As of today I have filled out a total of four (I think) online applications for more information about fostering medically fragile babies.  I have YET to recieve any information from any of the private 'firms' I have inquired about.  Very disappointing and upsetting (almost).  All I can see is this "great" need, but there is no hand outreached for help.  I feel like I have to dig to find the information I need and practically beg to be considered.  Maybe this is normal.  Until we're on the other side of this I won't know what 'normal' in this situation is.

I've been sticking with my routines better lately.  I've changed it to Monday - bedroom, Tuesday - bathroom / hallway, Wednesday - living room, Thursday - dining room, and Friday - kitchen.  I was good Monday through Thursday.  My inner brat did NOT want to clean the kitchen today, so we found excuses not to.  If we (my inner brat and I) would dig in and get it done and recheck it daily, like I try to remember to do to each room I clean during the week, it would get done and stay done (I hope).  It's just the starting that's getting me.  I hate the kitchen.  I hate the color, I hate the layout, I hate that it reminds me of my mother.  I have ideas about how I would like to change it.  Maybe changing the color, decor, feeling of it would be encouragement enough to keep it clean.

Speaking of encouragement and decor. . . I realized just a few days ago that this summer will be FIVE years since we've painted the livingroom and diningroom.  If I could just throw up some paint and be done I probably wouldn't mind doing it so much.  The sizes of these rooms are enough to make me shrink from the task because it would take the better part of a week to get it all done.  I'm talking about the painting alone, not the prep work that would go into it, moving furniture, filling holes, taping woodwork, etc.  Why my mother kept everything white is still beyond me.

I have unraveled the mystery of the carpet though.  Her entire life she insisted that she had carpet laid (at great expense) because her baby (me) was crawling and she didn't want me on a cold floor.  I have picures of when we moved in this house and I'm up and walking at 18 months old.  After taking the carpet out of the house I've also learned that wood floors are a BITCH to keep clean.  Not only does wax not want to work, but waxed floors and too many dogs in the house don't make good partners.  I've bought bottles upon bottle upon bottle of acrylic floor finish and now I'm waiting on being able to afford another floor mate to get the floors clean enough to finish again.  I'm about at my wit's end with the floors.  Dh wants to lay sheet vinyl.  I can only imagine the cost and horrid outcome of that.  On top of the fact that my mother worshiped the woodwork in the house and covering the wood floors (with anything, in my opinion) would be an injustice to her.  Not that I care about her, but wood floors are wood floors when it comes to resale value.

Well it's too late (or should I say too early).  I need to head back to bed.  More thoughts on the baby situation later.

Night.