Pause

I had another birthday, and I am grateful beyond words. I was fortunate enough to have two handsome dates take me out to a nice dinner, and I also got to celebrate with family, friends, and fireworks. But I have to tell you, this birthday gave me a moment of pause...more so than any other year. Thirty-six. It is just that thirty-six seems so much closer to forty than thirty. And it is not that I think forty is old. Lord knows I remember when I did think that, but not anymore. I see the lines around my eyes in the mirror, and I know how often I break out that new box of Nice 'n Easy hair color, but those things really don't bother me at all. The sobering fact of the matter is that I have always believed that by the time I was forty I would really have things all figured out. I thought I would be the person I always wanted to be. I thought I would truly feel like a grownup. A woman who always keeps her cool, who writes everything on her calendar and checks it every single day. I was going to be that mom who had figured out the perfect balance of work, family, and activities. I thought I would always be on time and never forget anything. I thought I would know exactly what I was doing when it comes to parenting, and second guessing myself would be a thing of the past.

Not so much.

The truth is, I still speak my mind when I should have the composure to keep some things to myself. I still call some of my favorite people for advice or encouragement on a regular basis (Shout out to Mom, Vanita, and Aunt Cathy!). And it is impossible to completely master motherhood. Every time I start to feel like I am exactly the mother I want to be, the kids evolve into a new stage of life. Each stage brings joy and excitement, but it also tends to present some new challenges and a little bit of heartache. And the older my kids get, the more questions they ask me that I do not know the answers to. I am genuinely surprised when I have to buy my daughter real bras during our back to school shopping, or when I look out the window to see my son in safety goggles with a weed eater in his hands. The truth is, I can catch my husband's eyes over the heads of our children, and I can remember the first time he asked me to dance like it was twenty-three days ago, not twenty-three years. All I am saying is that this life is flying by just a little too fast. And I think maybe the one thing I know for sure is that instead of wasting time trying to figure things out, I need to focus on enjoying every moment!

You Learn

I have been seriously slacking on my blogging this year, but the fact that I have not been writing does not mean I do not have a lot to say. The year 2013 held some big lessons for me, actually. Alanis Morissette has an old school song from the 90's called "You Learn." She sings about how many of the lessons we learn in life are jagged little pills to swallow, but you just have to wait until the smoke clears and learn from them. She says you live, love, cry, lose, bleed, scream, choke, laugh, choose...and you learn. I think that is my theme song for 2013.

This year, I learned that it is vital to speak up when you feel compelled to do so, whether there is an issue within your family, your church, your community, or your child's school. If you feel in your gut that you should say something, you should say it, but be aware that if you choose to do this, you must be prepared to stand behind what you have said and power through some negative backlash. It happens, sometimes when you least expect it. Your bravery might resolve the issue, and it might fall on deaf ears. Either way, Martin Luther King, Jr. once said, "Our lives begin to end the day we become silent about things that matter."

You have to pick and choose where to contribute to society. You cannot help with EVERYTHING! You should help with community activities and programs when you can, especially when they involve your children. It is SO MUCH FUN watching kids enjoy activities and learn from them. Don't pass up such a great opportunity to spend time with your little people! There are people who will really appreciate the time and effort you have put in! Just try to remember that even if you give it your best efforts, there are also people who won't appreciate it. And they might even complain about your methods. Do not take it personally. 

You know I am a girl who loves to have a plan, but a plan is just that. A plan. It is not reality and it can change in the blink of an eye. I read somewhere that people make plans and God laughs. I believe that.

It is possible to invest years into building a relationship with people only to come to the realization that it never mattered to them. All you can do is swallow past the jagged little pill and focus that energy on the relationships in your life that are authentic, or as my nephew likes to say, "legit." At some point it is important to realize who matters most in your life, and who always will, even if that means recognizing who never did.

I learned that the best part of life is having people you love to share it with. Cheesy, right? I mean, I knew that, of course, but I never really considered that I could lose any of my people before their time. This year I woke up to that very possibility. My sister has been sick for such a long time, and over the last year she has had three surgeries in an effort to get her her life back. I have never felt so blessed to have my entire family together for Christmas as I did this year. Thankful does not begin to describe it.

I finally figured out that there is no reason for me to feel guilty for missing work to stay home with my kids for unexpected reasons. Whether I have enough vacation time to cover it or not. The fact is, I have a flexible job that is supportive of me, and I appreciate that. I know that twenty years down the road I will not look back and say, "I wish I had gone to work more." Instead, I will be wishing for more days at home with my children when they need me. Here is the thing, People. My kids are not always going to need me like they do right now, and I do not take that lightly. I want them to remember that while I worked away from home, when faced with the choice between work and family, I chose them. Kevin was laid off for months this year, and instead of wasting time worrying about the next job, we did our best to take advantage of all of the extra time we could spend together. I don't think I will regret it. 

Here are the things I want to remember as I begin a new year:

Embrace today. Count your blessings and enjoy the people you have right now. Do not pass up the opportunities to spend time with your loved ones. Leave the dishes in  the sink and the clothes in the hamper and go watch your nephews play basketball.  Often. Surround yourself with people who love you. It is okay to plan for your future, but don't get so caught up in those plans that you forget about today. Let go of anything from the past that is bothering you. Once you are able to let go of that, it can finally let go of you. Do what is right, even if it is not easy. At the end of the day, or the end of the year, you have to be able to look at the person in the mirror. You have to respect her and believe in her. Live and learn.

About March Madness

March Madness always makes me think about my team a little bit.  I think of team basketball camps on college campuses, where we could always talk Coach and Brenda into a late night run to TCBY. I remember quick feet, finding a ball and a wall, and a trash can at center court.  I think of team dinners and Hoosiers, and I long for a ball in my hands.  When we first stepped onto the Hearnes Center floor, the bleachers were empty.  Back then, they always cleared out the crowd after the morning session, and made everyone come back in if they wanted to watch the afternoon.  We were sitting on the floor stretching when they opened the gates back up.  I will never forget watching the flood of what my grandma always called "Atlanta Blue" pouring into row after row after row.  It looked like a stampede.  I hoped nobody got in their way.  As I looked more closely, I realized I knew each one of them.  We all gawked at the steady stream of fans with our mouths hanging open, and I remember thinking, "This is why my kids will grow up in a small town."

Well, now I am entering into the second basketball season of my life.  I am the one buying the shoes, the bag, the knee pads, and driving all over this country to deliver my children to practice and games.  I find myself struggling to parent these little athletes in some ways. My love for basketball runs pretty deep.  I cried over a particularly painful loss my junior year.  For three days.  I want my kids to learn the valuable lessons that can only be learned from team sports, and I really want them to love to play. But I don't want them to consider each loss a tragedy.  I had planned on helping them do a better job of balancing life than I did. I want them to remember to spend time with family, church, and other things like piano, hunting, and fishing.
 
When I started practicing with my kids, however, it somehow awakened the athlete in me. I cannot seem to stop myself from making sure they are shooting a layup correctly, or showing them a dozen different dribbling drills.  I cannot prevent myself from breaking out my gold basketball charm and sliding it onto my favorite necklace on game days...a tradition I started almost twenty years ago.  I also cannot keep my advice to myself on the way to and from games...and occasionally at halftime.  When Madison came home with her first Hornet jerseys, sporting my number, I might have cried a little bit. Like I said, my love for basketball runs pretty deep.  Almost as deep as my love for those who supported me, and those who I shared those times with.  Oh, and I LOVE March Madness!

Heavy

My heart is heavy this week as I consider some optimistic misconceptions I have had over the years. I use to think that eventually the world would make perfect sense to me, and I would know the answers to every question, just like my mom always did. I guess I always thought that if there was a couple who wanted children, and they would be awesome parents, that they would be able to have a whole houseful. Or at least one sweet baby to cherish. I think in the back of my mind somewhere I always assumed that if there was a mom who did not want a child, or found she was unable to care for that child, that she would give it up for adoption, so the child could grow and prosper regardless of her mother's capabilities. I never thought a mother could be involved in the death and disposal of her own daughter...because we all know whether she did it or not (and I think she did), she knows who did it and did nothing. I can only imagine what kind of horrors could bring a woman to that place, where she could be that girl.

I think I always assumed that if there was a good mom, whose child was the light of her life, that she would have the opportunity to raise that child. That she would guide him through each milestone, and laugh along with his triumphs and cry along with his struggles, and help him become the person he was meant to be. The truth is, the world makes little sense to me much of the time. There are answers I don't have. Wonderful couples never realize their dream of parenthood. Mothers murder their own precious babies. And moms are taken from their small children in the blink of an eye. I am helpless to change any of it. And my heart is heavy.

My Place

So my house is small, and it is somewhere around a hundred years old. Sometimes I feel dissatisfied with it, and I think I need a new one. I see beautiful, new homes everywhere I go. Maybe we will do that someday. My new house will have an open floor plan. A nice, big space for birthday parties. It will have more storage, more open space, and another bathroom. The laundry room will be right off of the bathroom, too. That just makes so much sense to me. It is fun to think about sometimes. Kevin and I are a pretty good construction team, actually. I know we could do that, build a house, but most of the time I don't really think we need to do that. I mean, when I sit on the swing in my front yard, I feel the grass under my feet, and I see this:We have a garden in the back yard. I hope to fill the pantry with potatoes, green beans, and tomatoes this summer, if we can keep it weeded, like this: We have three little people who love to ride bikes, play catch, or run around back there, like this:Cattle graze peacefully in our pasture, and fish swim in our ponds. We have dogs and cats...and flowers. We don't have a stressful mortgage hanging over our heads. In the big picture, I can't say that I am dissatisfied with any of that. Old, new, large, or small, what does it really matter? The people inside (or outside) make it my place. This is where I work, play, praise, scold, worry, laugh, love, hope, and dream. Live. What else could I possibly need?

What Matters Most: He Said, She Said

So the reason I made the decision to make my own birthday cakes for my children revolves mostly around the concept of making memories. I remember my family making many beautiful cakes for me, and I love that. I also love small traditions throughout life that sort of weave themselves into each other to create what makes us who we are. My family has enjoyed some cake making people over the years, and I wanted to be one of those guys. To pass the torch and carry on the legacy, you know? The memory is the important thing. So let me take you back a couple of weeks to tell you about Megan's birthday cake...probably my most memorable cake ever.

To start with, it is impossible to find Barney birthday cake decorations, outside of edible images. Forget in the store, I could not even find them online. Everyone said he was discontinued. I called the grocery stores. One of them gave me the number for this special cake store in Kansas City that "always has everything you are looking for." No, they do not. The babysitter finally came through for me when she discovered a 15-year-old toy a friend had given her son many years ago. Perfect. He was Farmer Barney, holding a pig, which Megan would absolutely love!

I bought a new bottle of Wilton Violet icing coloring. This is the same shade of purple I have used in the past to make the girls' butterfly and flower cakes. Just purple. So after I had baked the two layers of cake and frosted them white, I popped the top on this color and started to add some to my second batch of frosting. And it started turning blue. Bright, bold, cloudless sunny day blue. Not an on-the-way-to-purple blue. But this is my big picture year, you know, don't sweat the small stuff and all of that. Go with the flow. So I added some hot pink that I had on standby...which led to a nasty grayish blue. More like a storm is on the way and it will get ugly. So I thought I would just add more of my "Violet" and bring back the bright blue. Barney is wearing denim overalls, so blue will work after all, right? Go with the flow.

I had to put the entire bottle of "Violet" in that frosting. I mean, there is no way this icing was safe for human consumption after all of the food coloring I had to put in there. I may have gotten a little agitated as I was adding more and more coloring and I was mixing the frosting, because somehow I managed to splatter some of my frosting all over the counter and yes, the white cake as it awaited decoration(note to self: from now on, mix the frosting on the counter and leave the cake on the table). But I am still going with the flow. I am trading my purple plans in for blue, because Megan will not care in the least. I can cover the splatters on the cake by adding many extra random stars on top. It will be fine. And it was. While it stressed me enough to have to talk through it with my mom on speaker phone, overall I was proud of my Big Picture mentality.

Here we are, an hour from party time. I put the cake out in my utility room, on the freezer, and decide now would be the best time to take my shower. Megan is sleeping in her crib. Madison and Jaron are outside helping their dad unload the wood trailer. Madison's friend is playing inside instead of helping them because she has a cold. In the shower it occurs to me that I have not taken a picture of the cake. Amateur mistake. I always take a picture of the cake the second I get it finished, just in case little fingers dip into the frosting before party time. Always. But not this time. So I get out of the shower, dry off, and get dressed. I am blow drying my hair and I decide the second I leave this bathroom, I will take a picture of the cake. Before I start thinking about getting all of the food out and everything. This is when Madison's friend knocks on the door. She says, "Valerie, Jaron put the cat in the house, and he is on top of the freezer licking the cake." Licking. The. Cake.

I run to see for myself. It is true. We do not have cats in the house. The kids bring them in to play with them on occasion, but they have to get permission. As a general rule, we do not have cats in the house. I grab the cat and throw him outside. I yell at my only son. For awhile. I cry, People. Not a solitary tear glistening its way down my cheek...but more like a kid whose dog just got ran over. I cannot fix the cake this time. My extra frosting has been discarded and the bowls washed(note to self: keep leftover frosting right up until go time). My blood is boiling. The big picture is nowhere in sight. I have never even heard of a flow to go with. It is a meltdown. The kind of meltdown that emotional, superficial girls who do not know what is important have. That girl was me.I know I should have gone with the flow once more. I should have focused on what matters most. The big picture.

*Megan has a whole tribe of people who love her and who wanted to celebrate the fact that she was born. And she loved the cake.

*Megan has a mom who really tries hard, sometimes with success and sometimes failing miserably, to be a good one.

*Jaron was crushed at the thought of his mom crying, and quickly forgave her outburst as she forgave his small lapse in judgment.

*I can count on one hand the times I have known my mother to buy a cake. But in my moment of emotional chaos, she offered to drive to the grocery store, buy a cake, and bring it to me, driving some of her least favorite roads in the process. (At the time, I told her no, I was just going to cancel the party instead, but it was her thoughtfulness I am focusing on here.)

*Even a frosting splattered, ill-colored, cat-licked cake is carrying on the tradition. And it is definitely making a memory.
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The following week this came home in Jaron's backpack from his first grade class.

Blacky Ran Away By Jaron

Once upon a time there was a cat named Blacky. He was a good pet. He liked to run. One day I let Blacky in the house before my sistter's party. I heard my mom yell! The kittin had licked the cake. My mom threw Blacky outside. Blacky was mad at mom and me. Blacky was hiding. I was looking all over for Blacky. He was no war. I looked on the porch. He was there. I was happy!

Investing in Valerie

I never thought maintaining a healthy weight would be such a struggle for me in my adulthood. I don't remember if this is an original idea of my very own or if I read it somewhere, but I have thought for years that weight is like grade point average. It can quickly and easily stray from what we would consider to be ideal, and getting it back where it needs to be takes a lot of work and determination. And some sacrificed sleep. Tomorrow we will be kicking off a team weight loss competition at work, Spring Training. I have had several people approach me to do another challenge, but with our current patient load and the computer project we have going on right now, I was not sure I wanted to work it into my schedule. Recently, though, the tide was turned when I decided to step onto the scale and was shocked and dismayed by the reading glaring at me in big, red numbers. I mean, I want to help my coworkers, I do, but the bottom line is sometimes you have to look out for number one. I realized I needed this challenge as a final push to be successful and maintain my motivation. My baby will be two years old this weekend, and the time to focus on getting myself back into the most healthy person I can be has long passed. My primary focus has to get an attitude adjustment now. If you want to know the truth about things, I have been looking out for number one a lot so far in 2011. I think this could be my year. It was not really anything intentional, but looking back over the last few months I cannot deny that I have moved up on my own list of priorities.

It all started after Christmas when I came across my thumb ring from my teenage days. I loved that ring and wore it everywhere. It got too small...not that it actually decreased in size or anything...and I took it off. It has been in my drawer, completely forgotten, for a decade. I think sometimes that I get so wrapped up in the small, daily motherly decisions that I forget about the things that make me who I am. I feel like I try so hard to learn how to be a decent wife and mom that I forget that I was a person first. I was a person with confidence and interests and opinions and I loved rings. I took my thumb ring to the jeweler and had it re-sized, along with the ring Kevin got me when I graduated from college. I have worn them every day since then. I bought an elliptical machine. I have wanted one for years. I am taking a photography class. I went to the eye doctor and got new glasses. Don't worry, I am still in charge of menus and groceries and laundry and piano lessons and signing homework folders every night. I am not neglecting my people. I do love my people. I am just saying, do not overlook the importance of good, solid investments. And this year I am investing in Valerie.

Some Days

I have always believed that someday I would have it all together. I was going to be the kind of person who kept everything tucked away in its place. I was going to be that super fun mom who basked in the adoration of her children every day. Those children would never go to school without finishing their homework or without their backpacks. I was going to adhere to my calendar/planner with reverence and be dependable and symmetrical and balanced...because I will just tell you that kind of thing makes me smile. I thought I would have all kinds of free time, and I would attend all of the events at school with my children lined up sweetly next to me in the bleachers.

When I was a kid, I thought it would happen upon entering adulthood. After my 18th birthday, I thought I would get it all together after I graduated from college and/or got started on my career. I thought surely after I was married, or after the babies were born...or maybe once we were finished with the diapers and food in their hair.

You know how Alan Jackson sings that sometimes someday never comes? I have finally realized that I am not going to be that girl. The one who is good at everything all the time. Someday may never come, but some days I do have it all together. Some days. But many days, I do not. Many days, if my family members have eaten something, washed themselves, brushed their teeth, and can sleep peacefully, I think that is all I need. Even if I left laundry on the couch or I forgot to send in their book order that day. Because some days I do have it all together. And tomorrow might be one of those days.

Piano Lessons

I always wanted to learn how to play the piano. Not in a cry myself to sleep at night for years kind of way, but more in a wistful envious pang as I listened to others play kind of way. In a harassing people to teach me to play a song here and there kind of way. As I got older and into sports I realized there was little time for it. In the back of my mind, I always thought that someday I would have a daughter, and my daughter would take lessons. I always sort of planned on us learning together.

I never wanted to be one of those creepy mothers who forces unrealized dreams on her child when anyone can see the child cares little about those dreams. But when Madison started to mention learning to play, I decided this was our chance. I ordered an electric keyboard, with weighted keys and all kinds of intelligence, in time for Christmas and began my search for a teacher. A tingle of anxiety swept over me as she opened it on Christmas morning. Part of me was afraid I had read too much into her interest and it was more about me than her. As the wrapping paper was ripped away, her mouth dropped to form a perfect O, and she said, "OH! YOU DIDN'T!" Which in kid language translates into, "I can't believe you got me such an awesome present!" It was the first thing she told all of her family at all of the dinners and the first thing she mentioned to her friends at school when asked about the holidays. She was also quick to inform everyone about lessons beginning January 6.

Now I am beginning to wonder if I am really going to be able to do this. Teaching old dogs new tricks and all. I remember my grandad, a man who spent most of his life around horses, learning what equestrian meant. He was around eighty years old at the time. He said you never get too old to learn something. So Madison had her first lesson, and we did her homework together and have been practicing every day. She loves the keyboard. I love the keyboard. We are really going to do this.

hunting is for girls

I know there are a lot of girls who do not hunt. I have friends and family who do not mind if deer are hunted, they just don't want to be the ones to pull the trigger or field dress the animal. Well, I don't field dress the animal. Kevin does that for me. When I was in my blind over the past weekend, it was cold and windy. By the time darkness fell I was beyond ready to go home and warm up. But I loved it. I was thinking about all the reasons hunting is for girls, and decided maybe I needed to blog about it.

1. Rest. I use to hunt in a tree stand. I have come to enjoy the blind on the ground these days. You can really get comfortable in there. My gun was sitting on the table. I got to lounge in a bag chair with my feet up. I could see all the ditches surrounding my blind from the windows. Maybe I dozed a little. Nobody needed a single thing from me. For three hours. When is the last time that happened in your house?

2. Reflection. I love to listen and watch as the world goes by. I am not talking about horns honking and people shouting. I am talking about rustling leaves and tall, waving grass and geese in flight. I usually see deer, squirrels, and various birds. Sometimes I see a turkey or fox or coyote. I like to think about the people who may have crossed this field before me. Indians or pioneers who may have gathered around a fire there as their children played barefoot in the grass. I like to consider the way things may have looked then. Without powerlines and blacktops and fences dividing everything into segments. A mind can wander when left alone!

3. Accessories. I remember being out in the yard with my dad and brother once when someone stopped in the driveway for a few minutes. I have no memory of who it was, or what he discussed with my dad, but as he left, he said, "Well, I'll leave you and your boys alone now." My brother and I were wearing dark green coveralls and stocking hats. He thought I was a boy. Until recently, a girl had to look a lot like a boy to hunt, but have you seen hunting clothes for women lately? I got all new camo this year. It comes with pink or purple accents now. Instead of wearing man styles and sizes and looking like I am wearing my husband's pajamas into the woods, I now have Realtree camoflauge head to to, trimmed in pink, that is very obviously made for a girl.

4. The Hunting Bag. I don't know if boys do this, but I always take my hunting bag. I probably should not bring this up after my ramblings about becoming one with nature. However, here are the staples in my hunting bag: deer tags and heritage card, cell phone(set to vibrate, of course), mp3 player(in case nature is being too quiet for too long), hot hands, beverage(hot chocolate is my fave), snacks, lip gloss, extra ammunition, binoculars, extra blanket, digital camera. Pondering the ways of our ancestors does not mean I plan to live exactly as they did or anything. I like my conveniences.

5. The Guy I Married. Hunting always means spending time with my husband. He delivers me to my blind or tree stand and we meet up afterward. We discuss strategy and everything we saw and heard (or texts we may have gotten) during our hunt. Sometimes we hunt together throughout midday. It is something that has always been ours and I look forward to it.

6. Shooting Guns. I like to shoot guns. When I have a gun to my shoulder and my eye on the crosshair, I feel like I am ready for anything. I don't care if I am bringing down a big buck or hitting an orange dot on a paper target. When I fire a gun, and I hit my mark...it feels really good. Everybody should try it at least once.

So maybe you are a great white hunter, or maybe you don't think it is for you. I am just saying it could be your thing. Hunting can be a great thing for girls.

there's a good chance I have a problem

I am a mostly rational person. I am not prone to random, crazy behavior. I will never bungee jump or pierce a part of myself covered by clothing. I have never tried any illegal drugs. I do not have any tattoos. I have been married almost eleven years to my junior high boyfriend. Almost every evening this month, I have been hauling my three children in my minivan to softball and tee ball games and eating cook shack hamburgers for supper. I have lived in one school district for my entire life, and I have been at the same job for seven and a half years. I have always rooted for the Atlanta Hornets, the St. Louis Cardinals, and the Kansas City Chiefs. All of these above behaviors make me feel like I am the epitome of normalcy. I don't mind that...although there are probably people out there that would equate normalcy with BORING.

So on one hand, I am this totally predictable soccer mom type with a pony tail. But on the other hand, I am totally and completely, over the top and embarrassingly, obsessively and compulsively in love with The Twilight Saga by Stephenie Meyer. As Eclipse is heading into theatres this week, I should confess that I have read the series, in its entirety, four times. In the last year and a half. Four times. There are very few books I have ever read more than once. There are no other books I have ever read four times. They are by far my all time favorites. I have convinced people to read these books against their better judgement. People who do not read fantasy or people who do not read in general. Every one of them loved the series. They thanked me later. I am not exactly sure how I can relate so thoroughly to this girl who is in love with a vampire, but I do. These books are not dark, freaky fantasies. The Twilight Saga is romance, morality, chivalry, and love overcoming obstacles. It is an imperfect girl finding love and her place in the world. There just happen to be vampires and wolves involved. So people say I am kind of a crazy fan. I don't think I am crazy just because of charms on my bracelet. Or because I know the movie release dates as soon as they go public and begin my countdown. Or because I am planning on taking a few vacation hours to see Eclipse on opening day. Or because in preparation for this movie, I read the book again, along with the new novella that accompanies it. And I watched Twilight and New Moon. Again. Or because, along with the first two soundtracks, my iPod already has the Eclipse soundtrack on it...and I can sing along. Or because of my new Collectors Edition People...

I guess maybe I can't help myself. So there's a good chance I have a problem. I might be crazy after all.

because one blog just isn't enough anymore

So I was the girl that hesitated to start my own blog. Because I was not sure anybody would care what I had to say. And I was nervous at the thought that maybe they would. Or that they may not agree or approve of my writing. A couple of years into blogging, I am still not sure if I entertain, inspire, uplift, or offend anybody. The biggest surprise is that I really like it. I like writing. I like sharing my opinions and getting things off my chest. I like knowing somebody is reading what I write. And I love being able to look back on forgotten moments with a fresh perspective and appreciation when I compare it to what life is like today.

So I decided to start another one. One blog just isn't enough anymore. I have been spending so much time with my new camera that I am finally starting to feel like a photographer instead of a girl who loves taking pictures. I have asked some family and close friends for some practice opportunities and they are coming up soon. I would like to introduce you to my photography blog. Feel free to provide feedback on pictures. I know I am not a professional and I want to improve and learn as much as I possibly can!

Longing

Last week I visited an Amish greenhouse. Twice. I went with Kevin one evening during the week, and we were so impressed I had to share it with some friends and my mom again on Saturday. I got some plants for the garden and some flowers to set out. Then I got some more flowers to set out. When I leave the Amish people, it is always with a longing for a simpler life. I said "simple." I did not say "easy." I am not so naive that I think their lives are easy. I may not know how difficult their lives are with their lack of modern conveniences, but I do know a little bit about some of the things they do. And I am not scared of those things. I mean, while we do have an electric saw and grinder, we butcher our own beef and pork at home. For the past few years we have raised chickens to dress for the freezer. And then there is the garden. I can tomatoes and potatoes and green beans. We make salsa and sour kraut. We freeze corn and peppers. It is a lot of work, but I always feel glad when it is done.
I love working together to be productive. The whole family is involved in planting the garden. When we butcher, Kevin does the jobs involving cutting and causing live things to be dead. I do more of the wrapping and labelling type jobs. Jaron helps me tape packages for the freezer, or hands me things, and Madison has become expert label writer (If a package winds up saying T-bone Stake, you still know what is in there!). I love the warm security that comes from looking into our freezer and pantry and not having to worry about what to feed my family. It is a blessing that counts.

When I think about myself trying to survive in the past, or living as the Amish do, I realize there are things I would definitely miss. I would miss phones. I would miss vehicles and electricity and iPods and Internet. I would miss air conditioning. I would miss birth control options. I am not going to lie about it. And I would miss pants. A lot. I am sure there are many other things I am failing to mention, but regardless of them all, I have to admit there are a few things I long for that I think they are getting right.

Like how they have work that is conducive to their family life. Next to this wonderful and productive greenhouse, a swing was swaying in the breeze. There was an adjacent sandbox with toys and shovels poking out of it. A little boy ran away and came back with a young chicken to show to Megan, and she patted its little head and squealed with delight, bringing a dimpled smile to the boy's adorably freckled face. I mean, these people don't drop their babies off at a sitter and drive off to work five days a week. I visited with the young mother who lived there. She was fascinated with my children and their ages. Her children were close in age to mine. Although she had seven children, total. She marveled at how "steady on her feet" Megan is. What impressed me was the fact that instead of her being inside pulling her hair out, elbow deep in housework, she was working in the greenhouse on a Saturday with the children scattered about. She had a smile on her face and mud on her shoes. She was the most friendly and talkative Amish woman I have ever met. I wanted to pull her aside and ask her about all of her secrets and challenges. I wanted her to teach me how to be more like her. With regular hot showers. And my favorite shows recorded on my DVR. And snuggle time with my kids at night, which feels like the softest pajamas and smells of lavender baby wash and Gain--Mango Tango laundry detergent. It could happen.

Inadequacy

This is the worst gingerbread house ever. Completed a good month after the holidays. Things kept coming up like the stomach flu and ear infections, and, well, gingerbread people need a place to live all year round, don't they? The roof was broken in many peices so we turned it into a patio. And it sort of went downhill from there. It looked nothing like the picture on the box when we were done with it. This gingerbread house is just one tiny reminder of many things that make me feel inadequate. There is a song from Grey's Anatomy that says, "Miss Almost, Miss Maybe, Miss Halfway." Sometimes, in moments of exhausted surrender, I feel like Anya Marina is singing about me.

The hardest thing for me about having a job that I have to go to on a regular basis is this overwhelming feeling of inadequacy. It is always creeping in, like a dense fog, and I am always trying to push it back so I can breathe. As jobs go, mine is flexible. Three days a week, I have patients coming in to be monitored as they exercise. Those are the days I try my best not to miss work. It is stressful for my nurse, who happens to be one of my best friends, to be left in the lurch on those days. She handles it well and never complains, but I try hard not to put her in that situation if I can help it. The remaining two office days are easily negotiable. These are the days I try to schedule things such as haircuts, dentists, doctors, class mom duties, and groceries. Of course, life does not always come in a neat little package wrapped up with a bow like that. There are many factors that do not always adhere to my schedule. The snow buries my van in the driveway or the ice makes the curves and hills of my crazy blacktop too treacherous to attempt the drive with my precious cargo. Kids throw up or spike a fever. Kevin gets an injection in his back. Sometimes there are places I feel like I need to be more than I need to be at work.

Sometimes I feel like I have a thousand strings tied all over my body and the only direction I can go is toward the string that is pulling me the hardest. When I do miss a work day for unexpected reasons, I feel inadequate at my job. I feel guilty for placing the extra burden on my nurse. I don't want my patients to consider me to be unreliable. When I forget to send the dollar so Madison can buy a drink at her class party at school that day, I feel inadequate as a mother. Or when the kids mention whose mom was at the class party. Sometimes I take kids to Grandma's house when they are sick instead of staying home with them myself...if it is a patient day at work. How wrong is that?

I am gone most days. As with most families, the evening shuffle includes dinner, dishes, laundry, homework, bath time, and bedtime(which includes quality time rocking a baby). Add to this the fact that the wood stove needs wood in it and the cows need checked as we had our first calf this week. Kevin has been having some bad days with his back so I am the one in the gum boots and snow, both up to my knees. He has been cooking some to balance things out, but all of this adds to more feelings of inadequacy as housework piles up and people are pulling their clothes out of laundry baskets instead of their dresser drawers. When I considered what I wanted to be when I grew up, I am confident that I never said I wanted to be half of a mom and half of a wife or half of an employee and a partial homemaker. I just wanted to be a wife and a mother and to work in a job that I enjoy and that helped people in some way.

I am a wife and I am a mother. I do like my job and I almost always feel like I am making a difference with my patients. But in trying to encompass every facet of my life to make me the person I want to be, I feel like most of the time I am inadequate on every side. Like I am doing everything half way so I cannot do a good job at anything. I see women who never miss work. I see women who never miss a function at school. I see women with immaculate homes. I do not see any of those women when I look in the mirror. I see a woman who loves her family. I see a woman who likes her job and feels abundantly blessed. Mostly I see a woman who has a long way to go in figuring the rest out.

As it turns out, I am a snob

I have always thought myself an open minded person. A person who goes with the flow. Unbiased and tolerant. Multidimensional. I remember ripping the wrapping paper off of my first cassette player/radio when I was a kid and then flying into the packages I knew held my first cassette tapes. One of them was Whitney Houston's debut album. The other one was Dolly Parton's album, "Coat of Many Colors." I loved them both and I don't mind telling you that I can still sing any song from either album in its entirety today. In high school I had CD's by the Dixie Chicks and Destiny's Child. I saw Alabama in concert. My musical tastes have always been diverse. My iPod includes music from Daughtry, Nickelback, Taylor Swift, the Twilight and New Moon soundtracks, Grey's Anatomy soundtracks, and some hip-hop and heavy stuff for walking to a beat. So I have always thought myself a person who approaches life in that way. Looking for variety. I thought this diversity component of myself carried over into my reading as well. I don't know how a person can live within the same skin for 31 years and be so wrong about themselves! As it turns out, I am a snob when it comes to my books. I am a judgemental snob. The first step to recovery is admitting you have a problem.

I looked back over the history of my library account online. I read somewhere around thirty books last year. You know what stood out? There were only five different authors. I only joined the library in 2007. Until then, I had given up reading for fun for over 10 years. College, babies...you know the things that can make you feel too busy. I think that because I was out of the loop for so long, I kind of like to read all the books from one author before moving on to the next. In order of copyright date. I say, "kind of like," but that is the only way I have been reading for two years. The only exception comes when an author I have already "finished" publishes a new book. I read it, and continue on with my pattern. And all but four of those thirty books were written by authors inside of my little comfort bubble. Nicholas Sparks. Jodi Picoult. Karen Kingsbury. Nora Roberts. That seems like the exact opposite of diversity to me. I get involved with my books. Nicholas Sparks makes me want to move to the ocean and take daily barefoot walks on the beach and eat shrimp. From 2007 reading, Janette Oke books made me want to drink coffee and have babies. And wear a dress. Beverly Lewis' books made me want to can vegetables and bake bread. I think the reason I typically stay in my little box is I am a little bit afraid to visit the scary, unknown places random authors may be writing about. I like the familiar. I want to tell you what happened to inspire me to branch out and learn from adding diversity to my reading.

My mom, the one who appreciates literary works in almost any form, bought and read the Twilight series as it came out. Occasionally she would mention that I should read them. I said no. I don't read fantasy. It's weird. And the way people were going completely crazy about the whole thing seemed kind of crazy and cult like and it freaked me out a little bit. She told me it was a romance. I told her it was about vampires, and it was for young people, like her students. I saw Stephenie Meyer on the Ellen show one day talking about her dream that led to these books. She seemed like a nice enough girl and they were discussing this love story and I thought maybe it would be interesting to read the series...but then again it was fantasy and it was weird. Snob much?

So just before Megan was born, I grew too weary to do much but read, and I was just as tired of reading the same old thing...so I finally decided to take the plunge. I read Twilight, New Moon, Eclipse, and Breaking Dawn. Within a week. I had two of the books with me in the hospital and read well into the night more than once. Following major surgery and great drugs. I could not put them down. And then I did something I have never done before. I read them again. I could enjoy them so much more the second time because I knew what was coming and I could slow down and enjoy them! And just let me tell you about the third time I read those books...it was like visiting an old friend. For months after reading the Twilight series I did not read any other books. I just knew anything else I read would be a letdown. I had nowhere to go from there. Those books are romantic. And they are my favorite books I have ever read. Not because they are about vampires or wolves. Because they are about loving someone else more than yourself. They are about love overcoming all obstacles when two people are committed to it. They are about making the best of your circumstance in life. They are about chivalry and morality. They are about watching a girl who thinks she is barely average transform into someone who feels beautiful and powerful. Good stuff. So that picture of the Italian charm bracelet above? That's mine. With four book covers of books I was too much of a snob to read. And this is my necklace hanging around my neck. You can get anything under a glass tile with a sterling slide attached on eBay these days! It is my reminder to branch out and try new things, and to love the people I love as hard as I can for as long as I can.

So this year I am going to go crazy and branch out with my reading as much as possible. Any suggestions will be considered without my turning my nose up. This last picture is my mom and I waiting for the New Moon movie to start in the theatre on opening weekend. We were the first ones there, and we were so early they had to run us out to mop the floor after we had already found the best seats in the house. Luckily, we were able to locate those seats again upon re-entry. So, there you have it. I own the books. The third time I read them, they were my very own books. I have the jewelry. I will have all the movies on DVD as they are released. And I will not confirm nor deny the purchase of a collector's edition People magazine showcasing the last movie and exclusive behind the scenes interviews and photos of the actors. So while I may not be a reading snob anymore, it may be that I have developed a whole new set of problems to address!

We made it!

I think sometimes as my children take turns reaching for those milestones I tend to let my focus shift back and forth between them. A friend told me she read that the only way to treat your children exactly the same is to only have one child! I believe that. Sometimes they need more from me than other times. More help. More worry. More praise. More attention. More discipline. And if all that fails and I finally realize YET AGAIN that I can't do it all by myself, more prayer. I think I have been so wrapped up in sending Jaron off to big, scary kindergarten that I may have neglected to share some priceless blogging material. I want to get this down before I forget about it.

I was glad for school to start this year. This has been kind of a crazy summer with splitting the kids between several babysitters and a crazy commuting routine. Megan did not start with her full-time babysitter until school started, and while I had awesome people stepping in to help me through the summer, I seriously had printed out a Microsoft calendar to help me keep track of where they were supposed to go each day due to the various vacations, camps, workshops, ballgames, and appointments that needed to be scheduled around. It was color coded(Madison Jaron Megan). I had an awesome friend helping with the baby and an awesome teenager with no baby experience that was more comfortable with just the big kids so it was a little bit of a juggling act. And I had grandmas for in between. I had severe apprehension that I would forget where to go to pick somebody up one day.

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And then Kevin hurt his back. After a few weeks he took over as caretaker of Madison and Jaron most of the time but we kept Megan on her babysitter schedule. It was nice leaving the big kids in bed in the mornings, and while one would assume this change on the calendar would alleviate a lot of my stress, somehow it didn't. I came home to muddy Levi shorts I had bought for "school clothes" laying in a muddy heap in my laundry room(I would totally do a Shout commercial after that day if any Shout execs are reading). I came home to dirty dishes and exhausted children because Daddy time is fun time. I came home to stories something like, "My daddy was looking like a cowboy and swinging his rope and he got me!" or "Has anybody ever chased you with a lawn mower? It's really fun!" And my big kids, who remained best friends through the preschool years when I just knew they would feud, decided officially this summer to spend time every single day not getting along. I was unsure whether to blame the excessive time with their dad, their ages in general, too much quality time together all summer, or my own inadequacies, but I was glad for school to start this year. I have been looking forward to it. I wanted to take that deep, cleansing breath and say that we made it!

We knew it was coming and we planned for it and we shopped for it and we labeled everything and we were ready. Monday morning, aka day 1, I was awakened at 4:40 am by my baby girl who had decided breakfast would not wait until daylight. I snuggled up with Megan, feeding her and dozing a little, as I do a lot of mornings. I usually get up shortly after 5 anyway, so when I finished feeding her around 5:10 I headed to the bathroom for my usual morning routine. The TV was on in the living room. I heard, "Mom? Mom? I got up and brushed my teeth and brushed my hair and got all my new clothes on. I'm ready for the bus! I'm just watching a show about Abraham Lincoln while I wait."

It was true. Our TV was tuned to the History Channel and a very detailed Abraham Lincoln documentary. It sure looked like too much information for me, pre-daylight and pre-caffeine. I said, "Madison, I am pretty sure neither the bus or your new teacher are ready for you just yet!" Much to her dismay I made her go back to bed for a couple of hours. I was glad to see her excitement settle enough to let her go back to dozing peacefully sometime during my shower. All I could think was that presidential documentaries at 5 am and early morning bright-eyed children can only mean one thing. School is ON! With almost a week down, she is loving 2nd grade...and she is back to sleeping until I wake her in the mornings. And she loves her brother again. So I guess we did make it after all!

Just between us girls...

There is something about watching a big, tough man be gentle that melts a woman's heart in a way nothing else can. I was thinking about how funny it is that young men (actually men of all ages) try to show off their strength and abilities when they are trying to impress the girls. They want big muscles and big trucks and big houses and big wallets full of big bills. They want to find the biggest Indian artifact or catch the biggest fish or shoot the biggest buck or trap the biggest bobcat. They think those are the things that will impress the girl of their dreams. I really don't think we should tell them that they could make us proud with far less effort on their part. Just between us girls, I am appropriately proud of my big, strong man and all, but the most impressive sight I have seen in a long time has nothing to do with anything huge and manly. My big, tough man looks most impressive to me when he has a grip on one of his more tiny accomplishments. And all he has to do to impress her is watch her blow bubbles.

Prince Charming

My husband has never really been my Prince Charming. To begin with, I have never considered myself to be a damsel in distress. If you were to look back over my history, you would not find impossibly locked towers or poisoned apples or wicked step-family members. What you would find is a mom who was always supportive even when I did not make the most outstanding decisions. You will find a dad who always fixed whatever ailed my car, sometimes without my ever knowing anything was wrong first. You will find a sister who was always available to laugh or cry with me as the situation deemed necessary. You will find a brother who has always been the tiniest bit over-protective. Math has never really been my favorite thing, but when I add all of that up I get a girl who has always known that there were people who loved her.

Kevin is rarely moved to break out grand romantic gestures. He is not a guy who sends me flowers for no reason. His idea of helping around the house is to hire a teenage girl to come over and work for me. I pick out the majority of gifts I receive for the major holidays. I have friends who ask if this particular aspect of our relationship bothers me...and I can honestly say it does not. I like choosing things for myself that I know I will enjoy or use. Would I be pleasantly surprised to get flowers from Kevin on a Wednesday in January? Yes. Do I need them to know he loves me? No. He may not be my Prince Charming, but one thing I know for sure is that he is the love of my life.

I have loved Kevin since I was thirteen years old. I loved his smile and the way he stood out on the basketball court but did not show off in a crowd. On November 15, 1991, he bought me a Mountain Dew at a junior high basketball tournament and asked me to be his girlfriend. I said yes. He gave me a heart shaped ring with the tiniest diamond chip for my fourteenth birthday. He gave me a ring six years later with some bigger diamonds and asked another important question. I said yes again. I love him for holding my hand when I was struggling to say good-bye to loved ones. I love him for making every day things fun and for making me laugh. I love him for not letting me wallow in a bad mood. I love him for playing with our kids on a daily basis. I love how the kids light up when they see him and how he shows excessive enthusiasm over their latest accomplishments. I love how we can have entire conversations without saying a word. I love that he loves hunting and fishing and how he has started sharing that with the kids(remind me of this during a busy time when I haven't seen him for days due to his being gone shooting or catching something). I love his soft spot for dogs and how he always seems to know what they need. I love how it embarrasses him when I brag about him.

Tomorrow is our tenth anniversary. I look around at friends and family who are divorcing and I can't help but wonder...what makes us different? How do I know that is not going to happen to us? Marriage may not always be what we expected. We may not be impressed with each other every single day. You know those conversations without words? They are not always love and sunshine. I do know that his cheek was against mine on three very important days when I had three very important surgeries resulting in the three most intricate and beautiful gifts that could have ever been given to me. We rarely spend time alone together these days, but loving our three precious children together in that fierce, blind, and protective way that only parents can know, I have never been more content in my life. And I still love his smile. Ten years of marraige and three kids later, we may never know what I would have done for that man if he had splurged for a candy bar to go with that drink!

diary of a mad fat woman

I know there are women out there who are naturally and beautifully skinny. I know that when they get pregnant and have babies they get that glow that you hear about. They can walk around the week before delivery looking like they swallowed a basketball, or sometimes even a volleyball. They wear their wedding rings to the hospital and their regular shoes and most people would not even notice their pregnancy at all. If you are one of those women, you can stop reading now.

I am not one of those women. I have never been able to wear my wedding ring into my last trimester. I have gained 54, 57, and 40 pounds with each pregnancy. I look like I swallowed a pilates ball. And I swell. My most recent pregnancy caused the most swelling. I bought shoes that were two and a half sizes larger than normal for me. I had no rings to fit. I could not even wear my watch. I know that I was very supersized and did not need to be reminded on a regular basis as I was--you may remember my post on things you should consider NOT saying to a pregnant woman. I lost 25 pounds after I had Megan, before I left the hospital. And not much since. I have not really actively been trying to lose the weight yet. And I am only 5'2". I know this.

I am breastfeeding. I will just tell you that my chest size causes some clothing issues. It makes any regular shirt too short on me so I realize I am still wearing a lot of my maternity shirts. But overall I am feeling so much better than I was before I had Megan and I am starting to take what little self-esteem I had left and pick it up off the floor and venture out in public again. Or at least I was. Until yesterday.

I passed someone in the hall at work, just going about my usual business. It was a girl I do not know well. I knew what department she was from but I did not know her name. So I was almost by her when I heard her say, "Still no baby, huh?" I looked around the empty hallway to discover it was just she and I and she was speaking. To. Me. I realize the Wii Fit told me I was obese but do I seriously look like I AM ABOUT TO GIVE BIRTH???

I promptly walked to her department to ask them if they could fire her, please. And I know her name now. And the diet is ON.

bye, baby, bye

Visiting a loved one in the nursing home is not the easiest thing to do. Grandad moved into the nursing home the week Megan was born. It is not the visiting itself that is difficult. Grandad likes not having to cook and seems to enjoy his new life and new friends. The first lady I met told me what a sweet gentleman he was. The difficult part is accepting how fast that sand seems to be flying through the hourglass and how quickly time is passing. When I think of Grandad, I still picture him holding the lawn chairs, waiting for Granny to get done talking so he can take her home from one of my ball games. I picture him just 10 years ago walking all over the farm and running and jumping around like he was decades younger. I picture him napping in the middle of Mom's living room floor after one of his hikes. At 91 he may have lost some of his agility, and he may be using a walker now, but Grandad is still the same Grandad. The visiting was not difficult. We discussed the weather, farming, fishing, Kevin's work, and how our new wood stove is working out. We discussed his "neighbors" and his brother and his health and the food. We discussed my work and he asked about the family. Grandad still has a very sharp memory. He still asks about all things outdoors. He still sings, "Bye, baby, bye, baby, bye," while rocking a new baby. He still gives hugs and kisses for hello and goodbye. His place of residence has changed. But he still walks me down the long hallway to the main front door, waits as I get in my vehicle and get buckled up, and waves with both hands as I drive away. The visiting was not difficult. I have to admit the driving away was.