Last night, my now 4 year old daughter read me "green eggs and ham" in its entirety. It took a solid half-hour, running her little finger under each and every word, but she read that entire g-d book to me.
How am I supposed to find a preschool for this child?!?
Still haven't gotten a solid closing date from the peeps buying our house. We've moved our crappe out, signed all the papers on our end, and now we are just.............waiting. The anxiety is going to give me an ulcer. Please don't let this fall through, Lord.
In related news, I still haven't found a house I can afford in the area where we want to live that ISN'T a dump. Or 1000 square feet. Hubs has found us several foreclosures that are 2500 square feet-ish, but neither of us has the ability or the inclination (or the funds, actually) to make the necessary repairs these homes would need. Yes, the huge square footage is tempting, but replacing the siding that the former owners apparently used for target practice, or the windows that were installed in 1973, or the 3 layers of kitchen floor, or the rotting deck, etc, etc. is not really within the realm of possibility.
It's kind of like saying we'll quit shopping for clothes and I will make my family's entire wardrobe from now on. Yeah, it's physically possible and technically feasible, but come on. I don't have all the necessary ability, it would be hella-expensive (compared to my usual Kohl's/Target/Old Navy bargain hunting) and I would have to spend all my free time sewing from now until eternity. We would all end up irritated, naked, and miserable. So, too, with a ratty foreclosure. We just can't make it happen.
So that leaves me with trying to squirrel away as much money as possible, praying for extra side work for Hubs, and praying for the miracle of some sort of bargain house that's in the 1700-1800 square foot range, doesn't need mega repairs, and falls within our price range. Fun!
My sweet, darling baby boy is not eating much. I've been in a constant state of worry and anxiety for months over this, but now that he is approaching 8 months of age, the worry is ramping up. He is growing and gaining on his formula and breastmilk diet, but almost entirely refuses the bottle, and only eats a few nibbles of cereal or pureed foods. He seems to enjoy a teething biscuit occasionally, and will play with a sippy cup but doesn't drink anything. I hope and pray that we are able to look back one day and say, "ha, remember when he had that feeding tube and that's how we had to feed him all the time? phew, glad that's over!" but we are nowhere near that yet. It makes me kind of sad.
At least I have a chicken roasting in the oven, a happy child playing with little people in the family room, a sweet baby napping upstairs, and some knitting to curl up with.
One day at a time. One hour at a time. One minute at a time.