Well, it seems 30 minutes is harder to find than I thought it would be. That's a good thing for me to know, though. What's the point of planning my days if I have no concept of how my time flows?
I'm doing moderately well at holding on to routine. My worst enemies are procrastination and errands. On the one hand, it's hard to make myself set the timer for two minutes. But I know how important those 2 minutes are to keeping the house clean. The idea is to work on 1 horizontal surface that somehow collects crap for just 2 minutes every day. I did it back in early 2010, and I swear it worked miracles in my house. All I have to do is set the timer. But then I think, "I can find 2 minutes any time of day. I'm going to play another game of sudoku." And I go to bed with more clutter on the crap-magnets than was there when I woke.
Meanwhile, the longer routines like vacuuming and sweeping on Monday or making a menu on Friday are pretty straightforward in theory, but get bulldozed by changing diapers, taking Burgundy places, feeding Holden, lunch dates, etc. All the same, it's slowly getting done. Monday's routine didn't get done until Tuesday, and Tuesday's routine (dusting) didn't get done at all, but I did Wednesday and Thursday's on Thursday. I even cleaned out the fridge and found two containers of leftovers from Thanksgiving. I had to stop for a while to bring my heaving tummy under control before proceeding.
Last night my little brother called me for our weekly tag-up. We agreed to be accountable to each other this year for our goals: He wants to pay off his debt and buy a house, and I want to walk for 1/2 an hour every day to prepare for labor. He also decided to quit drinking for six months to see what his life is like without it. He seems really upbeat and is running full-steam toward his financial goals. Of course, I haven't walked for exercise at all in the last week. When he asked how it was going, I said, "Oh, I walked a lot. I walked from the bedroom to the bathroom; living room to the kitchen; kitchen back to the baby's bedroom;" he was amused, but gave me the encouragement I needed. Today, I'll walk.
I haven't done any serious knitting in a few weeks. I'm ready to start on a pair of socks for my dad, and I've been ready for over a month. I just can't seem to make myself cast on. I owe another pair of socks to my friend Lizzy, an independent dyer whose yarn will be featured in trunk shows of sample products for a book. I must get these done; the first is a gift, and the second is needed by someone I love.
I'm working hard on planning the trip with Burgundy to New England during Spring Break. We have a ridiculous list of colleges and universities she wants to visit, and I need to call them for their schedules, for tour appointments, etc. Originally, I planned for us to visit New York City, too, but I don't know whether we'll go now. It's expensive, dangerous, and I think the only university she's interested in there is Columbia.
Holden changes a little every day. The last couple of days, he has begun using his tongue a good bit when he tries to talk. The resultant babble remains fairly unintelligible, but he's definitely saying, "Thank you," (tae te) "I love you," (I yuh yuuuh) and "I did that," (Ah dee dah). His new favorite game is kissing. In the morning, he crawls over me and drools open-mouthed across my face, saying, "OOOOOOOM-MAH." He does this until I get out of bed. No amount of kissing in return will satisfy him. Only my eventual capitulation and desertion of the warmth and comfort of my bed. Once I'm up, he does the same to Mark.
In the evenings, Mark comes in, and if he does not pick up Holden and love on him right away, Holden throws a fit. Once in Daddy's arms, Holden kisses him all over his face repeatedly. Anyone who tries to come near is violently repulsed. Only Daddy will do. He also insists on kissing whoever is feeding him during his meals. These are without a doubt the most disgusting manifestations of physical affection that I've endured. Except for maybe Burgundy's corn-laden kisses.
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