It’s one of those just-enough-to-pay-the-bills kind of months. You know, the kind where you hold your breath, close your eyes and pray that when you’re done subtracting, there will be something, anything, left in the checking account, even if it’s single digits. Tell me I’m not alone here. Tell me you’ve been there.
We had a rough weekend. As Phil put it this morning, I haven’t felt this tired since Isabelle was a baby. Isabelle battled a fever all weekend, thus her usual sleep patterns were disrupted. She didn’t nap well during the day, and at night she would sleep for 3-4 hours at a time, then wake up hungry and have trouble going back to sleep. Fortunately, when the doctor checked her out this morning, she couldn’t find any sign of ear infection or throat abnormality, so she left us in wait-and-see mode. We didn’t have to wait long. She was fever-free all day.
Do you ever feel like a mule? Man, was I dragging my heels, and kicking and screaming on the inside today when my husband and I got into a discussion about a phone call that needed to be made. The conversation went something like this.
On a recent repeat episode of “Antiques Roadshow,” I caught a segment featuring a man with two 19th century paintings by J.F. Kensett that he’d purchased at a yard sale. He told the AR appraiser that he once had them appraised for $800-$900 by a woman who also offered a buyer for the paintings. The AR appraiser, after examining the paintings and consulting with colleagues, told the man a conservative auction estimate for the paintings was $30,000-$60,000 each. Understandably, the man was speechless. (A transcript of this exchange can be found at http://www.pbs.org/wgbh/roadshow/archive/200605A41.html) His is not the first story of this kind I’ve heard on the show. I always wonder how close these people came to accepting a first, and lesser, offer for their valuables and what must be going through their minds when they find out they were almost robbed of the true value.
I’ve come to enjoy hanging clothes out on the line. Some weeks, I wait for a sunny day to do laundry just so I can take the wash outside to let it line dry. When we first moved here, clothesline drying was a necessity. Our rental house came with a washer, but we didn’t own a dryer, so we had to make do with the natural drying abilities of the sun. In time for winter, we bought a used dryer, so our laundry schedule became a little more flexible. Still, if given the choice, I’ll walk the clothes outside to hang up rather than haul them downstairs to the dryer. (Our washer is on the main floor in the kitchen; our dryer’s in the basement.)
I’m not sure how often you’re “supposed” to post to your blog, but I feel like I’m making up for lost time. So, if these posts are too frequent to begin with, I’ll pray that you don’t get sick of me, and maybe in a few weeks, they’ll be fewer and farther between.
I’m still new at this stay-at-home mom thing. It’s been almost a year since I quit my job and moved from the Midwest to the Mid-Atlantic to join my husband on the adventure we call seminary. Part of the adventure has been for me, the former “breadwinner” of our relationship, to stay home with our now toddler daughter. Financially, it looked like a suicide decision, but God has shown Himself faithful beyond our imaginations. Emotionally, it’s been a roller coaster. Spiritually, it’s been like appearing on “The Biggest Loser” — God is trimming the excess from my life to make me a lean, mean, spiritual machine. Or something like that.