.  It was the year my husband was on travel for about 4 months straight and the year my Grandmother died.  So 2008 was a year of such high hopes.  And yet here I sit without my winning lottery ticket or a million-dollar idea to change the world and take early retirement.

So, I guess what I'm saying is: 2008 was my year of the status quo.  And I suppose, given the alternatives, that is probably just fine with me.

But 2009? If you could somehow drop a big bag of money on my head, or wake me up in the middle of the night with a really supremely awesome way to change the world or at least move somewhere closer to a nice beach? That would be really Quite Okay with me...

I seem to have misplaced my cheer, but I'm hopeful I can locate it somewhere in 2009.  In the mean time, I've still got my sense of humor and - really - what more can I ask for?

Happy New Year, Internets.

One and Two and Three.

First there was just one.  He was one, he was only, and he was ours.  He was perfection, and we spoiled him with abandon.

Then there were two.  There was one and there was two, separate but equal in the eyes of the house.  Everything was a division -- Mom and Dad, Big and Little.  One-to-one defense, if you will. A constant attempt to be fair, and spoil them equally.

Now there are three.  Where there was once a competition between one and two, now I sit here on the sofa next to our tiny three.  One and two climb the stairs, engrossed in animated discussion, off on an adventure that will doubtless end in one bedroom completely destroyed.  But there are bad guys to be vanquished and heroes to be made.

Three is tiny and helpless.  Three has his mother.  One and two seem to understand this.  They have each other.  And they break my heart with the sweetness of it.

All Jacked Up!

Rounding out our week-long-ish rotation of "Photos of my Offspring!" it is now the turn of the eldest.  The Jack.  The impish/angsty teenage man in the body of a sturdy 5-year-old.  Do not mess with him, he will charm your heart... and THEN break it by telling you "Mom? Can you go take a shower? Like, right now? Because you smell REALLY bad."  Even if you just showered and, really, it's your breath that stinks because how were you supposed to know the kid would want to kiss you before 8am?  And who brushes their teeth BEFORE their coffee, anyway???

You have been warned.

Ignore the possessed demon baby. I was too lazy to fix red-eye.

One of the many "action" poses in his repetoire.

Action pose meets Thanksgiving headband.

At his Kindergarten Thanksgiving feast. He is obviously too cool for his Mama.

The Faces Of Tobin

The Son Also Rises.

Picked Up The Phone, Gave You A Call.

You might have noticed I haven't been around much lately.

You wouldn't be the only one to notice.

My husband? He has noticed, too.  And as I've been physically in the room with him, that I haven't been around much is kind of a big deal.

I don't feel terrible.  I'm not moping or staring blankly at walls.

Not yet, anyway.

But after going 3 days before I remembered I hadn't had a shower, and looking blankly at my husband when I said "Wait, it's DECEMBER already?!!" because, honestly, I was at Thanksgiving and everything and it's not like I suffered "lost time" but I honestly couldn't tell you what I did the last month.  Except watch lots of TV and keep 3 children alive.  Oh, and install a floor, but that might have just been a manic episode.  Or pathological home improvement.  But I have spent the past 2 months getting from beginning of day to end without a hint of anticipation for the next.  I'm going through the motions but, as my husband gently pointed out to me, I'm not really here.  He also gave me a hand squeeze or two and reminded me that it's okay to need help, and that nobody expects me to make this all better on my own.

Which is to say, internets, that I made a phone call today.  I have an appointment Thursday morning.  I'll be shaking hands with my old friend Zoloft.  

Hopefully I will soon remember the feeling that life is full of joy and not just a trial to be muddled through as best I can.  Hopefully I will rediscover an enjoyment of writing, of cooking, of quiet afternoons.  Hopefully I will rediscover what it is like to look forward to... well, anything.  And then, hopefully, I will truly be back... and maybe I'll even find joy in telling you about it.

Wish me luck.