More volatile than the stock market

There was a little girl,
Who had a little curl,
Right in the middle of her forehead.

When she was good,

She was very good indeed,

But when she was bad she was horrid.
--Longfellow

The range of Eowyn's mood swings has been taking its toll on me. It's been difficult to keep perspective on it. On days when she wakes up from her nap cheerful and easygoing, all is right with the world and I feel blissfully happy to be a mother. We laugh and sing while we pretend with her baby dolls, read books, and play on the swings. I cook dinner without incident while she pretends to cook, too.

But--it feels more often than not--other days she wakes up in a delicate temper. Tickling might make her scowl, or she'll throw her books in frustration. She cries to be in her swing, then cries to be out. She clings, screaming, to my leg as I attempt to provide our dinner. She clamors to be held, then protests to be put down again. Those days, I count the minutes until her bedtime, when I can have respite from the emotional energy it takes to handle her.

After she's in bed (and often through the long afternoon) the self-doubt and finger-pointing begin. What am I doing wrong as a mother, that she is like this? Why can't Christian be home before 8:00 to help me? Is it because he just doesn't care enough about us? The evening often plays out with fits of crying and venting of anger and frustration on an unsuspecting husband.

At this moment, I can see clearly the ridiculousness of the situation. Eowyn is like a prairie field, covered in bright sunlight one minute, the next minute tossed by a tempest which leaves as quickly as it came. But when I'm in the middle of the storm, it is just so difficult for me to remember that there is ever a beginning or an end to it.

I'm praying for perspective and grace.

Parting is such sweet sorrow

The weekend before last, I attended the UPC women's retreat. This was my first time away from Eowyn overnight, and I was struck by a surprising sadness in the days leading up to the retreat. I was startled to realize just how much I would miss her, and how much I worried whether Christian would feed her well, change her diaper enough, pay her enough attention and get her to sleep without too much trouble. I cried a fair amount! When it came time to leave, I choked up again. Fortunately, gabbing with the other girls in the carpool helped distract me quickly.

I was under the misconception I would get more sleep while on the retreat. Instead, I struggled with a bout of insomnia and found myself listening for Eowyn's cry in my sleep even though she was nowhere near. Still, spending time away, completely free of responsibility for her, was quite nice. Chatting with other adult women without distractions was amazingly refreshing.

As it turns out, Eowyn survived just fine without me. I'm not as indispensable as I believed. She ate and slept peachy for Christian. She didn't mope or otherwise appear to notice much that I was gone. And that's...really...great...hmph.

Price Reduced

So, our slipping home value is another worry that keeps me up at night. How much has it slipped? Let's say, close to 30%. That's a whole lotta money.

Some of my poor friends and family (sorry, Anna! sorry, Mom!) hear me lament this nearly every time we're together. It's one of those things that forms a cold, hard lump in the pit of your stomach and won't budge. As they say, hindsight is 20/20, yada yada. But I wish we had been just a teensy bit more patient when buying a home. As it was, we broke a lease just to get into this place. Having just moved from California, where home prices were mind-blowingly out of whack, this house felt like a steal at the time. We wanted to 'get in on the market' before it was too late. Result: overpaying, even at the peak of the bubble.

Things like our recent re-pipe escapade lead me to fantasize about the brand new home we could have bought now, complete with brand new pipes and a shower that doesn't leak into my daughter's bedroom. The impending sale of my parent's home, the home I grew up in and which my mom would wish upon me if she could, also makes me wistful for what could have been (more room, stunning neighborhood, etc....).

I try to remind myself about the good things we do have, and I am grateful for them, really! We have a good home with adequate space in a good neighborhood, the one where Christian grew up. Things could be much worse. Unfortunately, the lump in my stomach won't listen to reason.