Hubby left Wednesday afternoon for 4 days.
Organique won't sleep until Mama does a long shift at the side of the crib. Routinely applying the board of education to the seat of understanding, though understanding seems slow in coming. If Mama turns her back, or walks 3 steps away, she's halfway out of the crib.
And there is no frustration like hearing a newborn's anguished wail from down the hall while trying to police The Crib. "Mama, Baby's crying!" and I abandon my post to go hold and comfort the little one. Upon my return, Organique is in the closet or up her sister's bunkbed or any other place but her bed. I can't keep her in with the Baby in my arms, though I did try it for some time last night. What about this situation qualifies as, "I won't give you more than you can handle. You can accomplish all I've called you to today."? Maybe Hubby trumped His plan?
We picked 50 lbs of peaches on Thursday morning, and I made 1 batch of jam pints. The rest are too green, thankfully. The fruit flies are planning to fly off with the kitchen, so everything is covered in flour-sack dishtowels.
Friday I felt crummy. Finally figured out the pain I had in one side for the past day and the crumminess added up to a case of mastitis. Bed rest, my midwife orders. Comments about "near your heart" and "lymph system drainage" and "can get really bad, really fast" make me anxious. Bed rest?!? Recollect that first paragraph above? There is (was) a birthday party to ready for on Sunday evening. "That must go, or someone else must do it," she orders. Many tears from the girl who was counting on her pink pinata and green-tomato cake. The family room remains in a state of halfway-torn-apart (have you seen this homeschool room? I'm so inspired!). Laundry needs done, clean dishes are no more, and the house is littered with banana peels, I have no doubt. There are 3 here in the vicinity of the computer.
I relate some of this to my dad, who replies with a story of a godly man who was told by his doctor that he had 3 months to live. "You don't understand," the man said. "God has more for me to do, but He wants me to slow down." He lived another 40-some years.
The peaches can go. The family room can pause or stop. The laundry and dishes... and food? I suppose they're on hold too. But if that is the message here (and I'd love to figure it out, quickly), how can I slow down beyond that? I must at least keep up with Organique, musn't I? Letting her get one step ahead results in banana mashed into everything, the refrigerator ransacked, and the toilet plunger as a bathtub toy.