Too, too true

"Not tonight. I'm too busy writing or rather worrying because I can't write. That's really the most tiresome thing about writing--though everything is tiresome really, except the one moment when you get what you think is going to be a wonderful idea, and can hardly wait to begin." -The Pale Horse, by Agatha Christie.

I adore Mrs. Oliver. I think one of my pennames should be E. Oliver, just as a tribute to her!

An Astonishingly Rambling Post

I've been knitting a blanket for Little Bug for a week or so. It's very soft and warm, and taking FOREVER. I should have started it two or three months ago. Hopefully the process will get quicker as I go. People gave us so many blankets for Bug that I wasn't going to bother doing one for Little Bug, but I want her to have something special, made just for her, so I'm knitting away. My friend Jennifer has promised a quilt at some point. Jen and I have made quilts for all each others kids. Of course, her third child's quilt is still in the works, and he's going to be a year old in March ... but I'll finish it eventually for him.

It used to be a simple matter to make a special blanket for each of my friends who were having kids. Then I started having kids myself ... and time for sewing and quilting and knitting went out the window. My cousin Angela is having her first baby this spring (she's due two days before I am!), and I would love to make a quilt for her little guy. Will I have time? Probably not, considering I still have a pile of diapers to adapt and diaper covers to make for my Little Bug, a blanket to knit, and a slightly larger Bug crawling around getting into everything. Sigh. I wish I was that superhero who could make multiple copies of himself, the one from X-Men. Actually, I think he was a villain, but it still would be a handy ability. One copy to do housework, one to take care of Bug, one to sew and knit, one to read, one to write, one to study ...

I don't remember where I was going with this post. It did have a point, when I began it, but I lost it somewhere along the way. Oh well.

I borrowed "A Lifelong Passion" from the library last weekend, and am thoroughly enjoying reading it again, despite the tragedy that overshadows it all. For those who aren't familiar with it, it is letters and diary entries of Nicholas and Alexandra, the last Tsar of Russia (and Tsaritsa, naturally). After watching a made-for-tv movie on Anastasia (or the woman who claimed to be Anastasia), my sister and I got interested in learning more about the last Romanovs, and so Mom found this book for us at our local library. This book, my friends, owns the credit of sparking my love for all things Russian. That alone makes it worth a second perusal!

One of the beauties of being homeschooled was the freedom to pursue whatever interest we had. When I was fascinated by Egypt, Mom and spent a year studying everything we could about Egypt--mythology, history, culture, tradition, etc. We borrowed loads of books from the library and had great fun with it. I wasn't forced to stick with studying, say, Lewis and Clark just because it was part of the curriculem when I was really interested in something else. I know that method of schooling doesn't work for everyone, and Carl and I are actually planning a slightly more disciplined manner of school for our children, but I am thankful for the wide range of studying I was able to do in my younger days. Of course, my math and science skills did suffer for it, just as my sister's history and literature skills suffered in comparison with her math ability. Like I said, it wasn't the perfect system.

Carl and I are actually getting very excited about homeschooling our kids. As I told him, it's a great opportunity to relearn certain things ourselves while teaching them. For instance, I am terrible at geography, and welcome the chance to improve my skills when I teach it to the girls. What I'm most looking forward to, though, is teaching them how to learn, how to think, how to study. One of the biggest reasons we want to homeschool is so that we can teach them how to learn, not cram their heads full of knowledge without them ever discovering how to use their brains. My apologies if you are a fan of the public school system; I think it is a terrible way of training children and young people to think and grow. No wonder so many people of my generation need to be told EVERYTHING in their jobs--nobody ever showed them to to figure something out! Give them a worksheet and they're great. Give them an abstract problem that requires them to use their brains, and it's a rare person (like my husband) who can actually know how to solve it.

I have rambled incoherently long enough, I think. I find I'm exceptionally tired this morning, which is odd considering I slept pretty well last night. Little Bug only kept me awake for a couple of hours.

Oh--and the midwife appointment went very well. I do have to have both a PAP smear and bloodwork next week, though. Ugh. At least I'll get it all over with at once.

(Why does Mozilla's spellcheck want me to correct every contraction but has no problem when I spell "and" "adn"?)

Middle of the Week

First midwife appointment today. I usually get nervous about things like doctor's appointments, even when they are quite simple, but I'm not too nervous today. That could be A) I feel more confidence in going to a midwife than a doctor; B) I've been waiting to see a medical person besides my ultrasound tech for so long that I'm just relieved to finally have an appointment; C) Bug's screaming and my exhaustion have dulled me enough that I can't feel excitement or apprehension about anything.

In other news, Bug is slowly starting to improve. Right now we're watching an old Canadian Nationals (skating, of course), and she's dancing to Bourne and Kraatz's Free Dance music while she eats breakfast in her high chair. She's also much more inclined to smile this morning than she has been the last few days, and the cough is nowhere near as bad. (Incidentally, this is my least favorite routine ever of Shae and Vic's, so I'm surprised Bug is enjoying it as much as she is.) I'm sure the screaming will continue until these next four teeth pop through, but hopefully, if the cold goes away, it won't be as bad.

As for me--yesterday I pretty much reached the end of my rope emotionally, but by God's grace I made it through and am starting to feel marginally better today. Hopefully these next three months will fly by and it will seem like no time until Little Bug is out and the pregnancy hormones are gone!

Fixing my eyes on Him

This is, perhaps, one of the more appropriate days to write a gratitude post. After my uplifting thoughts of yesterday, of being woven together with my husband and relying on God for everything, it all came crashing down around my ears last night (isn't that how it so often goes?) and today I just want to huddle on the couch and nurse my self-pity. Lest you be alarmed, nothing truly dreadful has happened, just everyday ills that I want to blow out of proportion and turn into "nobody loves ME!" So instead, I will turn and give thanks to the One who loves us even when we're selfish and whiny and wallowing in self-misery.

• Cheerios as a comfort food for Bug. When she's sick, nothing perks her up like a handful of Cheerios.
• Red buds on our weekend walk promising spring, despite the snow and cold still gripping the land.
• Conversations with parents, still there for me when I need them, even when the miles separate us.
• Reminders in "Knowing God" that wisdom does not mean having all the answers, but clinging to God when there are no answers.
• New books from the library--who knew there were so many decent fantasy authors I have not yet read?!
• A house to myself--a blessing I would take for granted were it not for four and a half years of apartments and duplexes. Thank you, Lord, for quiet!
• Weekly habit of making homemade bread--it tastes so good, and I love making it (even the kneading!)
• Hopeful anticipation of a visit from an old friend this week.
• My first midwife appointment tomorrow! (Finally! Yes, I know I've started my third trimester, and it's horrifying that I've not yet seen a doctor or midwife, but YOU try moving in the middle of your pregnancy and see how good you are at scheduling an appointment. Besides, I HAVE had two ultrasounds.)
• Grace to pick me up whenever I fall.

I don't feel any "magical glow" now that I've written these down, nor do I suddenly feel my spirits lift (in fact, Bug dumping her bowl of pears on the floor halfway through writing this managed to bring both of us to tears of frustration), but at least I know, however I feel (because emotions, they lie), that God is good. And if I keep reminding myself of that truth, eventually my emotions will (sullenly, I'm sure) come around and line up with what I know.

(Bug just gave an apologetic "Mum? Mamamama" from her high chair, to which I responded with "I love you," so I think we're going to make it today.)

Woven Together

It's amazing, how God teaches two people the same thing at the same time. Yesterday morning I woke up far too early due to a crying child upstairs. When I went up to comfort her and tell her to rest a little bit longer, the crying turned hysterical, to the point where I finally had to just leave her to cry it out on her own. I went back downstairs, pulled the blankets over my head, and poured out all the frustrations and worries that have been building for months to God.

Last night, after Carl and I finished watching the second "Anne" movie on PBS (side note: Carl absolutely LOVES the first two Anne movies), he started talking about how frustrated and worried he's been over many things lately.

Interestingly enough, they coincided with mine, the ones that had spilled out that very morning, on almost every single point.

We didn't come to any life-altering, earth-shattering epiphanies, but just knowing that we're together in this, like everything else, helped. And together we talked about what we've been studying and what God has been teaching us, and together, slowly, we're getting through this.

It's been a rough two years, but I think things are going to start improving from here. Even if we have to endure another difficult two, three, four, however many years, though, we'll do it together, with God's help.

How do people survive without the Lord?

Writing News

I finally got the complete prologue of my new fantasy/fairy tale story written and posted. Keep in mind, this is the VERY rough draft, but I do find I appreciate getting reviews while the work is in progress; they usually help in the revision process. I've tentatively titled the story "Tesni of Glynbach" for now, though that will post likely change. I'm thinking possibly "The Eldest Sister" or something else entirely that will make itself known as I write. I'm not the greatest with titles (I love my LMM fanfics, because I can just rip off her titles--Diana of the Island, for example, or Meggie of Green Gables. I did attempt to go original with Weeping May Tarry, but even that I took from a psalm) so maybe I'll ask my reviewers for their title choices at the end of the tale. It has quite a ways to go yet, though.

I'm having so much fun using Welsh names with this story that I went over to Amazon today and looked up several Welsh history books and folklore collections. I'm such a history buff, and I wish I was more diligent about studying it earnestly. Usually I just pick up bits and pieces and end up with a miscellaneous amount of knowledge from many different places sloshing around in my brains. Not exactly serious scholarship.

I keep trying, though, and hopefully someday I'll learn to really apply myself! In the meantime, it's good I have story research that forces me to study various histories and the like.

Not so good for the pocketbook, though.

End of the Week

The evil pregnancy hormones have hit again the last couple of days. That, and Bug has come down with a cold. Not bad enough to warrant a trip to the pediatrician (good thing, because we're still searching for a good one here), but enough to make her lethargic, whiny, and clingy. Oh, and she hates to eat and drink. It's very difficult when the sick person is too small to understand that she needs to eat and drink, even when she doesn't feel like it, in order to get better soon.

On a happier note, the edge of her second upper front tooth poked through this morning. I can now officially say that my child has four teeth, with at least two more ready to come through in the next few weeks. Everyone said, with delayed teething, that once they started to pop through, they'd come all at once. I guess, for once, "everyone" was right!

Yesterday (or maybe two days ago, it's all a little blurred now) I did manage to sit down and hammer out a definite outline for my new story. Before I hadn't gotten much beyond the idea of "fairy tale--elder sister--defies tradition." Then I remembered an idea I'd jotted down a while ago about showing grace in a fantasy--instead of one character having to fulfill the typical quest to receive/earn the reward, another does it for him, out of no other motivation but love. The two ideas combined, and voila! A plot was born. Now to write it.

Carl left at 4:00 this morning for an engineering conference in VT. Thankfully he gets back tonight, so I only have to go without him for less than a day. Of course, as cranky as I've been since Wednesday, he probably wouldn't mind a bit longer away. Not that I've been irritable toward him, just miserable and gloomy in general.

I am so very thankful that the weekend starts tomorrow. It was wonderful to have Mom and Dad here last weekend, but I'm looking forward to two days of rest and no responsibilities.

Aaaand ... tomorrow marks the end of my second trimester! Or thereabouts. My second ultrasound indicated that I might possibly go a week later than originally calculated. Still, technically, Sunday marks the start of Trimester #3.

Thank goodness. I am SO ready to be done with these hormones!

Starting Early

Can you tell she's my daughter?




(It's not as easy to see in the second picture, but she's reading a story to Pooh Bear in her play center. Please ignore the wild hair, she'd only been up for a little while.)

We love reading in this household.

True Godliness

At the end of the day, will God really care how clean my house was or how often I mopped my floors? Or will he care how well I loved him and showed his love to those he put in my life?

Having a clean house does not make you a godly woman, a good wife or mother. Loving God, studying his Word, and acting in love toward your family makes you godly.

The church needs to stop sending the wrong message to women. We need to get our priorities straight. Less time with the cleaning supplies, less time on outward appearance. More time in God's Word, more time spent with people, more time focused on God.

I'm not saying we should neglect to feed our family or trying to keep the home a pleasant place. But none of that will matter if we do not first love. Love God, love people. If the bathroom is not scrubbed for a week, if the dishes go a day without being washed ... in the long run, does it really matter?

Back From Break

I'm slightly concerned that Bug is playing quietly, alone, upstairs. Is she pulling all the paper books off the shelves and ripping them to shreds? Has she figured out how to open her drawers and has she strewn clothing over her room? Is she in the master bedroom wreaking havoc with Carl's and my things?

However, the fact that she is happy and content outweighs my worries, so I will take advantage of the quiet moment to write a blog post, and deal with the consequences later. I can hear her moving, so I know she's not lying in a coma on the floor up there.

(Ooh! She just started crooning to her baby--so maybe she's just playing with her toys. Wouldn't THAT be odd?)

Mom and Dad took advantage of President's Day to come visit. They got here Sunday afternoon (Dad said even with communion he ended the church service at exactly noon, a record for him) and left Monday evening, an hour later than originally planned. Which surprised none of us. Bug was delighted to see her grandparents, and I was easily as happy as she. We went to Kohl's and managed to get Bug enough clothes to last out the cold weather (she outgrew her current batch right when all the stores had switched to their spring lines, making it nearly impossible to find long pants and warm shirts); we went to Panera Bread and ran into a college friend who lives four hours from here (what are the odds?); we stayed at home and Dad fixed all the outlets and switches in Bug's room; Mom trimmed Bug's hair; and we managed to end the weekend with homemade chicken noodle soup and biscuits. Pretty well a perfect visit, except too short and Mom had a nasty fever for the first part of Monday.

I'm seeing tooth through gum in Bug's mouth. This will give her four teeth--all her front ones--and hopefully ease up on her crankiness. I've heard the rest don't hurt as badly. I'm hoping that's true.

Uh-oh--large crashes ensuing from upstairs. No time to write more--must run, see you all tomorrow!

This Above All

I read "Emily Davis" by Miss Read for the first time this week. For those of you who aren't familiar with it, it is about a country schoolteacher who dies at age eighty-two, and the people whose lives she touched in her long and simple life, how they remember her and the life lessons she taught them.

Then this morning, I was watching "Skate for the Heart" on TV, and was amazed anew at the lives Sergei Grinkov touched in his twenty-eight years, and how people still speak of him with such love and reverence.

I want to be remembered after I am dead, not for the things I have done, but for the people I have reached. My great-grandmother, Pauline Louise Straw, died when I was a teenager, and she is still remembered by all her family with such love--most of us grandchildren and great-grandchildren still say we "want to be like Grammie Straw" when we grow up. She never did anything spectacular, never made a big splash in the world, but she was loved by everyone who knew her, and is still an inspiration to all.

How? How does one live in such a way to live on after death, to inspire love that outlasts life?

For me, the answer is simple: love. Selfless love, the love that lays down its life, that puts others first at all times. Grammie Straw wasn't a Christian, as best we know (though we live in hope that the Lord changed her heart in the days before her death), but she exemplified Christ-like love better than any Christian I've ever met.

Courage, of course, and strength, wisdom, all those are important, but as Paul says in Corinthians, without love, all else is empty noise (okay, so I paraphrased).

I will never be the intellectual giant my husband is. I will never be as successful as my sister is. If the Lord wills, I may be remembered after my death as an author (I certainly hope so). But even if not, I want to be remembered as one who loved.

(I swore up and down I wouldn't do anything even remotely resembling a Valentine's post, because I am so sick of this rotton holiday. Then these thoughts cropped up in my mind this morning--completely unrelated to Feb. 14th--and lo, I wrote a post on love one day before Valentine's Day. I have the world's worst timing.)

Seeking Joy in Gratitude

Today, I am thankful for:

Getting my floors swept. They have been filthy the last few days, and I haven't had enough energy to do anything about them. Today, moaning and groaning the entire time, I actually got them done (and yes, the moaning helped).

Having a fun afternoon/evening with Bug (and Carl after he got home) yesterday. She has been so cranky that it was sheer delight to see her giggling and playing and teasing us.

Having a thorough ultrasound to help reassure me when the irrational pregnancy fears surface.

Finishing my pregnancy scrapbook from Bug. Only fifteen months after her birth! We're taking fewer pictures this pregnancy (no showers, for one thing), so hopefully Little Bug's won't take as long.

A husband who is very understanding when I'm too tired to be a human being.

A Comforter who never leaves.

Good books--I never tire of Elizabeth Enright's writing, nor that of Miss Read.

Anticipating Mom and Dad's visit this weekend--knowing I don't have to do anything special to prepare for them!

My brain is too fuzzy to think of anything more. I'm just thankful that God is working to change my attitude. I can't change the physical challenges of pregnancy. I can't change any of my surroundings or circumstances. All I can change is how I behave in relation to said circumstances--and even that, I can only change with God's help.

Lord, help me always remember to seek joy in you in all things of life.

Just Muddling Through

The last couple of days have been discouraging ones for me. I'm sure it's partly due to the traveling we did last weekend. It always takes me longer to recover from that sort of thing than I expect. In large part, it's due to the fact that Bug's second top front tooth is trying to poke through, and if the white lines on her gums are any indication, she has at least two more on top working their way down. While I am delighted to finally see more than two teeth in her mouth (at fifteen months!), the constant whining, clinging, and outright screaming, not to mention lack of sleep, is getting on my nerves. I informed her yesterday that her little sister is only going to recognize her voice when she's crying, because that's all that we hear these days.

It didn't help.

I'm also frustrated with myself. I have a knitting project (one final pair of leg warmers for Bug) I need to finish before I can start on Little Bug's blanket. Technically I don't NEED to finish the leg warmers, since I'm using different needles, but I don't like having two projects going at once. Plus, the needles I'm using for the leg warmers are Mom's, so I'd like to get them back to her when she visits this weekend.

However, I am completely unmotivated. Most days I don't even want to take a shower. When I sit down, I just want to crash, not knit. Even though knitting is relaxing and easy to do while watching tv (or those darn skating tapes that are becoming the bane of my existence--why did I agree to put seven years worth of shows and competitions onto dvds?), it still seems like too much work.

And forget about any of the other projects I want to do for Little Bug. Use that fleece I got two years ago to make newborn diaper covers? Maybe next week. Add extra liners to the diapers I made for Bug that leaked? I'll get to it eventually. Finish Bug's pregnancy scrapbook so I can start Little Bug's? Well, that one I'm actually going to try to do today.

And really forget about anything like cleaning. I've been managing to make supper and keep the dishes washed, and that's about it. I just feel drained, and frustrated that I'm so lackluster. All I want to do is sleep.

Even this new story that is so much fun in my mind doesn't seem to want to get written down. It's much easier, when I sit at the computer, to check facebook, to look up these obnoxious red bumps that have broken out on my thighs and *ahem* other places and make sure they're not something I should worry about (they aren't), to fritter my time away on things that don't require a brain.

I'm sure I got this unmotivated with Bug, but it has mercifully been blocked from my memory.

God is still good, though, and he will get me--us--through. It's only a little over three months. And if the diapers don't get made, and the leg warmers don't get finished, and the scrapbook stays incomplete ... those are all non-essentials. The important thing is that our hearts are ready for our new daughter.

Right now, I can't wait to finally hold her in my arms.

New Story

I didn’t ask to be the eldest. What girl in her right mind would want to be the ugly, mean one?

For a little while, it seemed like it might be okay. Mother and Father didn’t have any more children until I was five. My hair was long and curly (golden, naturally), my eyes were big and blue, and I was as happy and merry as a lark. Only children get by quite well in Glynbach. To be sure, some get kidnapped by witches, but they are always rescued by handsome princes and live happily ever after. My parents were sure I had a bright future ahead of me.

Then my younger sister was born. Nobody has only two daughters in Glynbach. The thing would be ridiculous! So my mother did the only possible thing she could do in the situation: she died so my father could remarry a much younger woman and have a third daughter.

About the time my youngest sister was born, I noticed how I was changing. I was eight, and it seemed like overnight my long golden curls darkened and straightened. They didn’t become dark or straight enough for me to have beautifully flowing raven locks, of course. No, I was left with mud-brown stringy hair that frizzed when the weather was damp. My button nose didn’t turn straight and aquiline, but it did get a bit longer and wider. My little pink rosebud mouth flattened out, my rosy complexion paled, and my dimples vanished. My blue eyes darkened to an indiscriminate hazel. Even my voice turned from merry and sweet to harsh and loud.

It was about that time, too, that Papa stopped calling me his Little Sunshine and started using my real name, Tesni.

The middle sister, Alis, was somewhat better off. Everyone knew that the middle sister was marginally better-looking than the eldest, though not as beautiful as the youngest (and she was), and more kind-hearted. It was always the eldest who was cruel, and the middle one only went along because she was weak. She repented at the end, though, and usually ended by marrying a minor nobleman, while the eldest sister either died or was exiled or cursed or some other unpleasant fate.

Elain, of course, was bright and beautiful and good. She had the golden curls that used to be mine, the bright blue eyes, the rosebud mouth and dimples. She never cried, even as a baby, and she loved everybody and everything. If I ever mentioned that her chatter seemed a bit too inane, or that her blue eyes were slightly blank at times (say, when one asked her to think about anything), my remarks were dismissed as typical eldest-sister jealousy.

And so we grew up in fully approved Glynbach fashion. I schemed and plotted ways to make Elain look bad, which always backfired on me. Alis wavered between assisting me and sympathizing with Elain when I would say or do something truly unkind. Elain, without ever trying, charmed everyone with whom she came into contact. Nothing odd or unusual ever happened until one day when I was eighteen ...

(What do you think? A promising beginning, or should I scrap it?)

Family News

My grandmother just called me a few minutes ago to let me know that she was home safely from Las Vegas. She went out there in November to stay with her sister for the winter. I asked her if she had a good time, and she said she was glad to see her sister, but she wouldn't go again. When I jokingly asked if if she'd lost all her money, she replied very seriously that she felt so uncomfortable there because the city's entire lifestyle is built on sin.

Gram's only been a Christian for about ten years, and her clear-eyed view of life and ability to compare the way she used to live to how God calls us to live is always remarkable and refreshing. I'm glad she's home!

On the other side of the family, I was very relieved to read my Uncle Craig's facebook status update this morning, letting us know that he is okay. He lives in Warrandyte, Australia, right in the midst of the horrific fires. He says 108 people are dead and 750 homes gone nearby.

He asked for continued prayer for the people of Australia, and I echo that. As you think of it today, this week, just send up a short prayer for those who are battling these devastating fires.

Good and bad, sorrow and joy--this is life.

Ultrasound Result!

This child decided to be much more cooperative than Bug was, and obligingly gave Erin (our student ultrasound tech) several clear views. So I can say with utter certainty (because I asked both Erin and her instructor, and they were utterly certain) that:

We are having a GIRL!

More importantly, we are having a healthy girl. Erin spent an hour checking everything, and our daughter looks healthy and as willful as big sister, as she showed her displeasure at the ultrasound probe quite plainly (she kept trying to kick it off my stomach, and then turned her head to follow its progress--I'm sure she was giving it the evil eye).

Carl was disappointed--he didn't have any notions of wanting a son to "carry on the family name" or "to teach man things to" or anything like that, but he wanted the experience of raising one of each, as well as the chance to shatter the gender stereotypes so prevalent in this culture.

I am perfectly happy. I would have been happy with a boy, too. I was slightly disappointed on Carl's behalf, but also somewhat relieved that I will never have to potty-train a boy. Mostly I'm just happy to know, so I can start calling the baby by her name and stop referring to her as "it."

And since we are NOT having a boy, I can share the name we'd picked out for one without fear of privacy issues. Had #2 been a boy, he would have been Tristan Charles or Tristan Churchill. Carl's mother's family are the Churchills, so Carl would have liked to pass that on, and Charles is an old family name on both our sides, so we hadn't entirely decided which to use. At first we were going to name him Lukas Frederick (Carl's Churchill forbear was Frederick, and my dearly-loved great-uncle who died recently of prostate cancer was Frederick), but after a goofy night in which Mom and I tossed out every name we could imagine and ended on All Creatures Great and Small, Carl announced that he really liked the name Tristan, and as I've always liked it well enough, we went with that (oddly enough, Carl didn't go for Sigfried).

But it was not to be, as we will have Bug and Little Bug, or whatever cute nickname I can concoct for our new daughter!

Burdened

I have been burdened for many of my friends lately. They seem to be having problems piling on top of each other: some with church, some with marriage, some with family, some with school ... I have a hard time giving my friends up to God and leaving them there. I pray, and then I continue to chew on their problems myself. Part of me feels like I'm a bad friend if I don't dwell on their issues, and part of me just wants to fix everything, as if through my suffering on their behalf I can somehow ease theirs. Silly, I know. When are human emotions ever logical?

It's always been easier for me to cast my burdens on God than to do the same for others.

I actually have had to stop paying attention to the news, especially world news. I get so helplessly frustrated at all the suffering going on in the world that I tend to get depressed if I pay too close attention to what's going on. It seems wrong to me--like burying my head in the sand (I have heard, incidentally, that that's a myth about ostriches), but it's better than living my life in a constant state of frustration and sadness over the sufferings of the world. I know--I should pray for those suffering, but as I already mentioned, just praying doesn't seem to relieve my burdens. I want to do something.

I was unduly sensitive as a kid. Not sentimental--Hallmark commercials have never made me cry. But anytime a little kid was hurt or in tears on tv, I would cry, too. I hated seeing others in pain, especially children. Even though I was a kid myself, I was very attuned to suffering children. I still am, really (although I worked hard to get over the over-sensitivity). I can't watch any shows or read books where children are abused. Sometimes I think that's why I want to adopt--my small attempt at easing the suffering of the world's children.

Ideally, this post should have a great epiphany at the end--the wonderful revelation of how I have learned to overcome this, how God has helped me. I should have Bible verses peppered through this, to show others the better way.

But I don't. I know, in my head, that God is sovereign and good, and that I need to give people and their problems to him, and that he loves them far more than I ever could. Of course I know this. But it doesn't change the way I am. So I muddle through, and share my struggles in hopes that if there are others out there who feel the same, they'll know they aren't alone.

(In happier news, we should find out tomorrow whether we're having a boy or a girl--I'll update you all Sunday or Monday!)

Too Tired to Think!

I had to go upstairs to Bug's room FIVE times last night. Usually I go up once, because she's either woken up and is chattering away while she plays in her crib, or because she's had a bad dream or teeth pain and is fussing.

I started my treks upstairs around 1:00 am, because she was loudly talking to herself, and obviously was not planning on going back to sleep any time soon. I might be more tempted to let her just talk herself out except A) when I sleep on the couch (which happens more nights than not during pregnancy, due to Carl and me both being light sleepers and waking each other up constantly) I can hear her voice quite plainly and my mommy instinct won't let me fall asleep when she's talking; B) I don't want her thinking that it's okay to play during the middle of the night. Night is for sleeping, day is for playing; C) her room is cold in winter and if she falls asleep without her blankets covering her she's chilled in the morning.

Four times I had to go up and lay her back down and cover her up. Four times, with my voice getting consecutively sterner with each repetition of, "No, not playtime, sleep time. GO TO SLEEP."

She finally seemed to get the message on my last trip (and I had given up looking at the clock by this point, because it was just depressing), and just as my weary body finally started to sink back into a true, deep sleep ...

She woke up crying.

Back up the stairs I went, patted her back, snuggled Eeyore in a little closer, rubbed her head, and told her she was just fine, she could go back to sleep now.

Which she did. Finally.

And which I did, a bit later, because even when pregnant and exhausted it takes me at least half an hour to fall asleep from the time I lay down--and that's a conservative number.

Then, of course, Bug was awake at her usual time of somewhere between 7-7:30 this morning. I suppose I should be thankful she didn't wake up at 5:45 when Carl got up, like she sometimes does. Those are the mornings I let her play by herself in the crib until I'm able to crawl out of bed.

This does, however, put the kibosh to my writing plans for today. And Andrea, I'm afraid the Narnia review is going to have to wait another day--my brain's just not up for it. Maybe I'll pull out my sewing machine--that doesn't require as much thinking as writing. Or maybe I'll work on transferring yet more skating tapes onto DVDs and knit.

These are the days that make me dread having two. Guess it's a little late to worry about that, though!

Publishing Woes

I got the report back on my romance novel from my second test-reader (and it was positive, only a few technical details and one or two typos), so I'm ready to start researching publishers. Unfortunately, I discovered last night that almost all Christian publishing houses want you to go through this or this website, which cost ninety-eight and ninety-five dollars, respectively, for six months or one proposal. Now, I want to get my book published, but am I really willing to shell out a hundred bucks for a chance? What if, at the end of six months, no one has even looked at it, or (with the second site) it gets lost in the list they send out to publishers and nobody looks at it?

I checked out some secular publishers, but most of them don't want inspirational fiction, or if they do, they want it under different terms. For example, Steeple Hill, the Inspirational section of Harlequin, won't accept books written in the first person. Well, I'm not changing my story my first to third person POV--it just wouldn't work. I can write in the third person, and usually do so, but this story had to be FP POV--it just had to.

So now I'm not sure what to do. I suppose this is why people hire agents, but that's a whole other area of research I'm not quite willing to undertake yet. How do you find a good one, who won't cheat you? How do you know they'll get you a good deal? What if no agent wants to work with you? Do you keep one agent forever and ever, or do you change? Besides, most experienced agents won't work with an unpublished author. So you're sort of stuck both ways--publishers won't take your book without an agent, and agents won't take you without having had something published already. What's a girl to do?

I love writing--it's the technical aspects of getting published that I hate.

My child has a larger wardrobe than I do

We have a plethora of baby clothes. I had no idea how many until yesterday when I started sorting them out, in preparation for the new baby. I could probably open up my own second-hand baby clothing store.

The only marginally redeeming factor in all this is that we bought hardly any of these clothes. A number were given to us by my sister's co-worker (blessings on her name), who has three daughters and somehow managed to keep many of their clothes in pristine condition. I didn't do so well after one. Many were bought for Bug by grandparents and aunts.

Most of what we bought were practical--sleepers and onesies, and the occasional special outfit, like her green gingham OshKosh dress we got her for Easter last year.

If this new baby is a girl, she won't need ANY clothes, even allowing for the differing times of year in which she and Bug will have been born. If it's a boy--well, I'm not so worried about the pink, but I won't be putting him in dresses (although I do have historical precedent for such an action), so he might need one or two items, but still not much.

And providing the clothing lasts through this one, I will get to be a fairy godmother to some other child by passing on this mountain of clothing.

Which is now organized according to size and neatly bagged, waiting for #2. Another item checked off the list. Now on to fixing those homemade cloth diapers!