The Antonym of Deliberate

Glass Work and Questioning God

2012-01-06T20:38:00.000-08:00

I'm not entirely sure of what happened to me between the time that I graduated college and the past few years. As I mentioned previously, after I graduated, I tried to avoid politics, or even difficult/controversial topics. I guess I got so caught up in working and starting a family that I went on auto-pilot and just held to a vague framework of the beliefs I'd been raised with. I have felt like it is only within the past two or three years that I really began to question my own views and sort out what needed to stay and what needed to go.

Yet, the other night while we were cleaning up the basement, I came across some old college papers I'd written. Many were for policy classes or other requirements for my Political Science major, but one was from my art elective -- Studio Experience in Glass. I actually gained very basic experience in glass blowing, which was absolutely amazing for a totally non-artistic person like me. I loved it and wish I could find a local glass studio to do it again. Anyway, why we even had to write papers for the class is a mystery, but we did. As I glanced over the essay I found, I kind of couldn't believe what I read. In my mind, I was pretty conservative -- personally, politically, and religiously -- in my college days. But take a look at this excerpt of the paper I found:

There are so many things of which I do not even pretend to have a vague understanding. My questions are at times disconcerting, yet I really want to find real answers or be left with my questions. I have reached the point in my faith where the religious cliches are not only inadequate, but they almost disgust me with the way they trivialize human suffering in the hands of an incomprehensible God.

It may seem like a contradiction to say that I believe in God and in miracles while having almost no understanding about either. I grew up in the church and I am very tired of expectations to know which Bible verses to quote when and for which answers. It seems to me that many churches perpetuate the idea that if everyone can be like the people on the stage, then our questions will melt away in the music and the prayers. However, I can't rid myself of the feeling that if I pretended to know the answers, I would really be pretending that my questions did not exist. To me, pretending that I have all the answers is much worse than clinging to unanswered questions.

I mean, what?? I don't know what the specific assignment was, I have no memory of writing that, and I was actually surprised at how similar that me was to the current me. I have no idea how I seemed to lose that for a bit, but maybe that is why the way I feel now seems SO right. The questioning, the not-conforming, the unintentionally inviting criticism.... It's not new. It's just me. I'm not perfect. I don't have all the answers. In fact, I have far more questions than answers. But this is is the real me. Take it or leave it.

Happy 2012

2011-12-31T06:24:00.000-08:00

We had a good Christmas. Not our best, but pretty good. The boys were sick, so we were all very tired and a little grumpy, but I am thankful we were able to celebrate together. I know holidays can be stressful and that we sometimes aren't able to celebrate the way we would want, but I hope everyone had some good times and made some good memories and got at least one gift that was pretty great (or that you got gift receipts or gift cards and can end up with something pretty great).

2011 was kind of a strange year. I'm not going to do a recap of it, nor am I going to outline all my hopes and dreams for 2012. I think I'll just try to leave it as it was and take the next it as it comes. It would be great if there were less war, less hate, less discord, less hunger, and less sadness and if there were more peace, more respect, more love, more generosity, more opportunity, and more compassion. For the most part, these seem to be pipe dreams, but I hope we will all do what we can to discourage the former things and contribute to the latter.

That said, I'll wish everyone a wonderful New Year's Eve with people you care about and a very happy and prosperous New Year!

Tinsel

2011-12-24T07:09:00.000-08:00

Although Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday, I have always loved Christmas. Not just the presents, but the decorations and the music and the lights and the traditions. All of it. I loved getting to stay up late when I was little to watch Christmas movies. I loved candlelight service at church, when I got to hold a real, lit candle. I loved playing with my sisters and moving around the figurines of the old nativity set my parents had. I loved lying on the floor under the Christmas tree and looking up at the lights and the ornaments. And, of course, I loved the anticipation of Christmas morning.

Wednesday we had a family movie night and watched Rudolf the Red Nose Reindeer. When the song "Silver and Gold" came on, Ryan asked me if we ever put tinsel on our tree growing up. My parents never had tinsel, but it reminded me of a memory I hadn't thought about in a long time: trimming the tree with my sisters at our grandparents' house.

We spent a lot of time at their house growing up, as my mother often helped my grandpa (or "Pap" as all the grand-kids called him) care for my grandma. Even when Mom wasn't there helping, my sisters and I slept over regularly, sharing the pull-out bed of the hideous orange and yellow floral sofa. We would wear Pap's t-shirts as nightgowns and he would sing to us old hymns like "When the Roll is Called Up Yonder" and "Old Rugged Cross" as he tucked us in.

It was always fun to stay over, but we especially looked forward to December when we got to help decorate their tree. We would follow him down the narrow steps to the basement, and help gather the pieces of the world's first artificial tree to drag back up the stairs. Okay, so it wasn't the actual first artificial tree, but probably close to it. It smelled a little musty from its home in the basement and you could see the twisted, metal wire of the pieces showing between the matted "needles." Once assembled, it had a strange, alien quality, with the unwieldy branches curling up at strange angles.

None of that mattered to us. We loved digging through the ornament boxes and hanging up the strange shaped glass Santa faces or birds with colorful feathers. Best of all, we were allowed to put colored lights on it. But not just colored lights. The ones that blinked! It was only white lights and sentimental ornaments at our house, so this was quite a treat. And they let us use tinsel. I think more of it probably ended up on the floor and in our hair and static-clinging to our clothes than where it actually belonged, but we loved playing with it and adding it to the tree. How pretty it looked reflecting the colored lights!

Regardless of how tacky this all seems to me as I'm writing it, in my mind's eye I can still see how beautiful and magical it was to us at the time. I loved driving up to their house and seeing that tree blinking in the front window. I'm sure we loved rearranging the ornaments every time we went over. But my favorite part was snuggling up on the couch bed with my sisters and falling asleep in that tree's beautiful glow.

Merry Christmas everyone. I hope your celebrations are full of love and laughter and cherished memories.

At Least

2011-12-15T14:09:00.000-08:00

I am not one of those über-positive people. I am a realist. I'm not always trying to look on the bright side, nor do I think it is necessary to try in vain to find a silver lining in a situation that, quite frankly, sucks. Sometimes things are crappy. That is part of life. I think that acknowledging this fact can help us appreciate the truly great things in life. There are wonderful experiences out there. I don't think we need to cheapen them by pretending that bad things are actually good. Just let things be what they are and try to deal with them in the best way you can.

I also don't think it is very helpful to try to make oneself feel better by comparing situations with those even less fortunate or going through an even worse situation. I know I've blogged about that before, but today I think it's worth repeating. The people I know who are in really bad situations or who are going through a really tough time? I feel terrible for them and would give almost anything to make things better for them. I'm not going to try to use their pain to make myself feel better. That is just sad.

Why all this rambling? Well, today we officially became a one car family. The eleven-year-old car we've used as our commuter car has finally broken down to the point that we cannot justify sinking any more money into it. We've put about $1000 into it in the past six months, $600 of that this week. The shop put in the new fuel pump and all the stuff attached to the new fuel pump, started it up, and the head gasket blew. SUCK.

We cannot afford to buy a new car this month or even next month. Sadly we are not one of those families who has $30k stashed away to just go out and get another car. So, the boys and I are going to be pretty much stranded at home for the next however many weekends, until we can come up with what we need to get another car. Ryan needs our other vehicle for taking Owen to-and-from school Monday through Wednesday, I need to get to the office on Wednesday and Thursday, and Ryan has to drive to work Friday through Sunday. Clearly we have some logistic issues to work out.

So, there you have it. Frustrating week. Bad news right before Christmas. No, this is nothing like the worst thing that could happen. I can think of at least four families I know personally who right at this moment are dealing with much worse. But I'm not going to pretend this isn't a major frustration. I'm not going to pretend we haven't been stressed about it or aren't hating that we are going to have to go to the shop and fork over $600 for a car that doesn't even run. But you know what? This is life.

At least this didn't happen in the summer. At least the weather over the next few months is going to be crap and I'm not going to want to take the boys anywhere on the weekend anyway. At least I have family close enough who would be able to help me out if I really get into a major jam. It's not a silver lining, but I'm a realist and you'll have to settle for an "at least."

Ms. Poli Sci

2011-11-30T12:48:00.000-08:00

About a year and a half into my college career, I came home for Thanksgiving break and announced to my family that I was changing my major from English to Political Science. My parents seemed baffled by this, as I had never really shown an interest in politics outside of registering to vote. Now that I look back on it, I understand their bewilderment. But I was nineteen and not exactly loving college and wanted a change. Besides, my English classes were much less likable than the required American Government class I was taking at the time. Professor Paula Maras-Roberts made government and the study of how people interact with it seem like the most exciting thing in the world. I had a serious crush on Political Science and I'd be damned if I wasn't going to act on it. That's what you're supposed to do in college, right? Take risks and make moderately rash decisions?

I actually think it was a good choice for me. I did really end up liking my classes. The department was small, but had a wonderful staff. I was able to take several courses as one-on-one independent studies with the head of the department. We would meet once a week in his tiny corner office that was crammed with books and hash out all sorts of topics. However, the more I studied political science, the more I knew I didn't want anything to do with politics. After I graduated I got a job working on projects at an IT company and left my political science years behind me.

Yet lately I've been drawn more and more back to that realm. Not that I have a desire to leave my current job and take up politics, but just seeing what is happening in our country, how divided it is and how toxic the rhetoric has become, it makes me wish I could do something. I've started reading more political articles and trying to engage in conversations with people to encourage them to take a step back and see those they disagree with first as fellow human beings and Americans before they see them as the enemy. Let me tell you that my thoughts are often not met with open arms or minds.

I realize that having another person disagree with you can sometimes feel like a personal attack. It can seem that they are trying to invalidate your perspective or question your character. But why does it have to be that way? Why is it so difficult to engage in a conversation with another without resorting to personal attacks or name-calling? I recently had someone tell me that because I don't mind that the First Lady is trying to curb childhood obesity by encouraging more access to healthful food options, I'm setting the stage for liberals to take away our Bibles. What? And by no means are these extreme reactions exclusive to one side.

I really don't know what to do. The easiest thing would be to keep my opinions to myself, vote, and write an occasional letter to a senator. However, I have to believe there are more people out there who want us to respect each other and try to work together. I have to believe there are those who are willing to extend a proverbial olive branch, table the most divisive issues, and work to find any tiny speck of common ground on which to build something positive. I want to believe that if more people started insisting on respect over disgust, we could make some progress in that direction. Obviously what we're doing now isn't working.

Annoyed

2011-10-28T11:37:00.000-07:00

I know this isn't something that should annoy me. Or, at least, I shouldn't really let it get to me one way or another. But I've seen several examples of this lately and I'm just going to vent about it for a few minutes.

Why do so many people feel the need to push their choices on other people? Last night, one of my Facebook friends posted a status about Pinterest. I love Pinterest so I "liked" her status. Then I saw the comments. The first one was from someone who mentioned something about also loving Pinterest. But the next few were basically telling my friend that they had chosen not to use Pinterest because either they had tried it and found it to be "addictive" or they had "heard that it was addictive" so they had chosen to not even try it. Then, the first person, the one who had initially posted they love it, chimed in with how she hardly ever goes to the site out of fear of getting addicted. What? It's a website full of creative words and ideas. It's not meth.

So I chimed in that I love it because I find it to save time, since I can use it as a one-stop resource for creative ideas and recipes rather than having to look at multiple sites and blogs for ideas. Several other people posted that they agreed with me. Then I jokingly told one girl who had commented she doesn't use Pinterest (and who also happens to be my sister) that I was going to peer pressure her into using it. I even wrote "PEER PRESSURE!!" in a silly comment and followed it with a fun, winking smiley face like this one ;D.

And... wouldn't you know, that someone had to comment directly to my sister that she really should avoid it. And this person also took the time to mention that she had deleted her Facebook app from her phone because it "consumed" too much of her and her thoughts. Who are these people?? I have personally found things like Facebook, email, texting, blogging, and yes, Pinterest to be very convenient for me. I've connected with some great people I wouldn't have met otherwise, and yet it allows me to form these connections on my time. I can utilize these resources on my lunch break or when I just want a moment of me time or after the boys are in bed. I have never been unable to turn away from them or ever felt "addicted" or "consumed." Sure, I might jokingly say that I'm addicted to Pinterest, but to me that is just another way to say I really enjoy it. The same with saying I'm addicted to coffee. I do really love coffee, but the truth is I rarely have more than two cups a day. It's an expression people.

Really, I'm fine with other people not using Pinterest or Facebook or phones or laptops or any other kind of technology if it isn't good or convenient for them. That isn't my issue here. They can be Amish if they want. Whatever they feel is best for them and their family, as long as it isn't harming others, that is their right and I will support it. For them. What I don't get is this constant need to push these decisions on other people and treat people who choose differently as though they are participating in some kind of illicit activity. Would it be bad if we spent all our time on our phones or laptops and neglected our loved ones? Sure. But can most people control themselves and only spend time on these things when time allows and it is appropriate? Certainly. So what is the big freaking deal?

The same goes with so many other things. Music, television shows, movies, tattoos, not having kids vs. being a working mom vs. being a full-time mom, etc., etc. I'm fine with people making their own decisions about these things, but when they start sharing their choices in a way that makes it sound like what they've chosen is the only good or acceptable way, that just gets under my skin. Don't we all have enough to focus on in our own lives without constantly criticizing other people and trying to get them to conform to our choices? Are you listening to me you people who don't like me or how I live my life? You do what you need to do and let me do what I do and we can all just get along.

Okay. So maybe we won't all be BFFs, but at least you won't be annoying me and that is what I really care about. :D

Little Women, Little Men

2011-10-24T19:53:00.000-07:00

One night when I was bored and on Facebook and I was actually paying attention to that annoying real-time feed on the right side, I saw that a friend of mine had commented on her teenage step-daughter's photo. It was a photo of her tagged with her brother on vacation or something like that and I hadn't seen a picture of the kids in several years, so I opened it. Then, because I was bored (and, okay, I am nosy), I clicked to the next photo and was shocked to see that it was a picture of the girl side-by-side with a photo of another girl with a bunch of people tagged and the caption, "Who's Hotter??" across the bottom. The next several photos were the same thing, only with different girls. And they all had multiple comments voting for one or the other, often making derogatory comments about the one they didn't think was "hotter." There was only one girl who had consistently commented on each of the photo pairs, stating that it was sick that people were even doing this. And her peers pretty much told her to eff off.

I closed out my browser window, but I kept thinking about it. Sure, I've heard and read about these kinds of things, but to actually see it on a real person's Facebook page made it so much more than something mean rich kids do on smut television. I so wished that I could have commented.... said something to make all those kids think about what they were doing and feel bad for treating their peers like some kind of rate-a-girl pastime.

Then, a few days ago, my friend Jenny posted this link right here that you should go and watch right now (unless you are very easily offended, as it does contain some mildly explicit material). I know some of it was a little over-the-top, (for example, perhaps some smart women purposely choose to stay out of politics because they realize there are better ways to affect social change). However, they really do make quite a point. Why do we just accept the way women are so often portrayed in media? And why does it have to be so difficult for young girls to go against this cultural phenomenon? I do think that as women we need to support other women and help young girls to see their potential goes so much farther than some guy's fantasy or some model's photo shoot.

Only I don't have daughters. I have sons. Certainly girls need to be empowered to buck stereotypes and to embrace the talents and gifts they have that have nothing to do with their looks. But I think that another big part of this is what boys are being taught. How do I raise boys who would realize that it is not okay to participate in a "Who's Hotter??" poll on Facebook?

Gender stereotypes are so ingrained in our culture that just being different from the norm is not enough. My husband and I both work full time, but one of us is always home with the boys. I work Monday through Friday and Ryan works Friday through Sunday. I work from home on Friday and my sister comes over to help me out. Working opposite schedules like that, we both have to share responsibilities for the boys, for cooking, for housework, and whatever else needs to be done. I still cannot believe how many times my boys have told me that I can't do something because "girls can't [fill in the blank]." What the heck?? Where is that even coming from? They are only in first grade and preschool and we strictly monitor their media consumption.

Clearly, teaching boys to respect girls has to be intentional. I can't just sit back and think that because my husband his very respectful of me or that he and I share responsibility so evenly, that my boys will automatically pick up on it and act accordingly. Sure, kids learn by example, but there are some lessons that need additional reinforcement. And this is one of them. Now all I need is a strategy.

One of Those Days

2011-09-28T06:59:00.000-07:00

I feel I can share this because, well, lets face it. I was probably out of the running for "Mother of the Year" back in January.

I overslept this morning. I use my iPod as my alarm clock, but somehow the volume was turned all the way down and I didn't wake up until four minutes before we were supposed to be outside waiting for the bus to take Luke to school. Of course, had it been the weekend, at least one of the boys would have already woken me up hours ago. Panic. For about half a second, I considered grabbing Luke out of bed, throwing clothes on him, and dragging him outside, but I quickly realized what a complete disaster that would be. He does not wake up well, nor does he do well with being that rushed. We probably both would have been in tears by the time we got outside and we STILL might have missed the bus.

Fine. Plan B. Mondays are my turn to get both boys to school. I usually get up, work out, shower, wake up the boys, get them ready, get Luke on the bus, sign on to my laptop, work from 8-8:30, leave to take Owen to preschool, come home, and work the rest of the day. Now I had to rush around, get the boys ready, load them both in the car, and set off for Luke's school, which is the complete opposite direction of Owen's school. Good times.

Of course, since the morning was now complete chaos, all bets were off. Luke was crying because because I told him if he wasn't going to eat his breakfast right away he needed to get dressed first. But that isn't his routine. Owen was crying because he didn't want to leave early. I refrained from crying, but I really kind of wanted to. I mean, I didn't even have time to make coffee.

It was pouring down rain and we got stuck behind the same really super-slow driver in a Suburban going and coming. Thankfully Luke didn't freak out about having to jump out of the car and go in to school by himself, so at least we didn't hold up the drop-off lane. When we finally made it to Owen's school, I realized I couldn't remember the security code to get in the door. Argh! It's not like I am trying to pretend that I have it all together, but I hate being that mom who seems to never have it together. Thank God some other mother walked in right ahead of me. Some other mother who knew the code. Whatever.

With both boys safely at school, I finally got back home to continue working. Then I saw on my calendar I soon had a conference call with one of the most unpleasant people I've ever had to work with. You know, the kind of person who thinks he can do everyone else's job better than they can and tells you that repeatedly when you're just trying to get some information from him. Of course I would have a meeting with him. It was just that kind of day.

It's actually been that kind of week. Clearly I began writing this on Monday, but just now got around to finishing and posting it. Can it be Friday?

The Big Bad Wolf

2011-09-22T12:24:00.000-07:00

When I was really little, the thing I was most scared of in the world was the Big Bad Wolf. I don't remember when I first started being scared of it, but to me the Big Bad Wolf was horrifying. He was the terror hiding under my bed, he was what was waiting in the shadows ready to pounce, and he was the in the nightmares that would leave me awake and shaking in the middle of the night. I could not stand the stories of Little Red Riding Hood or The Three Little Pigs.

If the lights were off in my room and I needed to get out of bed, I would sit on the edge (feet up, of course) for a long time, trying to decide if it was worth the risk. I just knew that as soon as my foot hit the floor, the Big Bad Wolf would reach his hunormous* paw out to grab me and pull me under the bed, never to be seen or heard from again. If I really absolutely had to get out of bed, I would jump out as far away from the side of the bed as I could, and race out of the room.

One of the main problems was, that if I was getting up in the middle of the night, it was probably to go to the bathroom. The 1950's house I grew up in still had the original tile half-way up the bathroom wall. Along the way, someone had decided to paint that tile several times. Most of the tile was painted white, but along the floor was a spot where someone had dropped something heavy (a paint bucket, perhaps?) and put a large chip in the white paint. Of course, the chip revealed a layer underneath that had been painted black. And it was in the shape of a wolf.

Thinking back on it, it all seems so silly. To be terrified there was a wolf under my bed and to let my imagination run wild that he could hide in a chipped tile on the wall and would somehow come to life and get me if I didn't watch the chip the entire time I was in the bathroom alone. Thankfully I've outgrown all that and realize now that The Big Bad Wolf is a fictional character.

Although, to claim that I've completely gotten over absurd fears would be a lie. There are still some things that scare the bejesus out of me. Of course, I try to act like a normal, rational adult, but sometimes and in some situations I just want to freak out. I guess in a way I am still scared of the Big Bad Wolf, only now he has taken on a the form of bad things I fear could happen or risks I'm scared to take. Maybe I will never really be grown up.

Oh well. At least I can get up in the middle of the night without racing away from the bed.

*Hunormous is a word my 4-year-old uses all the time to describe something that is huge and enormous. I love it so much I cannot bear to tell him it is not a real word. Maybe someday it will be. Didn't they just add "ginormous" to the dictionary?

Ten Years Tomorrow

2011-09-10T07:09:00.000-07:00

Can you believe it's been ten years? I guess now I understand what people mean when they say, "It seems like it was yesterday." I know time has passed, but the memories really are that clear.

I remember that it was a busy day at work and I had arrived early. I was the lead on a project that did computer installs for U.S. Senators' State offices. I remember hearing my co-worker hang up his phone and laugh incredulously, saying "That was my mother-in-law. Some whack-job just crashed a plane into one of the Twin Towers in New York. What an idiot." I tried to get on the New York Times website, but it wouldn't load. A few minutes later I got an email notice form nytimes.com, saying that a plane had crashed into one of the towers and their website was overloaded. They would send email updates to their subscribers until they resolved the website issues.

Then came the second email. Another plane, this clearly wasn't an accident. Ryan and I had been married three months at that point and he was working nights so he was still asleep. I called and called and called the house, wishing he would hear the phone downstairs. I just wanted to hear his voice.

I started calling all my sites, all my technicians. None of us really knew what was going on, so we just started cancelling everything for the day. I remember I started saying "Take care" at the end of each phone conversation, something I'd never done before. I managed to get through to my tech support guy in D.C. They were evacuating. I told him to email me when he got home safely.

Ryan finally called me back. I'm pretty sure I just said "Oh my God. Turn on the TV."

Once all my sites were cancelled, there really wasn't anything to do other than talk to co-workers and answer the phones when they rang. We heard that someone in the lobby had a TV and my friend Denna and I went to check it out. One of the maintenance guys had one of those small radio/TV combos and had rigged it up on some boxes. About twenty of us stood around the tiny screen and saw the replays of the towers collapsing, hands clapped over our mouths, some of us choking back tears. I mean, what the hell?

Denna and I went to a late lunch in a usually bustling cafe. There were only a few people there. They had the music off and the televisions sets tuned to NBC and turned up. We sat watching and shaking our heads.

I remember thinking what a gorgeous day it was. Sunny and warm and not a cloud in the sky. It seemed wrong that something so horrifying could happen at all, let alone on such a beautiful day. I don't have any deep insight to share. We can all watch the news and the television specials and hear the stories of tragedy and heroism from that day. I think I just wanted to write it down, rehash where I was and what I was doing.

Not that I'll ever forget.

The Guilt is All Mine, Folks

2011-09-09T13:16:00.000-07:00

I realized after re-reading my last post that I left something out. Or maybe I didn't leave it out, I just simplified it to the point that it may have misrepresented something. See, while my parents were crazy-strict when I was growing up, I've come to realize that they were actually strict about most of the right things.

I wasn't allowed to go to parties. I wasn't allowed to go out with a guy unless he called my dad first and asked for permission to take me out. I had a curfew, strictly enforced. I was still required to attend family functions and things for my sisters. I had to dress modestly and I wasn't allowed to have my own car. I had to go to church and to youth group and, up until I was seventeen and started taking classes at the local community college, I still had to go to homeschooling events. I also had to help out around the house and make dinner a couple times a week.

But there were a lot of things they weren't that strict about. My parents let me work and they bought an old beater car I was allowed to use as long as they knew where I was going and who I was with. I was still allowed to go on dates, as long as it was with a guy who asked my dad and as long as I was home on time. And not having my own car allowed me to have my own money to do stuff with my friends, as well as save for a trip I took to Spain after I graduated. I never look back and wish I'd been a partier or dressed like a slut or skipped out on time with my family or been saddled with a car payment at sixteen.

My parents were strict, but not in a bad or over-the-top way, despite how I might have felt about it growing up. And, while they did raise us in a very conservative environment, I've realized over the past few years that they were just doing what they thought was best at the time. I never remember either of my parents telling me that I had to believe a certain way to gain their approval or to be a real Christian. Most of the attitudes and beliefs I talked about walking away from in my previous post were more from the environment and the groups and the church than they were directly from my parents. I think I used to think of my parents as much more conservative than they actually are, just based on the groups we associated with during those years.

I wrote a post about my mother's example a long time ago (that you can read here), which I was thinking about after spending time with my parents over the holiday weekend. Both of my parents have always set a good example of how to treat others and be responsible and work hard and they are the most generous people I know. So, while I have to acknowledge and discard some of the baggage I have from my formative years, I have to thank my parents for being the kind of people who would never make me feel guilty for doing so. The guilt is all mine, folks.

Guilt. And Green Day. And Guilt.

2011-09-01T07:56:00.000-07:00

I remember when I was growing up and the only music my sisters and I were allowed to listen to was Christian music. I was reminded of this when a friend sent me a link to this article. It is a great article and worth the read, but this post isn't exactly about Christian music. It's more about growing up in a conservative, right-wing (which I hilariously just typo'd as "fright-wing"), Focus-on-the-Family environment. And Green Day. Yes, the band.

Throughout my adolescence, I thought my parents were ridiculously strict. They home schooled us and had a lot of rules. All of our activities centered around our church or our homeschooling group. All the people I hung out with were kids from one or both of those groups. And I knew, not even so much from my parents saying it specifically to me, that being a good Christian meant that you were a pro-life Republican who wanted the Ten Commandments, teacher-led prayer, and the Creation story back in public schools. Despite that most of us didn't attend those schools. Good Christians went to youth group or Bible study in-between Sundays and avoided anything "secular," from magazines to music to cartoons.

Somehow, though, around the year I turned sixteen, my parents lightened up.... just a little bit. I wasn't banned from "secular" magazines and music completely. Part of that was probably my parents' good sense in realizing that telling me I couldn't do or see or have any of those things was probably just going to make me want them even more. And, I think at least a little of it was their own naiveté at not realizing just what I was being exposed to. I mean, have you ever perused a copy of SEVENTEEN magazine?

Anyway, that year also happened to be the year that Green Day released their hit single "When I Come Around." I remember sitting my by radio, blank tape in the tape recorder, waiting for it to play as the number one song on the Top 8 at 8 so I could record it and listen to it over and over. Now, I don't think that if my mom had realized that Billie Joe was saying anything about being a "user," she would not have let me listen to it. But she either didn't realize or decided to overlook it.

My favorite part of the song goes:

So go do what you like
Make sure you do it wise
You may find out that your self-doubt means nothing
was ever there

You can't go forcing something if it's just
not right

Now, I realize the song isn't really talking about theology, but humor me. Looking back on it, I have to wonder, was this song the start to the proverbial slippery slope that led me from the way I was raised, to the centrist (okay, borderline Liberal) I am today? Someone who thinks that there are some situations in which I know I couldn't look a woman in the eye and tell her an abortion is not an option for her? Someone who believes that those in the LGBT community are people created by the same God who created me and who should have the same rights as everyone else? Someone who finds the right-wing more than a little scary and who believes we should respect the beliefs of others? I mean, as long as they aren't hurting anyone, shouldn't everyone be given the same freedom of belief that I enjoy and shouldn't they be able to live without having my beliefs jammed constantly down their throats?

I'm not saying that I have it all figured out in everything I think or believe. I'm still learning. I'm still questioning and searching. But I am saying that what I think and believe now is a lot different than it was when I was fifteen. And I also, sometimes, feel guilty about that. Being raised in a culture where a lot of the things I believe now were seen a "wrong" and "un-Christian" is sometimes very conflicting for me. Even when I've looked in the Bible and prayed about something and determined that what I believe about it now is much closer to the things Jesus taught than were the things I was raised thinking, I still have this lingering feeling of guilt for turning my back on what I was taught was "right" for what I was taught was "wrong."

But, in the words of the oh-so-wise Billie Joe, "You can't go forcing something if it's just not right."

I know this post is already really long and I don't know if anyone is still reading it, but all of this has been on my mind so much lately because I don't want my kids to grow up with this kind of baggage around their faith. Certainly, I want them to know what the Bible says and how Jesus said we should treat others. And I do believe there is real wisdom in the Bible that can help them as they grow up and have to make more and more decisions for themselves. But I also don't want them to get to a point where they feel that all I've done is tell them what to think. Nor do I want for them to have to deal with so much guilt when they try to work out for themselves what they believe. Truth is truth, whether it comes from the Bible or a Green Day song. There is no need to feel guilty about recognizing that.

Playing Favorites

2011-08-23T12:10:00.000-07:00

It's been a little while since I've done a favorite things post, so I thought I'd add some new favorites to the ever-growing list of stuff I like.

Having my own work space at home. I work from home three days a week. I've typically worked at the dining room table or in our guest room. This past Christmas, my husband made me a desk. For the top, he used part of a tree from our property. It is a beautiful desk. Sure, for now I have to share my work space with the boys' playroom, but it is SO nice to have a designated area with my own desk. And even better that the desk is a beautiful, hand-made gift.

SUMMER! I know I've listed this one before, but I just love it so much. This summer has been awesome. I know July was really hot, but it's mid-August right now and the weather is mid-eighties and pleasant. Here is the summer view from my lovely new work space. If I have to be working and can't be playing outside, sitting here with the windows open makes it easier to take.
essie nail polish. Now, I'm not really a nail polish girl. I do paint my toe nails, but only because I think I have weird feet that look weird without polished nails. And you don't have to repaint toe nails as often as you have to repaint your finger nails. Now, I can't really justify spending a lot on nail polish, but I bought it on sale and from what I've seen so far, it wears pretty well. Chinchilly is my current favorite. The website describes it as "a sleek granite gray," and I think that is a color that suits me pretty well.

Anthony Bourdain, No Reservations. Now, I know he is very snarky and can be quite crass, but I love this show. I love how he interacts with the people he meets and makes comments like, "Yeah, if people were only drunker, there'd be no
war." Seriously... it is educational AND entertaining. And makes me wish I could afford to just drop everything and fly to some far away place and try the food. A girl can dream.

Pinterest. I admit it. There are nights when Ryan is at work and the boys are in bed and I mindlessly surf the internet. Only most people are out on those nights, so not much is going on here on blogger or on Facebook. This is when I love Pinterest most. I can look for recipe ideas or interesting quotes or tattoo ideas or just.... other random stuff. And I can pin stuff to my pin boards really quickly so that I don't have to try to remember where I saw it and never be able to find it again. Sure, it's a waste of time, but at least I'm enjoying wasting it.

Staying the Night at India

2011-08-20T19:47:00.000-07:00

Two posts in a row about my kids. This is really unusual for me, but today was a pretty good day with my boys and I felt like writing a little about it.

I do not miss the baby stage. Yes, it is wonderful to have a sleeping baby all snuggled up to you, but those moments are few and far between. Nor do I miss the toddler stage, the struggling to communicate and getting into everything. I know, however, that I will miss this stage. The one my boys are in right now where they can do anything or go anywhere (even to India as they did today) all without leaving the backyard.

Right now, they are each other's best friend. They love golf and t-ball and baseball. They love the Kratt brothers and having creature adventures in the backyard. Outside or inside, they can find an infinite number of things to pretend. They come up with the most hilarious things and have crazy escapades. They have the best imaginations. The worst thing that can happen is that they don't both want to pretend the same thing at the same time.

We certainly have our moments, but for the most part they still want me around and will tell me about what they are imagining. They still willingly give me hugs and kisses. They tell me about what they did while I was at work. I've never been one of those mothers who tells my kids to stop growing or wishes they could stay little. I am excited for them to experience life and can't wait to see who they become.

But after days like today, I do get a little melancholy knowing the sounds of pretend safari treks and animal rescues will soon give way to video game sound effects and asking to borrow the car. If only there were a way I could somehow capture this stage and this kind of day, so I can look back on it in the trying teenage years ahead. Oh, I guess I just did.

Confession Friday

2011-08-19T07:18:00.000-07:00

Being a parent terrifies me. There. I said it. I knew before I had kids that being a parent was a big responsibility, but I had no idea I would be such a weirdo about it.

My oldest son, Luke, started first grade Wednesday. He l-o-v-e-s school. Loves it. We had to fill out a questionnaire to turn in to the teacher and one of the questions read: "What are your child's likes and dislikes about school?" When I asked him, his response was, "I like everything about school and there is nothing I don't like." So, on the first day of school there was no drama about him not wanting to go. At least not from him.

I, however, was a bundle of crazy. Not so much from the "my little one is growing up" perspective, but more "How in the world do I have a first grader??"

It's not even really an age thing. I think it's just that even after six plus years of being a mother, I still don't feel like I'm qualified to be a parent. I'm terrified that there is something big I'm missing or forgetting or haven't taught him and that he will be messed up from having a crazy person for a mother.

I mean, in first grade they have homework and you have to pack their lunch and keep up with the days they have off or get out early. How can I make sure I get everything done, when all this time I feel like I've just been pretending to be a responsible adult?

I know that I should know that it will be okay. It's not like I'm an incredibly irresponsible person. I got my first job working seasonally for a local business when I was fourteen. I worked two jobs pretty much from the time I was sixteen until I had Luke. I have a college degree. I've been employed at a global company for ten years and have advanced to new opportunities and accumulated several professional certifications. Not that these things make me a "success" or anything, but it's not as though I'm a completely incompetent deadbeat either. And I'm kind of trying to give myself a pep-talk here.

So I don't know. Thankfully my husband is pretty on top of things in the schedule and homework department so it's not like I'm doing this all on my own. I guess it’s like everything else in life. There are things that have to be done and I have to just keep moving forward. Sometimes I just wish I was a little more confident and a little less scared.

Choices

2011-08-12T16:55:00.000-07:00

We recently went on a short family trip to Mammoth Cave National Park in the middle-of-nowhere Kentucky. We stopped to have dinner at the one local eatery in a nearby town. When the waitress came to take our order, she asked, "Just these two?"

Um. No idea. I said, "I'm sorry?"

"Just these two kids? Is that all you got?"

What an odd question. I'm so bad. I wanted to say we'd left the rest in the car, but that would have been super rude so I replied, "Yep. Just two."

"At least you don't have seven."

How do I even respond to that? I obviously know nothing about this girl, but she was probably late twenties. Maybe her husband or life partner (she wasn't wearing a wedding band) was home with the kids and she just waited tables at the local dive for a break and some extra money. I'm guessing not, but maybe.

For whatever reason, this got me to thinking about the families we come from and how we end up where we do. My maternal grandparents came from very humble roots. My grandpa grew up in a mining town in Kentucky and my grandma grew up in Covington, Kentucky. Times were very hard for both of them.

My grandpa joined the army during WWII and ended up being able to go to college to be a teacher. My grandma also became a teacher. Then they got the hell out of Kentucky. This is nothing against Kentucky. There are plenty of lovely people and places there. But from what I can piece together from eavesdropping on the adults' conversations growing up, it wasn't so lovely for my grandma and she wanted out.

They built a life in a small town and had a family. It was by no means all rosy-perfect, but it was much better than the life my grandmother had growing up. There was a lot of hurt and anger from things that had happened in her life, but I like to believe my grandma did the best she could. She chose to make a change and give her own family a better hand than she'd been dealt.

My own mother had to deal with some of the fallout of my grandma's pain, but she was determined that she was going to do even better for her own children and make sure they always knew they were loved and never felt rejected. While there were some very tight times in my childhood, my parents did their best to make sure I did well in school and stayed out of trouble and had the chance to go to college.

Yet, when I saw that waitress and heard her talking about her seven kids, I thought, "That could easily be me. Just a few choices different and I could be waiting tables in middle-of-nowhere Kentucky to try to make ends meet with eight or nine mouths to feed." Now please understand I am in no way saying that having fewer kids or more opportunity makes me a "better" person than anyone else. I certainly do not think that I'm better or my life is better. But I probably have it easier. Maybe she has the life she's always wanted, and if so, that is absolutely fine.

I'm not trying to be critical of someone else's life as though it is a bad thing. I don't know if I'm explaining myself very well and I'm really sorry if this rude in any way, because that is absolutely not what I intend. I'm only saying that in my mind it would be a hard life to have a lot of kids when you don't have a lot of resources or opportunities.

Now, I know that we are each responsible for our own choices and ultimately have to make our own way. But it is much more difficult when you start out in a tough spot and don't have easy access to things that could improve your situation. And sure, if my grandparents hadn't moved to Ohio, my parents likely wouldn't have met, and I likely wouldn't exist.... but humor me.

Just thinking about how my grandparents' choices gave better opportunities to my mom and then to me and now to my kids, is kind of sobering. I have to say I'm thankful for the new paths they took, because my life could have easily started in a completely different situation. I hope the choices I make in my life are as good for my kids and their kids as the ones that were made years ago by my family that eventually benefitted me.

My grandma, aunt, mom, and grandpa

Rewind

2011-08-09T08:16:00.000-07:00

I am in love with this song. I first heard Diane Birch when she opened for a concert I attended a couple years ago. I went out the next day and bought her CD. Yes, this was before I had an iPod. I'm a late bloomer, technologically speaking.

I hadn't listened to it in a while, but the other day the lines, "How I wanted you here by my side. I know what I said, but I lied...." started going through my head over and over again. So, of course, I dug out my copy of the song and I've listened to it about twenty times since then.

Sadly, I don't have some tragic romance story I can tell you this song brings to mind. I just love her voice and the lyrics and the piano and the mood. She is so lovely and talented. If you like this song, check out her album, Bible Belt. I know musical taste is a very personal thing, but I don't think you'll be disappointed.

Confession Friday

2011-07-29T19:37:00.000-07:00

I really had intended to write another post between last week and today, but it just didn't happen. Maybe next week. Haha. Right.

Anyway, my confession for this week is that I am absolutely terrified of heights. I am not sure when this happened. When I was in high school I went on all kinds of roller coasters and up in high overlook things and none of it bothered me. My friend and I went on this Xtreme Skyflyer thing several times at a local amusement park. I mean, they hoist you 200 feet in the air and drop you! What the heck?

Well, a few years ago when we visited the Grand Canyon, I noticed that I was more nervous around heights. Getting too close to the edge made me nervous, but I was okay.

Last month on our Yosemite trip, we found out the hard way that I am now completely terrified of heights. We did a hike to the top Sentinel Dome. It is this awesome rock from where you get this amazing 360 degree view of Yosemite - many of the falls, Half Dome, the valley - and it's breathtaking. But to get to the top, you have to hike up the steep side of it. In snow. And it's pretty curved so you kind of feel that if you slipped too far to either side, it wouldn't be too difficult to keep sliding and fall over the edge.

It probably didn't help that as we arrived at the base, there were three people slipping and sliding their way back down. Ryan talked me into going up (I mean, we have life insurance, so it's okay, right?). I just put one foot in front of the other and charged up the thing. When I got to the top, I was shaking. And almost hyperventilating. And almost crying. And I'm not a crier. I couldn't help it. I had to sit on a rock in the middle of the dome and compose myself. Ugh. I felt like such an idiot, but I couldn't make myself not freak out.

We did several other hikes to the top of very high places, but I always had to stand way far back from the railing along the edge, just to get used to being that high up. I wasn't going to let my fear keep me from seeing Yosemite, but I realized that there are some fears you can't make go away just because you don't want to be scared. Fear of heights is real, people. And I have it.

See those happy people at the Upper Yosemite Falls Overlook there by the railing? The ones enjoying the view of the Yosemite Valley?

Then see the legs of that person against the rock wall? Yeah. I don't know those happy people, but the legs are mine.

Friend Quota

2011-07-20T11:38:00.000-07:00

"Since there is nothing so well worth having as friends,

never lose a chance to make them."

- Francesco Guicciardini

Am I the only one who feels like a lot of people have some sort of pre-determined "friend quota?" I don't know. Maybe it's me. Maybe I'm just not that funny or not that nice. Maybe I'm too weird or too silly. Maybe. Or maybe it really is what I think it is, that some people have reached their quota of friends and no matter how great the two of you seem to hit it off, they just don't have any more room in their lives for additional friends.

I don't mean this in any sort of desperate "I need more friends" kind of way. I actually have plenty of friends. It's just that sometimes I meet people and we seem to talk easily and we have kids the same age and feel the same about a lot of things. These are the kind of people who say things like, "We really have to get together again soon!" when we part, without me even bringing it up. And then? Nothing. I may even try to invite them over once or twice and they say they are busy but would love to get together soon. And they will let me know when. And I never hear from them.

Now, I'm pretty busy. I work full-time and have a husband and two crazy boys. My parents and my sis live nearby, so I spend a lot of time with them. There are friends who I consider very dear to me, with whom I always have a blast when we hang out, but who I can only get together with every few months or so. I guess I just don't feel like I have to be talking to someone or seeing them all the time for us to be friends, even GOOD friends. I really don't like to talk on the phone, but I usually keep up with people enough via Facebook, instant messaging, and text that I feel I have a decent idea of what is going on in their life, yet I'm not so involved in every second of their days that we have nothing to talk about when we see each other in person.

Is that it? Is it maybe because I can go a while without talking to someone and still consider them important in my life? Or maybe it's that I don't actually believe in the whole "BFF" thing. I don't have a BFF. I have my "person," my younger sister Tiffiny who I have a special connection with in a lot of ways, but I just don't like feeling as though I have to limit my interactions with friends by assigning labels. I think we need multiple people in our lives, who communicate in different ways and have different interests. I don't want my friends to all be the same as me. I just want us to have enough in common that we can really enjoy each other and be understanding enough that we can appreciate each other's differences.

I have no idea where I'm going with this. Now I'm just rambling. But seriously, has anyone else noticed this with some people or is it just me?

Confession Friday

2011-07-08T12:08:00.000-07:00

I was doing pretty well with my Confession Friday posts there for a while.

Side note: I don't know if Confession Friday is actually a thing. I just kind of made it up and put it on my blog, but there are so many thousands of bloggers that someone has probably already thought of it and done it so... sorry if it seems like I stole someone's idea, but I really didn't. Not intentionally, anyway.

So, yeah. I was posting kind of regularly. But then life happened with all it's birthdays and other craziness that happened in the month of June and I got way off track. Again. I'll try to get back into it with this, another Confession Friday post. I have two confessions for this week. Here goes.
1. I went on vacation without my kids and only missed them a little. I know. How can I even say that out loud? To celebrate our 10-year anniversary, we decided to go on a trip to California, just the two of us. My very wonderful sister and brother-in-law stayed with our boys so we could pretend we were jet-setters for a week. Leading up to the trip, I was anxious about how much I would miss the boys. However, once we were away, it was just SO nice to have that time to spend with Ryan and to have "us" time, that I was able to completely enjoy our adventures. Sure, I thought of the boys and there were a few times I had those pangs of homesickness for them, but it wasn't until we were actually on our way home that I felt overwhelmed with wanting to be back with them.

2. My husband is a much better photographer than I am. My sister is an amazingly talented professional photographer. I guess she got all the photography talent from our family gene pool, leaving me with only the ability to snap random photos and sometimes luck into a decent one. Here are a few photos from our trip. If you like them, my husband probably took them.

And this is why I hate trying to add photos to my posts.

I can never get blogger to let me caption!

Here is what the photos are, in case anyone is still reading:

1. A lighthouse in San Francisco

2. Us in Napa

3. General Sherman, the worlds largest living tree

4. Me trying to get a picture of the Kings Canyon sign

5. Rivers converging in Kings Canyon

6. We finally made it to Yosemite

7. And it was awesome

Confession Friday

2011-06-10T06:31:00.000-07:00

When I was little, I wanted to be a ballerina. I loved the shoes and the costumes and watching the graceful, beautiful dancers. My mom, God love her, was kind enough to never say that I was not graceful enough or tall enough or athletic enough and she let me take lessons. She was kind enough to never point out to me the obvious: that I am a huge klutz and have the gracefulness of a duck. I eventuality got bored and quit, and it wasn't till later that I realized that I would never have been not-a-klutz enough to be a ballerina.

Lucky girls outgrow their awkward klutziness and grow into their adult bodies and lives. Girls like me can grow up and dress up like an adult and get a degree and start a career and have a family, but just can't shake the klutz. Let me give an example.

There is a nice shopping area right near my office building. Recently, I went in to White House|Black Market on lunch and found some cute clothes on their clearance racks. I tried on several outfits, then put my my own dress and heels back on before realizing I hadn't tried on a black skirt I'd picked up. No sense to undress again, right? I'll just slip it on real quick. That is what I thought right before trying to step into the skirt and SLICING the side of my knee open with the heel of my shoe.

So... there I was, standing in the dressing room, leg bleeding, wondering what in the heck I should do now. I mean, I was wearing a dress, so it's not like there are pants to cover it. I scrounged around in my purse and found the little first aid kit I keep in there for the boys. Of course, it's out of band-aids (and if it had them they would probably be brightly-colored cartoon ones anyway). I see there is still an antiseptic wipe, so I try to use that. Only, of course, it is the worlds smallest wipe. Not kidding. It comes in a pack like those regular moist towelettes, but only unfolds once. I had to blot the blood with this tiny, two-inch by one-inch wipe. Oy.

There you have it. These are the kinds of things that happen to me. I know that might not sound so bad, and it wouldn't be if these were only occasional occurrences. But no. I have (epically and like something from a movie) fallen in public more than once. I drop things, bump in to things, bruise, scrape, and maim myself. My name is Trischa, and I'm a klutz.

Over 10 years have gone by...

2011-06-03T16:23:00.000-07:00

Well I was crazy about you then
And now the craziest thing of all
Over 10 years have gone by
And you're still mine

- Jack Johnson (From the song Do You Remember)

So, I have never been the kind of person who gushes about my relationship. And, frankly, I find the people who do to be unbelievably annoying. I'm not talking about sharing from time-to-time a very sweet or thoughtful gesture like, "My husband knew I was tired and got up with the kids this morning so I could sleep in."

No. The ones I'm talking about are the people who are constantly saying out loud or posting things on Facebook like, "I can't believe how perfect and romantic and good-looking and amazing my significant other is and how I'm the luckiest and most blessed and most perfect person for getting to be with them!!!!!!!!!!" Or something similar. You get the point. I mean, I just have to wonder if these people really feel that way or if they just think they are supposed to feel that way and are trying to convince everyone, including themselves, that they do. I think the whole Hollywood-romantic-fantasy-and-grand-gesture thing has gotten to the brains of some people.

Anyway, rant over. I really got off-topic. I really just meant to say all that to make the point that you will rarely hear me gush about my husband or see me posting things about our relationship. I think that a relationship is between two people and while it is fine to share with friends something frustrating or something great, it really isn't something that should be talked about or posted about all the time and for everyone to hear/see.

That said, I would just like to take a moment to say that yesterday was our ten year wedding anniversary. I know that all anniversaries are special, but something about making it to the decade mark just seems like such a big deal to me. I was ridiculously excited about it and probably gushed a little too much (yet hopefully not to the point of annoyance), but... TEN YEARS! And I have to say that I love my husband more now than I did way back when we were 23 and 22 and fresh out of college and getting married. We aren't perfect and we certainly don't have it all figured out, but somehow we work and he has put up with me all this time and I am really very thankful for that.

Confession Friday

2011-05-27T18:07:00.000-07:00

If I can't figure out how to write some good posts, I may as well use my blog as a form of therapy. I guess confession is supposed to make a person feel better. I don't actually feel bad, but everyone can always stand to feel better, right?

My confession of the week is that I kick things under the couch. Before I had kids and even when my kids were still pretty small, I maintained that my kids would clean up each thing or group of things as they went. They would know that before getting out the toy tractors, all the Trio blocks must be picked up and put away. And then before they got out the trains, the tractors had to be cleaned up. Books and magazines say this is the best method. And it really sounds great, doesn't it?

Only I live in real life. I work full time. Three days a week I work from home. I also have meals to cook and laundry to do and sanity to maintain on the weekends when my husband is at work. It is absolutely remarkable the number of things two boys can find to drag out while I'm putting in a load of laundry. Or answering emails. Or on a conference call. Or blinking.

So I've adopted a more real-life approach. All the toys will be picked up before bedtime. Of course, ideally this would be the two people who made the mess cleaning it up by themselves and without being prompted. It would also mean all the toys all over the entire house would be picked up and put where they belong. Reality is more like... the two boys being helped by whichever parent is home to clean up all the toys visible in the main area of the house. If we get to tidying the playroom, great. If not, we just close the door. Of course, all the pick-up is usually done in a hurry as we race the clock to bedtime.

So... can you really blame me when the house is finally quiet and the kitchen tidied, that I really don't feel like picking up any more toys? Sure, the kids should have picked up that ball or cardboard-tube-turned-spyglass or flip flop. And yes, squatting down to pick it up and then walking to put it away would almost count as exercise. But, if I take a good look at it and sweep it under the couch with my foot, then the living room will look clean when I flop down on the couch to catch up on reading, facebooking, or the DVR. And I will know exactly where said item is when someone is whining for it three days from now. And that will make me a hero.

I'll take being a bad-housekeeper-yet-hero-mom over those burning those five extra calories any day.

Pizza and Potato Chips

2011-05-20T18:06:00.000-07:00

It's so crazy how something I've probably seen hundreds of times will randomly spark a memory I haven't thought of in years. My boys and I were at the Reds game on Sunday, walking near the stadium, when I looked up and saw a sign for "Mike-sells". Mike-sells is a local potato chip/snack food company that distributes mostly in the Midwest. Their wavy potato chips, including the ones that have the greenish edges from being cute too close to the peel (?), have a special place in my heart. On Sunday afternoon when I saw that sign, I was transported for a second to pizza night at my parents' house WAY back when I was little.

Pizza night when I was growing up did not involve a delivery guy or carry-out. Sure, from time-to-time we did buy pizza. But that wasn't "pizza night." Pizza night when I was growing up always started with some yeast, water, flour, and a pinch of sugar. Pizza was the thing my dad made. And as soon as we were old enough to spread tomato sauce or sprinkle oregano, my sisters and I had our hands all over it. I don't remember a time in my life when I didn't help make pizza or know how to make pizza.

The dough that results from my dad's recipe is very... yeast-forward (no, I don't know if that's a real thing, but "yeast-y" just sounds weird). It's not like anything I've every had in a restaurant, and yet it is still my favorite pizza to eat. I now make it with my boys at least a few times a month. Back in the day, pizza night was a huge deal and usually involved company. Even if that company was just the neighbors.

I know we ate a lot of pizza in the winter, including every Christmas Eve, but my main memories of pizza night were in the summertime. We didn't have air conditioning and despite having every window open and multiple fans working overtime, the house would get increasingly warm from the oven being on and opened/closed to cook multiple pizzas. We (my sisters and I, the neighbor kids, and all the adults) would eat in shifts around the ancient, creaky table in the dining room. When the pizza with the toppings you liked was ready, you'd get a paper plate with a slice, a perspiring cup of 'Pepsi-free' (pizza night was one of the few times we were allowed to have soda), and a handful of wavy, Mike's-sells potato chips.

And there you have it. The crazy way my mind works. Walking on a chilly, rainy day in the city with my kids, and all it takes is seeing an advertisement to take me back to a sweet memory of a sweltering, summertime joy from my childhood. I don't think I've eaten chips with pizza in years, but for the past few days all I could think about was getting some Mike-sells chips and savoring a memory. Luckily, I went to the supermarket today. If you'll excuse me, my writing is keeping me from a salty, crispy snack and some serious reminiscing.

Fail. Ish.

2011-04-30T18:01:00.000-07:00

Well, it would be good if I had some kind of "lessons learned" or recap planned, but I don't. Here it is the last day of April, and I've only been moderately successful this month. On one hand, I'm disappointed, because I feel like I haven't actually written anything worth reading. On the other hand, I feel kind of okay about it, because I can feel my desire to write rekindling. If I can just hold on to that, then maybe, possibly, I'll be able to get back to writing things I don't hate.

This I Believe (kinda)

2011-04-28T19:03:00.000-07:00

I just finished reading the first volume of This I Believe. What I would really like to do is write my own "This I Believe" essay, but for two reasons, I cannot. First, I cannot decide what my focus would be. Would I write about my personal beliefs about God (in whom I do believe) vs. religion (of which I'm scared)? Would I write about how I feel about family? Marriage? Politics? Being a working mom? I just don't know where to start.

The second reason is that even though I have been making myself post on this blog with more frequency, I am still plagued with writer's block. I don't think that I've really written anything worth reading this whole month. And that makes me sad. Not that I used to be a great writer or anything, but I didn't used to suck. In hopes of finding some inspiration, I read over some of my old posts. Posts from back when I used to write.

Only instead of inspiring me, they kinda depressed me. I actually enjoyed reading some of my old work. Is that inappropriate to say? Not that I think I'm all awesome or anything, but some of it was pretty decent. It just makes me sad that I seem to have lost my muse. And it makes me even more sad that I don't know how to get it back.

One thing that I know I do believe is that people need a creative outlet. I need a creative outlet. I have no talents other than writing so it's very not good that I seem to be unable to do it lately. I'm wishin' and hopin' and thinkin' and prayin' that I can somehow figure out a way that I can write some things that I will feel good about writing. Maybe this weekend?

Oh... Weather

2011-04-26T18:06:00.000-07:00

I have quite a few posts about weather. Many of them are complaining about the weather, but I do live in Ohio so I feel the rants are justified. We are in the middle of what has seemed like weeks of rain and chill and wind. More storms expected tonight and tomorrow. It's just difficult to feel motivated to do anything when I know we should be having Springtime, but we are really just having rain. I would be fine with sleeping away the days until sunshine and warmth return.

I was thinking today while waiting for Luke to get off the bus that it even seems like the trees are waiting for this deluge to stop before they finally unfurl their leaves and blossoms. I wrote this post about only seeing green out the window and how wonderful that is. Right now, the grass is really green, but the trees still just look like giant, leafless sticks. I need green and flowers and heat! Is that too much to ask? Is it?

Boys Will Be Boys

2011-04-24T16:41:00.000-07:00

Easter Sunday always brings back a flood of memories for me. When I was little, my parents would get my sisters and I up at the crack of dawn to put on our matching Easter dresses and go up the road to Sunrise Service at church. After that service, we would make the five minute trek to my grandparents' church for Easter breakfast and regular Easter service. At some point we were allowed to have our Easter baskets, but it seemed to vary from year-to-year when and where we found them.

Easter is quite a bit different for me now. I let the boys find their Easter baskets first-thing, and yes, they pretty much end up eating candy for breakfast. My life is miserable if my kids are robbed of sleep for even one day, so we don't get up early for sunrise service. We also live too far away now to make it feasible for us to go to Easter breakfast.

Last year I did buy the boys coordinating polo shirts and plaid shorts for Easter, but it ended up being too cold for shorts and Luke refused to wear a short-sleeved shirt so I had to let him wear a plaid button-down and jeans. Then Owen didn't want to wear his shirt since Luke wasn't wearing his, so he ended up in a different polo than his Easter one. And we were almost late for church. It was so frustrating that I didn't even bother to buy them anything this year.

And now I'm so glad I didn't. I just let them wear clothes they already had, and it was pouring rain this morning, so we all wore rain boots. Thank goodness. Here is a little glimpse of what happened after Easter lunch and before Easter dessert.

And no, we were not at home, so I had to make use of my sister's laundry facilities and the boys had to run around in their underwear until their clothes were clean and dry. Oh well. They had fun. And got rid of some of the sugar buzz. Somehow I don't think matching outfits would have been nearly this memorable.

Confession Time

2011-04-22T18:38:00.000-07:00

I was just going to add a little blurb to my post tonight, confessing that I'm failing miserably at my "alternate day" writing, but then I figured I may as well do an entire confession post. Why not?

As I've already said, I failed at writing every day. There is just too much going on. Too many days when I feel beaten down by things at work or overwhelmed by things at home or I'm just too busy. I'm trying to be okay with it since I'm still posting on here with realitive consistancy, but I am a bit dissapointed in myself.

I cherish alone time. Don't get me wrong, I love my husband and my kids and the rest of my family and my friends. I appreciate the time I get to spend with the people I care about. But I also have to admit that I am kinda a loner. I like my commute when I can listen to NPR without interruption and the the nights when Ryan is at work and the boys are in bed and I am alone with my thoughts and can kinda do what I want (you know, like write run-on sentences or eat too much Boursin cheese). It may be weird, but it's me.

I am not nearly as conservative as many people assume I am. I grew up in a conservative family and I was homeschooled(!) and went to a midwestern Christian college where dancing and drinking were not allowed. I can understand (mostly) why people are staunchly conservative, and I think that if we lived in an ideal world where everyone had equal opportunity and upbringing and access, then MAYBE the conservative views would be accpetable in a lot of circumstances. But, in case you haven't looked around or watched the news or visited anywhere outside your upper-middle class subdivision... we don't live in an ideal world. So I think that issues and problems in this country and in this world need to be looked at individually and evaluated for the best way to make things work to the benefit of the people who really need it. And if that means giving someone free access to birth control or helping them buy groceries to feed their family, I'm okay with it.

I am addicted to Food Network. I think I may have mentioned something like this before, but I really think it might be an issue. If I have control of the TV and it is on, it is probably on Food Network. This is an issue for me since I am really not that good of a cook and watching it makes me hungry and then I eat food that isn't good for me. But whatever. It does sometimes inspire me to make things I'd never thought of trying before. I've actually made popovers. And my kids ate them. For the most part.

I am not a baby person. I know I have mentioned this before too, but it is true. I'm happy for other people if they have babies, but I'm totally fine with not having any more babies. This is why it doesn't make me sad that my kids are way past the baby stage. I can deal with kids, but babies are a real challenge for me. My kids can tell me what's up and help me with stuff. Babies cry and scream and screech and rob you of sleep. Do you see where I'm coming from?

I hate being cold. Not sure if it qualifies as a confession since I've never kept it a secret, but to me being cold equals physical pain. I reall hate it and I wish it could be warm all year. Why can't it?

This isn't a very good confession post, but it's Friday, at the end of a long week, and I'm tired. Yay.

Baby Face

2011-04-20T17:30:00.000-07:00

When your kids are babies, you spend a lot of time looking at their faces. You hold them a lot and check on them a lot and even though you know they are changing as they grow, you still see their baby faces in real life and in your mind's eye. As they get older and reach the baby (and then toddler) milestones, their faces thin up and grow up, but they still look like babies to you.

But now my boys are four and almost-six. For years, even if during the day they had seemed quite grown-up for their age, I could still sneak into their rooms at night and see them as babies. Something about their little sleeping faces still looked so innocent and baby-esque.

Over the past month or so, however, I've noticed a change. There are times when Luke, my oldest, will make a face or look at me in a certain way and instead of seeing "baby" I see "teenager." It's like for just a second something in the real progression of time shifts and I see what he will look like when he is sixteen and thinks he doesn't need me at all. It's so surreal, yet strangely comforting.

I've also noticed that when I sneak into their room after they are sleeping and check to make sure they are covered up and sleeping well, it is getting more and more difficult to see the "baby" in their faces. They no longer look the same as they looked at six months, only bigger. They look like almost grown-ups, resting from a day of their own thoughts and feelings that have little to do with me. They look so big.

I've read the books and magazines and I know this should make me sad, but it doesn't. I love seeing them grow up and become more independent. Sure, maybe in ten years when they actually want nothing to do with me, I may be sad then. But for now, I am so enjoying experiencing their flourishing personalitities and all the things they are learning and watching them become best friends with each other to the point that they don't need my attention all the time. At some point I may miss their baby faces, but for now I'm just enjoying the moment.

Some Things I Like

2011-04-17T18:11:00.000-07:00

It's been a while since I posted a favorite things list. And on a night like tonight when I realize I haven't been able to beat my writer's block and I have ten loads of laundry to fold before I can go to sleep, it seems like a good idea to post another one. Maybe "good idea" is generous. More like, I seems like what I am going to do, good, bad, or indifferent.

Boursin Cheese - I could maybe eat an entire pack of Boursin Cheese all by myself in one sitting. Not maybe. I know I could. It is delicious. I used to eat it on crackers, but I was trying low-carb for a while and started eating it on salami. To. Die. For. No joke, if my last meal included Boursin Cheese, I would die happy.

The Television Show Parenthood -Such a good show. I end up laughing out loud a lot, but also crying at least once per episode. The writing is great and the cast is amazing. Plus, I think I might have a girl-crush on Lauren Graham. She is perfect in such a relatable, imperfect way.

Shoemall.com - All the shoes I've bought in the past four months that I love and want to wear all the time have been purchased from Shoemall.com. I know there are other sites out there, but The selection on Shoemall is great and I like the ease of sorting/finding on the site, as well as the discounts they offer.

Small-Venue Concerts - I haven't been to an excessive number of concerts, but I've been to a few. I by far prefer the ones that have been in small theaters to the ones in massive stadiums. Last night I saw Sara Bareilles at a small, local theatre. Amazing.

Summertime - I know I've posted this one before, but this spring is dragging on and on in a cold, wet, depressing grossness. I am just ready for the weather to be hot and sunny. I love summer and I miss it so much.

The end. For now.

It Was Just a Bad Day

2011-04-15T20:37:00.000-07:00

Note: I posted this on Friday, but woke up Saturday morning wondering if it really came across the way I meant it. Unfortunately, I didn't have time to look over it till today. I'm just going to go ahead and re-post it. I don't intend for it to sound whiny or all woe-is-me, but if it does, I'm sorry.

Today was the bad end of a bad week. And I mentioned that on Facebook. And, of course, that seemed to some to be an invitation to some to tell me that my life is actually so great and I have no right to say things are bad. Am I the only one who doesn't get that? This compulsion to tell others that they shouldn't feel the way they feel? It doesn't only bother me when someone does it to me, but also when I see it done to others.

I am keenly aware that my life circumstance is better than that of a good percentage of the people currently living on the earth. I read a lot. I know about how bad things are for a lot of people. I hate that so many people have such a terrible time of it. I really do. And if I spend too much time thinking about that, I start to get very melancholy and depressed. If I knew what I could do to make life better for people in horrible situations, I would do it.

So, sure. I realize that when I say I've had a bad day that there are many others out there who are having worse lives than my one bad day. I never said otherwise. But I don't really understand why other people being in bad circumstances means that I can't just say that I'm looking forward to tomorrow since today was crap.

Why is it so difficult to just wish someone well? To hope for them that things improve? To just let them have a down moment, while hoping for better? What happened to empathy?

In ITIL Hell

2011-04-13T15:30:00.001-07:00

I'm skipping coming up with a post topic tonight. I'm in the middle of an ITIL (Information Technology Infrastructure Library, for those of you lucky enough to not know what ITIL stands for) training class at work. I have to study tonight for the exam tomorrow. I mean, it's nice that my company is paying for me to get yet another certification to add to my resume, but I kind of feel like I'm being held hostage in my office building.

At least they provide lunch.

Here We Go Again

2011-04-11T17:48:00.000-07:00

WAY back when Luke started preschool, I posted several posts about how I am a misfit among mothers. This one is the one I remember the most, but I know there are others. I know I am not the only mother who works full-time aside from my mommy duties, but somehow I often end up feeling that I am.

Now Luke is in Kindergarten and has started playing t-ball. The first time I took him to practice, I ended up setting on a bench with another mom and another dad (no relationship to each other). I tried making conversation with the mom, asking her about her son, etc., but all she did was answer my questions. No actual conversation or asking questions about my kid. Um, okay.

The dad, on the other hand, was fine talking to me about our kids and about t-ball and about the teams his older kids had played on their first years. At least I didn't have to sit only with stoic-mom the entire time.

This past week, I again had better luck talking with the dads at first. After a while I realized I was the only mom standing on one side of the field, while all the other moms had somehow migrated to the benches on the other side of the field. Nothing makes you feel more like you're back in jr. high, than seeing a group of females who all seem to be hitting it off swimmingly, while you are the outcast girl who doesn't pinch-roll (peg? pinch-cuff? Whatever that stupid fad was called) her jeans.

I know I'm writing about it so it seems like it gets to me, but what I really worry about is how it will affect Luke and Owen in the future. I don't want them to be those kids who other kids don't like because none of the other moms like their mom. Is that a thing? Would that happen?

Thankfully I did manage to find a mom who I got along with as our kids were playing on the playground after practice. She is a vetrinarian and didn't really seem to fit right in with the other moms either, but did seem like a lovely and genuine person. Maybe there is hope. I don't need to be BFFs with all the other moms. But having one or two allies as I navigate this new mom-to-a-school-kid phase would be a very good thing.

My Name is Trischa....

2011-04-09T17:47:00.000-07:00

...And I have a shoe addiction. I believe this stems from not knowing how to create outfits or accessorize. I try to make up for it by having great shoes. That's okay, right? I do try to be frugal about my shoes. I'm not going to go out and buy really cheap ones that are going to fall apart in three days, but I also can't justify paying full price. I try to watch for sales and use coupon codes and can typically get great shoes for less than $40.

I recently ordered a pair of nude pumps. This pair, if you're curious. I have lots of black shoes and several black boots, but I have been working to add variety. Before these, I bought a great pair of army green heels. These nude heels arrived on a day when I was working from home and I tried them on right away. They are so cute.

But then my husband came home and I showed them to him. He acutally (usually) has great taste in clothes. He isn't one of those guys who obsesses about his looks, but he also looks good when he leaves the house. He took one look at these shoes and said, "They look like high-heel wooden shoes from Holland."

Talk about a blow to my enthusiasm. Of course, I wanted to say they look nothing like that, but... I couldn't. All I could do was laugh. They don't really look like that, but I could kind of see what he meant! And now every time I wear them, all I can think of is "wooden shoes."

So, if I can just get into my closet this weekend to sort, organize, discard, and evaluate.... I'm hoping that I can find some items that go perfectly with wooden high heels.

It's Not THAT Weird

2011-04-07T17:19:00.000-07:00

I have an unusually-spelled name. I get that. But, c'mon. It's not THAT weird. However, the other day, I had a very strange experience at the doctor that made me wonder if maybe I am wrong in thinking my name, while uncommonly spelled, isn't that difficult.

I had an appointment with a new doctor. When I made the appointment over the phone, the girl put me on hold for about five minutes, then I got disconnected. That should have been a sign right there, but I called back, the girl apologized and took my information. I gave her my name and my social security number, so she could verify my insurance. The thought crossed my mind that I didn't spell my name for her, but she was going to check my insurance so I figured she could get the correct spelling from that.

Apparently not. When I arrived for my appointment, I was given a clipboard of paperwork to fill out, on which my name and insurance information were already filled in. As the receptionist handed me the clipboard, I noticed the following in the 'Last Name' line: (Tricia) Goodwin. The first name line read: Trischa. Then she said, "Your insurance is listed under this name," pointing to where it read Trischa, "But we can put both names on your file."

Not quite sure what was going on, I pointed to the correct spelling and said, "That does say 'Trischa' (pronounced Trisha). That is how my name is spelled."

To which she replied, "That's fine if your name is spelled that way. We can put that name," again pointing to the actual spelling of my name, "But we can put Tricia (saying it out loud) as well. We can put both names on your file."

I know it's bad, but by now I was completely annoyed. What part of "Trischa" is my name didn't make sense to her. So I just said, "Why would you put both names on my file?? My name is Trischa (pointing to that spelling) and it is pronounced "Trish-a" so you don't need to put the other spelling (pointing to Tricia)."

A little indignant, she said, "Well, the appointment book had it spelled this way (pointing to Tricia), but we have to go by what your insurance is under."

Goodness. I mean, is it really that confusing? Why is it so hard to understand that a lot of names have multiple spellings? Finally I just told her, "Well, the girl who took my appointment didn't ask for the correct spelling and I thought she could get it from my insurance. Please only put this spelling (indicating Trischa) on my file and leave the other spelling off."

I'm sure this story isn't nearly as amusing to read as it is to hear me tell it out loud, but it is all I have for today. I spent the day at the ballpark in Cincinnati with my boys, watching the Reds lose. Now my nose is sunburned and I am tired. I'm hoping to have a much better post this weekend.

Jealous

2011-04-05T11:43:00.000-07:00

I'm always so jealous when I see girls who seem to have mastered their own personal style, especially when that style looks like what I wish was my personal style. I'm not really sure of how to describe what I would like to be my style, but maybe funky-classic? Casual-classic? I dunno. I'm not a trendy person, but I do try to make sure that I'm not wearing things that are horribly out-of-fashion. If I ever take "fashion quizes" in magazines, I usually just barely fall under "classic," but I know I'm not classic in the glamorous, Audrey Hepburn or Jackie Kennedy way.

No, I'm not glamorous at all. I don't know how to accessorize. I don't wear lipstick. I'm not sure how so many other people seem to be able to look so cute and put together. My default work clothes are dresses, since there is very little involved in making sure the outfit "works." Just coordinate the shoes and go. My default at-home wear is whatever is super comfortable and warm. Yet I still wish I had whatever gene it is that makes people know exactly what looks good together and exactly what looks good on their bodies, all while looking as though they put very little effort into the whole thing. Like it just came naturally for them to know how to mix all the elements of their wardrobe into an amazing collage of perfect outfits.

I recently stumbled onto this blog. I can't remember how I found it and I hope this girl doesn't hate me for linking to her since I am not a fashion blogger, but I just think she is completely adorable. I know that not all of her outfits would work for me (she looks super-cute in skinny jeans and flats, while I look weird and frumpy in them), but she does such a great job of mixing together outfits that are workable for a mom, and yet fun and flattering. I would love to be more like that.

There is also the whole make-up thing. I wear powder foundation and mascara. And chapstick (what? that's not make-up?) I recently started wearing eye shadow, but I have somewhat hooded eyes and I am just not good at putting it on. My friend Sara, on the other hand, her make-up always looks fabulous. As though her make-up is professionally done each time she leaves the house. Is it bad to be jealous of how good your friends look?

Anyway, I'm not really sure of what to do. I think I will start with cleaning out my closet. I tried to start this weekend, but there was a birthday party and a baby shower and t-ball practice and two little boys running around like crazy people that kept me from getting to it. But this weekend, I really am going to try. I'm going to try to go through my closet and get rid of everything that doesn't fit well or that I haven't worn in over a year. And then I'm going to try pairing things together that I've never worn together. And I'm going to try to make a list of some accessories I think might help me expand/enhance some of those outfits

We'll see how it goes. But taking baby steps in the direction of working on my personal style is certainly better than sitting around being jealous of how great other people look.

Toothpicks, Please

2011-04-03T22:19:00.000-07:00

There are many reasons I have only two children. Two kids is really plenty for me. I do not feel the need to just continue producing offspring. I love, LOVE my boys. But the thought of going through another pregnancy and the whole newborn phase again is completely terrifying to me. I was ecstatic when I put all my maternity clothes in a bin and gave them away. I don't think I've ever once had a dreamy nostalgic thought of "Well, babies are cute and maybe I should have kept the clothes...." No. I was glad to help out someone who needed them, but also glad to be rid of them.

The main thing I do not miss at all about having a baby around is the sleepless nights. Neither of my boys were good nighttime sleepers. I tried to do things "right," like having them sleep in their own crib every night from the time we brought them home from the hospital. I did not rush to them every single time they fussed. I tried to follow the rules that are supposed to produce good sleepers, but to no avail. My kids were up every few hours, every night, for months on end. Oh, the torture of never getting a full night sleep. My kids obviously hated me.

Things got a little better after my oldest turned one, but not long after, I was pregnant again and even more exhausted. And any change of schedule or even minor illness would send us into a spate of sleepless nights. Once my youngest was born, it was back to the cycle of up every few hours, every night. But then my oldest would somehow manage to wake up at least once a night too. Oy.

Most of the first six months of my youngest son's life are a blur in my memory. All I really remember is the overwhelming exhaustion. I'm not sure what I said to them on the phone or what prompted it, but I do have this vivid memory of opening the front door and my parents standing there on the porch. My mom took the baby, who was probably only a few weeks old at the time, and said "Go to bed. We can take care of our grandsons for a few hours." I broke down in tears.

Going without sleep is hard. Really, really hard. I guess in a way it gets you used to the fact that most things about being a parent are hard, but that doesn't make up for lost sleep. Add to no sleep trying to be a good parent and work full time and salvage some semblence of a life (outside of parenting and sleep-deprivation), and you have a recipe for disaster.

It seems like my kids have been sick on-and-off (but mostly on) since.... oh... the beginning of winter. Month after month of spending bundles of nights getting up every few hours to administer medicine, wipe noses, and various other unpleasant things I will not detail here, and I feel like I cannot go on like this much longer. I just want winter to go away, for my kids to be well, and to get a full nights' sleep for more than two nights in a row. I also wish this post were better and that it made sense, but I can barely stay awake. This will have to do for now. In the meantime, I need to set the coffeemaker to brew in the morning and remember to set out the toothpicks to help me keep my eyes open for work.

Day One

2011-04-01T18:34:00.000-07:00

If I could explain how bad my writer's block has been lately, I would. I'm really not sure of what happened. But I do know that I've got to try something to get back on track. I wouldn't exactly say that I've missed writing, at least, not in the way I would miss a dear friend or a favorite food if I'd gone months without. But I have felt like something has been missing lately and I think that is me putting effort into anything other than what is absolutely necessary to maintain my life.

So here I am. Back to another write-everyday-for-a-month month. Only this time I'm going to do something different. I've been mulling over the thought that maybe knowing that people I know might read everything I post has in some way made me less likely to post. I'm going to write every day, but I'm only going to post here every other day. The in-between days I will write, but not post to this blog. At the end of the month, I will evaluate my work and see how it is different in quality and content.

If there is something really worth sharing in my in-between writing, I may post it here after the end of April, but I guess we will see how it goes. I am actually starting to get excited about this little experiment. I'm really hoping it gets me back into my writing and a little bit out of my predictable routine.

Why?

2011-03-25T18:21:00.000-07:00

Why do I have nothing to write about? Oy. I hate this. I think I see another write-each-day-for-a-month in my future. This is ridiculous.

I Feel Old!

2011-02-13T17:54:00.000-08:00

So. I'm trying to watch the Grammy Awards. Many of these people... I've never heard their music. And when I watch them perform, I feel so uncomfortable that they are up there with all those shiny costumes and synchronized dance moves... it makes me feel strange just watching them.

I like lots of different types of music, but my favorites are by people who perform in small theatres and venues, without shiny costumes. I either listen to CDs or NPR on my commute. Tonight was the first time I'd heard a Justin Bieber song.

I'm by no means a trendy person. I am usually aware of trends, but I only partake of the ones that I am confident will not make me look like an idiot.... for example, you may catch me in a Mad Men-esque dress at the office, but you will never catch me wearing skinny jeans and flats (I don't have the body for it). So, sure, I've heard of Justin Bieber and Lady Gaga... but as for being well-versed in their song titles or trivia? Not so much.

I'm not that old. But, for some reason, seeing all these super-star music people who I know very little about makes me feel old. And the fact that I feel uncomfortable watching them with their shiny clothes and odd dance moves, makes me feel even older.

Bleh. I don't want to be old. But I also realized that I don't care about the Grammy Awards. Time to watch some Food Network and go to bed early. ;)

New Year, New Motto

2011-01-19T17:17:00.000-08:00

"Every opportunity has an expiration date,

and the cost of missing out is greater than the cost of messing up."

— Pete Wilson

I am a hesitator. A what-if?-er. An over-analyzer. A second-guesser. I like to just say I'm "indecisive," but that's really being nice. I agonize over even the simplest decision, wondering if I'm making the right choice. It is annoying, frustrating, and tiring. And I want to stop.

So this is my new motto. I keep telling myself that the missing out on opportunities is so much worse than things not turning out exactly how I want. I have many good intentions, but when it comes down to it I freak myself out that things will go badly so I don't follow through. I'm not getting any younger. I don't want to look back at my life with regrets.

Maybe I will start blogging again, since I have sadly neglected my blog for quite some time now. Maybe I will keep track of some of the things I tackle without hesitating. Maybe. For now, I have some people to call and places to go.

Three Guys and a Girl

2010-09-02T18:09:00.000-07:00

I remember when I was finishing college. I checked out some grad schools, thinking that maybe I would try to get a degree in something like environmental law or environmental policy. I would be that girl, living in the city, barely making rent on my tiny apartment, and working long hours to make a difference. Yeah. I could be that girl.

But there was this guy....

I know what you're thinking, but no. I actually didn't give all that up for this guy. This guy said he would move with me wherever. He likes the city. We would take on the world together.

But the more I thought about it, the less I liked that girl. What kind of life is that? Working all the time, fighting losing battles, barely making ends meet, hardly any time for friends and family. No, I couldn't be that girl.

I wanted to have more free time. To have a job I could leave at work. To be close to family and close to my roots. So that's what I did. I got a job to help pay off the student loans and settled in close to home. I think about this from time to time, trying to figure out if there are any pangs of regret. Wondering if I have any "if onlys." I don't.

Oddly, I still feel like I work all the time, fight losing battles, and have a hard time making ends meet. Because, well.... I do. I work full-time and have two kids. That's reality. There are times I wish I had a different job or that I'd done some things differently. But, live and learn, right?

Besides.... there are these guys.....

Exhale

2010-08-27T17:55:00.000-07:00

We survived the first day of school. Pretty much nothing went right logistically, but we survived. The bus forgot to pick him up and then they passed our road on the way back and had to turn around to drop him off after I called.

However, the most important thing is that Luke loves school so far. He loves riding the bus and seems to have made some friends. He really doesn't have much to say about what goes on during class, but every once in a while he lets something slip. He really seems to adore his teacher and is more than happy to share what he's learning with his little brother. I know it's still early in the year, but consider this post a huge sigh of relief.

*Exhale*

Bittersweet

2010-08-16T18:28:00.000-07:00

My eldest son is starting Kindergarten tomorrow. I've known since before he was born that this day was coming, and yet I still find myself horribly unprepared. I'm not concerned about how he will do in school, at least not academically. I'm scared for him as he learns to navigate the frightening social environment that is riding the bus and dealing with classmates.

I hate the thought of him sitting on the bus all alone, or worse yet, sitting with the wrong people. Some kid who might be mean to him or make fun of him for being shy and quiet or try to bully him into doing something wrong. I don't want him to feel alone or ostracised. I basically don't want him to have to deal with the hard or negative parts of growing up.

I know that is completely unrealistic. I know that we all become who we are based on learning to deal with the people around us. I know that he must learn how to interact with people to reach adulthood with the ability to cope, to rise above, to navigate friendships, and to make good choices.

But I think the real reason this bothers me is that there is something so final about the first day of Kindergarten. Yes, it's the first day of something exciting for him. Yes, I'm excited for him. I'm excited to see what he loves to learn about, to hear about the friends he makes, and to watch him grow in this whole new way. But his first day of Kindergarten is also the the last of him being home every day with us. It's the last day of me being able to call from work to check and see what he's up to. I know he will always be my son, but after tomorrow, things won't be the same. Which is good, but for me, it's very bittersweet.

Distractions

2010-06-25T22:41:00.000-07:00

I know it has been forever since I've written. I blame my third-of-life crisis. I'm mad that I know what I want to be when I grow up, but I can't be that and instead I'm being something else. I can barely tolerate all the office politics and stupidness that consume my job right now. I was talking with my friend Irena today about how much time work sucks up out of our weeks and it was completely depressing. Despite that there were years in the past that I was working two jobs, weekends included, I don't remember feeling this way back then. She feels same way and thinks it's because we had goals then, biding our time till we graduated college, moved away, got married, or whatever was the next step then and we thought our real lives would begin soon.

Now that our real lives are here, we realize that we're kind of trapped. And that makes it almost unbearable. It's nice to have a distraction.

Tonight, my distraction came in the form of a long-time friend's wedding. She looked gorgeous and happy and I am ecstatic for her that she has found someone who treats her the way she deserves. My husband couldn't attend with me because of work, so I met up with my dear friend from forever, her husband, and a friend from back in my working-all-the-time phase. There is something so refreshing and almost soul-cleansing about spending time with people you spent so much time with in your past. People who knew you back when you were an awkward teenager and then college student, trying to figure it all out, and who still embrace you as a grown-up once you've all realized you will never have it all figured out.

I'm not really sure of what else to say about it. I love those moments when you are completely comfortable in the company of people who really know you. This night could not have happened at a better time.

Worth Waiting For

2010-05-15T20:18:00.000-07:00

I have this poem rattling around in my head. It has a part about writing on your hand in pen to remember stuff. I hope it sounds better than that when I finally get it out of my head and in to poem form. I hope it is worth waiting for.

Speaking of worth waiting for.... I FINALLY got my tattoo finished today! I wish I could make up some new words to express how much I love it. I think my tattoo artist, Chris Carter at Fate Tattoo, is one of the most amazing artists ever. I can't believe this amazing tattoo is on MY arm!

So... I need to get back in to writing. I need.... to do a lot of things. I really hope I can find some determination and motivation. Before I completely lose my ability to write. At all.

Blank Stare

2010-05-08T08:08:00.000-07:00

My oldest son, Luke, is not very social. He is quite witty for a four-year-old and amazingly thoughtful when he wants to be, but he just doesn't seem to feel like he should interact with most people in the general public. In a way, this is quite irritating because I don't want to be that parent with the weird kid who won't talk to people. However, I kind of admire him. There are so many people I wish I could ignore or respond to with a blank stare.

I also can't blame him for not wanting to participate in the lame-o activities at school. They had a Mother's Day Tea at his school Thursday. Of course, the teacher had prepared a little song and dance routine for the kids to do for the moms. Okay, so it was more like songs with motions accompanied by a kid's sing-a-long CD than it was singing and dancing, but you get the idea. As soon as the teachers asked the kids to come up to the front for their songs, Luke looked at me and said, "I don't want to." I encouraged him to go up, but he gave me that look and an "Uh-uh." The teachers were looking at me and I told him again that he should go up, but it was obvious that trying any more than that was going to end badly. So I just shrugged it off and let him skip it. He sat in his chair next to me and watched while his classmates performed 'Skitta-ma-rinky-dinky-dink' and 'A Bushel and a Peck' with motions that included lots of hugging themselves, throwing kisses, and bouncing with their hands on their hips.

How bad is it that I was actually proud of him for not participating? Sure, I understand that participation and collaboration are important life skills, but what is it teaching him if he is forced to do something stupid just because everyone else is doing it? There is really only one outcome I can envision from this whole attitude of kids needing to do things for amusement just because all their friends are doing it. Is that what I want to be teaching my kids? I mean, sure, if they really like singing goofy songs and want to do it, that's fine. But if they hate it, why should they have to?

Now, I'm not saying I intend to teach my kids that it is okay for them to do whatever they want, whenever they want. They need to learn manners and responsibility and how to treat people with respect. But I also want them to learn that there are things they should not do just for approval or just because other people are doing them. They need to learn to evaluate what are those things that are beneficial to their lives and what are the things that add no value. I know I'm still trying to teach myself to say 'no' to things that add no value to my life but that I feel obligated to do anyway. How much easier my life would be if I had learned that lesson starting in preschool!

Luke still gave me the big, floppy, paper hat he made for me. And the card with a picture he drew of the two of us with the dog. And the flower with a snapshot of us glued in the middle. He still served me cake and he still sat on my lap while the teacher read the sad story she chose to try to make all the moms cry. His choosing not to participate in the singing and bouncing did not ruin the Mother's Day party for me. It made me hopeful that his future will not include too much time wasted agonizing over how to say no to something in which he has no interest but that he still feels he pressured to do because all the other kids are doing it.

Open Letter to All Tri-State Area Drivers

2010-05-03T17:05:00.000-07:00

Dear Fellow Drivers -

As we are often sharing the same expressways and thoroughfares, there are a few things I would like to address. If we could come to an agreement on these infractions, I think our comings and goings would be much more pleasant. At least mine would be and that is what I'm really concerned about today.

If you are not passing any cars on the left, stop driving in the passing lane! It is called a passing lane for a reason and that reason is not so that other cars have to start passing you on the right. I do not care what great conversation you are having on your cell phone or that you are engrossed in your radio program. You are driving and you should glance in the rear view mirror every once in a while to see if there are thirty cars lined up behind you. Get the eff over and out of the way of people who have places to go.

If you need to check your make-up, take off your jacket, search for something in the back seat, text your BFF, or adjust your mirrors, the time for this is when you arrive at your destination and not when you have been stopped at a red light for five minutes already. When you are stopped first-in-line at the world's shortest turn light, you should be facing forward, hands on the wheel, eyes on said light, ready to gun it as soon as the green turn-arrow lights up. This will ensure more people than just you can make it through the intersection before the arrow light turns red.

USE YOUR TURN SIGNAL PEOPLE! This alerts the other drivers around you that you are about to do something stupid. Something stupid like turn left from the lane you're driving in rather than taking advantage of the well-marked turn lane you should be using. It also lets us know if you are about to change lanes into us without doing a shoulder check or so much as glancing in your side mirror. Car manufacturers have placed the control for the turn signal very conveniently next to where your left hand should be on the steering wheel. It is very simple to reach out with a finger or two to signal in which direction you are about to do something asinine.

Do not pull right out in front of me when I am driving along at good clip and then proceed to drive like your car is missing an accelerator. Unless you have been sitting at a stop sign for twenty minutes and the space between me and the car ahead of me is your only shot at getting out on to the main road, this is not acceptable. I will cut you some slack if I can see nothing but headlights behind me and you speed up to a suitable speed. But if you could have waited an additional two seconds and pulled out behind me, there is no excuse for slowing me down and getting on my nerves. Especially when it is completely obvious you are in no hurry to get wherever you are going.

If you do any of these stupid things and someone is tailgating you or honks at you or is yelling at from inside their car, you do not have the right to get pissed off, tailgate back, or make obscene gestures. You should take a moment to reflect on your rudeness and adjust your behavior accordingly. Take these words to heart. This really is for your own good.

Good Things Come?

2010-05-02T19:34:00.000-07:00

I may have mentioned before that patience is not my strong suit. I was planning to have my tattoo finished today, but that didn't exactly happen. In a way I can't believe it still isn't finished after three sessions. However, my artist is AMAZING and pays such attention to detail (maybe a masters degree in painting will do that to a guy) and has put in at least ten hours on it so far. I know I am extremely biased here since this is that tattoo design I chose and it is on my arm, but can you believe how beautiful this is?

So even though I really wish it was done, I'm kinda getting the whole thing about good things coming to those who wait. Chris probably could have done this in fewer sessions, but would I really have wanted him to when it is turning out like this? And, truth be told, after five hours today I was getting tired of sitting and my arm was getting really sore. I know this will all be worth it when I see the final product. Soon....

Freefall?

2010-04-30T19:23:00.000-07:00

This is my last night of mandatory writing for a while. If I get my tattoo finished Sunday, I plan to post about that, but there will likely be no post tomorrow. This is good, since I will be cleaning and cooking all day tomorrow and will have a house full of people tomorrow night. I am a crazy person.

I really don't know what to write about. I was thinking about a post to explore why I don't fit in at church. Then I was thinking about a post that recaps the month or one about how I am not qualified to be a mother. Or a post about how I used to be a better writer than I am now. Those things will have to wait.

I just read this article about sleep positions. Studies are so interesting to me. I almost failed statistics in college (damn you, stats and what you did to my GPA!), but I think I'm at least a little 'common sense' smart. I often question studies and why the researchers decided to conduct them the way they did. Just this week while watching an episode of 'Mythbusters' where the team was trying to determine if cursing made something less painful, I was reminded of this. They did a test where the subjects had to hold their hand and forearm in a vat of ice water until they could no longer stand the pain. The first time they said random, pre-selected, non-swear words. The second time they let loose with expletives. Of course, they were all able to withstand the freezing pain better the second time, thus supposedly proving that swearing somehow lessens pain.

However, I would argue they haven't actually proven swearing helps you deal with pain unless they had switched between swearing or not-swearing first. Sometimes, when you know the level of pain you are actually going to experience you are better able to brace for it. When I had the original tattoo on my side, I was completely unprepared for how much worse it would hurt than the one on my back. I could barely catch my breath. Yet, when I had it added to, and then later retouched, I was much better able to tolerate the pain because I knew what to expect.

So, when I read the sleep study and found that as a 'Freefall' sleeper, I should be "brash, outgoing, and are very uncomfortable with criticism," I wondered how they came to this conclusion. They have the "very uncomfortable with criticism" part correct. But... seriously? What kind of person likes criticism? The brash and outgoing part is completely not me. I am far too concerned about the consequences of my actions to be brash and far to tied to the glasses-wearing bookworm in my head to be outgoing. I wish I had more information on how they conducted this study!

I really have little else to say about this, other than I dislike being pigeonholed based on how people think I should be or act or react. I'm a person, not a study. A person who needs to be a better person and better mother and better writer, but I'm doing the best I can. Is that ever enough?

Almost There

2010-04-29T17:55:00.000-07:00

As I was pulling in the parking lot this morning, I noticed a gaggle of geese blocking off some good spaces. It was really all I could do to keep myself from mowing them down. It would have been in self-defense. Really.

Why am I bringing this up? Oh... right. Because I'm getting ready to write another post about tattoos and I thought maybe if you wanted to read something else you could read this instead: one of my favorite posts.

Starting this past Wednesday night, I began a marathon extended weekend of craziness. Dinner with my sister's family that night, swim lessons tonight, family night at church tomorrow night, Gap Party Saturday, and........ getting my tattoo finished Sunday! I think.

I've thought I was getting this tattoo twice before. I'm trying to be optimistic that this is actually going to happen. I really, really can't wait till it's finished. You know what else I can't wait to be finished? This week. And this month. *sigh*

Third-of-Life Crisis, Perhaps?

2010-04-28T18:23:00.000-07:00

I'm writing this post without any regard for the few people who may end up reading it. It is likely that tomorrow morning I will wake up with and be gripped with writer's remorse. Of course, by then it will be too late. This will be out there and someone may have already read it. And judged me. Ay-yi-yi.

Today I hit a wall. I finally managed to make myself finish some things I really needed to do at work. I accomplished something and felt pretty good about it for about twenty minutes. Then as I was driving home all these things just started stacking up in my mind until they became too precarious and toppled over.

I just sat there, examining all the pieces and didn't even know what to do with them. No, my life is not in shambles. I'm just having a serious self-esteem crisis. There is absolutely no good reason for this. Maybe it is just one of those things that keeps my vanity in check. Maybe it a third-of-life crisis. I really don't know. All I know is that I just wanted to break down and cry.

In attempt to salvage what is left of my pride, I won't go into all the details. Let's just say that all the contributing factors taken individually would not have caused this episode. I usually don't care if people just stop talking to me for no reason or do things (probably completely on accident) that make it seem like they don't care at all about something that means a lot to me. Clearly though, all of these things stacking one on top of the other, put a big chink in my armor. That is unpleasant.

I'm really not sure what there is to do about any of this. I'll be fine after a while. Eventually some of these things will fade away and be replaced in my head with other things that don't make me feel like I can't make anything turn out right. I think now would be a good time for me to go to bed and dream that will happen soon.

Swimming Lessons

2010-04-27T18:31:00.000-07:00

A lot of times I feel overwhelmed by all the stuff we have going on. That bad part is, compared to a lot of people, we don't have that much going on. Sure, we have two kids and we each have a job and various other activities throughout the weeks. But our kids don't play sports or do cub scouts or take music lessons. We haven't been having to run the kids around to lots of extra-curricular activities.

That is about to change. We signed the boys up for swimming lessons and they start this week. Way back I wrote this post that explains how I feel about swimming and these are lessons where parents have to be in the pool. So in addition to me not liking swimming, we now have a regular activity to run the boys to every week. Yay.

I think it is fitting that swimming lessons are our first foray into kid activities. I am not naive. I know this is only the tip of the iceberg. Even though we will limit the number of activities they do once they start school, it will still be non-stop running. I'm excited to see what the boys will want to do as they grow up, but I think for Ryan and I it will feel a lot like trying to keep our heads above water.

Trying

2010-04-26T18:08:00.000-07:00

This is about the time in the trying to write every day when I get discouraged that I am trying to write so frequently and only a few people ever read what I write. Believe me, I love that several of my friends make an effort to read whatever I manage to type out, but sadly for them most of what I write about and is stuff I've already discussed with them. My posts are just crazy recaps of things I've already said out loud or hashed out over instant message.

I know there are many ways to increase blog traffic, such as participating in certain posts on certain days and linking back to the original blog. There are many other similar ways to do this, but none of them seem very "me." I've never really been much of a joiner. I really just want people to read my blog because it's witty and interesting.

I realize it would help if my blog were actually witty and interesting, but in my mind I get points for trying.

Not Sure

2010-04-25T19:50:00.000-07:00

I'm not really sure what I was thinking saying that I would write every day. I think I've taken more "breaks" this month than anything... writing way too many single-paragraph posts because I can't come up with anything decent. Real life just gets too consuming sometimes. There is laundry to fold and dishes to wash and carpet to vacuum. There are conversations to have and friends to see and kids to raise. Oh. And my full-time job.

Many days it is really difficult for me to make myself focus enough to write down all these things I need to write about. And on the days I make myself really write, the result is often disappointing to me when I go back and re-read. I don't really know what to do about this. But at least this post is more than one paragraph.

It's Settled

2010-04-24T22:03:00.000-07:00

About a week ago I sort of read this article about a girl who had decided to take on a different adventure every week for one year. I only sort of read it because it was a very long and not particularly interesting article. I read the first paragraph, skimmed the next few, and lost interest. Aren't you glad to be reading this? Me boring you with a blog about a boring article? Stay with me for a minute. (Or don't. I'm going to finish this post either way.)

So, back here I wrote that I was going to find something of importance to do. And all week I've been trying to think of what organization I can work with or where I can volunteer and sometimes take the boys too. Then something reminded me of that article I sorta read and I thought maybe I could do something similar, only with volunteering. And maybe do every month instead of every week since volunteering usually requires some amount of planning and I do have a full time job and two kids who are my sole responsibility on the weekends.

But once a month doesn't quite seem like enough. So I've decided that each week for at least the next six months, I am going to do something to help someone. Although I'd like for at least one of those weeks each month to be volunteering, it doesn't have to be volunteering with a group or organization. It just has to be something that helps someone else and is outside my normal realm of responsibilities. In fact, unless it is some crazy, out-of-the-ordinary circumstance, helping Ryan or either of the boys won't count.

So there it is. At least one time each week I will go out of my way to do something to help someone else. And yes, I mean more than just holding the door for someone or telling someone they have something stuck in their teeth. This has to be something I go out of my way to do. I know at first it will take some planning, but I am hoping that as my goal becomes more present in my thoughts, I will notice opportunities and be able to do fill my requirement without spending too much time on the planning part. I'd rather use the time for the executing part.

I will try to post from time to time some of the things I do. I already have in mind what I am going to do this coming week. I can't really give many details, but I know of someone who probably needs some help but who would probably never ask me. So I'm going to surprise her and help her anyway. I'm guessing that at some point this whole idea is going to be a huge challenge for me, but tonight I'm feeling really good about it. Let's try to go with the whole feeling-good-about-it thing for as long as we can, shall we? I think this may be just what I need to kick the last remnants of my Seasonal Affective Disorder/career issues and get on with my life.

Anti-Christian

2010-04-23T18:59:00.000-07:00

There are some times that I struggle with my faith identity. Then there are other times, when I am full-on embarrassed to call myself a "Christian". There are times when I just want to make up a term for what I am because I've heard too many "Christian" stories that make me feel like I want nothing at all to do with anything that is even remotely considered "Christian." I hate to say it, but sometimes I just feel so anti-Christian.

I really, honestly do not get it. Someone told me recently that they heard someone praying for something bad to happen to someone they thought had wronged them. I've read stories about so-called "Christians" handing out tracts that state if a woman is raped it is her own fault for wearing clothes that tempted a man. I've heard personal accounts of people being treated with disdain and disrespect by people in their lives simply for not being "Christian."

Of course, I know that the danger with most organized religion is that it can attract extremists who go completely their own way and disregard the real message. We see this in many beliefs, not just Christianity. I think that most reasonable people could agree that the majority of a group should not be blamed for the extremist views or actions of a small minority who claim to be part of that group.

But I'm not really talking about extremism here. I'm talking about much more common behaviors. Recently a local mother apparently staged her own abduction, setting off panic and causing hundreds of well-meaning people to give up their own time to help find her. The police and FBI also spent time and resources trying to locate her. Turns out, she faked the whole thing to run off to Florida with her lover.

I'm guessing she probably had undiagnosed PPD or some other issue that clouded her judgement. This kinds of issues are real and serious and can cause anything from mild depressive symptoms to unexplained behavior. But upon discovery of what happened, many people were posting things on Facebook saying how great God is and what a miracle it is that she was found safe. Really?? Is it a miracle that a lady goes crazy, abandons her child, causes worry to her family and her community, all to run away? I just fail to see how that is a miracle.

I guess what I'm really wondering about is the common language and actions often associated with "Christians." This saying things are miracles when, if you really examine what happened, are more of a tragedy than anything. Or this idea of treating people differently based on their beliefs. I personally don't think we can hold other people who do not claim to be "Christian" to the same standards I think "Christians" should hold themselves. But the "Christian" way seems to be to judge people for their actions and hold it against them based on Christian beliefs, regardless of the person's own views. Then there is the matter of expecting other "Christians" to keep up a certain appearance, regardless of what they are actually experiencing in their own life. All of these things make no sense to me and seem to cause more harm than good.

Please understand that I am not trying to judge here. I know it is not my place to dictate how other people express their faith. I also know that my own thoughts and behaviors do not always live up to what I say I believe. But what I am trying to do is express something I struggle with. Something I don't understand.

I read in the Bible about the way we are supposed to treat people, but much of what I read doesn't seem to match up with "Christian" tradition. I guess for myself, I just want to make sure that the way I'm acting and the things I'm saying are not just some "Christian" response or rhetoric. I don't want to misrepresent what my faith actually stands for by using popular lingo or or a learned response that has no foundation other than it's how I've seen others respond.

In the case of this "missing" mother, I do have compassion for her. I am sad that whatever was going on in her life led her to make the choices she made. I sincerely hope she gets the help that she needs. I can agree that we should still show her compassion and forgiveness, but I do not think that there is anything miraculous about what happened. And, at least for me, this was a reminder to watch the things I say and think of the impact they have on others.... "Christian" or not.

Taking a Break

2010-04-22T17:55:00.000-07:00

I'm taking a break tonight. This week has been weird and strange and I'm going to sit here on the couch and watch a movie. I am not going to try to come up with something interesting or something witty. I'm just going to veg and relax. Tomorrow is Friday. And then time off of work. I'm really looking forward to the weekend. And I am hoping to have a few good posts too.

In Case We Needed More Proof

2010-04-21T18:24:00.000-07:00

Just one more thing on the long list of things why I am not a normal mom. There are only a few moms who take their kids to Luke's school who make eye contact with me. There are only two or three moms who will carry on a conversation with me. I am fine with this, as I only have to go there once a week when I drop him off on the way to work on Tuesdays. I'm the mom who shows up there, all dressed for work, while most of the other moms are wearing workout clothes. I really don't care what the other mom's wear. I think people should dress appropriate to their lives and activities.

Yesterday I took the day off work to chaperon Luke's class field trip to the Children's Museum, despite that I only had one week's notice. I was looking forward to spending the time with Luke and watching him with his classmates. I was not, however, looking forward to standing by awkwardly with the other parents, especially since the two moms I have befriended were not attending.

Turns out, my reservations proved true. Okay, so I did find a few people to talk to.... the grandmother of one little girl, the au pair of another, and the dad of another. But there were several parents who I just wanted to slap. When I am not working or going out, I do not dress up. I try to dress appropriate to my life and activities. I was wearing distressed (read: ripped) jeans, a vintage-looking Green Bay Packers t-shirt, and chucks. That is appropriate clothing for attending a children's museum with 21 kids.

I'm pretty sure most of the other moms wouldn't be caught dead in what I was wearing, but who cares? Well... apparently one mom. She walked up next to me in her polo shirt, khaki pants, and loafers and gave me a once-over followed by a dirty look. Whatever. I just tried to avoid being near her the rest of the morning.

But.... Wouldn't you know that I would somehow get stuck sitting next to her at lunch! She acted like I didn't exist, even when her kid pushed all his trash over into where I was eating and then proceeded to throw his wet wipe on me after he wiped his hands and the table and the arms of the girl next to him with it. She grabbed it off my arm without apologizing or telling her kid to apologize and just told him not to throw things. What is wrong with people?

I really do not care if people like me or not. I do not consider life to be a popularity contest. I have plenty of friends so if I don't get along with you or you don't like me, it's really okay. Live and let live, right? But what I really hate is when someone purposely is rude for no good reason or acts like someone else doesn't deserve common courtesy. She was telling her kid to use manners with the girl next to him and her mom, so I know it wasn't that she didn't know about manners.

Sure, I don't really know why that lady gave me the dirty look and treated me that way. Maybe it was how I was dressed, but maybe she hates tattoos. Maybe she hates it that we both have a 4-year-old and I could pass for 20 years old. Maybe she hates the Green Bay Packers. Whatever the reason, it's sad that she is teaching her kid that it is okay to treat some people with manners while treating other people like they don't exist.

I'm glad that Luke is too young to notice that his mom is an outcast amongst moms. And I'm glad that I'm doing my best to teach him that we treat other people with respect and courtesy, regarless of how similar to or different from us they are. Even people who wear khakis and loafers. ;)

Maybe Someday I Will Write a Good Post

2010-04-20T19:45:00.000-07:00

Today I took Luke to the Children's Museum on his class field trip. Then I went to Lowe's to but plants, came home, folded laundry, ate dinner, planted the garden, and folded more laundry. I'm so exhausted.

Fake Important

2010-04-19T18:39:00.000-07:00

Lately I have been feeling so discontent. My job is... not important in the grand scheme of things. Sure, it is important for me to do well at my job, but it is not an important job. I sit at a desk all day trying to resolve problems that are just the tip of the iceberg of the issues that need to be addressed. Everyone acts as though what I do is the most urgent thing ever, but once my reports are produced, the urgency fades and people move on to other things. It's all fake important.

I have got to find something of actual importance to do. I'm not sure what and I'm not sure how, but I just feel like I need to do something that is not my job that is important. Sure, I know that taking care of my kids is important, but I mean something outside my family. Something that shifts my focus. I really meant what I said about living creatively. But time is passing and I'm still treading water.

This weekend I am going to find something to do. I'm going to figure out something that I can to so I'm not just thinking about how I spend much of my time doing something that is fake important.

Ew

2010-04-18T19:16:00.000-07:00

In case I haven't mentioned it enough times, I'll say it again. I love summertime. And I love summertime weather no matter what the season. What I don't like are bugs. I'm not one of those girls who screams and gets on a chair if I see an ant, but I prefer for bugs to stay outside. One of the bad things about summer is that you are outside more frequently and the doors are opened a lot more frequently and bugs just tend to get inside a lot more.

The worst of the bugs that get inside are ticks. Unlike other bugs that wait outside on the porch and fly in when the door opens a crack, tick come in on your skin. Ticks are also dangerous and can give you a serious illness. And they are so tiny and can crawl on you without you feeling it. Tonight the boys and I went for a walk. Just a walk up the road, not out in the woods. At the time I'm writing this I have now found four ticks. I found one on each of the boys and one on myself before their bedtime. About ten minutes ago, I found another one crawling on my neck.

My skin is crawling. I hate that feeling. It's like when you hear people talk about head lice and your head starts itching. Only this is worse, because I did actually find two of the things crawling on my skin! I guess it's time to go out and stock up on some serious DEET-filled, deep-woods OFF! and spray us all down with it whenever we go outside. And we might all have to shave our heads, just to be on the safe side.

World's Weirdest Mom

2010-04-17T19:41:00.000-07:00

I've decided I must be some freak of nature. I really seriously LOVE my kids, but I have no idea how I've made it through the first years of their lives. I know this means nothing coming from me, but my kids are smart. And they are funny. My kids say things like, "Look on the news, Mom. Everything is damaged" and "Look, Owen. This is the part where he finds himself in Paris." They are three and almost five. I think they are amazing people. However, they still drive me completely insane. Some days bedtime really cannot come soon enough.

Most of the moms I know love babies. Love them. Babies are like crack to them and they either want to have more of their own or they want to be around them all the time. I've had two babies. I managed to survive the sleepless nights, the times when they would scream for what seemed like hours for no determinable reason, and the never knowing what the freak they needed but trying to pretend like I did. I do not love babies. I loved my babies and I love my new nephew. That is pretty much the extent of my affection for babies.

Now that my kids are older, I still have no idea what to do with them. Oh, I've read the books and I get the magazines. I seriously doubt the authors of said books or contributors to said magazines have ever actually met a child. Distract a kid from a tantrum? Are you serious? Sure, maybe one time out of ten the freak-out is not so serious and you just happen to have some super-cool distraction and you can avoid a full-blown scene. That means that the nine other times, no matter what you try, your kid is going to have a melt down. And you will too. On the inside, at least.

I've also tried talking to other parents and asking for strategies. And you know what I've found? Most other parents are also in trial and error mode, just like me. More error, really, but hey... we're all trying. The ones who really seem to have it all figured out probably have so many children that they run their household more like a military boarding school than a family. Whatever works, right?

I really don't have a point here. Just venting over the frustration that I have these two little people in my life, for whom I am mostly responsible, and I have no idea what to do with them. Other than love them and pray they turn out okay.

And pray that those two things end up being enough.

Come on Eileen

2010-04-16T20:59:00.000-07:00

It's so funny how songs you don't even like can just stick with you and bring up memories at the oddest times. Tonight I was at happy hour with some friends. The place was really loud so I couldn't hear the music.... until I walked into the ladies room. The speakers in the ladies room were screaming the song "Come on Eileen."

"Come on Eileen, well I swear (what he means) At this moment you mean EV-ER-Y-THING!!....."

Ah, memories. Every single time I hear that song, I'm nineteen again and it's 12 AM and I'm closing at work and trying to finish my tasks while that song is blaring out of the dish washing area. Blaring over and over and over again because whoever is washing dishes gets to choose the music and my friend and co-worker who I closed with a lot at that time always chose that song. I can still see her, soap suds clinging to her forearms, carrying the heavy chili crocks out to put them away while singing under her breath.

The place I worked starting my senior year of high school and on breaks all the way through college was the same place most of my friends worked. Some of my favorite memories from those days were from work. It adds another layer to your friendship to work late, side-by-side, commiserating about lousy tips and annoying customers while mopping and scrubbing crocks. And my friends all having a certain song or band or radio station they always liked to listen to just added another layer to the memories. Whether it was Barenaked Ladies, Aerosmith, "Mickey," or 103.9 The Edge (before Pizza Hut sued them and they became "The X"), I will always associate that music with those friends and that job and those times. And that is not a bad thing, even if I can't stand "Come on Eileen."

Please Don't Leave

2010-04-15T17:53:00.000-07:00

Today was my perfect day weather-wise. Eighty-three degrees, sunny, slight breeze, not too humid. Even though it was a work day, I got to stay at home thanks to this nasty cough. I sat outside on the back porch all day. *huge sigh of contentment* If only we could have these days on the weekend. That would be perfect. Of course, by the weekend the highs will only be in the mid-fifties. If only wishing for this perfect weather to stay could make it so.

Perfect, summery weather..... please don't leave!

Help

2010-04-14T18:41:00.000-07:00

In case I haven't mentioned it, I'm sick. And miserable. When you feel awful and you can't sleep, it is really difficult to be cheerful. Or happy. But tonight, I was able to spend some time helping my sister and her husband with a little bit of work. They are in the process of a full kitchen remodel. Of course, for most of it, Ryan, the boys and I have been sick and no help to them whatsoever. It was so nice to finally get over there and lend a hand, even if it was only for a little while. I certainly wish we could have done more and I hope there are some more things we can help them with before they are done.

Just to rewind a bit, Ryan and I owe my sister and her husband about a hundred-million hours of help. They were still dating when we were building our house and they were over here almost every single day helping with whatever we were working on. They tiled floors. They painted walls. They painted trim. They tiled our entire shower. When they weren't helping with the actual building process, Tiffiny (or both of them) were watched Luke for us. Did I mention I was pregnant with Owen at the time? They also made sure I didn't over-do it by making sure I rested and didn't try to do stuff pregnant people shouldn't be doing. See what I mean?

Of course, both of them just act like it was something they did and no big deal at all, even though we might still be trying to build this house if not for their help. Whenever I mention something about us 'owing' them, they just brush it off like they didn't give up a couple months of all their free time to help us however they could. That is just how they are.

We have them over for dinner once a week (when we aren't sick) and they've sometimes said things like we are even because we feed them. But we don't have them over for dinner to try to pay them back. We have them over for dinner to spend time with them. We still owe them.

So, even though I still don't feel good from this stupid bronchitis and this nasty cough, I have to say that it made me happy to spend some time this evening sanding some cabinets and making a tiny dent in the amount of help we owe Tiff and Scott. Getting help is wonderful. Being able to help back... makes you feel good. Even if you still have a cough.

I Heart Anthony Bourdain: No Reservations

2010-04-13T18:36:00.000-07:00

I've really got nothin'. I am now on prescription cough meds that do not seem to be working. But, I did get to watch my very favorite show tonight. Well, at least it is my very favorite show when I watch it. Anthony Bourdain is so funny and sarcastic and he says whatever he is thinking without caring how wrong it sounds. And there is food. Food that looks really good (mostly). And there are lots of really cool places that I want to visit.

You should totally watch his show.

Sick of Sickness

2010-04-12T18:01:00.000-07:00

I don't think I can do any more of these write every day months. Every time I do, I get sick. And when I am sick, I have no inspiration for writing. I have some topics I would like to write about, but I can't develop them into a good post because that would require me to be able to focus.

All week last week I was home sick with a cold. It began on Easter Sunday. I had the sore throat and the sneezing and the sinus stuff and a little bit of a cough, but not this kind of cough. I started feeling better on Thursday. By Saturday night I started having coughing fits.

Right now, my abs and my sides are hurt so bad from coughing all the time that I just want to cry. My throat is raw. I mean, seriously? I just want to stay in bed all day. Only that will do me no good. All I will do is cough and cough and cough and not be able to sleep.

I would really like to sleep.

No Motivation Today

2010-04-11T23:01:00.000-07:00

I know I should have written a post for today after I put the boys to bed. Instead, I folded a mountain of laundry, cleaned the disaster that was my kitchen and living room, and fell asleep on the couch watching Food Network. Sunday night. Monday eve. Bleh. I really need a time machine so I can skip back (or ahead) to Friday night.

Un-Me

2010-04-10T19:16:00.000-07:00

Today I did something completely un-'me'. I took an entire day for something I wanted to do.... all by myself. I have this thing where I am always thinking about other people. Believe me, I do not mean that in an I'm-completely-selfless-and-a-great-person kind of way. I screw up all the time. I let people down. Far too often, I fail to follow-up or follow-thru. What I mean by always thinking about other people is that there are few things I do, with the exception of the typical everyday minutiae, that do not involve giving consideration to at least one other person. This is certainly not a bad thing. Such is life when you are a wife/mother/daughter/sister/friend/employee.

What I did today was foreign to me that I actually had to make myself stick to it. I went to get my tattoo worked on without anyone else accompanying me. Every other time I've been tattooed, I've had at least one friend with me. It is so fun to make a whole day of it with a friend or some friends, to share that time and that experience, and to all come away with your own piece of permanent art. So being alone was a little weird at first, but I'm so glad I did it. I had almost three hours of time to just drive, listen to music, think, pray, and observe all the crazy drivers. I am friends with my tattoo artist, but he gets easily absorbed in his work so even my time at the shop left me with a lot of time inside my own head.

My tattoo isn't finished yet and my arm is throbbing, but I feel strangely relaxed. I know this will not be a frequent occurrence in the future, but I need to try to make time to do something like this once or twice a year. To do something all alone, away from my house, to take some time to regroup. I love the times I get to spend going on a date with my husband sans kids and (most of) the times I spend with just my kids and the times I spend with friends. Yet I realized that somehow in all that planning of special times with other people, I was counting those times as my "me" time. Today I remembered that it is okay to take some "me" time for only me.

Too Excited To Blog

2010-04-09T19:47:00.000-07:00

Tomorrow is the day! I'm FINALLY getting my tattoo finished! I've been walking around for a month, with just an outline, looking like someone took an ink pen to my arm. After tomorrow (fingers crossed) I will have a beautiful magnolia on my arm and all will be right in the world. Okay, so perhaps that is overstating it a tiny bit, but I will feel like my arm looks the way it should.

And that will be amazing. I hope.

If I can just get rid of this pesky cough...

A Few Things I've Learned

2010-04-08T17:23:00.000-07:00

I know I sound like a broken record. I know my blog is terrible right now. But I am sick and all hopped up on all these meds so it really is all I can do to stay awake and type for a little while. I am going to type a few things I've learned over the past few days and then I am going to end this post and hope for some better material tomorrow.

1. Working from home when you are sick is way better than going to the office. You still have to do your job and you still have to deal with most of the same issues, but you don't have to get up as early and you can wear jeans instead of dress pants. Bonus, you don't completely irritate your co-workers by coughing and sneezing all over the place and possibly infecting them.

2. The bonus they give you for being a manager is probably not worth it. Sure, if you don't mind having to work a minimum of twelve hours per day and being available to anyone 24/7.... then maybe it is. But I want my time to be my time. If it is not Monday thru Friday, 8AM to 5PM and I have not agreed to assist in some urgent effort, please leave me the heck alone. I'm busy with my life.

3. My husband is a better mother than me. I have always known this at some level, but this week of working at home and working extra while he took care of the kids and the house and made delicious dinners just confirmed it.

4. Do not attempt yoga while you can only breathe through your mouth. It is unpleasant at best. Trying to do yoga while breathing thru your mouth and swallowing sinus drainage will make you feel ill and off-balance. Trust me on this one and don't try it.

5. The more you are looking forward to something, the longer it takes to get here. Yes, that is just a rephrasing of the old 'A watched pot never boils' but it is true. I want my tattoo finished so bad I can taste it. But it seems like Saturday will never get here. *sigh*

Oh My

2010-04-07T18:08:00.000-07:00

I'm filling in for my boss at work this week. This was not exactly voluntary, although I will keep any additional comments about it to myself since this is not an anonymous blog. I will, however, say that I am out. I'm spent. For whatever reason, nothing urgent seems to be needed prior to 4PM. I went the entire day today without a one-off request, and then just before 4PM..... BAM! Here ya go: a 645-line spreadsheet shows up in my inbox, accompanied by a phone call telling me how urgent it is that I update 2 to 4 fields on each line showing something for my department. Yeah, it's already past due. And needed today.

Seriously?

So, even though I was going to try to avoid whiny, complaining blog posts about my life.... I just finished two hours of working on that spreadsheet and have no idea if it is accurate. And it is after 10PM here. And I'm still sick. This is all I have left. Go me.

Medicine Cocktails

2010-04-06T18:16:00.000-07:00

Every time I get sick, I try to put off taking medicine for as long as possible. I will take aspirin to help me get through the days, but I try to keep it limited to that. I read somewhere that taking all that cough and cold medicine can actually extend the time you experience symptoms as opposed to taking nothing or just regular aspirin. The explanation for this was possibly that your body doesn't fight off the symptoms because you have the medicine suppressing them. That, or it was the companies producing the meds can somehow keep you sick longer so you need to buy and use more of their products. I don't remember. It's really not important. I read that years ago and have since believed it to be true.

For the first few days of a cold or flu, when it's not so unbearable, I take my aspirin and manage. Inevitably, I become so miserable that I raid the medicine cabinet. And, no matter how many boxes and bottles I stocked up on the last time I was sick, I never have anything that says it will treat all the symptoms I have and nothing more. I either have to take something that is intended to treat every symptom a person could possibly have when sick, including bloodshot eyes and recurring hiccups... or I have to cobble together some sort of strange cocktail of several, single-symptom syrups and pills.

I realize this is probably not advisable, but what is a girl supposed to do? I can't breathe through my nose, my eyes are burning, I have that terrible cough where my breath catches in my throat almost every time I exhale and sparks a coughing fit, and my throat hurts so badly that I want to rip it out of my neck (because, you know, that would hurt less). I cannot possibly be the only person who has had a cold or flu with these symptoms, but you wouldn't know that by examining the medicine aisle. All I want is a decongestant with a cough suppressant and pain killer. I do not need an antihistamine. I do not need something for chest congestion.

I am not a pharmacist. I do not know what the long-term effects could be from me mixing cough syrup with aspirin and sudafed. Maybe I shouldn't be doing that. Maybe I shouldn't be taking meds at all, as it will just make me sick longer. Maybe I should take the week off work and stay in bed, but that really is not an option for me. All I can do is hope this feeling like my head is filled with helium goes away when I finally get better and stop downing medicine cocktails.

Sea Foam Green Couch

2010-04-05T18:16:00.000-07:00

There are some things I remember from growing up almost as though I watched them happen and took pictures in my head. I remember them in a series of snapshots that I can flip through and linger over. Sure, some of these snapshots are not ones I want to review too often, but thankfully most of them are good.

My dad worked a lot when I was growing up. Most nights he would come home late, well after my mom, sisters, and I had eaten dinner. He would sit in a dining room chair, and unlace his Red Wing steel-toe work boots. My sisters and I would clamor to talk to him, to stand in his boots, to tell him what happened during the day. My mom would heat up his dinner and he would eat while we climbed on and around him. I'm sure he would have liked nothing more than to just take a shower and go to bed, but he listened and talked to us and then tucked us in for the night.

Except on nights when there were thunderstorms. My dad loves thunderstorms. On nights when there were thunderstorms, we would all pile on the ancient, boxy, sea foam green couch my parents inherited from somewhere and watch the storm. Our house was tiny, but had the perfect setup for storm watching. One of the rooms was a long, narrow, breezeway/enclosed porch-type room with floor-to-ceiling Jalousie windows all along one wall. The green couch faced the windows, as that was the only way the couch would fit in the narrow room and still allow for foot traffic.

We would crank all the windows open far enough that we could experience the sounds of the storm, yet not so far that rain would blow in. All the lights would be turned off, then we'd jump on the couch and wait. There was some wiggling, squirming, jockeying for seats, but once we all caught a glimpse of the backyard illuminated by the lightning, we'd forget whose leg was touching her foot and just watch. I really don't remember what else was said, but I do remember vividly what everything out those windows looked like in the electric-blue-white flashes of light on those nights. And I remember how it felt to be kind of afraid of the storm, but also so incredibly comforted by the nearness of my family. I have a special file in my head for the snapshots of those nights.

Luke has been talking for days about how my family used to watch storms when I was little. I'm pretty sure I didn't tell him, so I guess my mom or dad has some snapshots of those nights too. Tonight we finally had a big thunderstorm and he went around turning off all the lights and asked if we could sit on the couch together and watch. Let's just say I added some new snapshots to my collection. Luke and Owen all snuggled up next to us, their profiles illuminated in the flashes, making some new storm watching memories. Minus the sea foam green couch.

Floundering

2010-04-04T20:09:00.000-07:00

floun·der [ flówndər ] (past and past participle floun·dered, present participle floun·der·ing, 3rd person present singular floun·ders)

intransitive verb

Definition:
1. make uncontrolled movements: to make clumsy uncontrolled movements while trying to regain balance or move forwards

2. hesitate in confusion: to act in a way that shows confusion or a lack of purpose

3. be in serious difficulty: to have serious problems and be close to failing

I've been thinking a lot about my issues. The ones I've posted and the ones I haven't. This morning as I was rolling all this around in my skull, all I could think is "Why are you floundering like this?" I mean, seriously. I have a lot of excuses, but no good ones. I've got to pull it together.

Only I can't. This is what happens when I try to figure everything out on my own. When I try to do things my way. When I try to make things work the way I want them to. When I try to make people respond the way I want. When I want what I want and I want, want, want.

Then I get distracted and I think it's all about me. Only it isn't. There are so many other things I should be doing. There are so many other things that should have my focus. I'm not sure how to get from here to there. There where I am focusing on the right things. There where I'm not floundering. But I think I'm starting to see to where I should refocus.

He reached down from on high and took hold of me; he drew me out of deep waters.
-Psalm 18:16

Ambiguity

2010-04-03T20:31:00.000-07:00

Dominoes falling.
Heard, yet unseen.
Sunlight concealed
by invisible clouds.
Ambiguity
without cause.

How can I reclaim it?

2010-04-02T19:33:00.000-07:00

Foolish, how was I so careless
Pawning off my treasure, the envy of an heiress
Now my dollars are crumbled in my pocket
How can I reclaim it?
What if someone's got it?
- A Fine Frenzy

I'm pretty sure I have forgotten how to write. Lost my ability, pawned it off, had it stolen.... something. I've lost count of the number of time in the past month I sat down in front of a Blogger post box or with a pen in my head, wanting to write, and.... nothing.

I have lots of excuses. Winter. Coldness. Illness. Work. Stress. Only I've gone through more difficult times and haven't experienced writer's block at this level. No idea.

Love/Hate

2010-04-01T17:40:00.000-07:00

I was hoping for some surge of inspiration to suddenly hit me today since it is the first day of April and I am supposed to have something to write for every day this month. Well... that didn't happen. So now I'm going to post this cheat post of things I love and things I hate and maybe tomorrow I will have something more worth reading.

I love when I wake up thinking I overslept only to realize it's the weekend and I don't have to get out of bed till the boys wake up.
I hate when the boys wake up super-early on the weekend when I could have slept in.

I love getting all warm and cozy under a blanket on the couch and watching a movie.
I hate when the movie is over and I have to get up and I'm even more cold than I was before.

I love when a public restroom has seat covers so I don't have to 'hover.'
I hate when those stupid self-flush toilets flush down the cover as soon as I put it on because the sensor is set wrong.

I love, love, love when we have the first Summertime day of the year and it is warm enough to open the windows and walk around barefoot at home without being even a little bit cold.
I hate when those days are just teasers and give way to cold, rainy springtime weather.

I love when I have something fascinating to write about and I sit down to write it and it all comes together.
I hate when something like this post is all I can come up with.

A Half Tattoo is Better Than Nothing

2010-03-14T11:49:00.000-07:00

I realized something about myself this morning. When something is really bothering me, I tend to shy away from some of the things that might help me the most. Even though I know I shouldn't be that way, I guess I just feel that I don't have what it takes to force myself to expend the additional mental and emotional energy needed to do what I should. One of the things that helps me is my writing, but I just haven't been making myself do it. I have more thoughts on this, but I'm not ready to write them out quite yet. I will though. And I'm going to do another write-everyday-month next month. I need to get myself back on track.

Until then, here is a pic of my new tattoo! Kind of! The artist scheduled two of my friends and me for appointments that day, but then he got a pseudo-girlfriend and made plans with her for Saturday night and didn't have time to finish my tattoo. Now I have to drive all the way back up there next month to get the rest of my tattoo. I am completely annoyed by this, but good things come to those who wait, right? RIGHT??

Just imagine it looks like the picture of the flower from my previous post.

That's what I'm doing.

Sunshine, Yoga, and Another Tattoo

2010-03-12T06:53:00.000-08:00

Wednesday was the first day in months I actually let myself think Spring might not be dead after all. The sun was shining and I got to leave the office for lunch and go on a drive and listen to the live Jack Johnson CD with the sunroof open. I found a dress for my friend's wedding. Even though work is still totally terrible and depressing, I had a few really good moments. That was nice.

Today it is rainy/cloudy and we are expecting rain off and on for the next week. It is also only going to be in the 50s, so I'm not really excited about that. However, I will take 50s and raining over 20s and snowing any day (you know, if 80's and sunny aren't an option).

I still feel all weird and not myself, but I'm taking some steps to try to get myself out of this funk. The first thing I did was to take up yoga. I ordered a Barbara Benaugh DVD and a pretty green mat from Amazon, in search of some serious zen. I figure I must do something to help me stop feeling so frustrated with the weather and the way things are going at work. I'm about a week and a half into my yoga experiment, so I'm trying to tell myself this could just be a yoga crush. But I must say that I'm loving it. I love that when I feel myself getting stressed at work, I think to myself "Make your out-breath deeper. Lower your shoulders." and then I do that and it actually helps.

AND..... tomorrow is tattoo day! I'm finally getting my next tattoo and it's gonna be beautiful! (I hope. That's the plan anyway.) This week has been weird and sad and stressful, but tattoo day is finally almost here and I am finally getting SO EXCITED! I have wanted something on my arm for a long time and I can't wait to see how it turns out! I'm getting really tired of not having something to fill this huge blank spot on my arm.

So... that is my update. Sunshine+yoga+tattoo = chipping away at a serious funk. Now, if I can just make it to summertime...

Derailed

2010-03-03T06:15:00.000-08:00

derail (v)
de•rail [ dee ráyl ] (past and past participle de•railed, present participle de•rail•ing, 3rd person present singular de•rails)
transitive and intransitive verb

Definition:
1. come off rails: to make a train or tram come off the rails, or come off the rails
2. send or go off course: to send something off course, or go off course
Synonyms: disrupt, upset, wreck, ruin, spoil, overturn, unsettle, disorganize, interfere, dislocate, disturb, derange, disorder

I can’t believe so much time has passed since I last blogged. This is just insanity. Nothing excessively terrible has happened, but I feel completely derailed by this winter. I had all these things I was working on. All this areas of my life needing improvement and I was going to tackle them. Now I have no motivation at all. I keep joking around that I have Seasonal Affective Disorder. The bad thing is…. I’m not exactly joking. I looked it up, and it pretty much describes how I feel:

"Seasonal Affective Disorder (SAD), also known as winter depression or winter blues, is a mood disorder in which people who have normal mental health throughout most of the year experience depressive symptoms in the winter….
Symptoms of SAD may consist of: difficulty waking up in the morning, tendency to oversleep as well as to overeat, and especially a craving for carbohydrates, which leads to weight gain. Other symptoms include a lack of energy, difficulty concentrating on completing tasks, and withdrawal from friends, family, and social activities. All of this leads to the depression, pessimism, and lack of pleasure which characterize a person suffering from this disorder."

I really want to write. I just feel like I can’t make myself do anything other than what is absolutely necessary to make it through each day. I get up in the morning after hitting my snooze button way too many times. I try to work out, but I usually can’t get out of bed early enough. I get ready. I got to work. I spend the day trying to focus and get enough done that I’m not too far behind. I drive home. I eat dinner. I try to muster the energy to play with the boys for a little while. I fall asleep on the couch after the boys are tucked in. Ryan wakes me up and makes me go to bed. I'm such an inspiring person!

And I really do blame all of this on winter. I know people have all those annoying clichés about attitude and positive thinking, but none of them help me. And don’t even get me started on being glad that I’m not as bad off as some other people. In my opinion, focusing on the misfortune of other human beings is a terrible and stupid way to try to feel better. Just thinking about someone suggesting that pisses me off.

I really don’t know what to do. I am so freakin sick of looking out the window and seeing gray skies and patches of snow partially melted into the mud from the one day recently it actually got above freezing. I’m sick of going in to the office day-after-day and sitting there with all the other depressed and grumpy people who are also sick of cold and gray and snow and stupid winter. I’m sick of feeling like everything is imploding there and no amount of effort or hard work from me can do anything to stop it. I’m sick of feeling like my life has been derailed by the most horrible of all seasons.

I think I’m just sick.

Just Give Me the Meds

2010-02-12T19:42:00.000-08:00

I hate going to the doctor. Not that many people really enjoy it, but I really try to avoid ever going to the doctor (aside from my yearly appointment where I get the prescription that keeps me from having to go through another 40 weeks of torture commonly known as pregnancy).

Sadly, the result of my recent three-week cold was an extremely painful acute sinus infection. I can wait out a cold with the help of some aspirin and decongestant. I cannot wait out an infection that feels like someone pummeled me in the face. Ow. When this lovely sinus infection paid me a visit, I had to break down and go to the doctor.

The first doctor I had growing up was an enormous old German guy who had an office in a converted 1950s house. The waiting room had Formica everything and smelled like pills and rubbing alcohol. The long hallway back to the exam rooms were lined with shelves filled with glass jars of all sorts of pills, salves, tongue depressors, and cotton balls. Now that I think of it I have no idea if it is legal for a doctor to dispense meds directly from his office, but that was possibly before any laws regulating such things.

The two exam rooms were separated by a double doorway that had a curtain instead of doors. You had to walk through the first one to get to the other one. The first room had a large panoramic photograph on the wall of the doctor in younger days, standing with his five sons on the rim of the Grand Canyon. They were all wearing bell-bottom pants and had Dukes of Hazzard hair. I always wondered how the doctor evolved from the man in that picture into the large, frightening, million-year-old bald man in the doctor's coat who gave me shots. He barked rather than talked and I couldn't understand anything he said because his German accent was so thick. I distinctly remember many times sitting on that cold exam table, starting at that photo, and waiting for shots.

The only time I remember being in the other exam room was when I cut my forehead open running through the house and falling against a table leg. Blood was everywhere and my mom took me to the doctor to get butterfly stitches. It must have cost a lot to get them, because the other two times I busted my head open, my mom and my aunt did the butterfly stitches themselves. Yes, I still have scars.

The doctor I went to for my sinus infection is nothing like that doctor. He is young, probably only 8 or 10 years older than I am. He carries a laptop with him everywhere and types into it as you talk to him. Maybe he is typing what you tell him or maybe he is chatting on Facebook. I have no idea. Either way, his office seems very technologically advanced and he is not scary. I still hate going there. Something about putting my well-being at the mercy of another person who sees hundreds of people a week and often, if not directly inflicting pain on someone has to tell people to just deal with pain, gets to me. Being dependent on him to provide treatment that will actually help, makes me feel like a little girl sitting on an exam table in a converted house waiting for something I'm dreading.

Like I said, I still have scars.

Maybe We Can Make Up

2010-02-06T19:49:00.000-08:00

I still feel barely human from the illness/sleeplessness, but I thought I'd give a quick technology update. I know I was pretty bitter about the new phone and the new satellite. To anyone who thought I shouldn't complain about such things and should just be glad I have a phone and a television, you're right. But I don't care. Things are the way they are and as my friend Irena pointed out to me, blogs are for complaining.

I am finally starting to adjust to the new satellite provider. There are still things about the options and the menus that seem completely ridiculous, but I'm learning some work-arounds and can at least figure out how to play Dinosaur Train or Team Umi Zoomi for the boys to watch from the DVR. I'm adjusting. Maybe I'm not as bad of a fuddy-duddy as I thought.

As for the phone, I couldn't deal with it. I took it back to the guy at work who handles the mobile contracts and sweet talked him into giving me a different phone. Now I have a totally cool Sony slider phone that makes sense and doesn't seem like it could fall apart at any second. Of course, it has a million-zillion features that I have no idea how to use, but I like it. Oh. Wait. I guess I still am a fuddy-duddy.

At least I'm a fuddy-duddy who can work her TV and has a cool phone.

I Did It!

2010-02-01T17:30:00.000-08:00

It feels really weird to not have to post today. This isn't really a real post. More of a I-can't-believe-I-actually-did-it thing I'm posting on my blog. I've tried several times before and January 2010 was the first time I really finished a write-every-day month with a post for each day. And despite how much I hated January and hate winter in general, I just realized tonight that I'm pretty darn proud of myself for actually reaching my goal. Oh, and I can complain about winter again now since it's a different month.

So, next time I do it (a long, long time from now), I will go for quality as well as quantity. It would be nice if I could be proud of every post. But for now, I'm going to try to just be happy that I managed to write a little something each day, for 31 days in a row

So Long, January

2010-01-31T21:37:00.000-08:00

One would think I'd have something good to write about for my final January post, but that is not the case. I am ready for a new month to start. I know there have been worse months and I know many people have it far worse, but I am not fond of January 2010. There were some high points, but for most of it I was sick and the boys were sick and we are still not feeling great. Not a great way to spend a month.

And now I'm trying to write a final January post when I've taken sinus headache medicine that makes me want to just pass out. I can barely form a cohesive thought. Or coherent thought. I think it's coherent, but I'm not sure. I'll figure it out when I re-read this tomorrow and be embarrassed. Awesome.

I know I write a lot about love, but it is something I think about a lot. I was reading a book this past week and in it one of the characters mentioned the old "You can't choose who you love" thing in reference to clearly one-sided relationship. I've always hated that line. Of course you can choose who you love. Maybe you can't choose who you are attracted, like a certain 'type' of person always catches your interest. Maybe you can't choose who you are supposed to love, like your family. But you can choose with whom you let yourself fall in love.

I read this in Ephesians a few weeks ago and I've gone back and read it numerous times since:
"Observe how Christ loved us. His love was not cautious but extravagant. He didn't love in order to get something from us but to give everything of himself to us. Love like that. " (Ephesians 5:2, The Message)
I know I was raised on Bible stories and religious concepts, but I think this is so difficult for me to grasp. So often this concept is lost somewhere in between all the lists of things a person must do to "be a good Christian." It is so easy to forget that we are loved so deeply by someone who is so amazing that we could never hope to be able to do anything for him or give anything to him that even comes close to reciprocating.

The closest my mind can even come to understanding this is when I think about how I love my kids. They can be SO frustrating and terrible and aggravating and whiny, and yet, I would never push them away or deny them affection or love because of it. They are still my kids and I still love them so much no matter what their behavior. But still....

Okay. My mind is going to sleep so I need to stop typing. I'll have to pick this up later. So long, January. Good riddance.

Lines

2010-01-30T22:27:00.001-08:00

I took a much needed break from the boys tonight and spent the evening with my very dear friend Denna. It was exactly what I needed, despite that it is absurdly late and I should now be asleep. This is all I have for my next-to-last January post.

Standing.
Staring at the lines.
All the lines I see there
contrasting each other
and yet blurring slightly.
I want to reach out and smear them around
and feel the mixture
on my fingers.
New patterns from all those old lines
could be beautiful.
Or possibly
spin me out of control.

Hands

2010-01-29T22:50:00.000-08:00

I had this whole idea for writing about hands, but it's not really coming together. I guess I'll just ramble a while since I really have to post SOMETHING in order to put me one post closer to fulfilling my goal. This whole topic came to mind when I was driving home from work yesterday and thinking of driving and noticing my hands on the steering wheel. Then I was thinking about all the things written or said about hands. Then I was thinking about my hands.

I am completely brutal to my hands. They are tiny and useful so one would think that I would try to take care of them, but it seems impossible. I have slammed them in car doors, cut them on packaging, shut them in the door of the dryer, burned them on molten glass, and just tonight I smashed my knuckles into the bed frame looking for something Owen lost in the guest room. I'm surprised my hands even function at all.

Despite how unkind I am to my hands, I really like them. I'm glad for all the things I am able to do throughout the day because of my hands. Let me just say right now that I'm sorry for all the terrible things I've done to them over the years. Oh, and I'm also sorry for how weird and crazy this post is, but I've obviously gone completely insane and now I'm just using my hands to type my craziness out onto the interwebs.

My To-Do List

2010-01-28T18:15:00.000-08:00

I have a lot on my mind. Yes, I know everyone does, but I think all the stress at work and the being sick and the having sick kids has overwhelmed my brain. I'm having trouble keeping track of all the stuff I should be doing or even want to do. What better time for a to-do list post? Here are some things on my to-do list, in absolutely no particular order:

1. Have a good weekend. Last week, last weekend, and this week were terrible. This weekend MUST be a good one.

2. Find the motivation to finish that one thing at work I've been putting off because no one cares that it isn't finished.

3. Get another tattoo. I'm surprised that didn't make the #1 spot since I've been obsessing about it so much. But I did say no particular order.

4. Fold the laundry. Almost all of our clothes are clean, but they are piled in the laundry room in baskets. Somehow I have managed to find the time to continue washing and drying the laundry, but not the motivation to fold it.

5. Catch up on the boys photo albums. I don't do scrapbooking. I have neither the time, nor the creativity, to scrapbook. However, I have determined that I will put their photos chronologically in albums instead of stashing them in boxes like my mom did with photos of my sisters and me.

6. Finish reading those three books I've started. Yeah... I suck.

7. Figure out how to transfer my BC prescription from our old insurance prescription service to the new one.

8. Volunteer again at the Freestore Foodbank. Great organization and I think I should support them with my time and not just my money.

9. Get a pet otter. They are so cute! (Okay, so Ryan already told me I can't have one and I know this is completely unrealistic, but I still want one.)

10. Learn to speak Spanish. What list would be complete without learning a second language? Plus, I need to understand the locals a little when we go to Spain to visit my friend Maria.

11. Learn to play golf. My husband and my son are already into it and my youngest is interested. I own clubs. I need to learn to play so it can be a family activity.

12. Get the blue marker stain off the carpet in the living room. Ryan made an attempt at it today, but now it's just a big, blue smudge. I need to take care of it before we can have company again.

Okay. I think that's enough for now. I know the pet otter thing is ridiculous. But I've said I want an otter for years, so I have to put it on every list even though I know in reality that is crazy and I'm not getting one. For the remaining items.... good luck to me.

Five More Days

2010-01-27T18:09:00.000-08:00

Five more days and I can take a break. Five more days of spending my days trying to think of what to write and then my evenings starting at the blogger text field trying fill it with enough words to make a post. Five more days and I can go back to posting only when I feel like I have something worth writing.

I'd like to think that had I not been sick and tired for half the month I would have been able to come up better posts this month. Probably not, but I can tell myself that. I've gone back and read some of my posts from previous write-every-day months and some of them were fairly decent. This month, not so much. Oh well. Five more days.

Well.... four now.

What's a Little More?

2010-01-26T18:25:00.000-08:00

I watch far too much television. I know I should be studying parenting methods or scrapbooking or.... ha... right. Okay. Or I should at least be doing something I would actually do like reading or writing, but after I've sat at my desk all day and then returned home and drained out all my remaining energy playing hide-from-creepy-monsters or chase or tag or trains or hide-and-seek, all I want to do is veg. I want to do something that requires absolutely no mental effort on my part at all.

Admittedly, there are a lot of shows I watch that I could easily stop watching, but there are quite a few that I have to watch every week. Sometimes I feel bad about this, as I am just wasting my life away watching television when I should be doing something productive. But... I really don't know that I have the energy to actually do anything productive.

Well, maybe that is not true. Even as I'm writing now, I am watching the most recent episode of 24. I think the show is absurd, since no one ever thinks to put in Jack's file that they should listen to him no matter how crazy he sounds, yet I keep watching it. And most weekends I am watching something while I write. I guess watching TV just goes along with my entire life of multi-tasking -- trying to be a wife, a mother, a daughter, a sister, a friend, an employee, a co-worker and do a decent job of all of them without going insane. I'm not sure why I should feel bad about that. I am a little crazy and I do watch too much TV, but what's a little more?

Please Come Back

2010-01-25T17:20:00.000-08:00

I know I promised no more posts complaining about the weather. So this is a post about my longing for Summer. I miss wearing dresses and heels to work. I miss wearing knit dresses and flip-flops at home. I miss the long evenings where we can play outside with the boys after dinner. I miss taking walks. I miss feeling the grass on my bare feet. I miss open windows.

I miss Summer so much that it is almost physically painful. I sit at my desk and wish for the sun reflecting off the side of the building behind me to illuminate my cube. I sit at our dining room table and look at the trees behind the house and wish they were green with leaves.

I have lived in the Midwest all my life. When I was younger, there were fun things to look forward to about each season. The more time that passes, the more I love Summer. I also love the end of Spring and the beginning of Fall, when the weather is Summer-like. There is that old cliche' about absence making the heart grow fonder. In this case, I can assure you I would be much more fond of Summer if it didn't stay away so long.

I Need Out

2010-01-24T17:39:00.001-08:00

It is confirmed. I am a terrible mother. Okay, not really, but these last five days have been some of the longest of my life. I went to work on Tuesday, but stayed home the rest of the week due to illness. I have established once and for all that I could never, ever be a full-time mom. I am about to go out of my mind. Even though I was working at home Wednesday through Friday, I was still at home. With my kids. And Friday and Saturday it was only the three of us.

This isn't anything against full-time moms. This is completely personal. I have been thinking all day about what to write for today's post, but I have done nothing this week I can write about other than take care of, clean up, talk to, listen to, read to, play with, and comfort my kids. By the time the boys were in bed and actually asleep the last two days, I collapsed on the couch and watched Food Network Nighttime until I fell asleep.

Don't get me wrong, I love my kids. I do want to be there when they are sick or when they learn something new or when they need me. But I need a break from them. On a regular basis. With the exception of my horrific trip to the doctor yesterday, I have not left the house in those five days, and the only break I had from the boys was after they went to bed. I love them, but I need the chance to miss them.

So maybe this makes me a terrible mother. Or maybe it just makes me a realist. I love my boys and they love me. But they are boys and they will graduate from high school and they will go off into their lives and I will only hear from them when they need something or on holidays... if I'm lucky enough for them to remember to call me. They are independent little people who have their own lives, even though at this stage they still need me.

So at least now I know for sure. Any days in the future when I am sitting at my desk at work and the thought crosses my mind that maybe my kids would be better off with me at home, I can think back to this week. And I will remember that, for their sake and mine, it is better for me to work and to have have time away from them so that when I am with them we can really enjoy each other.

Are You Kidding Me?

2010-01-23T08:17:00.000-08:00

Have I mentioned that the boys and I have been sick all week? I think I have, but I just wanted to re-establish that before I launched into this tirade. Owen woke up just after 6 this morning, sobbing and saying his ear hurt. I had to get him up and bring him out on the couch because he was crying so hard he was going to wake up Luke. I held him while he cried and said he didn't want ears because they hurt. I gave him ibuprofen, in hopes that would help him feel better. It helped to the point that he stopped crying, but he still just sat there holding his blanket over his ear and saying it hurt.

I called the doctor's office as soon as they opened and they said to come right in. Thankfully I had managed to sneak in a shower after Owen stopped crying, so I scrambled to get us all dressed and out the door. Now, I LOVE our pediatrician. He is like a Norman Rockwell doctor, very calming and pleasant. When you take your kids to see him, he just has this way of making you feel like you are doing fine and everything is going to be okay. This being a Saturday, we did not get to see our pediatrician. We got to see Dr. Terrible.

There are only three doctors in the practice and in the past four-and-a-half years we have had only one other interaction with Dr. Terrible (when our doctor, Dr. Wonderful, was on vacation). I came away thinking he had a terrible bedside manner and didn't seem to like kids at all. I was hoping this time would be different, but it was not. He walked in the exam room and just looked at us. I said hello to him and he finally asked "How are you today?" Really?? I've had one uninterrupted night of sleep in the past week, and that was more of a medically induced coma rather than restful slumber. I was holding a crying 2 year old on my lap who was writhing in pain and my four-year-old had crazy bedhead and snot running down his face because I couldn't hold Owen and wipe Luke's nose constantly and there were no tissues within reach. How do you think we are? Of course, I just replied that we've all been sick for a week and we've had better days.

He looked in Owen's ears and confirmed what I think was pretty obvious. Owen had a raging ear infection. Now, knowing how these things usually work (my kids only seem to need to see a doctor on the weekend), I had requested to have Luke looked at while we were there and paid two co-pays for the visit. Dr. Terrible stood up and said that he would put Owen on antibiotics and acted like he was getting ready to leave the exam room. So I said to Luke, "Luke, would you please let the doctor look in your ears too?" Why I didn't just ask the doctor to look at Luke too, I don't know. I don't think that in my ill and sleep deprived state I can be held entirely accountable for why I may say one thing over another.

Well, Dr. Terrible took this as an opportunity to launch into a lecture on how I shouldn't give my kids options on things because now, what if Luke won't let him look in his ears? Looking at Luke standing there, obviously waiting to be examined, I looked Dr. Terrible and said "He will." To which he continued his lecture about how he preferred to establish with patients what he expects of them and when they are given a choice, they may throw a fit. Oh, believe him, he has teenagers and he knows that kids shouldn't be given so many choices.... blah, blah, blah.... All the while, Luke is standing there, ear toward the man, waiting for him to look. "It's a psychological thing. When you give kids a choice or ask, they can think they can get out of things. It's better to just tell them what you expect them to do. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

And that was the last straw. With Owen crying louder and louder that his ear hurt, I looked straight at the guy and said. "Look, like I said, the three of us have been sick for the past week. I don't feel well and I have barely slept at all. I am very, very tired and it is very frustrating having my parenting criticized right now when I am just trying to help my kids feel better. Do you understand?" And that was the calmest, nicest thing I could come up with to say in that moment. What I really wanted to say was "Seriously? Are you kidding me?? ARE YOU EFFING KIDDING ME??!?! My youngest is screaming in pain and my oldest is being extremely compliant and doing exactly what I asked. How dare you lecture me when I didn't even do anything wrong and my kids are being as good as anyone could possibly expect right now!!! How the hell are you a pediatrician??" Yeah. I wish I would have said that, but I try to refrain from cursing.... especially in front of my kids.

I just don't know about some people. I can understand if we were new patients of his and he had simply asked me that I allow him to talk directly to the boys the next time so he could establish a rapport with them. I might have even tolerated the lecture had Luke actually thrown a fit or tried to prevent him from doing the exam. But he knew Dr. Wonderful was our doctor because he asked me. And Luke cooperated perfectly. I realize that I look way younger than I am, that I was probably a little disheveled, and that Owen was crying loudly from the pain, but what part of that makes it okay to lecture a tired, sick, stressed-out mom?

I know that I am overly sensitive right now from the illness and the lack of sleep, but am I being completely unreasonable here?

I'm Out

2010-01-22T19:02:00.000-08:00

I'm out if ideas. I'm out of things to to write about or think about. This is the point in my write-every-day months that I decide I'm just crazy and a glutton for punishment and wonder what the heck I was thinking. I do like to write. I do need to write. But I also kinda need my sanity, which has completely escaped me right now.

It is Friday. I worked at home all day, as Ryan had to leave for work this afternoon and my work from home day is Friday because of his work schedule. I previously had in-home child care on Fridays in the form of my completely amazing sister, but she just had a baby and is on indefinite maternity leave. The boys were shockingly good today. Owen slept away half the afternoon and Luke was so cooperative and quiet during my conference calls. You would think this would be a good environment in which to solve problems, but I am sick and feel like I didn't get enough done today.

So... wow. What a terrible post this is turning out to be! Why?? Why do I do these months? So I can torture myself and the maybe two people who are nice enough to read my blog? What is wrong with me?

Oh right. I'm me. Sorry about that....

Technology is Not My Friend

2010-01-21T17:54:00.000-08:00

It's official. I am a fuddy-duddy. I hate having to get used to new technology. This week (yes, the week I am sick and have two sick kids) we got a new provider for our satellite and I got a new cell phone. But I liked the old provider and I liked my old cell phone. I liked that I knew which buttons did which things and where to find what I needed on the menus. I liked being able to use our television and my phone without really thinking about it.

Now, I get stuck in and endless cycle of menus and options just trying to change the channel. Yes, the thing came with a manual -- a manual that is the size of a college text book. I mustered my resolve and went looking in it for the info I needed to beat the system, but the book is filled with steps for the menus, connected by a menacing looking blue wavy line. I'm guessing the line was supposed to be a friendly guide from step-to-step, but to me it looks like a big, blue mouth mocking my inability to get the menus on the line show up on the screen.

My new phone, aside from being ugly and chintzy, seems to be programmed incorrectly. Some of the text options are on the wrong keys. the font on the screen looks like it's from a 1980's video game, and the keypad has what seems to be the outline of a giant lower-case 'i' in silver right in the middle. It is hideous and distracting. The phone has a million features I can never use because it is a work phone, but ATT no longer offers decent phones that just call and text.

I'm sure that once I figure out where everything is and how to make them do what I want, I will be fine with the new technology I've acquired. But for now, I am sick and sleep deprived and I just want to be able to work my TV or make a call without having to sift through a thousand page manual.

Tangled

2010-01-20T18:38:00.000-08:00

I finally got a lot of that craziness out of my head, but now I'm sick and still have two sick kids. Goodness... what a week. So for now I will post a poem I've been working on. I'm not exactly happy with it. I know it needs work, but I'm not sure what to change. I guess that makes it a good candidate for a rework post in the future?

I'm here
picking at tangled knots.
My thoughts are a mess
of threads.
The parts I've unraveled
are coiled neatly
on the floor.
What remains
tangles faster
than I can untie.
It seems hopeless.
Maybe I'm better off
just going to sleep.

Bottle It Up

2010-01-19T21:16:00.000-08:00

I don’t claim to know much
except soon as you start
to make room
for the parts
That aren’t you
it gets harder to bloom
in a garden of love love love love
Love Love love love

- Sara Bareilles from the song 'Bottle It Up'

This is a post I've been putting off writing. I really don't want to write it, but I think not writing it is keeping me from writing about other things. Actually, it's not really that I don't want to write it, it's just that I'm not confident that the words I write will come across the way I mean them. I guess that is always part of the issue with words, though. They have a base meaning, but so much goes into how they are understood and interpreted by the people reading or hearing them. I shouldn't let that keep me from writing my words though. Here goes.

Sometimes it is time to go home. Sometimes it is good to have time to recoup and have family around. When I left home for college, coming back home for holidays or summer break was so strange. It was nice to be there with my family and to not have to buy all my own food and to be where people knew me. Only, they didn't completely know me. Independence changes a person. While I was at school, I was completely responsible for myself. I decided when to come and go, when to go to class and or skip, how many jobs to have and what to do with any money left over from buying books and food. When I was at home my parents always wanted to know where I was, who I was with and what I was doing all the time. To them, I was still their little girl. To me, I was grown up. Home was so wonderful and yet, so frustrating.

As strongly as I felt I needed to go back to my home church, I've come to realize recently that the season for being there is over. It is a great church with some really great people there, but as much as it has changed, a lot hasn't. The things that remain the same are not necessarily bad, just things that have shown me it's time to go. I'm not leaving with any ill feelings toward anyone. But just as I knew I couldn't stay at home long-term after college because of how I had changed, I know it is time now for me to move on from my parents' church.

This is mostly why I have been thinking so much about seasons lately. For some reason this topic makes this Sara Bareilles song keep playing in my head. Especially the line "as soon as you start to make room for the parts that aren't you it gets harder to bloom in a garden of love." I know this means romantic love and relationships, but I think that it applies in a way to many relationships, even with organizations. In order to really grow, I need to be somewhere that challenges me. I need to be somewhere that encourages me to think about things in ways I haven't before and embrace the parts of myself that have questions and are different from the way I was raised. I need to be someplace other than home.

In all this I also have to consider the boys. I know how I was raised and some of the issues I've had to work through as a result of that. I was taught "You should know what you believe and this is what you should believe." What I want for my boys is to be in a place where they are encouraged to determine what they believe and why. I don't want them to study the Bible just so they will know what church people are supposed to know. I want them to study the Bible so they will know what they believe and where those beliefs are founded and to have the freedom to question what they are taught without being considered troublemakers. I'm not saying the things I want for them can't happen staying where we are, but I just feel that there is a better fit for us out there.

This post is getting quite long and I'm not sure I'm even making sense. I'm not sure this is even what I mean, but I really needed to take a stab at getting the thoughts out there. I've started some good friendships at the 'old' church and I certainly plan to continue those. I just pray that wherever we eventually end up, it's a good fit and a place where we can grow.

Just Rework

2010-01-18T21:37:00.000-08:00

Another long, long day holding a sick kid. So, I guess I will post some rework so I don't miss a day.

Truth can be obvious,
yet difficult to hear
and impossible to speak.
If only we could each choose
how free we want to be.
But other people choose
the freedom
they speak to us.

Well.... is it rework if it is still a partial poem even after I work on it more? This is really frustrating, but really all I can think about is sleep.