Nothing to say

I have nothing to post about except this question that has been plaguing me all day. How does one get the motivation to constantly put laundry away? Some household chores MUST be done, like the dishes, or washing the clothes. Those chores I have no problem with. In fact, I can't go to bed unless they are done because I can't stand the thought of having to start my day with yesterday's must be done chores. But putting away laundry? It's just too easy to put off. I mean, a clean shirt off the floor is pretty much the same as a clean shirt out of the drawer (especially if you just shove clothes into drawers without folding like I usually do) so it doesn't really NEED to be done and therefore I hardly ever do it. There is just something supremely annoying about folding, sorting and putting away laundry. You try to condense the piles but there are always too many miscellaneous piles, like the the unmatched socks pile, or the rag pile, the clothes that must be hung up pile etc. And going back and forth to all the various nooks and crannies of the house putting everything away, I just can't stand it. And yet, I also can't stand piles of clean laundry around the house. It just screams A Worthless Homemaker Lives Here. Even though I generally cook nutritious food, keep the dishes clean, keep the floors swept and vacuumed and even get to the bathroom about once a week (to clean it, I get there a lot more often to urinate) I just cannot stay on top of the laundry. The piles are always there mocking me, telling me that my house looks like a pigsty even though I've done a bunch of other cleaning. It's constantly eating away at my self-esteem. There is a fresh pile right now on the couch, it's telling me "You should have put me away instead of writing this ridiculous blog post."

Alma's teeth

You'd hope genetics would give the poor kid a break.

A truly horrendous week

As previously reported last Monday was momentous first day of me taking responsibility for myself and my family again. I didn't feel great, but I felt determined. By Wednesday I'd survived making dinner 3 times, and was able to take a long walk with Grant. I had the feeling that Yes, perhaps I could make it through this pregnancy. That evening Rune got sick, cried for a long time, then threw up. We went to bed. Two hours later we wake up to hear the baby puking all over in his crib. I gingerly gather up the big pile of bedding and throw it on the floor. I change Alma into new clothes but can't bring myself the deal with the vomit in his hair and just pull his pajama's hood over his head. Alma is in bed with us and wakes up every half hour or so to throw up. We use every towel in the house and keep adding to the pile on the floor. During one of these episodes we hear Rune suddenly wake up and vomit all over his bed. Grant gets to deal with that one. My weak stomach is torturing me now and I'm desperately trying to find a happy place in my mind. I'm terrified of catching this bug myself and fatalistically know I will. In the morning Alma begins to have diarrhea, but I can't worry about that because I am vomiting now and I am emotionally unable to deal with this. I desperately get the kids in the car to head back to Carolyn's (my MIL) house. I vomit once more in the driveway which the chicken happily eat. Once there I sit in my usual chair and stare bleakly at my surroundings and cry hopelessly for the rest of the day. The virus nausea is made worse by eating and the pregnancy nausea is made worse by not eating. The psychological impact of contracting the stomach flu at that point are devastating and I am too embarrassed to admit some of the thoughts that went through my head that day. At 4 pm I try to eat a few bites of burrito and sip some water and decide it's no use and give up eating. I finally go to bed and sob myself to sleep while Grant sympathetically strokes my hair. The next two days are a bit better, but the damage to my stomach has been done and I'm afraid it will be a while before I recover. Alma continues to have diarrhea and begins to vomit again on Friday. By Friday evening Grant and Carolyn are now sick. We are all weakly trying to take care of the kids. Saturday is bit better for me, I'm able to eat some sandwich and manage to watch conference and take Rune to his soccer game. Alma finally seems to be perking up. Saturday night (last night) we go to bed hoping for a better day. Alma wakes up in the middle of the night fussing and fussing. He seems tired but just can't go to sleep. We sing songs and I recite the two poems I know by heart (Winken Blinken and Nod and The Night Before Christmas). He finally drops into a fitful sleep and wakes again at 6:30 fussing. He climbs out of our bed and walks to the kitchen when he continues to cry. Suddenly, in a moment of epiphany I realize that no one fed him dinner and I can't recall anyone feeding him lunch either. He was starving! My motherly instincts finally kick in again and I want to cry for my poor little starving guy. I grab him a banana and feed it to him in bed. He devours it and falls asleep while chewing and sleeps angelically until 8:30. Please let this week be better!