Everyday Life: Like Free Pizza Coupons

No less than three coupons boasting three free pizzas have become adornments atop the baker's rack in our front hallway.

{Coincidentally, it's the rack you must pass to go almost anywhere in the house.}

We haven't had a free pizza coupon since we moved into our house three years ago, but all of the sudden, right at the end of May, right when I'm serious about shedding the last of my unhealthy pounds, three magically appear in the mailbox.

I'd caught some sort of viral infection from one of the two cutest petry dishes this side of the Mississippi last Wednedsay, and I'm still suffering from some sort of weird fatigue and sore tonsils that can turn me almost instantaneously from quiet and tired mommy into if-you-ask-me-one-more-time-where-we're-going-I'm-going-to-FAREEAK-out-on-you mommy.

You know -- she's some close relative to the mommy who loses it on a preschooler who has yanked the dog's tail for the tenth time in so many minutes SOLEY because she's in a state of irritation from having to redeem a million requests of her when she really has to pee so badly that she doesn't even realize that she has to pee. But she really does.

So - yeah - that mommy.

As I drag my feet through the hallways picking up clothes strewn about like a bunch of naked hippies live here -- oh, and today it's, like, 90 degrees, so we really could be naked hippies-- those pizza coupons screaming Free! Free! Free! seem like they should maybe, maaaaybe, MAYbe be redeemed.

In those moments, of tossed about clothes and sore tonsils throbbing, those free pizza coupons actually seem like a really good idea.

Except for when they don't -- namely the moments that happen after I recall stepping on the scale and realizing through the haze of sickness that I've broken into the the 140s for the first time in my entire adult life.

Or since fifth grade.

But who's counting?

So I pass by those pizza coupons -- not because I cannot have pizza while on the Curves 90-Day Challenge but because I cannot see why I'd make a turn that's in the opposite direction of where I'm trying to go -- and instead I venture into the kitchen almost triumphantly to rinse the fresh-picked, pretty-close-to-locally grown {but not my backyard} green beans.

As if the moment demands some sort of drama, a certain preschooler enters the cooking arena asking for the seventh time in so many minutes whether or not he can go back outside to help daddy.

Deep breath in, swallow the pain in my throat, evaluate if I have to pee -- I do -- venture toward the bathroom and ponder the direction I'm trying to head.

It's this point where it seems so much easier to just stay here in this threat of "if you ask me one more time ..." and so much more work to recalculate and remap.

But, decidedly, due north or south or east or west has got to be better -- any direction that's away from that mommy -- the impatient, irritable one of past five days or so who hasn't been able to keep her cool any better than a popsicle in the sun.

Or a pizza lover on a diet.

But there are green beans in the sink.

And the free pizza coupons are still on the baker's rack.

And to me, today, that spells out hope in the most visible of ways.

Thinking, that's All: If it Works

Against warnings from so many, all exlaining that our children would never sleep alone, would never sleep through the night without us, we decided to share sleep with our kids.

A new mother, barely getting any sleep with her high-needs baby clinging to her arms for dear life, I did the only logical thing I could think to do in the face of desperation and exhaustion:

I took my baby to bed with me.

And we slept.

We slept without many pillows, without cushy blankets, without foam mattress pads and anything else that could be hazardous to baby's well being.

But we slept.

So when number two came along, we did it all over again.



Even though we've continuously been advised against co-sleeping, others citing all of the nevers and won'ts and can'ts and shouldn'ts, we prayefully pressed on.

Because it worked for our family -- we were sleeping pretty well, we were interacting lovingly and we were finding peace in it.

And the few times we'd tried something different, questioning ourselves and our choices, those ventures ended in disaster, culminating in frustration and tears and unrest.

We had to learn that our family was just that -- ours.

And we needed to make decisions based on what worked well for us.

So we slept.

Together.

When each boy turned about 13 months old or so, we began transitioning them to our old queen-sized bed on the floor in their room -- a place either John or I could easily find rest should a child need one of us to climb in and snuggle.

G has been been sleeping through the night pretty regularly in his bed for about a year.

And last night, for the first time ever, E joined him all.night.long.

Few tears. Few frustrations. Few nights of unrest. {Nothing perfect at all, but much more manageable than trying to force arrangements that left everyone cranky and tired and upset.}

All solidifing in my mind, that if it works for OUR family, if it works for YOUR family, don't try to fix it.

Because it was never broken in the first place.