I need to write

No really.  I NEED TO WRITE.

I am going along, living life, and thinking, you know, I need to write something.  The more I write the better I feel.  The better I feel, the more I write.  The more I write, the better my writing is.  The better my writing, the better I feel.  Etc, etc, etc…

But then I think, well, I don’t have anything interesting to say.  Or I think of something quick and funny and just tweet it or Facebook it. When the truth is the more I write, the better I feel, the better I write, the better I feel… lather, rinse, repeat.

Since I last wrote, I potty trained my boy (YES REALLY!) and he celebrated his 3rd birthday.  YES, REALLY!

Here he is after enjoying a snack of Nutella and apple slices.  He really likes Nutella.  He’s really growing up… sigh…

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Vagina Envy

I have a theory about why the Mommy Wars come up over and over again.
It’s because we compare every other woman to ourselves.
First of all, we don’t generally get openly combative about why men do what they do.  In our minds – whether we admit it or not – men are somehow different or even inferior to us.  They cannot experience what we experience.  They can have no understanding of PMS or child birth or a particularly awful menstrual period.  Now if a man says he understands, that is an open invitation for us to kick him in the balls and express to him again that “NO” he does NOT know.  So men, if you’re reading, don’t express sympathy verbally – just bring chocolate and nobody gets hurt.
No, every woman compares every other woman to herself whether intentional or not.  We all want Kim Kardashian’s ass or Katy Perry’s boobs or Miley Cyrus’ legs.  And we all compare every other woman’s choices critically to our own.  WE would never leave our children with a nanny.  We would never go on government assistance.  We would keep completely tidy homes.  We would… and on and on and on. 
Every woman I know, when you enter their home, the first thing out of their mouth is some excuse as to why their home doesn’t look like something out of Southern Living.  “We’re remodeling.”  “We just got back from vacation and haven’t been able to clean.”  Meanwhile their home is at least reasonably tidy or usually, so clean that you could eat out of the cat bowl.
So when a mom says things like “I stay home with my children and I feel sorry for women who have to work” the working moms jump to defend their decision to work.  The working mom may work outside the home because of financial reasons (health insurance costs, education costs, you don’t know so stop guessing), or because the thought of spending more than a few hours with their kids makes them want to crawl inside a hole (not everyone likes to hang out with their kids all day – get over it).  They may have built a career they love or it may be so hard to keep their accreditation or other professional requirements that leaving the workforce for stay-at-home-motherhood would mean they could NEVER return to the workforce in their capacity.
So Working Mom makes sacrifices too.  She gives up being with her kids.  She gives up the freedom to attend every school function.  She gives up a part of her soul so that she can continue in something that she WANTS or NEEDS to do.
Stay at home mom, I’m not done with you.  I understand.  You've given up a lot too.  You’ve had to cut back on vacations (if you get one at all), there’s no after work cocktail parties, no new outfits just because.  Sometimes, you cut back on entertainment, fancy coffee drinks, and cute shoes.  You give it up but you give up a little of your soul too.  The independent part of yourself that used to be free to do all those things and never mind the cost.  You know, like me, that if you ever go back into the workplace, you’ll have to start over.
If we would stop and look and see that we, as mothers and women, ALL make sacrifices so that we can each live our best life in what ever way that looks like. ALL women are doing the best they can. Yes, some women are going down the wrong path.  Some women are trapped in bad relationships, bad situations, bad places.
If would we stop pointing fingers at each other and just notice that yeah, everyone makes a sacrifice for their children, then I think the Mommy Wars would never be fought again.  If we'll give each other and ourselves a little bit of GRACE, we'll all be able to see through the eyes of love.

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Trial by Fire.. sort of

Day 4 –

"For I know the plans I have for you," declares the LORD, "plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future." (Jeremiah 29:11, NIV)

 

From I Declare (paraphrase):

It is not too late to accomplish everything that is in my heart.  He is giving me special grace to complete everything He wants me to do. He has every intention of bringing to pass the desires of your heart. Don’t let disappoints cause you to give up and settle where you are.  Every set-back gets you closer to where you want to go.

Forgive me for not writing more about what happened Tuesday.  It was a day from Hell.

Basically, hubby found out last week that Tuesday would be the day that the layoffs were gonna happen.  We’ve known for a few weeks that they were coming – his upper management told them about it right before Thanksgiving – but we had no idea when they would happen.  Hubby and I basically got ourselves ready for the worst case scenario – that he would be laid off with pay for a few weeks and health insurance through March and I started looking at his resume and basically getting myself and our budget ready for cutbacks.

I’ve talked before about our budget and how tight it is.  It is still tight but I was actually considering skipping Christmas presents altogether except for the kids with a potential layoff in the works.  We are still on a very tight budget for Christmas and I’m hand making a few gifts to cut back.

Our budget is tight because of several commitments that we made – medical bills namely.  We are on payment plans still because of all of the medical issues in 2011.  Two hospital stays, numerous emergency rooms visits, etc. really stretched our budget last year and it took a large portion of the first part of 2012 to finish shaking out all of the bills and what insurance would pay, etc.  Heck, I’m still fighting a couple of them (basically where I’ve paid the balance due and they’ve come back with another balance due kind of crap).  Also, hubby had to have some major dental work a couple of weeks ago and that’s a new ongoing bill (it takes forever to get crowns made).  2013 will see ALL of them gone, paid in FULL.

I haven’t been sleeping very well. Griffin is cutting his two upper 2 year molars and has been a bear.  He’s cranky, willful, hardly naps, and sleeps fretfully.  He’s been up the last couple of nights around 1AM and I have trouble going back to sleep after I get him back down.  Insomnia and Pinterest are either “besties for life” or Hell on Earth – depending on which side of the morning you’re on.  So the last couple of days I’ve felt hung over and tired and just worn out.

But this morning, I’m hopeful.  Hopeful that we’re headed towards better days… hopeful that we will finish the year strong… and grateful that we’re making it through the storm.

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Forgiveness

It started as a thoughtless, judgmental comment made in a semi-public forum. 

A really good friend, who has an interest in the subject, thought I meant it about a situation she’s involved in. I wasn’t even thinking of her situation, but I realized after she confronted the issue that my generalization was really hurtful.  Furthermore, I was just acting like a troll to cover up my own feelings of inadequacy.

After a some talking and some crying, I asked for her forgiveness and I hope that one day we will be good friends again.

Have you ever noticed how when the Lord is working on your heart that things get harder?  He’s been working on me about forgiveness for a long time now.  There are people who have done great wrongs to me and I have come to realize that I keep giving them power.  If I would just forgive them, I would take that power away from them.  What’s more, they aren’t going to change their ways, so my continued hurt over their words and actions won’t make a bit of difference to them.

The best I can do from this recent drama is learn to be more thoughtful about what I say – and hope that my friend is better at forgiveness than I am. 

Meanwhile, I’m gonna let the Lord keeping working on my heart.

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Bracelet #3–Not yet

I am using this book as a kind of curriculum for future bracelets. So far, I have made and destroyed about 10 bracelets because the weave is too uneven and ends up being wonky on one side but nice and tight on the other.

To this end, I am still working on a bracelet for this week.

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Bracelet #2–EDITED

I made this bracelet about 4 years ago and I’ve been trying to find the pattern ever since.  I’ve found patterns that are close but not exact.

It’s made with Swarovski 4mm bicones in Peridot and silver Delica beads.  I think the class I made this in was the first time I’d used Fireline.

Fireline is really fishing line but somewhere along the line, beaders found it and decided it was so tough and thin that it would make great beading cord.

EDITED:  Wouldn’t you know that after posting this item this morning and 3 years of searching, that I would find a resource that not only tells me what the name of it is but how do to it?  Here it is for your information… Hana-Ami Pattern

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Bracelet #1

In a more perfect world, I would have started with an easier bracelet but that’s not how I roll.

This bracelet is based on Right Angle Weave and I’ve found a couple of links to get you started on that if you like. You can go here or watch this video to learn it.

I got this particular pattern from this website and she’s got several things there that are very nice and not too difficult.

This bracelet uses Swarovski Crystals in the colors Garnet, Sian and Crystal AB. They are all 4mm bicones and are probably the easiest ones to find. You’ll also need a #12 beading needle, some Fireline (this is actually fishing line), some coordinating seed beads and a clasp.

Another angle of the bracelet.

And get used to the creepy hand.  I got it especially for this project!

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Blog Direction

I wonder about what direction to take this blog.

I wonder what kind of impact it could have. But I am so eccentric in what I want to write that I often wonder if I should write at all.

Things I want to write about:

• Home making
• Home school
• Raising kids
• Raising my kids in particular
• Marriage
• Being an only child with both parents deceased
• Politics
• Culture
• Disney stuff
• Writing the novel(s) brewing in my head

Hmmm that's an interesting list. I feel like the sahm/home-maker niche is so saturated that I really don't know what I can add. Politics will probably piss off most of my readers. I will be writing about Disney very soon on a different blog. Writing about writing just sounds boring.

I also find myself wanting to share personal things here.  Yes, I know I’ve talked about my poop and that seems pretty personal but what I’m talking about it is even more personal.  The thing is that I’m sure that someone out there could really benefit from what I’m going through.

Some of these things, I’ve written elsewhere privately but it feels lonely to write to myself.  But, it’s not like I get tons of comments or hits every month.  I feel fairly desperate to connect with others about the demons in my soul.  But some of the people that would read this might not be too happy with what I write and might say that these things are better unsaid.

Have you ever had something that you have to get out of your brain?  Did you have the courage to discuss it in the open or did you share it privately?

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Happy Birthday Daddy

My dad would have been 71 today.  This picture is from 1976.  My dad is the middle with the lady on his lap.  The lady is my great grandmother.  The other man is my uncle Jim.

He would have loved my kids.  The man seriously loved babies.

The most vivid dream I've ever had came about two weeks after he passed away.  I honestly don’t know if it was a dream or if I was meeting him at the Great Starbucks in the sky.

He and I were meeting in a beautiful room with a tall ceiling and a wall completely covered in greenery. One wall was all windows and it looked out over a beautiful lake. 

He sat across from me with a cup of coffee in a simple mug.  I remember crying in the dream.

He asked me why I was crying.  I said that it was because he was gone and I couldn’t talk to him.

He told me that I could talk to him whenever I liked, I just might not get a direct answer.

“Besides,” he said, “you wouldn’t want me back the way I was.  I was so sick.  Think of me like you remember me when you were just a little fart.”

So today, I’m trying to think of my daddy the way he asked in that dream.  I am trying to remember him calling me “little fart” or telling me that we were having “a bait of boiled buttholes” for dinner.

I’m trying to not remember the harsh words spoken between us or the almost violent arguments we would get into.  I’m trying not to remember the ache of not being able to argue with him about religion or politics.

I know that when I tell him I love him today that he will hear me.

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My Philosophy of Life

I have philosophies or sayings that I generally try to live my life by.

The first comes from a legendary movie.

Go that way. Really fast. If something gets in your way, turn.

The second is incredibly simple.

Don’t be an asshole.

I hear you. “But Amanda, I’m not an asshole".

You might be.  Do you:

• Not pay attention to your surroundings or could care less that you’re in sync with others?
• Live your life in a tremendous hurry despite other people’s needs and wants?
• Routinely back into people either on foot or on wheels (car)?
• Completely disregard the needs of others?

If you answered “yes” to any of these questions, you are an Asshole.

I don’t mean that you have to live your life serving others or constantly allowing others and their needs to be more important than your own.  What I mean is that you are a considerate human being – that you consider the needs and wants of those around you and how you can accomplish your wants and needs without trampling others.

Standing in line at the grocery store with a full buggy and there’s a person behind you with 4 items?  Let them in front of you.  It won’t take but a moment for them to complete their transaction and it will give you a bit more time to unload your buggy.

You are in a quiet restaurant when suddenly your young child decides to melt down?  Do you:

• Yell at your child to quit it? 
• Finish eating your meal and carrying on your conversation?
• Do you walk the child out the door while requesting a doggy bag for the remainder your dinner?

If you answered with anything other than the last option or some variation of it, you are an asshole.

Other people do not want to listen to your squalling child.  Eating out is expensive and after you factor in a babysitter, you’ve spent a small fortune.  This is precisely why many restaurants are in the news lately because they’ve adopted a “no children” policy.  Do they hate kids?  Probably not.  They are customer friendly. 

Practicing basic consideration would make this world a better place to live in.  If we all thought for one instant before we took any action as to how we affect those around us, we would all be a lot happier.

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school age nightmare

I was a bright kid.

In the first grade, I read on a 4th to early 5th grade level.  Instead of being challenged to read more and learn more, my teacher decided that I was a problem and separated me from other children.

In the second grade, I had a teacher who was more understanding of my reading prowess.  However, when I refused to count to 100 - I got bored with the task at around 50 - she decided that I was bad at math and needed to be put into remedial math which only bored me more than counting to 100 did.

My third grade teacher also saw me as a problem.  I was 4 grades ahead of the other kids in the class in reading.  She decided to send me to another class for half of each day for "enrichment" while maintaining that I had to complete all the work from her class too.  I was 8.  I got home from school, took a 30 minute break to tell my mother about my stressed out day and then got to work on 2-1/2 hours of homework.  After 2 months, I was mentally exhausted and told my mother that I "just wanted to be stupid like everyone else".

In fourth grade, I started getting bullied.  I had a great teacher that year but she seemed to have a blind eye for the boys in the class.  We were assigned seats in lunch and I was put next to a guy who delighted in telling me how he was going to rape and torture me every day.  I was in a reading class with two other students which was great because I got the challenge that I needed but it also meant that other students in the class called me teachers pet and teased me constantly.

Fifth grade was a comedy of horrors.  During this year, I was held down by two boys who each felt me up.  I also had two girls hold me down while a third girl hit me repeatedly.  None of these kids got in trouble for their actions.  Instead, I was told to be more careful.

My parents did not believe in designer clothing for young girls and this was when designer jeans were really first in fashion.  I so wanted that stupid swan on my butt.  So during fifth grade, all my differences were pointed out repeatedly by girls who made fun of my hair and lack of designer jeans.

So as you can see, much of what I learned in elementary school was not about the wonder of this planet or about humans at  their best, but about teachers who had no idea how to deal with me, or who wanted to dumb me down to the level of the other students.  I learned that being stupid was preferable to intelligence.  I learned that I wasn't allowed to say no even when I was being violated. 

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Appreciation

With just a couple of days before this kid makes his debut, I’m trying to be appreciative of things.

This was a completely unplanned pregnancy – Moo says it wasn’t since we weren’t doing anything to prevent it – but as you know, I didn’t think I could get pregnant again without drugs and crazy calendars and doctors involved.  But this is definitely the last pregnancy for me.

I will be getting my tubes tied during Thursday’s surgery.  Mainly because of one of my mother’s friends.  She didn’t think she could get pregnant – she was 50.  In fact, when she missed a couple of periods she just thought she was entering menopause.

What took her to the doctor was the overwhelming tiredness she felt.  At that time, hormone replacement therapy was in full swing and all the menopausal women in my acquaintance were taking hormones to help deal with the symptoms. 

She went to her doctor in hopes of getting something to help with the fatigue and they ran a pregnancy test “just in case” and found out she was pregnant.  That child, a daughter, was a blessing to them, but I do not want to be walking around, 50 years old, being surprised by a pregnancy.

So this is my last pregnancy and I am trying to enjoy these last few days.  There’s much to be done: cleaning, preparing the nursery, getting ready for a visit from Grandma, last minute packing and a million little tasks that “just have to be done”.  But there’s also the moments of laying in bed with Moo as he rubs my belly and we talk.  There’s the moments of having Phoebe pat my belly and ask about the baby.  There’s feeling this baby move around and remind me of his presence almost constantly.

There’s the tiredness I feel after walking through Target.  The heaviness of my belly, my hand supporting my back, the glances I get from people.

I’m still fighting a cold and my throat hurts and I can’t take a damn thing for it except plain Sudafed and Tylenol, but I’m appreciative of that.  Not being able to take something and just crash because of this life I’m cultivating.

The Braxton-Hicks contractions remind me that my body is preparing for his arrival.  I’ve been dilated at about 3 cm for about 2 weeks now.  My body knows he’s almost ready and I am appreciative of that.

I am appreciative of the friends and family who have rallied around me.  One friend has kept Phoebe for me on Thursdays while I was at the perinatologist’s office.  My aunt and her sister have kept Phoebe while I went to the doctor on some of the Mondays and another friend has kept her on another Monday.  My husband has used his days off to watch her other days.  Another friend sent me 4 giant boxes of little boy clothing.  Another friend gave us her gently used but still serviceable infant car seat while another has given us a high chair that’s barely been used.  My mom’s club has already arranged the delivery of several meals after the birth of this kid.

How thankful I am for all of them!

How thankful I am for experiencing all this!

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The Lie of Motherhood

I was talking to a young woman the other day who is expecting her first child.  She sees me as something of an expert since I’ve had one and lived through it to get pregnant again.

She asked my opinion about strollers and wipe warmers and bottle sterilizers and such.  I told her the only gadget that I recommended was the Itzbeen Baby Timer because it covered all the bases with a newborn.

Why did I need such a thing, she asked.  So I explained that Moo and I had found that newborns are much like combinations with only 4 numbers on their lock.  These things are:

1. Feeding
2. Changing
3. Sleep
4. Holding/comfort

and that with this little timer, I knew what I had done last and could try something else if baby wasn’t happy.

“Don’t you just know what the baby will need?”

She has bought into the mystical mothering lie that we all buy.  Mothers are supposed to form a bond with their children so deeply that nothing else is like it.  And that part is true.

99% of the time, I know what Phoebe needs without her telling me – something that’s bitten us in the butt with her speech development – but I digress.  She wasn’t born with me having this knowledge nor was I born with the ability.  No magic wand of motherly pixie dust was sprinkled over me in the surgical suite during my c-section nor did a switch get flipped somewhere and I just KNEW what she needed.

When you are pregnant with or, for those of you adopting, preparing for your child, you think that when that child is placed into your arms for the first time that you will fall instantly in love with this creature. 

This is true for some women, but not all of us. 

We have this picture in our head that our child will look like pictures we’ve seen of ourselves or our spouses as newborns – the truth is very far away.  After all, you aren’t giving birth to a clone of yourself or your husband – you’re birthing a completely new and different person with their own mix from the gene pool.

So, we are handed this creature that we know is our child but doesn’t look like anyone we know.  All babies look vaguely larval to me - the same smooth features, mushed noses and squinty eyes.

This tiny creature is completely reliant upon you but doesn’t really know you that well either, but you smell familiar and your voice is familiar.

So we have this creature, we’re exhausted, our hoo-ha’s hurt or we have an incision, our entire life has just been turned upside down, our family dynamic has just changed, our marriage has just changed, our financial picture just changed.  You name it, it’s changed.

And somehow, we expect to have learned or acquired or been blessed with the magical glow of motherhood.

That, my friends is magical, mystical bullshit.  And I think it’s part of the reason why women have serious trouble with postpartum depression or babies are abused or neglected or why some women have so much trouble adjusting to motherhood. They feel like there’s something wrong or that they are personally missing something or the hormones tell them that the problem is the baby, etc…

Let me tell you this: I’ve talked to more than one woman that didn’t instantly feel that bond with their children.  I felt no huge bond to Phoebe when she was first born either.  But I think the difference is that somehow, either through friends or family or television, we found out or were told that it’s ok.

It’s ok to feel overwhelmed when you have a newborn.  There will come a time when you are exhausted, you haven’t showered in a couple of days, the house is a wreck, all you seem to eat are sandwiches and you have this tiny creature who has needs and you are the number one person on the list who can fulfill them. 

It’s ok to wonder “what the hell have I brought upon myself?” at 3 in the morning when the kid won’t sleep.

I’ve been there and I expect that in a couple of months, I’ll be there again.  But what you learn is that you get through it.  You learn that everything will work out.  One day, you will look down at the baby and the baby will smile – even though you know it’s gas – and you will know that it’s worth it and, in that instance, that’s when bonding is really happening.

I have no scientific back up for any of this, of course, but I do know that the bond of motherhood and the love you feel for that child, your child, is something that you learn and experience every day as your child grows. 

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30 Days of Me

I am going to use this little meme going around to tear apart my soul for the month of November.

Here’s the list of topics:

Day 1: Something you hate about yourself
Day 2: Something you love about yourself
Day 3:Something you have to forgive yourself for
Day 4: Something you have to forgive someone else for
Day 5: Something you hope to do in your life
Day 6: Something you hope you never have to do
Day 7: Someone who has made your life worth living
Day 8: Someone who has made your life hell or treated you badly
Day 9: Someone you didn't want to let go, but who drifted
Day 10: Someone you need to let go, or wish you didn't know
Day 11: Something people seem to compliment you the most on
Day 12: Something you never get compliments on
Day 13: A band or artist that has gotten you through some tough times
Day 14: A hero that has let you down
Day 15: Something or someone you couldn't live without
Day 16: Something or someone you could definitely live without
Day 17: A book you've read that changed your view on something
Day 18: Your views on gay marriage
Day 19: What is your opinion of religion?
Day 20: Your views on drugs and alcohol.
Day 21: (Scenario) Your best friend is in a car accident and you got into a fight a couple of hours before. What do you do?
Day 22: Something you wish you hadn't done in your life
Day 23: Something you wish you had done in your life
Day 24: Make a playlist to someone and explain why you chose those songs
Day 25: The reason you believe you're still alive today
Day 26: Have you ever thought about giving up on life?
Day 27: What's the best thing you've got going for you right now?
Day 28: What would you do if you got pregnant (or got someone pregnant) right now?
Day 29: Something you hope to change about yourself
Day 30: A letter to yourself

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Don’t be a Sheep…

Today is my dad’s birthday.  He would have been 70.

My father was not a perfect man.  He was not a good husband.  He thought, like many men, that if he provided for his family, that was the best he could do.  As a result, he missed many school events, family events and ruined his health.

But I am not here to talk about the things my father did wrong in his life.  I know he realized a lot of this towards the end of his life.

I am here to talk about he taught me.

He taught me three things that I hope to teach my own children.

ONE: Don’t be a poodle. 

This means, don’t let people run over you.  Don’t let people take advantage of you.

Two: Don’t be a Sheep.

This means: don’t follow the crowd.  Sheep are stupid and believe anything anybody halfway reputable tells them.  If you want to have a strong belief about something, think it through as completely as possible from as many angles as you can. 

My dad would have a field day with Fox and MSNBC…

Three: Don’t take any wooden nickles.

This means: figure out what motivates someone else when they want to help you or give you something for free.  If someone is telling you the sky is blue and you know that it’s raining outside, think about why they are interested in you believing their story.

Because of my father’s influence, I am a major skeptic.  Moo gets frustrated with me because I can be rather stubborn and sometimes have to be shown things to have them proven to me.

But at the same time, if someone debates me about something, they better be ready to hit me with some facts.  And those facts had better be good and reputable.  I am good at this because if my dad heard me say something about what I thought or believed, I had to justify my thinking – even if he agreed with me.    If I couldn’t support my thinking, I would be given homework to find 3 pros and cons to my premise and I had better be prepared to defend it.

Because of this, I carefully examine my thoughts.  I carefully examine my beliefs.  And I have facts to support what I say.  And as my dad could and would punch holes in theories, I have to keep my thinking in line with previous beliefs.

And for everyone who gets frustrated with me when I won’t change sides on something – you can blame my dad.  He was the 2nd most stubborn man to walk this planet.  Only his dad – who did the same thing to HIS children – can be classified as more stubborn.

Daddy, I miss arguing with you so much.

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40!

I turned 40 a couple of weeks ago.  I would have written before now, but there’s been so much going on.  Truthfully, I should do a better job. But I digress…

When I was 20, I thought about what life would be like when I was 40 and I have to say that as I look around me, it’s nothing like what I imagined. But I am happy.  I have a wonderful husband and a beautiful daughter.  We have a cute little house with a new roof and we’re mostly debt free.

There are things I’d like to change and some things I will change myself.  Other things will change on their own and I believe the rest will stay pretty much the same.  That’s not necessarily a bad thing, just reality. 

At 40, I am more convinced than ever that things can and will get better.  I am still convinced that people are good at heart.  But I always watch my back.  I call it pragmatic optimism.

There’s always more to do; more places to go; more people to meet.  I find myself busier these days.  I’ve got a couple of irons in the fire right now that will affect the future that will make me busier still.  I’ll be telling you more about that as they come to fruition…

So to sum up: happy, busy, loved and loving.  Yep, that’s me at 40.

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Sunday Evenings Bring me Down

When I was a kid, Sonny and Cher were on Sunday night.  After I had my bath and blew dryed my hair (it was really long then too), I’d watch Sonny and Cher and then it was time to go to bed.  Except for a long time, I’d get sick to my stomach by the end of the show.

It wasn’t the fault of Sonny nor of Cher, but because I had to go to school the next day and I really hated my teacher.

This lady had a serious vendetta against me.  I never understood exactly why.  I knew I added work to her schedule because I was reading 3 grades beyond most of the class so I had to have my own reading group.  At the start of the year, I was also a vivacious talkative little girl.  By the end of the year, I was reserved to the point of shyness.  Any infraction meant being called in front of the class for rebuking and ridicule.  Other children were encouraged to rebuke me as well and would refuse to play with me on the playground because I was a “troublemaker”.

My mother had more than one conference with this teacher and the principal.  All my mother could really get out of me was that she was “mean” to me.

The next year, we moved to another area and I switched schools.  There I found the best teacher I had until high school who looked at my super achievement at reading as something of a challenge and kept me busy and happy.  Although I never have quite recovered from the shy part… but that’s another blog post.

The point is, I have a long hatred of Sunday evenings.  All the stores shut down around here about 6 pm and in the summer time, there’s still 2-3 hours of daylight. 

I liken it to what Douglas Adams describes in Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Universe when he talks about the Wowbagger The Infinitely Prolonged:

In the end, it was Sunday afternoons he couldn't cope with, and that terrible listlessness that starts to set in at about 2:55 when you know you've taken all the baths you can usefully take that day, that however hard you stare at any given paragraph in the newspaper you will never actually read it, or use the revolutionary new pruning technique it describes, and that as you stare at the clock the hands will move relentlessly on to four o'clock, and you will enter the Long Dark Teatime of the Soul.

Except my teatime starts about 7:30.  Whether its because I just dread Mondays or don’t want the weekend to end, I don’t know.

I just hate Sunday evenings.

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Never be a sheep

My father was one of the smartest people I've ever known - and one of the most irritating.

My father was a great skeptic and questioned all things around him. He was a student of religious and political texts and his opinions were well formed as the result of constant study and thought. Once he had an opinion, very little could change his mind.

He once told me, "Never be a sheep. Sheep are often led to slaughter."

As I grew up and evaluated the great questions of life, I began to talk to my father about values and ideals. When I would express an idea as fact, he would say "How do you know that? On what do you base your opinion?"

My father came from a family where debate was the norm. It was said that my grandfather would argue with a sign post just to get a rise out of the sign post. He delighted in playing devil's advocate.

While it made for aggravating times, these discussions kept me on my toes. I couldn't be part of the discussion without knowing what and more importantly WHY I believed what I believe.

What do you believe? We're assaulted by information every day. From the television, newspapers, magazines, the internet, Twitter... the list goes on and on.

How do you make decisions on political issues? From the TV? Why do you believe them? Because they say they are "fair and balanced"?

What about the internet? Do you believe the internet? Even Wikipedia is having to put measures in place to help people evaluate the "facts" given to see if they are true...

So what do you base your beliefs on?

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I got's tings to do....

So I'm pretty busy here at the ranch.

I've become a regular domestic goddess cooking regular meals, cleaning the house and whatnot. I am an entrepreneur with my new crafting business. I'm making new friends in my Mom's Club group. And I'm a full time mommy and wife.

And blissfully happy. Really. I am incredibly happy. Me. Who thought I'd be bored stiff by the time baby girl was a year old. But it turns out that all this busy-ness suits me.

Baby girl has become a walking champ and roams around the house giggling with me behind her. She's got a mouth full of choppers and has cut all but 1 of her 1 year molars. (I think she's cutting that one now.) She still takes 2 naps a day and of course, she's been sleeping through the night since she was 2-1/2 months old.

I'm going to start talking more about the business here soon. The purpose of this blog has always been as an outlet for me and as entertainment and education for you dear reader. Perhaps you all will educate me as well and let me know what you think of things?

That's it for now. I hope to get around here a little more often. I'm working on a schedule - yes, stay at home moms - NAY - WORK AT HOME MOMS need a schedule for work versus playing with their gorgeous daughters.

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Beauty

I have never thought of myself as beautiful.

My husband thinks I am. And my mother thought I was. But I have never thought of myself that way. When I look in a mirror, I see only flaws. My face is crooked - my nose is slightly crooked, my ears are crooked. I've always thought my eyes were too intense.

It's not that I believe that I am ugly. I just don't think that I am beautiful.


How is it then, that I believe that this child is beautiful?













When the truth is that she looks a lot like this child?




















I didn't think my parents were ugly. I thought they were very attractive people. My mother always had her hair done and I rarely saw her without makeup. My father was a very handsome man.



In the face of my own child, I see my parents. The same serious eyes of my father (although she's got Moo's Mom's eye color) and I believe that she'll have dimples like my mother.

Why can I see the beauty in my child's face when the beauty I see is much of what I see in the mirror? How can I teach her to see her own beauty when I am unable to see my own?

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