And now I’m buying a house in this Illinois city, so far away from home.  Two things I never would have seen for myself.  Molly will have a yard – tiny – but a yard to play in.  And neighbors.  She’ll have things I couldn’t provide on my own for Abs.
It’s hard not to feel as though this seems to her as though I’m replacing her.
Abs is IRREPLACEABLE.
And I tell her that every day.  Even if it’s just in my head sometimes.

My life, right now, is a run-on.  Every event or thought or action runs into another because time is moving so fast.
I want it to slow down.  I want it to stop.
Not in the bad way, in the way where I can just stop the moment, breathe it in and permanently place it in my memory so that I’ll be able to drag it out, years later, and devour it.
 

Today was a memorial service for a 22 year old kid.  A good, fun kid that was about to marry his girlfriend of many years, a kid that was finally working a Real Job and making his way in the world.  He was growing up and becoming and because he was stupid when drunk, he’s gone and no one will ever get over it.  Certainly not his girlfriend, who had an upfront and personal view of his violent passing.  Certainly not my parents, who held her screaming in the middle of the street while the police and coroner worked in the house.  Certainly not his parents, woken up in the middle of the night with the worst news any parent can ever receive.

And I’m angry with him.
He was too good for this.
Too fucking good for this.
And I feel this overwhelming weight and sadness at this – this price of living.  Running into tragedy and unfairness even as you run into happiness and miracles.
The mixture is nauseating and overwhelming at times.
And I’m just so mad.

But mostly sad.

At least she’s cute.

It’s addictive, looking at these stories.
So completely damned addictive because part of my OCD brain feels that if I look at all of them, every single one, that somehow that gives some closure to someone somewhere.  That I can HELP.
But that’s insane.
And looking is making me insane.

Ten years.

Generations from now they’ll study this in detail in history class the way I studied Pearl Harbor.
They’ll have analyzed and rewritten texts over and again and know so many more answers than we knew – know – now.
The longer term effects will be known.
The health problems of the responders will hopefully be covered.
Perhaps terrorism will be less of a problem.

I hope so.

For me now sleep seems impossible.
I wonder how many others out there are sitting at their computers feeling the same way.

Nick left this morning to avoid arriving tomorrow and starting work as a zombie on Monday morning.
Which left Molly and me here alone to finish up the job of packing and hanging out until the condo is ready at the end of the month.

I’d show you a picture of this place, but I’m too embarrassed.
Let’s just say this is going to be a JOB.
Especially since Molly is crawling like a spider monkey and her favorite thing in the entire world is an electrical cord.
And there is NO way to baby proof in a moving house.
And NO one within 14 hours to help me out.

This is going to be a LONG three weeks.

After all, how can people believe THIS or THAT?
Did they not do the math?
Not read between the lines?
Not spend hours fact-checking to make sure they had the facts of the matter before spreading their opinion around sheep-like?

And the emails.  Dear heavens.  The emails.
Political forwards, sent from family member to family member – and eventually to me.
Only.  I don’t agree.
I’ve never agreed.
I don’t believe that all immigrants should HAVE to speak English before gaining citizenship or residency status.  I’m rather glad my ancestors weren’t held to that standard or I’d have ended up in a completely different place.  How egocentric is it that folks feel that folks trying to make a better life for themselves should learn our language to make things easier on US?
And.
Yes.
Outbursts like that.

So I take deep breaths and mute conversations that get me too worked up.
I pass on responding to many comments that seem so ignorant to me.
Politics aside, people deserve to have opinions, whether based upon their research or not.
They can base it on a clown’s nose stuffed up a dog’s butt if they want to and you know what?
I still need to respect their right to voice their opinion without forcing them to swallow mine.

And that is what I’m trying like HELL to remember.

You really shouldn’t expect much of $300 couches, I know.

But!
My husband was trying to be frugal when he bought it.
And its ugliness has served him well for many years.

I’m just saying that when you sit down and get splinters, the thing’s gotta go.

That agreed upon, I set out to find something that my husband might actually buy and enjoy.
Think ugly.  Very comfortable and very, very ugly.

Scratch that.  I googled “ugly couches” to give you an idea of what I meant and am now humbled by the crap out there that people will rest their butts upon.
Surely ugliness that pronounced will rend a sort of fungus upon those who rest upon it?

Ahem.  I digress.
Damn.
My entire train of thought derailed because people keep this in their house:

Never have I been so acutely aware of the fact that one child outnumbers a set of parents.

Perhaps I should have been alarmed when the doctor said, “She’s the busiest baby I’ve ever seen in all my years of practice!”
But mostly I felt proud.
Maybe I should have known something was bound to be wrong with a child that will eat anything put in front of her – she doesn’t turn her nose up at any kind of food.  It’s all fair game.
But I was just so happy she didn’t have the weight problems that some of my friends’ babies have.

But now.

Now everything she sees is Food.
Those with children are laughing, thinking that that’s how every baby views the world.
But no!  I can assure you!  I’ve done this before.
This is DIFFERENT.

She Jedi mind tricks the world around her into shedding the normal physical rules that define it.
The basket across the room containing all of the things I must pack for our move – because we are moving – what a better time to move than JUST after your baby has become mobile… But that basket?  The one with the Things?  The Things She Cannot Have Without Threat of Death?
You blink and it has crossed the room to her.
There is no other explanation to explain the handfuls of the Things protruding from her mouth.
For she has not moved.
You know she hasn’t.
You’ve been staring at her the whole time.
Except for the involuntary blinking that comes with having eyes and eyelids to blink.
But surely no MORTAL baby could have moved so quickly?

But she has.

Note the paper that she has brought over to her toys.  The blankets in the background that she has dragged around.  The box that she dumped over and unpacked.  And this is just the Mostly Untouched side of the room.

Oh.  Did I not mention that this wonder being was SICK while she was running around so crazily?
Note the snot.
Today was only half speed.

Lord, help me.
I’ve given birth to a Tasmanian Devil on speed.

But!  Before this, there are moments like these that make it all worthwhile:

This child may grow up to be a Holy Terror – but at least she’s fun to play with.

I’m so thankful for my little patriotic child of awesomeness.
Today’s been a rough day, so I’ll just post the picture and thank God that she’s alive, healthy and so darned happy.

My children are my reasons.