Can I just say that I love my dishwasher?
And I even love that I grew up without one, because there is no way I could love it this much had I not spent innumerable hours elbow deep over a single sink growing up. When I got married, I thought the whole double sink thing was a vast improvement, but the dishwasher definitely trumps that. Just a basic, I don't know– two or three hundred dollar machine from Sears. I run it about three times a day, and I've had it for almost a year and a half, so that's somewhere around 1000 uses. Worth every penny and then some. I really hated doing dishes growing up. I can't begin to tell you how deep that feeling runs.
Also, dark chocolate covered pomegranate pieces. I don't know how they did it–made some little fruit snack type thing with pomegranate juice for the center–but mmmmm.
I love disposable diapers and wipes. I experimented with real cloth for about six weeks when my first two were in diapers. Went through gallons of bleach. It might have worked, had we a car and/or our own washing machine, but I doubt it. I do love my land-fill bursting disposables.
And Costco. If only they'd build one here.
This whole writing without a delete key is a little disjointed, no? Would it violate my vow if I went back and deleted entire entries? Probably. The archives might get skeletal.
I love CRIBS! I really do. I wish I would have figured this out with my own children. I swear to you, I spent ten years walking the floor all night, every night trying to get somebody to sleep. I used to stand in the hallway just waiting for the next one to wake up, and it seems they always did. I "couldn't" let them cry because Marty was working 16 hour days and I didn't want them to keep him awake. If I had only known.
These daycare kids scream like someone's biting a limb off when I put them in a crib in a dark room–for about three minutes. Then they go to sleep and stay that way. Okay, one of them cries for a good twenty minutes sometimes–but he's a whimperer, moaner. Maybe if he went at it with full-body shrieking like the other babies, he'd fall asleep in three minutes too.
But nothing else works. I rock them, walk them, sing–nothing. They just fight me and squirm and want down and want milk that they then spit out all over the place and then want back up and then down. Telei last night woke up about ten. Okay, so she was awakened by certain guilty parties who brought her out (Mom, she's awake!) and since everyone was asleep, I didn't think I should let her do her scream-to-sleep routine, so I tried the old walk the floor, yard, etc routine I spent ten years doing–I'm good at it, right? She wasn't having it. Finally, I clued in. Marty doesn't have to get up anymore. Not really. I do however. So I take her up to the crib we have in our room for nap time, lay her down and brace myself for the shriek. It really does tear at the heartstrings, even if I know it's the only way.
She didn't make a sound! Closed her eyes and went to sleep. I couldn't believe it. We just stood there in shock, and then Marty crept very quietly into bed, and I waited–she never woke up. Hmmmmm. How might have my life been different, all these years?