Yesterday just didn't work out. We were supposed to go to a Baby Club brunch at Beth & Leah's house, but the snow storm shut us down. I was crushed: I had worked really hard to get our food together and the baby and myself and the Boy, only to be defeated by a stupid snowstorm. I'd been looking forward to this brunch for almost 2 months; to have it snatched away from me especially after a week of housebound domesticity was terrible. I cried and cried in the car after we turned for home.

I guess the good news is that when I called Beth, she told me to drop in on them anytime. It's really nice to know that someone misses us when we don't show up, especially when we miss them so badly.

I spent yesterday afternoon moving books downstairs from my old bedroom. I'm not sure if I've ever mentioned this before, but my dad has taken over my old bedroom and turned it into his office/storehouse/treasure-trove. The room is almost floor-to-ceiling piled with barely useful stuff, from extra computer components to old sweatshirts to marginally interesting clippings and printouts. There is a narrow path from the door to the desk at the far wall, which one picks through carefully if one wants to avoid death by misadventure. The whole thing is shifty, dangerous, and covered in dust. I hate it.

The great thing is that a bunch of my old possessions are buried in there. The bookshelf in the far corner is still full of my books and knick-knacks and CD's, the desk is still full of my old files and the closet is full of clothes I can't reach any more (I think my wedding dress might be in there somewhere). I guess I was feeling a little crazy yesterday, because I decided to move three shelves of books downstairs to decorate my new/old bookshelf. (This new piece of furniture is a by-product of my dad's office move. It's quite good-looking, but needs two more shelves to be properly functional.) I also decided, with the Boy's help, to gut the basement closet and get out my teaching supplies for next month. So now we have a handsome new piece of furniture, several more books, and a cabinet full of teaching supplies. It was frustrating, dusty, heavy work and I had to pull Blake out of some ugly situations, but looking at my new shelf and thinking about being prepared for school is a balm on my soul.

Yesterday Blake started to say 'banana' and 'me!' Before yesterday he had trouble with the three syllables of banana, so although he loved them and craved them he couldn't manage anything more than a mangled "bamba" (also his word for my mother & father, oddly enough.) But yesterday he got the hang of that repeater and started to bell out "banana! bamba! banda! banana!"

The "me" story is cute: we were all in the bedroom, and I smelled a diaper change in the wind. When I said "who's stinky?" Blake piped up, "me!" We all giggled like fiends. (Later on we tried the same question, to which he replied, "daddy." It took him less than a day to learn how to shift the blame. We're so proud.)

I worked crazy-hard at church today. I suppose it was naïve to think that the job of Sunday School Superintendent would be all cake and blessings, but even my predecessor was surprised to hear how many new responsibilities I've contracted. This week saw the introduction of an evacuation procedure, so I had to make an announcement in the pulpit, make a speech to the Sunday School, track down the youth leaders and the nursery room leader to explain their procedures, and answer questions. I also had to find the answers to various questions asked to me this week (everything from "are you an executive?" to "can we change the name to 'church school'?" to "is someone using another group's supplies?" to "what's the lesson this week?") plus hunt down more presenters for Children's Time (something in which I now have to participate every month). And then I had to look after Blake, who is too old to sit through service but too young to just drop off at the nursery.

I. Am. Exhausted. 'Tis a gift to find out where you're meant to be, indeed.

I think I'm going to spend the afternoon catching up on this journal and watching Season Three of Angel. Man, I could watch Boreanaz parent an infant for days upon days – and I don't even like the actor that much! If they'd changed the show to 'the adventures of a vampire single parent,' I would go out and buy the rest of the series now instead of just renting 2 discs at a time. Because that shit? Is gold.

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- Rocketbride's adventure of 1/23/2005 02:23:00 p.m.