Packing, Moving, and Hiding Places...Or, Have You Seen Where J Hid the Packing Tape?

For at least two years now I've been wanting to move. For the past six months, it has turned into a must move. While I'm grateful to have a roof over our heads, this place really isn't much more than that. Even with the little we pay in rent for this place, we continue to struggle financially because The Hubs works so far away (about 50 miles one way, five days a week) for pay that is good but not great. So we are looking for a place closer in. No rentals that we can afford have shown up in the city he works in (that isn't an apartment, in any case. Those wont work because J gets very loud much of the time and we have pets) so we have found a place a little farther out. 

This new place is small from what I understand, but I'm hoping this is what we need. We haven't seen the place in person yet --hope to this week. But The Hubs has checked the maps online and it looks as if he can shave off at least ten miles each way in heading to work. If this is the case, then we're going to make the place work. If the mileage is the same... we will be back to square one until another answer comes along. 

In the meantime, I'm already packing. So far not much has been boxed up other than cookbooks, kitchen decorations, linens, and a few baking pieces that I can live without for the next few weeks. However, I've discovered a few things about our dear son since last night. For instance:

• Packing tape and markers are fair game and will be hidden if left out over night (I still haven't found the hiding place for them and I can only hope that the tape is still on its dispenser. Packing tape is evil without that flimsy piece of plastic).
• In an effort to be helpful and put away things his crazy parents left out, a roll of toilet paper has been found in a cabinet holding rarely used bakeware.
• For some strange reason he decided that we needed to keep an empty tea box. It too, was found in the cabinet with the bakeware.

As for myself, while I continue to look for the absent tape, I will keep packing as I can. I am discovering that moving is the perfect time to declutter. While I am still hanging on to certain magazines despite the fact that most of that stuff can be found online, I have gotten rid of quite a few that I no longer need or want, as well as about half a trash bag full of empty jars of various sizes and shapes. In a fit of "jars are great! frugality", I began saving them.  Salsa, pickle, sauerkraut, you name it. Big, small, fat, skinny. Did not matter. Now granted, many of the larger ones have been put to use in my pantry, but I still had  have many empties lurking, I'm pretty sure of it, in dark corners, waiting to be put to use. 

I do know, sure as I know my own name, that once I've found all the empties and disposed of the ones I'm sure I don't need, that I'll find a use for them. That's the pack rat in me talking. After all, I was taught well by two loving parents who, although neater than I am, kept many things. My mom still does this. You need batteries? She has them. Bless her heart, it will take her about an hour of searching through her many boxes, but she has them squirreled away in a closet somewhere.  Nevertheless, it's time to fight the packrat gene and do away with things we really do not need. 

As I tend to do lately, I apologize for not posting very often lately, but I will return. I promise you this, to the best of my ability I will not give up writing here. There is still much to say about J, autism, moving, life in general. In the meantime though, either by the end of it all I will have packed up almost everything to give the place a good scrubbing  and manage to live here a little longer, or we will move quickly so that we can all get back to normal. Or at least a reasonable facsimile of it, just before the holidays descend upon us. Have a wonderful day. I'll talk to you again soon.
 

The (Not So Secret) LIfe of J

It's nearly 8 in the morning and I'm up and dressed. Bleary eyed, wanting to crawl back into bed, but I'm up. And J? That not so little turkey is back in bed for his morning nap. And I'm...writing. Because I can. And because my brain said forget it, honey, sleep ain't happening just yet.

I have no idea what time J woke up. The closest I can pinpoint it is between 3 and 5 AM. Unless my laptop is open, time means nothing to me in the dark hours of the morning. We do have a clock/radio but since no one needs to be up at a certain time in the morning, no one bothered to set it the last time a storm knocked the power out. But anyway.  Have I ever told you I'm a morning person? Yeah well, that only applies if "morning" begins at seven AM. 6:30 tops. Earlier than that and I'll look you straight in the eye and tell you it's night time.  The Hubs is a night owl. His work schedule is awesome for him because he's ready to go to bed right about the time I'm getting up to face the day. He usually stays up long enough for breakfast and for us to haggle over his wake up call. 

And J? J is a super night owl. He goes to bed anywhere between 9 and ten in the evening (later if we don't have melatonin in the house). You'd think this would be my cue to hit the sheets as well. Wrong! Well, I toddle off to bed about that time, but my nose is usually buried in a book, Pinterest, or a Murder, She Wrote rerun or two. That's my time to relax and enjoy. By midnight I'm fast asleep. If I'm lucky, so is J. And then... somewhere around three in the morning... J's internal alarm clock goes off and he's wide awake, bouncing off the walls declaring he's hungry (read:BORED!!)

My sleep fogged brain at this point barely registers anything. I open a blood shot eye and squint out the window. Still dark. That means night, folks. So I do what any good parent would do: holler "It's night time! Go to bed!" and pull the the covers over my shoulder and try to get back to sleep. 

Yeah, that lasts about five minutes. Ten if I'm lucky. For the next hour or so it's pretty much lather, rinse, repeat-- oh wait. It's more like bounce, shriek, loud holler, pull the covers up, repeat. It's a small house. His bedroom is right next to mine.  Eventually though, my brain sends signals to the rest of my body that I do in fact have movement in arms and legs --despite the three kitten pileup on my chest and arm. This same brain reminds me that during this back and forth exchange, J is anywhere but in bed. If we had a chandelier, especially one that could hold his weight, he'd be swinging on it. Seriously.
  
While I'm still fighting to remember I'm the Mama and responsible for Baby Bear, he's taking the first of many showers of the day; foraging for snacks in the cabinets (the fridge is locked 98% of the time at night so he can't get into that unless we forget); deciding that no one needs the lemon juice left out on the counter-- down the drain it goes.  So finally my brain gets this message to the rest of me and I'm up. I stumble into the kitchen, fix him a snack and we have a sleep deprived conversation. Eventually one of two things happens: he decides his nightly/early morning job is done and he goes back to bed, or Dad gets home from work and I slink off for an early morning nap. 

Good morning, y'all. See you in an hour or two. Mama needs a nap.

Confessions of a Disorganized Housewife: The Fridge Vs The Respect Dare

Have you ever put off doing a job because  it was just. so. daunting. that it made you exhausted just thinking about it? And then once you decided to bite the bullet and get it done you felt a huge sense of accomplishment? Yeah, that's me right now.

Next to cleaning the bathroom (which is my husband's job, simply because I'm a wimp and he adores me anyway), cleaning out the abyss  the fridge is my most dreaded task. So I put it off. For way longer than I really should. My philosophy is cram the stuff in there and shut the door quickly. Not a good path to follow, in case you're wondering. 

I do have my reasons. In my head I'm very organized. Every little thing in its place. In reality, ehh, not so much. The fridge is old and needs to be replaced. And it will be. Eventually. So I shove everything in there from fresh produce to meat to leftovers... and then cringe when there is no more room and Weird Al is in my kitchen singing to me.

Frightening, huh? 

Well, this week I read Dare 13 of the Respect Dare. You can learn more about that by visiting Unbroken Woman. I'm at least a week behind everyone else but for now, that's okay with me. Anyway, part of the dare was to ask your husband to name one thing you can do for him that would help him out. My husband just happened to be out of town but I could pretty much guess what he would say: Clean the kitchen. So for the past two days (don't judge) I've been working on that. Today I tackled the dreaded fridge. 
   Hubby is home now. While I cleaned and organized the fridge and did dishes, he sat and played a computer game. Did that irk me? You bet! At first. You probably know some of the thoughts: Why am I the only one up cleaning? (He cooked breakfast) You'd think he'd feel some compunction to get up and clean some too. (He worked all night and this is the first day of his weekend). Blah blah blah. 

But you know what? It's all okay. I'm sure an exasperated sigh (or ten, but who's counting?) came out of me today. But I didn't yell. I didn't disrespect him by berating him. I let him do his thing while I did mine. And he did help. He took care of part of the job while I sat and relaxed for a minute or two. And at the end, he thanked me and told me how much he appreciated me doing that. 

The respect dare is not easy. There will be times you feel like giving up because it's not really making a difference. But if you get the book and read on your own or follow Unbroken Woman , I encourage you to see it through to the end. I intend to. It is worth it. Whether Hubby says anything or not, I'm seeing changes in my own spirit, and changes that I'd like to see happen. Not so much because they would make my husband happy, but because I feel that my attitude and my actions would be more pleasing to God. The respect dare isn't all about fetching the paper and his slippers each evening. It's about showing your partner in life the respect and love that he needs, and also (more importantly) respecting God's wishes. 

While it helps that Hubby thanked me for cleaning the fridge,  and that does help, believe me, it's not all about what do I get out of all this. I get a sense of accomplishment, I get less frustration in preparing meals and snacks. The important part is what I put into this relationship. Love. Honor. Respect.

Sunday Follies: Or, Why Dottie Wore Flip Flops to Church

I admire women who seem to have it all together. The kids are neat and sweet, the house is immaculate, she has nary a hair out of place. And the kicker? She makes it all seem so effortless!
  Me?  Yeah... not so much. Somehow in my family I missed the organizing gene so I'm struggling constantly with  how to keep the place neat and orderly.  Phylis Diller once said "Trying to clean house while the kids are still young is like trying to shovel snow during a snow storm." My son may be eighteen years old chronologically but in many aspects its like having a two year old forever. Love him dearly, but he seems to like making more work for me.  And over sleeping, especially on a Sunday morning, increases the chaos.
   Today was no exception to the chaos rule. We woke late and were scrambling for clothes, trying to make it on time for worship service (We were late. But we were there, so for us that's a good day). I keep promising myself that I'm going to start preparing the day before, but so far it hasn't happened.
   As far as dress shoes go, right now I have two pair, exactly alike. It wasn't planned that way, it just happened that I replaced a pair I thought were goners. Today I asked my husband to grab my shoes so we could get on our way. I went barefoot to the car. He brought my shoes and I dropped them in the floor board, never giving them a single thought till we saw the church building. After all, we were running late! As soon as we get there, I pick up the shoes--and they are both for the right foot.  Doncha just love those days? Good thing the flip flops were in the car! Hope your day was a great one. :)