It’s been flooding around my town. Roads are closed. School has been canceled and we’ve all been anxiously watching the flood reports waiting for the water to crest and recede so we can get back to the normal flow of our lives.

For the past few weeks and ongoing I’ve been bleeding, before which time I was sure I was pregnant, not Psychosomatic Pregnancy Disorder sure but actually really sure. I had all the symptoms. I was even knitting for heck sake. But my body and repeated tests are telling me I’m not, at least not anymore. And I’d love to be.

I’m not that sad about a possible lost pregnancy I was never sure was real. Dan and I have waited years for me to recover mentally and physically from Magoo’s birth and have come to a point where I’m finally ready again but patient.

The problem came about 5 days after my cycle started and my anxiety and panic went through the roof. I’ve been off my post partum meds for months with smooth sailing and suddenly I found myself in that dark place, the place where I shake and throw up, cry and let my mind terrorize me, the place where I visit every doctor I know and end up back on my meds.

Although doctors like to say that bleeding for 3 weeks can be normal and that nausea in the mornings, elevated anxiety, ravenous hunger, exhaustion, catastrophic breakouts, a slippery pulse, and the 27 other things I was feeling before my cycle started don’t necessarily indicate pregnancy, I feel pretty sure that my dark place is a result of a microscopic baby who just wasn’t ready to come live with us but instead tripped my wacky hormone breaker on his way out the door.

When I’m in that place it feels as though I will never return to normalcy, that darkness, fear and panic are valid because the world is just a scary awful place. What helps me cope is Dan, Dan who is so sure that the flood will crest and I’ll return to myself again, Dan who remembers who I really am and loves me. And it’s not just Dan. I have a huge support group of family and friends. People have been coming out of the woodwork to make meals, bring flowers, give hugs while I sob and remind me that they know me and that this is NOT normal. I’ve even gotten several emails from people who I know and some who read this blog and could tell that something was not right. Thank you so much. I’ve been too overwhelmed to respond to everyone.

When my mind is in this place, it’s hard to believe that the world is a place worth living in. It’s hard to believe that I am good enough or worthy enough because if I were better or had more faith then I’d feel peace from my Heavenly Father.

Which brings me to my lesson on Sunday. On Saturday night when it became apparent I was in full scale meltdown mode I called and asked a friend to sub teaching my 14 and 15 year old girls’ class at church. Then I took a look at the lesson. It was about individual worth, how the worth of souls is great in the sight of God. It was about how we all may feel broken or unlovable at times but that God loves us all the time and that we each have a spark within us, a mission that only we can complete.

I knew that the timing of the lesson was no accident. It was filled with truth that I desperately needed to hear and I knew I had to teach it. So I went to church, tissues in hand, and taught the girls in complete tearful breakdown mode. I told them that I was teaching them even though I was having a rough time because I wanted to show them that their leaders are not always prefect. We tend to sit up there and teach about God’s love and the peace you feel when you’re doing what’s right and the joyous news of the gospel and the examples we show and the standards we set are high. I wanted them to know that each one of them was of great worth and that even when they were in the lowest depths of the dark places of their lives, they were still loved, they were still good people and it is those times that they need to rely on their faith and on their past experiences of joy and peace to get them through until the floods of darkness crest and recede.

I read them the story of Snowman, the old grey beaten-down horse who turned out to be a champion show jumper, and I promised them that they could do great things with their lives and that I knew in my heart that I could do great things too, even if I couldn’t feel it right then. My hope for them and for all of you is that you never feel that your struggles or heartaches are an indication of your worth. You are not your trials. Sometimes I think we all act so perfect on the surface that when we struggle, we doubt our divine nature and the huge gift we are and can be to so many people in this world.

I hope they got the message, rather than thinking, “Wow. Kathryn’s really lost it.” I think they did.

But whether or not I’ve lost it, I know I’ll find it again and I have a lot going for me. I do have a great work to do. Even if the only thing I ever do is make these two people, my life will be a raging success.

You can get hearing aids with zebra stripes these days or leopard print. Laylee’s got her heart set on a dainty set with pink flowers. They’re small like her ears and hopefully won’t fall out when she’s running around the back yard or playing tag at school.

I told her they’re like glasses for her ears, that even though she can hear fine now, she’ll have SUPER-HERO ear power when she gets her new ear jewelry. I told her she was lucky to get them. I didn’t tell her it was no big deal because telling her that implies that her hearing loss might be a big deal and I never want her to think that. But it’s sure a big deal to me in this moment.

This morning I drove her to a hearing and speech clinic to have her ears checked. We’ve noticed some problems and the more I’ve looked the more problems I’ve noticed. I tried to tell myself I was imagining things. It took some coaxing from my next door neighbor before I took her in to get tested.

Her preschool report card listed her as advanced in nearly every way. The only areas where she was “satisfactory” were things like “needs repeated teacher directions,” “displays listening skills” and “easily distracted,” things that could be easily explained if she were having trouble hearing. I can stand behind her and talk about ice cream in a loud whisper and she has no idea I’m saying anything. When I call to her from a distance, it seems like she’s ignoring me.

The doctor put a camera in her ears and projected the image on a large monitor. Aside from a stray “ear whack” or two, they looked lovely. He said there was no damage from the gazillion ear infections she’s had. Good news.

Then into the booth we went. The doctor said I could stay with her if Magoo and I could stay quiet. Ahem. Yeah. So we stayed in the booth for a few… seconds before he came back in. For some reason Magoo’s constant seemingly-involuntary whispers ruined the effect of the sound-proof booth and we were kindly asked to leave. Laylee was nervous to be alone but she hung in like a trooper while we waited in the lobby for some news. Magoo asked me to read star dating news to him from an old People Magazine. Before we even found out if John-ifer would live happily ever after, the doctor came back and took us into an exam room.

He was sweet and had a good bedside manner but he also spends all day doing this and seemed very casual about the news he delivered. She has some hearing loss which makes it impossible to hear certain frequencies at certain volumes. What she’s missing are consonants so what she hears when someone talks softly or from far away is a jumble of vowels that mean nothing to her.

“Is it something she’ll outgrow?”

“Oh no. It’s permanent…. [something about hearing aids.]”

“Was it caused by her ear infections?”

“No… [something about nerves being dead and a special microphone her teacher will need to use when she starts kindergarten next year.]”

“Um…”

“With these diagnoses, we always recommend a second opinion so you can schedule that at the same time as your hearing aid consultation.”

Because I am the best mom in the world, I was able to freeze my face into a grin to avoid squeezing anything near the eye area, which would likely have let forth the blast of weepage building in my throat. I stayed cool and Laylee was unaffected by the news, possibly because she did not hear the news.

So the new hearing aids do look cool… for hearing aids… but I’m conflicted. They’re not really like glasses, not completely. You do not see kids all over with hearing aids the way you do with glasses. I want to ask the doctor if Laylee has to wear them all the time and I picture him responding, “Um… only when she wants to hear well.” Even wanting to ask that question makes me feel like a bad mom, too concerned with appearances like the mean aunt on Anne of Avonlea who never lets her niece wear those “ridiculous spectacles” even though she’s practically blind without them.

Of course I want her to hear well but I don’t want her to feel self-conscious. It will shred my heart if I have to watch her confidence wither, to realize there’s something different about her and start to think it’s a bad thing. I will not allow it.

I have so many questions I was too shocked to think to ask until after I left the office. Is it degenerative? Will she continue to lose hearing? Are there any other options for treatment? What COULD have caused this if it wasn’t the ear infections? All afternoon my brain has conjured up images of loud concerts we’ve attended, fireworks displays, times she put on my head phones with the sound turned all the way up. How could I have protected her better?

I keep thinking of times I scolded her for not paying attention or coming when I called her. I want to squeeze her and never let go, to buy her ridiculous things we don’t have the money for that wouldn’t help anything. I feel guilty for joking around in this post, a post which seems cruel and in horribly poor taste at this point.

But at least the doctor seems to think I’m a good mom. He said he was impressed that we were paying close enough attention to catch it. This type of hearing loss can often be misunderstood as a lack of attention or inability to listen to instructions.

I really am glad we did and that we can help Laylee to be more successful. I’m grateful that we have the means and the technology to help fix what’s broken. I just always wish my children would have perfect lives or at least that I could choose their trials. Maybe Magoo could have a mean friend in 2nd grade who taunts him for a couple of weeks to teach him humility and then moves to Siberia so Magoo can get on with his life. For Laylee I might wish bad hair or an inability to learn the Cha-Cha well enough to compete on an international level.

I’m a little glum today folks. Okay. A lot glum. Wallow with me for a moment before we get back to our regularly scheduled programming. Magoo turns 3 this summer. He’s a big fat ball of toddleric cuteness and I want more.

I’ve been wanting another baby for years now and have been pushing against obstacle after obstacle to having another healthy pregnancy. My most recent and hopefully last hurdle has been working on getting my body and brain to a place where I can survive postpartum without losing my marbles.

My post partum specialist has been amazing at treating my symptoms and I’ve gone from doctor to doctor looking for someone who could find the root of what went wrong and fix it before next time. I finally found a great naturopath who I’m happy and comfortable with and she’s run a bunch of tests and we’re working on a plan to get me up and running.

It’s the first time in my adult life that I’ve had a general practitioner I’m happy with and we’ve been making good progress towards my goals.

This morning I went in to see her and she told me she’s moving to another city a few hours away. I am crushed, frustrated, sad and discouraged. I cried off and on all day. I don’t want to start meeting doctors again. I don’t want to have to tell one more person all the hairy details of my medical history. I just want to keep progressing.

Then I took Laylee in for her 5-year-old check up and the doctor’s test confirmed what I’ve been fearing. She appears to have some level of hearing damage from the repeated ear infections. My baby could be hard of hearing and we’re off to a specialist to find out more.

Magoo filled his pants as soon as we entered the exam room and I’d forgotten a diaper.

Laylee screamed like the dying when they gave her the first immunization shot. They then proceeded to give her 3 more. By the time they finished we were both crying.

I’m just tired and whiny and my foot still hurts.

My kids filled the entire house with packing peanuts and then danced them into the carpet.

It appears that it may never stop raining again.

I have sad news friends. After less than 7 years of marriage I have parted ways with my wedding bands.

I came home from my trip and found that my purse was absolutely crammed with dirt, crumbs and mysterious chunks of mystery. I removed all the non-trash items and shook the bag vigorously over the trash can to remove the rest of the grime.

Then this Friday I realized my fingers had un-swole after returning to the Pacific North West. For some reason the always swell up like melons when we go visit family in Utah. So I went to get my wedding bands out of the zipper compartment of my purse and found it unzipped and empty.

Suddenly I remembered that over a week ago I had dumped all the “trash” out into the garbage can. I’m 99% sure the rings went with it. So off they go to a landfill somewhere. Two more pieces of metal that will never be recycled.

I’m sick about the loss but Dan says, “Everyone makes mistakes.” Marrying him was not one of them.

Dan got home from flood cleanup Saturday night, sore, stiff and grateful. We both are. Everything in our house looks different after seeing what people down there are dealing with. This morning as he was making breakfast he said, “I’m sure glad our toaster isn’t full of mud,” not something we were particularly sensitive to a few days ago.

The family he was helping lost 2 homes and most of their belongings in the flood. They were living in a small house on their property while building a nicer place. The land had some minor flooding 10 years ago, water coming up to their driveway, in something that was referred to as a “500 year flood.” They felt pretty safe building a new home on the land since neither of them expected to live past three or four hundred years of age. Both the new and old home were filled with seven feet of water. Dan’s job was to help move all the furniture to a waste heap in the front yard so they could begin removing flooring and tearing out walls.

Apparently they had to break open their dressers to remove the mud-soaked clothes so they’d be light enough to move outside. Dan used the same words as the woman I met on Friday to describe the state of the house. “It looked like their belongings had been put in a giant blender.”

Family photos were destroyed and animals killed. Their neighbors lost a herd of llamas and the dog breeder nearby lost 25 animals.

The good news is that many people are coming to help. On Saturday over 3000 volunteers surged into the area. Good friends all over the country are helping me blog the heck out of this story and several of you have donated money through me or through charitable agencies. People are emailing asking what they can do, mailing donations, offering groups to do manual labor and one woman is putting together a group of volunteers to clean and preserve family photos. Dan knows of one stack in particular that was barely rescued from the trash pile.

Asking for help and then watching the beginnings of all of your kindness pour in is really inspiring. We’ve got a good start here but we can do more. I for one feel a little skeezy at the thought of accepting ad revenue on the site when so many people are linking to me for flood relief so Daring Young Mom proceeds for December will go to the relief efforts.

If you’ve ever been through something like this and you have some insight into what would have helped you, please share your ideas. I’d love any suggestions for relief or offers of help.

And, as our kids are bound to say when they call us collect from their freshman college dorms, “I love you. Please send money.”

For more information, please read yesterday’s post.

*Photos by Leroy Collinwood*

It wasn’t until I sat down to beg you all for help that the severity of what’s going on in the flood zones really hit me and I started bawling. If you want to understand why, go watch this video from the Lewis County Chronicle website. I really need your help everybody.

I spent yesterday demolishing a single mother’s home in hopes of saving it. The main floor of her small house was filled with muddy contaminated water during this week’s record-breaking flood in western Washington. Apparently the water rose so fast that she and her 3 children were unable to get home and move their belongings from the main floor to safety.

4 days later while my 4 girlfriends and I were tearing the sheetrock and insulation from the walls of her home with hammers and shovels, she was still hauling her filthy belongings to temporary housing in garbage bags. A few of her children’s homemade Christmas decorations still clung to the higher walls.

Over 1600 homes were flooded in this disaster, the majority of which have no flood insurance. Businesses have been wiped out. As sad as it was to see Wal-Mart under water and Home Depot condemned, the hardest thing is to know that many small businesses may never recover. So even as their homes are destroyed, their livelihoods may be cut off as well, right at the busiest time of the year for many businesses.

One of my friends kept asking the disaster relief workers what the people would do now that their homes and belongings had been destroyed. Several families are walking away from homes and businesses with no idea what they will do next. The fact that Christmas is almost upon us is the least of their worries.

It was incredibly humbling to drive past homes and farms that had been completely submerged, some blasted by 14 feet of filthy water. Farms that have been handed down for generations are destroyed, their owners left with nothing. Some had to shoot their own livestock so they wouldn’t suffer while drowning. There are cars and farming equipment still under water or stuck in mud and much of it is completely unusable. We saw toys, clothes and furniture several feet up in trees. People are in shock. One elderly woman was found sitting alone in her mud-drenched home staring straight ahead, unable to move. It’s a daunting task and several hours of hard labor yield negligible results. It’s hard not to be discouraged by the slow pace of the progress.

One of the hardest hit areas is in Lewis county around Chehalis, a couple of hours south of where we live in the Seattle suburbs. My good friend grew up in Chehalis and her father is still a dentist and farmer in that area who, as a volunteer LDS church leader, is helping head up relief efforts. Taking few breaks to eat or rest, he has spent the past several days driving from home to home assessing needs, helping with cleanup, distributing donations and organizing hundreds of volunteers.

Several local churches of various faiths have been turned into shelters and clothing and food distribution centers. People are coming from all over the US to serve and help with cleanup. The main non-denominational relief organizations serving the area are the United Way and the Red Cross and they are doing amazing work.

I sent out an email to the women of my congregation asking for clothing, food and tool donations and within hours, we had a garage full of supplies which Dan drove down early this morning on his way to help with cleanup. When I got home from Chehalis last night, I talked to my neighbors about what I’d seen and they came up with 3 boxes of helpful donations.

Do you live nearby? Would you like to help with cleanup or reconstruction? Do you live far away? Would you like to help these people put their lives back together? Each year at Christmas we try to find someone in need who we can serve, something we should actually be doing all year long. This year the choice seems obvious for us. I can’t remember a time when I felt more blessed and more of an urge to give everything I can to help someone else. Even Laylee has gathered a mountain of clothes, toys and blankets in her room to take to the “flood people.”

I’m gathering monetary donations which I will use to purchase gift cards to Home Depot and other local businesses with much-needed supplies. We will drive these cards down to Lewis County and, with the direction of local relief workers, give them to the flood victims to meet their immediate needs. Personally, I believe that people are capable of reaching out and helping each other directly.

Obviously I am not a registered charity so I do not have a Tax ID to give you a receipt for deductions. However, if you have $2 or $2000 that you’d like to go directly to people in dire need this Christmas, and you trust me to get it to them, I know that together we can do a lot of good. If you’re more comfortable going the traditional route, please consider making a donation through The Red Cross or The United Way.

If you’d like to help me give directly to victims, please click here to send money via PayPal.

All money that comes into my account for the rest of the year will go 100% to help rebuild the hardest hit areas of Washington. The people are cold, they’re wet and they need our help and prayers.

If you have a blog, please pass this information along to your readers. You can lift the graphic from the top and any photos from this post and post a link back to this entry. Email me if you have any questions and please help these people any way you can. Imagine what it would be like to lose everything all at once with little or no warning. THANK YOU!

It’s coming up on two years since Magoo was born and I still struggle with anxiety and depression issues originally triggered by his birth. My brain hurts from thinking about my brain. I’m tired of wondering what constitutes chemical deficiency and what is just normal for a stay-home mother of 2.

I go off medications. I struggle. I get back on a dose so small I could swear it was a placebo amount and suddenly the people around me are a little less annoying, I’m slightly more likely to do the dishes and less likely to wake up in a panic with no idea why.

When things were really bad at the beginning, I came to a point where I said I would be willing to do whatever was medically necessary to function and take care of my family, to alter my brain back to the way it was before the crash. I said I would take medication for the rest of my life if necessary. Now that the post-partum period is almost up, I want to be DONE with brain meds. I want my old brain back. It wasn’t always sharp and sometimes it was a tad twisted, but I could trust it.

I recently told my therapist that I didn’t want to go on anything at this point because that would mean I was “depressed”. She asked the logical question, “Do you think taking medication will make you depressed?”

“No,” I bawled, “It will make me NOT depressed.”

There you have it. And what’s so bad about that? The dependence, the fallibility, the HUMANITY, the admission that yet again God doesn’t chose to heal me instantly but provides a humbling way for me to be healed by relying on other people and medical advancements.

The other day Laylee and I were on the way to the therapist’s office and I got lost in a construction detour. I said a few faux naughty words and Laylee asked what was wrong. When I told her we were lost, she said calmly, “It’s okay. God knows we’re lost. We’ll find it.”

I believe he knows I’m lost. I believe he cares I’m lost. I believe he will help me untangle my steaming pile of grey matter. I’m not at a point yet where I always understand his methods or even pretend to know what they are.

For the next 2 weeks I’m going to do everything I physically can to stave off the next round of brain science. The sleeping. The exercising. The meditation. The prayer. The water. The breathing. Then we’ll see. We’ll try and then we’ll see.

It’s been a WEEK.

On the way to the Nutcracker last Friday, Vinny was rear-ended, causing over $4000 in vehicle damage, sore backs and necks for me and Laylee and some serious emotional trauma and reduction in driving ability.

Until now, I’ve never been in an accident. In the past when I’d see a lame and tentative driver with part of their car smashed, I’d shake my head and think, “No wonder their car is smashed in, they’re such a lame and tentative driver.”

Now I realize I had it all wrong. What I should have been thinking is, “Poor thing. No wonder they’re such a lame and tentative driver, they just got their car smashed in.” I’m a bit terrified to be out on the road, picturing over and over again stopping quickly at that light and watching the other driver coming towards me in the rearview mirror, bracing for impact.

Dan met me at the side of the road and took Laylee to the ballet while I filled out the police report. I went on to meet them downtown a little bit late and a lot bit freaked out. Remember how I said I always cry when I hear beautiful music? Well it’s usually a few tears and a lump in my throat. I don’t normally burry my head in Dan’s shoulder and snort and sob. This time was special.

The ballet was gorgeous. Laylee danced and gasped at the appropriate places. It almost makes me regret dropping out of ballet and music class for the rest of the school year…almost but not quite.

We signed up for ballet and music class to take the place of traditional preschool this year and a few weeks later were invited to join 3 other families in running a co-op preschool where we all take turns teaching. Preschool is two days a week, the same two days as the other activities.

For many reasons, it’s been a hard couple of months and I find that I’m more frequently away than home. Laylee is acting out and BEGGING for attention and the little time we do have together is spent running around and telling her to “Hurry, hurry, hurry.” The other day we sat down to lunch and she asked me if we could just eat in the car. I said we weren’t going anywere and she said she just likes eating in the car. Telling? I think so. I am really happy with the decision to cut out a couple of her activities and spend more time snuggling.
The other day she was teaching Magoo how to draw pictures and she told him that to draw a girl, you need to draw the face, the hands and then the tears.

The second set of eyes are the tears running down her face. Today she drew “a girl who hates the world.” I don’t know what to do with that statement. I ask her about it and she smiles and says, “I don’t know why she hates the world. She just does. She hates all the pretty and beautiful things in the world.”

It is a dark, dark rainy day. The roofers are working away next door, pounding and reminding me that we need to replace our entire roof this year. Anyone have a 0% interest second mortgage they’d like to sell me? Laylee has learned to belch whole words so she spent this morning’s breakfast drinking sips of milk and belching our conversation.

She thinks the song from Handel’s Messiah says, “Oh we like cheese.” I told her that they’re saying, “All we like sheep,” and she said, “I know. They’re just saying ”˜Oh we like cheese’ in SIGN LANGUAGE.” Hmmmm….. Can you belch that for me?

Maybe you can barf it.

Laylee and Magoo took turns barfing all over the east side of Seattle Thursday night, concentrating their work on our van and house.

I hope rats aren’t attracted to vomited Mexican food or we’re doomed. A month ago Dan found “some droppings” in the attic but refused to tell me details considering I’m a flaming rodent-a-phobe. He said he’d take care of it.

Last week, we had an exterminator over to assess the situation. I called someone from a large company, big enough to have a good reputation and to take the hit if they have to pay to replace my home when I light it on fire after seeing a rat in my living room that they failed to eradicate.

They’re also big enough to have a giant truck-mounted rat vacuum which they will be employing this week at the low price of half our life savings. They found that we did not have mice, but rather large rats throughout the puffy insulating in our attic. They will use the rat vac to suck out all of the insulating along with all rodents, nests and droppings. They will then plug all possible entry points, blow fresh insulating into the attic and spray it with rodent repellant. I imagine it like a giant can of OFF. Hopefully I will be able to photo-document the entire experience.

In the future, I will tell my exterminator to never gesture with his hands how big the rats are likely to be based on their poop. I will also ask not to see the brochure with color photos of rats, listings of the 46 diseases they carry and stats on how fast they multiply (1 rat can have 50 babies in a year). If I ask him about the ceiling damage that can occur from rat urine, I would prefer not to hear about the family who noticed water spots soaking through their ceiling and then one day one of the spots started to swell as the rat pee from all the rats in the nest over their family room soaked through, the ceiling crashed in and rats came spilling out all over their house.

I will be playing loud techno music on Tuesday morning to drown out the sound of the rat bodies flying down the giant vacuum tube, out of Laylee’s bedroom, down the hall, down the stairs, out the door ca-chunk, ca-chunk, ca-chunk. I don’t want to know what happens to them in the belly of the truck. If they set them free, I’m freaked out. If they don’t, I’m freaked out. Is it like a giant garbage disposal, a final rodent solution? Shudder.

Maybe I’ll use that time to hide in a closet and call our insurance adjustor about getting a rental car for our Christmas road-trip. Our van will be in the shop for almost 3 weeks over Christmas and they have offered us a rental but we’re not supposed to take it out of state. We may be spending our holidays home alone with the rat king’s ghost.

On a sidenote – The current ad running on my site for thefind.com is part of their giving campaign. For every search you do on their site (up to one per day) that includes the word “red,” they will give one dollar to support Doctors Without Borders. It’s a great cause and an easy way to give.

the reasons: trees, baby giggles, favorite colors, 72 hours vomit-free

Dan’s family left us this morning while I slept.  I miss them already.  The 3 day visit seemed too short and disorganized.  We didn’t plan ahead what we would do or talk to them about their expectations for the trip.  So when it came time to go do something, we’d sit around like the vultures in Jungle Book asking each other what we wanted to do until the sun went down and then we’d hang out some more, eat some food and stay up way too late.

It was a fun and informative visit.  My sister-in-law, a financial coach, got us pumped to take over the world through strategic planning and mission statements.  We are excited to let our money “work for us.”Â 

With the help of some aunts, Magoo learned to say “poo” and Laylee can now say “I am terrified beyond the capacity for rational thought.”  I guess it’s a quote from Ghostbusters.

They also gave Laylee her first gumball,

which she tried desperately to keep an eye on.

When I woke up this morning, they were gone.  My house is much cleaner now than when they arrived, my fridge much more full, and the fact that I don’t live near any family weighs heavily on my mind and heart.

So I’m new here, in this town, where I live.  You know?  The move and such?  Many of my good friends have moved out of state recently or just gotten lives or something.  I’m starting to make new friends slowly.  I’ve met some amazing people whom I’m getting closer to, but friendship is largely proportional to time served.

I have not served hard time with any of these people yet and you can’t bond over one 10 minute park date.  So yesterday afternoon, some girls from my new church congregation found my address somehow and came over to say hi.

I was excited and mortified.  I was wearing my sweats and hadn’t showered.  The house was insanely disastrously filthy.  I invited them in because, for the love I want friends and here two people were on my doorstep, but I was totally chest-crushingly embarrassed at the state of my house.  It was one of those “How can people live like this?” kind of days. 

So I told them it was a “project” day.  I was making curtains and sewing Laylee a new “poof” since hers recently had a run-in with a carton of chocolate milk and a long stay in a plastic bag hidden under the stroller in the back of my car.  Color me shocked.  She didn’t like the moldy black polka dots.

Some days are for cleaning and some are for projects and, I said, “Today is a project day.”Â  They were really nice and one of their sons even peed on the wall of my bathroom to make me feel better (his mom cleaned it up, by the way.).

But when they left, I couldn’t get over my feelings of self-doubt.  Karen wrote a fabulous post recently about not conforming to other people’s expectations of what our priorities should be and not expecting them to conform to ours.  I loved it.

The problem is, I’m not even conforming to my own expectations for myself and I don’t think they’re too lofty.  Clean up the dishes at least daily.  Bathroom scrubbed once a week, laundry done before you have to go out and buy all new clothes, being at least vertical to say goodbye to Dan-O in the morning, etc. 

I had a while where I made excuses because I was in a post-partum-funk (to put it mildly) and then I had the moving excuse.  With the girls yesterday it was the “project” excuse, but at this point it boils down to priorities.

After things crashed when Magoo was born, I had to re-evaluate my perfectionist expectations, give myself some slack and be sure to take some time for me.  Now I’ve gotten high on the slack pipe one too many times and I’m having a really hard time tightening up the right garter straps.

I reorganize the pen drawer instead of putting away the junk on my counter.  I clean out the toaster, rather than rinsing the breakfast dishes.  I make a tutu to avoid hanging towel rods.  I read instead of calling up new friends.  I blog but don’t work on my book.

I feel like neither a good wife, mother, homemaker, writer, friend, organizer or Kathryn right now.  I just hate the feeling that I could do better but I’m not and I spend days like today working my absolute butt off, only to realize that each layer of work reveals 50 more that I hadn’t thought of yet.

There are many people who are frustrated with me right now and I’m at the top of the list.