Stupid Department Meetings

Ok, here I sit. At my computer. Wearing my nice pants, red dressy shirt, red high heels to match, make up and hair is done, even my PURSE matches for pete's sake.
Check email before I walk out door.
MEETING CANCELED.
At least I didn't waste gas, but jeez!

My 18th Dating Anniversary

On Saturday, April 19, Mr. R and I celebrated our 18th dating anniversary. That's right, we celebrate that. We went on our first date 18 years ago!
I'm still in love with him. Although I'm kind of over him being on vacation, and wish he would go back to work already! He gets stir crazy.
Still keep praying for a local job. He did not job hunt like he was supposed to, he is so concerned about rising diesel prices. I am not going to be a nag, I am staying out of it!

The Day I Grew Up

I was just on the phone with my dear Mr. R, excited that he will be home tomorrow night. (note to self, you need to shave!). We were discussing James, the alcoholic friend from a few posts back. Angie got accepted to UCF, and he is not even happy for her, and it hurts me for her. Anyway, Mr. R. asked me if I can remember the day when I realized I stepped from childhood to adulthood. And yes, I remember the exact day. It was my 21st birthday, waaaaay back in 1996.

Anyone who knows me, knows I was married when I was 19, and had Missy when I was 20. After all, getting married and having a baby are both very adult things! So why was my 21st so memorable for me? One, I had lost most of my baby weight and was looking like a foxy 21 yr old again, for starters. Two, even though I was married and had a baby, I still did a lot of selfish things. The night of my 21st birthday would be no exception. Even though Mr. R wanted me to stay home and celebrate with him with a home-cooked meal and some quiet time after Missy went to bed, I wanted to go out with my friends. I made plans to go clubbing with Carolyn. Her 21st birthday had been two months prior, and were dying to go out and party. Missy had been stuffy and slightly feverish for a few days. Not majorly sick, but enough that she was miserable and grouchy. Oooh, my favorite kind of baby...NOT! But I put her needs aside (this makes my heart break even thinking about not considering her feelings, but that is how I was back then) and told Mr. R to take care of Missy so I could go out dancing.
I got all dressed up. I wore my tightest jeans, my lowest cut legal shirt, comfy shoes for dancing, did my hair, and my makeup. I probably looked like a hooker. I picked up Missy, gave her a hug, and told her I would see her later. Missy was about 10 months old, and already knew that if Mama had her shoes on, Mama was leaving the house. So she started to cry. I propped her head up on my shoulder, and rubbed her back, trying to comfort her so I could get the heck out of this house. That was when she decided to throw up right down my back, getting chunks of ick in my hair, on my shirt, even on my jeans.
Absolutely defeated, I called Carolyn to cancel. Carolyn was not happy with me at all. She snapped, "Can't xxxx take care of her?" To my own shock, I replied that when Missy is sick, its my job to take care of her. "Whatever!" Carolyn snapped and hung up on me. Mr. R took Missy to give her a bath in the sink while I hopped in the shower to get the formula chunks out of my hair. Halfway through my shower, Mr. R knocked on the door.
"What?!?!?!" I screeched. (I know...what a delicate flower I am.)
"Missy wants YOU, not me!" he hollered back.
Sigh. "Ok, bring her in."
I quickly rinsed off, then sat down in the tub, put the plug in, and filled the tub while Missy sat on my lap. Her desperate sobs started to fade. She looked up at me and gave me a weak, quavery smile while her eyes were still filled with unshed tears. I smiled back at her, held her tight (mostly out of love, but also because she was a wet slippery baby and I was a wet slippery mama) and proceeded to give her a little bath. We played with a few toys, and then we both got out of the tub. I wrapped her up in a nice fluffy towel, then called for Mr. R to come and grab her so I could put a towel on myself. I dried off, got dressed super quick, and then grabbed Missy again and put her in a fresh diaper, and her softest pajamas. Her arms reached for me again as I was done dressing her, and my heart just suddenly filled with this immense joy and wonder. My baby. This is MY BABY and I'm taking care of her. All I could do was look at her. Her soft brown hair. Her huge hazel eyes. Her pouty lips, and big chubby cheeks. Little fingers, and little toes, arms wrapped around my neck as she held on as tight as a 10 month old baby can. I imagine she was thinking, "Don't leave me, Mama. I need you!"
I must have been deep in thought, as Mr. R broke in and said, "Sarah. Dinner's ready. Are you hungry?"
"Sure, honey. I'll be right there."
I don't remember what we ate, or what we talked about, if anything. I ate with my right hand, and held Missy with my left. She drank her bottle of water (no more formula since she already threw up) and fell asleep contentedly in the crook of my arm. After she had been in my lap for about an hour, Mr. R picked her up and put her in the crib. I stood over her and watched my sweet baby sleep. Thinking about how I couldn't believe she was my baby. MY BABY. God gave her to me and I was going to ditch her for a night of clubbing with my friend. I vowed, standing over her crib, that I would never choose stupid stuff over her again. I have not been out clubbing since then. I have been home almost every night since that night, almost 12 years ago. I have also added to my joy, as Missy has two younger brothers. I hope to continue to add to that joy.
Becoming a wife, and becoming a mother, were the best things that ever happened to me. It was only when I took those occupations seriously, that I began to reap happiness out of them.
My 21st birthday was my first day as a true grownup.

PS. That is Missy's picture, back when she was about 4 months old. Doesn't Miriam take beautiful pictures?

Getting Organized

Confession: I LOOOOOVE being organized.
2nd Confession: I struggle with it.

Why the struggle? I have plenty of excuses. I'm tired. I'm busy. The kids keep messing up all the work I do (that part is true, I swear.) I don't have enough space. I can't buy the materials I need to do it properly, so why bother? Paper on the floor is attractive...right? Sigh........

When Mr. R comes home, he promised me that I would finally get my new desk. I've had this one since 2002, and it is literally falling apart. The top drawer where I keep post its, staples, paper clips and tape falls into the part where the filing *should* be. The papers that need to be filed are in a heap on the floor. We have a breakfast nook area that we are using for storage right now. No, I'm not kidding. Its filled with flooring materials, tools, and some kids toys. That is where my new desk area is going to be. It's quite a bit larger than the corner I am tucked into now. Big enough that I am getting an L-shaped desk, instead of this straight one I have now. I'm nerdy enough to admit that I am excited about my desk. The idea of starting over with a new desk, a new part of the house, with better lighting, is exciting to me. And, its closer to the coffee pot! Could life be any better?

Awe and Happiness and Reverence and Stuff Like That!

I am a pretty sound sleeper, considering I have three kids. I fell asleep last night fully dressed, which rarely happens. So when I woke up at 4:30, I was really uncomfortable because my cords were twisted at the knees. (Yes, I wear corduroy, they're my favorite pants! So?!) I had just gotten up to pee, brush teeth, and turn the coffee pot on, and I snuggled right back into bed, only to hear little footsteps. Normally, that sound makes me think OH NOOOOO because usually someone has thrown up, or had a nightmare, or wet the bed. None of those are cool! But then I heard Bucket's little voice...."Mommy? I can't sleep."
Duhhhh, to me. I forgot to give Bucket his Risperdal last night, cuz I fell asleep early. And so the poor thing has been up all night, and we are quickly approaching 5am. I opened up the blanket for him to slide in bed next to me, and we snuggled. As we snuggled, I thanked God, in my head, for giving me this amazing little boy. What the world would think of a mistake, my little man with autism, I give praises for him. I love him so much that my eyes are tearing as I sit here typing this. I did eventually get up and get his Risperdal with a cup of water, and now that its 6:39am, he finally fell asleep. Which means that I have this entire weekend to fix his sleep pattern, and so I will probably be one exhausted Mama come Monday.
Anyway, we were lying there in bed, just me and the Bucket. He reminds me so much of his father, the way he snakes his arms around my waist and pulls in for a snuggle. Just like his father, his fingers twirl through my hair. He snuggled his face into my shoulder blade and he sighed. It was a sigh of contentment, yes I know my boy so well that I can tell a frustrated sigh from a sigh of relief. This one was him relaxing in the moment, letting his body fall into slumber, secure in the arms of his mother, who loves him.
As I held my boy, I ran my fingers through his hair, noting that he desperately needs a hair cut again. His hair is a mix of me and his father. My dark hair color, with Mr. R's texture. Genetics is an amazing thing. I traced my finger down his cute nose that thankfully he did not get from me, and tried to count the freckles sprayed across his little cheeks, but it was too dark in my room. I smiled at his long, lanky limbs, again just like his father who is all legs and arms and knees and elbows. His eyelashes are outrageously long, and pure black, and they fluttered slightly as he drifted off to dreamland. I thought of people who decide they only want two children, which was me more than ten years ago. I had my girl (Missy) and my boy (Tiger) and I assumed I was done having children at the ripe old age of 22. I thank my God for surprising me on Thanksgiving 1997 with a positive pregnancy test, surpassing my two forms of birth control, plus breastfeeding Tiger at the time. I was devastated at the time, but now I only rejoice at the plans my Father had for me. For us. For Bucket.
I know how blessed I am.

I Did Enroll in School

I haven't talked about this in a while, because I was so back-and-forth for a while there. But not only did I start the paperwork, I even had my transcripts faxed to Herzing. Now I need to do the actual application fee, and get started on my scholarship essays. The hospital I work at has a fantastic deal. They will pay $5250 a year for my college. That is a huge weight off my shoulders, so to speak. That is why I decided to go for it. I already have a year of college under my belt, and so it should take me about a year to get my A.S in coding, and then I can decide if I want to go for the bachelors. One step at a time of course.
I can't think of anything else particularly interesting to report right now. Mr. R is on his way home from a delivery in Tampa this morning, and the kids are on spring break, therefore bugging me all day. Still getting my FH work done, and I'm getting the kids to do their daily chores so we can go to the Seminole County Fair tonight. I'm very excited about it! I don't do rides due to the car accident messing up my shoulder, but I will be taking pictures and just enjoying my family being together.
On another thought, if anyone reading this is of the praying type, please keep Mr. R in your prayers. Diesel is past $4 per gallon, and we are losing money quickly. He is on vacation in two weeks, and he intends to look for a local driving job while he's here. We really want him to be home on a regular basis, something we can plan on and look forward to. The boys especially miss their daddy a lot.