I wrote instructions for 5 years as a technical writer at American Republic. I wrote other things, too, such as fantastically engrossing financial reports, reports to the Board, and reports to our rating agency. Job descriptions. The odd letter. But instructions were a major part of the job. OK, so they were technically called “Procedures” or “Documentation,” but still, basically, instructions.
And it was actually kind of fun, you know?
I switched out my wardrobe this past week, put away the summer stuff, got out the winter. And got rid of three grocery bags of clothes in the process. I’m down to two drawers of winter clothes (not counting underwear, socks, my 2 sets of winter pjs, and 2 pairs of workout pants) and maybe 1/2 of my very small closet rack. If you add in the undies, jammies, etc, that’s maybe another drawer.
But here’s the Not Progress part. My frugal nature gets in the way here. For example, I still have two white button shirts. I could count on one hand the number of time I’ve needed to wear one since I stopped working. Yet I still have them both. Why? Because they’re still perfectly good, they still fit me, they’re still in fashion and I don’t want to run the risk that I might have to buy another one some day. (I think my hatred of going clothing shopping comes into play here, too.)
I still have many clothes that I haven’t worn since I stopped work. In theory, I will wear them again some day. They’re mostly all vintage, none of them are nursing friendly. And, though I plan to be pregnant or nursing until menopause, there’s always the chance that God has planned for me to have some periods of time when I can wear non-maternity, non-nursing clothes and, for heaven’s sake, i want to have some to wear!!
And some clothes I keep just because they’re so pretty. I have two 40s suits that are not in good enough shape to wear. But they’re so pretty. So pretty. I love 40s fashion, especially suits. I do admire them often, and have plans to some day be able to afford a dress dummy to stand in a corner of my office wearing one (and a sling, of course). Part me be knows that keeping them is silly, but they’re so pretty. They deserve to be in a home where they will be appreciated!
From page 76, a quote from Connie Hale, an organic farmer in Texas:
Once you start asking questions, it’s a slippery slope. Those questions lead to these conclusions, which set up new questions that lead to these conclusions. Conservative, liberal, or whatever, I think people who are starting to change their lifestyles and the way they eat are people who realize that you shouldn’t believe everything you’re told now, that you really should investigate it on your own.
Man, has she ever pegged it.
Talk at Playgroup today meshed neatly with some thoughts I’ve had bouncing around in my head lately.
I loved Wally as Baby. We had such fun. He was so easygoing, he was happy pretty much all the time as long as he was with me. Working was easy. Errands, easy. Talking to friends at playgroup, easy. Feeding myself and him and everybody getting showered and even massaged, easy.
Then he turned one. And we had a tough time. I have wondered if I wasn’t suffering from some depression at the time, as well. Late-onset PPD or something. I had had my moments from his birth, a few months at a time of dumpiness, but it was pretty manageable. But the six months after Wally turned one were horrible for me.
I mean, really. I’m ashamed at some of the ways I behaved with him. Nothing physical, but I did lose my temper more often than I would have prefered, I threw things across the room, slammed doors (which was a favorite of mine growing up and is still oh-so-satisfying). I don’t even remember exactly what the problem was, though I know I journaled about it. Something little would set me off and I’d have a hard time getting back on an even keel. I was not in a happy place.
One day, Randy sat me down and told me he was worried about me and a little sick of the attitude all the time and he was having a hard time wanting to come home from work. And that was the start of it getting better, I think, and by the time Wally was 18 months or so, we were back to being in a good place pretty much all the time.
I grew up a little bit, for starters.
But anyway, during this time, I had read in several places that children tend to grow up in phases. A trying phase and an easy phase. And those phases change every 6 months. So when Wally turned 2 I was ready for it to get bad again.
And it hasn’t. It’s been challenging at times, sure. The child still hits other people a lot and I just don’t know how to get him to stop. He’s not always cooperative, but that’s pretty normal and VERY healthy. Sometimes he wants my attention when I can’t give it. I’m torn between keeping him happy and taking care of other responsibilities.
But, generally, we’re still in a good place.
Do I still slam doors? Occasionally. Like I said, very satisfying. And I think it’s a perfectly good way to work off steam. We’re working on helping Wally punch things like the couch, or pillows, or his punching bag instead of people. And I would be OK with him slamming doors, too. (Though every time a door slams, some more paint or plaster falls of somewhere. Or the notable time a door slammed in a gust of wind, knocking a picture off the wall and shattering the glass all over…)
The View From Here 