When I Should be Painting

This week, Scotty and I have been trying to get Daisy and Nicky's new bedrooms ready for carpet. We procrastinated Nicky's room. Carpet is scheduled for tomorrow (Saturday), and we didn't start his room until Monday. We had to build a closet (his room didn't have one), tear out the existing carpet, and paint. That sounds like a small list, but if you've ever built a closet, you know how much work that is. Plus, his room has a chair rail, so it wasn't just simply slapping paint on the walls. We had to do the top color and the bottom color and then tape everything off to paint the chair rail and the baseboards. Plus, we had to remove the chair rail where we built the closet and add chair rail around the outside of the closet.

(The funny thing is that I'm speaking in past tense as if it's already done, but some of this stuff we haven't even started yet!)

It has been a lot of work, but I'm glad we scheduled the carpet and put the pressure on because it made us spring into action.

I guess what I'm getting at here is that I should be painting right now, but I needed a little break, so I'm sitting on my stairs typing a quick post while my three-year-old sprays the back of my head with a squirt bottle.

That means that this post will have no structure and will address anything that randomly pops into my head (you should be used to that by now).

Another thing that has been going on this week is that it is the last week of school. Nicky's last day is today (I just sent him out the door), Daisy's last day was yesterday, and I decided that since preschool for Zoe has been a thorn in my side, I didn't even take her this week. Instead, I kept her home and attempted potty training, which was met with a big, fat FAIL.

So the potty training thing... I'm at a complete loss for working with Zoe on potty training. Two years ago (as of June), she started sitting on the potty by herself several times a day. I thought this was amazing, and I anticipated that she would quickly potty train herself. Well, she sat and sat and sat, but never "went." She did this for about 18 months, and only had one pee and one poop in the potty during that time. Then six months ago, she stopped sitting on the potty. Now, if I even suggest that she sits on the potty, she has this weird, panicky, freakout.

I was able to get her to pee in the potty one time this week, but it was traumatic and probably set her up for more potty anxiety. Since I have had three very negative potty training experiences thus far, I'm a mess over it. I don't know what to do, and in all honesty, I don't fell very willing to deal with this problem.

Zoe is different, and I haven't quite figured her out yet. I contemplate daily whether there is something bigger going on with her that might need some additional study and education. I keep hoping that she will make a huge leap in her speech or social skills - something that will help me feel like everything is going to be okay. I got her test results back from special education this week, and her social/emotional skills have decreased by half in the past three months. It was sad for me to see that, but at the same time, it helped me realize that I'm not out of line when I consider that something about her is a bit off track.

With school being out, I need to figure out how to keep some structure in our days. Hopefully having two new bedrooms for Nicky and Daisy will help a bit with their incessant fighting. Our house hasn't had a lot of "personal space" available while we've been under construction. We are all up in each other's grills all day long, and it has made for a very chaotic household. Especially with how difficult this semester of school has been for me. Also, with having most of our house torn apart, I've lost any motivation to clean. I've never been a tidy person to begin with, but now, things are in complete disarray, and I have no interest in trying to organize it.

Which leads me to this realization I recently made about myself. People have always told me that I'm "organized." In my jobs and in my church callings, I've been given that compliment (at least I think it has been meant as a compliment... you never know). I was thinking about this the other day while cleaning out my very-not-organized van. I wondered how anyone could mistake me for "organized" when, really, I'm a complete slob. I thought, "Maybe I'm only organized in some areas of life." But what does that make me? Part-organized? I dunno. Then it dawned on me that "organized" is just the wrong word. I'm not organized. I'm something else. I haven't decided which word to use for it, but I'm leaning toward conscientious, but I don't know if that's quite right, either.

Even though I can't decide which word properly describes my false organization, I can say one thing with finality: I am a complainer. I faced this fact yesterday while listening to a podcast on the Mormon Channel about complaining. I always knew I dabbled in murmuring, but I didn't realize just how bad it is until I resolved to go a day without complaining, and I ended up not being able to talk about anything because, as I now know, complaining is my main source of conversation.

Yesterday I had to go to Daisy's kindergarten graduation, and when I got to the school, there was nowhere to park, so I had to go pretty far into the neighborhood. I had Zoe and Eva with me, of course, and when I got out of the van and opened the trunk to get the stroller out, it wasn't there. So I had to carry Eva, which isn't a big deal, except that Zoe often halts on the sidewalk and has breakdowns, so I often find myself in situations where I have to carry both girls, so in those moments, it's nice to have Eva in a stroller. We got into the school well enough, but there was nowhere to sit, so I stood at the back of the gym holding Eva and Zoe up so they could see.

Then after the graduation, while walking back to the van, Zoe had tantrums, and I ended up having to carry her (while flailing, of course) and Eva plus two plates of refreshments and Daisy's "diploma." It's moments like that where I just want to curl up on the sidewalk and cry. And the whole while I was thinking, "I'm not allowed to complain. I'm not allowed to complain." Which meant, essentially, that I would never be able to tell another human about this event because I don't know how to talk about "things gone wrong" in a non-complaining way.

(So, what is your take on that? I'm just testing the waters here... would you perceive that story as complaining? I need to know these things so I can create boundaries).

Well, off to paint!