Schnoh Bunny

It's not "snow bunny," you schmuck; it's "schnoh bunny."

Wasn't today such a blast?  In the hills, in the snow, on the sled, butt so cold you couldn't tell whether or not you'd wet yourself?  Simply wonderful it was.  Simply wonderful.

And now, in my warm house, Irish Cream in my cup; simply wonderful it is.  Simply wonderful.

And later, movie snuggled up on the air mattress with the electric blanket; simply wonderful it will be.  Simply wonderful.

Don't give me diamonds, don't give me pearls; just give me moments that are wonderful, simply wonderful.

The Following

Now that I know I have a following, I must not let my fans down.  I must carry on, though I tire greatly, and my fingers cramp, and somebody replaced the pretty blue-lighted keyboard with this one that has akward keys and causes me to mispell every third word.

I will not let you down, my faithful following!

To Be or Not To Be?

That is the question.  Shall I leave you or erase you.  I do not know.  I fear you are a part of me, a tangent, a shadow, a memory.  But do I want to keep you?  I do not know.

Hello, You

Ah, I had almost forgotten my password to access you, Little Blog. How are you?

I am fine, thank you.

I am only visiting you as I have time to kill while waiting for my facebook video to upload. You are but a secondary notion to my ever changing life now, you know. Don't be too insulted, for honesty is of value.

I am thinking, today, that I am among the most fortunate of women. Though I have yet to put my face on, am wearing my Superman blue footed socks and a dirty apron, I cannot think of one place I'd rather be right now than where I am. Ahh, the silence of my home, the sun warming the cold laminate floors, the canyon out my windows, separating me from a town that holds such significance in my life. Homemade chili in the crockpot, homemade cookies scattered all over the table, a lunch date at Idaho Pizza, the smile from a feverish little face, the soft nudges of a bunny who cradles in my arms like a little baby....the sound of the trees clapping all around me, the vibrant colors of the leaves taking flight through the air, the crispness of a fall morning much like the crispness of biting into a fresh-from-the-tree apple, the peace of my new neighborhood and quiet of others that enjoy the simpler things in life, a call from one of my Morning Family Gym-Goers from last year (I didn't realize just how much of a connection could be made from regualr early mornings with other sweaty people--I underestimated the power of the human spirit, needing connectivity to others; lasting connectivity)...haunting memories starting to silence and settle into the dust, their powers over me weakening like a frail man on his death bed, deeper wells of mercy, richer flavors of grace, nights of sweet sleep, demons demoted from stalking the dark corners of my life... A very nice home, food for my tummy, clothes on my back, $200 boots on my feet, healing for my soul, ones who love me near to me:

I am among the most fortunate of women.

Homework

So here I am again, one click away from deleting this blog.

Partially, my little blog, I want you to disappear, as you remind me of painful times, of dark hours that ramble on without end. And yet, I want you to stay, for you often bring me the comfort of a crisp, clean page; much like freshly washed sheets drying in the sunshine, flapping softly and complimenting the vast blue sky.

Thus, I go to delete you, but instead I find your blank canvas inviting, beckoning me to visit a while, to stay, to release what often is locked away in my head space, guarded and tucked out of sight.

I have been given homework which I must take seriously. By nature I am very serious, so this will fit me nicely, but I am really struggling with the assignment. I am used to things coming easily to me. I am accustomed to knowing how to do something intuitively, even if I've never done it before. I am studious enough to hunt down and find whatever information I must posses to do a task in the best (and most efficient) manner possible, yet I am frustrated by this assignment: Take Care Of Yourself. I draw a blank. I am confused. I don't even know what the proper definition of this grouping of words is. I can pick out the verbiage and diagram its parts, but I do not understand it's meaning.

So, my brain analytically goes through the list of knowns for proper body care: eat right, exercise, get enough sleep. These I can do. These I have done (minus the gargantuan amounts of ice cream I've ingested in the last few years, and perhaps the piling up of sleepless nights). These things I understand, comprehend, and enjoy doing. I can accomplish this: check! Let's scratch that one off the list.

Then there is be healthy: So, my brain takes the above and mixes it with the practice of medicine, planning to visit good ol' doc next week or the week after to retest my deficient thyroid and steal my blood to test for RA and Celiac Disease. I can accomplish this: check! Off the list you go.

But then I start to stumble, as I look at the 3 R's: rest, relaxation and rejuvenation. These three things are foreign to me. Yet I fear that if I do not incorporate them, my end shall come before I see my great-grandchildren.

And typing this, I realize, I am exhausted.

Were I to sit and think about it (but who has time for that?), I would find that deep within the recesses of my being, there is a woman who has been through too much, done too much, and taken on too much. Perhaps her name is just that: Too Much.

I will have to think on that.

Because, after all, who defines what is "too much" and thus, in contrast, what is "too little?" And what does one do with their bias from environment and social circles which contaminate said definitions?

Ah, but I am to "take it easy." Perhaps taking it easy does not involve defining words? I do not know at this point. For being a very decisive person, I find myself being completely indecisive. How foreign.

Homework, on my day off? What type of life is this?!

Caught In The Middle

Fearless warriors in a picket fence,
reckless abandon wrapped in common sense.
Deep water faith in the shallow end,
I am caught in the middle.

I currently live life in the middle, and I hate it.

I am not content with sub-par. "Ordinary" does not satisfy me. "Just okay" is never good enough, and "Oh well," are not words in my vocabulary. Yet, that is where I live at the moment, and it's driving me insane.

I'm caught in the middle.

Somewhere between the hot and the cold,
Somewhere between the new and the old,
Somewhere between who I am and who I used to be
Somewhere in the middle,
You'll find me.

Somewhere between the wrong and the right,
Somewhere between the darkness and the light;
quite simply, I am
Caught in the middle.


I am not a middle dweller, yet here I am, setting up camp in Somewhere Ville, which is neither Here nor There. I can handle not being There as long I know that Here is behind me and my travels will get me to There. I can handle not being Here as long as I know that There is but a distance away. But oh no, as of now, I am neither Here nor There and it leaves me frustrated. How long can one tread water before they get exhausted and drown?

Too much darkness, not enough day.

Too many nights watching the smoke alarm flash while sitting snug on the ceiling, fulfilling its purpose in life; contentedly blinking.

Too many mornings wasted while recovering from watching the smoke alarm blink late into the night.

Too many phone calls from people that can't their job done right the first time, toying with my life as if I'm some puppet on a string; robbing me of time and pleasant brain space.

Too many days caught in the middle.

Some people accept what comes to them, as they float along on their little River Life Raft. And some people have purpose and direction, they were meant for something more than living life in the middle; floating just doesn't cut it.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4WN37XYqrmY

I need fresh wings. Ahh, freedom...

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LAZpkLhJDfo&feature=related

Life

Poor little blog, I've neglected you, haven't I? I join facebook and look what happens, I no loner visit you. I don't write to you, don't read you, leave you lonely with no pictures to brighten your day....may I make amends here and now:

Wow. Life is interesting, isn't it? So much has been going on. So, so, so, so much.

Just read part of my last post - I WISH I could put my running shoes on. We'll be at 3 weeks this coming Saturday for my leg injury; I can walk now, just not very quickly...forget running! I think I'll give the elliptical a try tonight; my ankle couldn't handle it last week when I tried, but I am hopeful for today.

My puncture wound is healing nicely and I will have yet another scar to add to my repertoire. I took the old Cowboy Rule and got back in the saddle a week ago, though I was a twee bit scared, and decided that injury or not, I was made to ride a steel horse (rock on Bon Jovi!). A biker friend suggested I try out racing and, much like a cartoon character, I felt the light bulb atop my head start glowing. Hmmmmmm....

Oh glorious moment - what is this? I am presently all by myself! What to do! What to do! Seeing that I haven't slept well in, oh, a year, I'm a bit too tired to do anything fabulous. I suppose I'll wait for the rest of my Limewire downloads to finish uploading and off to the gym I'll go...I've lost some ground in that department; hoping to gain it back soon.

So, I've been busy packing, packing, packing. I detest "stuff," and am appalled that I have so much of it. Simple is definitely the way to go. I'm not exactly looking forward to being in Limbo Land, but getting my acreage will be worth the wait...I need to learn about chickens. It can't be too hard to raise some, but I'm sure there is some skill involved. I see it as a win/win situation: if the chicken lives, it gives me eggs; if it dies, I eat it. How hard can this be?

In other news, my brother came for a quick visit, that was nice...too bad I was too sleep deprived and stressed to really enjoy it! Here are some pictures of him, the much adored favorite uncle:


Here Ken gives us a photo tour of my homeland, Montana, where he just got back from as he went to Butte to pick up his new car. The pictures made me miss the Big Sky Country - it was indeed beautiful.

The kids enjoy a ride in Uncle Ken's new car:

Powering Down

Do you know what happens after you gorge yourself on pizza (actually, I did stop when my stomach was full--not the "I'm gonna puke my stomach is full," but the "If I eat that last bite I'm gonna be at the 'I'm gonna puke my stomach is so full' stage") then polish it all off with a couple handfuls of Skittles ("Taste the rainbow of fruit flavor"....wow, I didn't realize that marketing worked so well....I still remember that....amazing)? You feel your sick body saying, "I'm powering down...."

But I know what the cure is for that: you put your running shoes on.

I read that once, in a book on marathon training, when you don't feel like running, you just put your running shoes on, then go outside to see what the neighbors are doing, then take a little walk down the street, then before you know it--you're off and running.

Thus, the cure for Powering Down is to put your running shoes on.

So, I'd better go put my running shoes on and get to the gym before it's completely full of men and I feel that oddness of being the only white female in the entire building. I'll try to not smash my middle finger with the weights this time; that always looks a little funny, when you smash your middle finger, can't bend it to a closed position like the rest, and it stands, throbbing and red at full attention for all to see. Wow, what a great run-on sentence.

Off I go, to put my running shoes on (I think 20 miles just might burn off all that luscious pizza I just consumed, then I'll need to do an extra 5 for all the Skittles). Maybe if I hurry, I can burn it all off before it goes into "storage."

Yeah, Baby!

I don't understand how I've lived ALL these years without owning my own bike. Today was full of a bunch of firsts for me, one of those being that I learned how to ride a dirt bike (ROCK ON!!!), and the other being that I got shot in the thigh with an air-soft gun. That wasn't as much fun, but it was still a first.

The kids had fun. The adults had fun. My son's testosterone levels went up 10 nothces--it was all good. Yeah, baby, it was all good.

Now, time to go scrub up in the tub!

The Little Things

I have, after all this time, decided that I like this blog; I think I'll keep it. Several times the mouse has been but one click away from deleting it; all my mindless ramblings, rantings, and logs of life. (That was rather poetic, wasn't it?) Yes, you shall stay, My Little Blog; for now, anyways.

The marathon is this Saturday. I'm trying to keep myself on a tight leash, not let my mind think about it too much lest I become overwhelmed with regret, discouragement and disappointment: I won't be running in it. Stupid knees. Stupid 12th pregnancy. Stupid me. The stupid knees belong to me, hence they are on my body. The stupid pregnancy lost belongs to me, as my body has decided to revolt without my permissions. The stupid me pretty much sums it all up. Stupid me and no marathon.

You just can't give a dog a big, fat, juicy bone then, once he's slobbered all over it, guarded it, and invested gnawing time on it, take it away. That's very much how a goal oriented person is when you give them a big, fat, juicy, goal then take it away. Now I am a dog without a bone. Not that I don't have other bones, it's just that I want the one I can't have; naturally.

Humans are so fickle.

I was thinking about connections; relationships, to be exact. Remember Mr. Rogers and the "Who are the people in your neighborhood" song? Well, unlike most American's, I make it a point to know the people in my neighborhood. There's good ol' David, who's anxiously getting himself a Philippino bride in a matter of days. Oh, how he's enchanted with her, thanks to an "Over 60" chat room and highspeed internet. He's been busy, trying to get his house all cleaned for her. I often wonder, "just what is he feeling?"

I wonder if she's going to take his money and run. That's what his last wife did, and he still hasn't recovered from that. I know David is very excited for her to meet me, as he is (if I'm reading his unspoken words correctly) counting on my kindness to keep her afloat until she finds friends of her own. What is the proper way to sweetly say, "Listen lady, you mess with little ol' David and you're gonna have me to deal with...you hurt him, take his hard earned money, or break his fragile heart, and I'll (flex, snap, pop) be paying you a little visit, ya hear..."? I've been told I'm creative, so perhaps I'll think of a nifty little way to put that nicely.

Then there's Melissa, who's taken up smoking after her divorce, whose roommate (after the X moved out) just witnessed her X-finance shoot himself (suicide) in the head. I'll be collecting her mail, overseeing the mowing of her lawn, and watching over her place while she's away all summer. I've lived next to her for three years now, and yet we're both private enough that we know each other without really knowing each other.

And let's not forget Andy. Andy who spent most of his day off yesterday working on his lawn. Seeing how badly he'd like to be married and start a family, how he has to work to pay for his home, then work to maintain his home, I realize just how much a man needs a good woman. It must be very hard, and very lonely, for a man to work hard all day at work, come home to an empty house, have to cook himself a meal, do his laundry, clean his house, take care of his lawn, pay the bills, grocery shop, find matching socks, and clean underwear. It is not good for man to be alone.

I'm not a feminist, but I do think that women fare better alone than men do. Women have the frame of mind to put something in the crockpot before leaving for work, and to start the laundry as soon as they get home, so they can fold it before bedtime. They multi-task getting their hair, shopping and bill paying done, and they pay the neighbor kid to mow their lawn. Since a man's not doing the laundry, they always have matching socks and clean underwear (of which they own more than just a few pair--without holes, I might add).

...Speaking of underwear for a minute, I do have to say that I have a pet peeve when it comes to men's underwear: whitey tighties. I despise them. Why not blue? Or red? Even purple, if you feel up to it, but why white? I refuse to buy whitey tighties when it comes to purchasing men's underwear. I think I prefer black or charcoal gray the most. And why hang onto underwear that has holes in it? Is this a form of air conditioning? Do you not notice the holes? This, I truley do not understnad. Anyway...

So, as I visit with Andy, I am glad to give him company and a warm meal every now and again. It makes me smile when he calls with a question (What should I use to clean my laminate floors? What plant should I plant by my front door? Where should I put my couch; hang my pictures? Can I use margarine instead of butter?), and ends the conversation with, "Thanks Mom."

Relationships. Isn't that the crux of what life is about?

I dare say it is.

Relationships are as little as waving at a car that goes by, or as big as convincing a man not to set himself on fire; they're as little as kissing a scratched knee or as big as being the Rock for a friend at the end of themselves.

We all come to the end of ourselves at some point, and we all sit atop a mountain peak at some point. Who is there to share these moments with? Who is there when you fall? Who is there when you're at the top? If you are the most blessed of people, then you will find the same crowd around you at both places.

Big things come and go, people come and go, but relationships stay with us, whether good or bad, painful or pleasant. I think, perhaps, that life is not so much about the big events, but the power of the smaller moments. Several small moments make one big event. Life is like a marathon; to run it well, you must not forsake the training.

Yes, life is lived in the little things.

Match Maker Mishap

That is a rather catchy title, is it not? I was, indeed, part of a match maker's mishap earlier this morning. DH seems to find it rather comical, I find it rather embarrassing.

Sometimes it doesn't pay to be nice. Today: case in point. Let me spin for you a tale, akin to the great Aesop's, that you may learn and be wise if you find yourself in a similar circumstance:

I take the kids to school this morning then head to the gym, seeing that I don't have Little Squirt to care for thanks to DH being home. Since it's nearly 8AM, there is, of course, a different crew from the regulars I see at the crack of dawn. I start my torture session (lower body today) and notice that besides moi and a bulky male about my age, there are grey heads on treadmills, the track, and ellipticals. I do so enjoy the grey-headed crowd, as I never have to wait in line for a machine or the dumb bells.

About fifteen minutes into my workout, I find myself on the Inverted Squat Machine, praying that adipose tissue will radically melt off my thighs whilst sweating and pushing 245 pounds with my once-runner's legs. I do a set and stand up to add more weight, recover, and down a swig of my lovely green chlorophyll. During this time I have also noticed that an older woman is talking to the man about my age. He seems slightly...uncomfortable? Yes, he looks like her conversation is making him a bit uncomfortable. I begin to wonder if she's his mother due to the familiar way she is speaking to him. They head towards my machine and I give them a little space as they talk quietly and in a rushed manner.

It is then that the woman turns to me and says, "Oh, would you mind if he just showed me how to use this machine? I don't want to use it. I just want to know how it works." I am a nice person, of course, so I say, "Sure, that's fine." He, on the other hand, is acting a bit odd, and I wonder why he rushes through his less than informative narrative then awkwardly makes a quick exit. I, on the other hand, am nice (remember?) and step in to offer her the answers to her questions. I show her how the seat adjusts, the hows and whys, do a few algebra problems, then tell her, "...here, it'll be easiest if I just show you myself," as I hop back onto the machine and get ready to pump some iron. She says, "Are you going to lift all that weight?" I think to myself, "Why no, not me. I'm just a girl, after all. Why don't you go grab those cute little green five pound weights for me instead, so I don't hurt myself." But I didn't say that, of course, because I'm such a nice person.

So, she gets a demonstration and other women stop by to ask questions (who knew I could be so popular while sweating?): "What muscle group does this work? How do I get the weight off the machine? How much weight should I use? Is all that weight heavy?".

So, she then she tells me how she's had knee surgery and is afraid this certain exercise might hurt her knee, so I show her how to modify the exercise so there is no strain on the knee, only on the quads and hamstrings. I then, being the nice person I am, show her some other machines and exercises she could do, as I tell her that I have some knee damage, too, and know how to do modified forms of the classics as not to stress the knees.

She keeps saying, "Oh, you're so nice to be showing me all this!" And then it happened. The moment before the complete awkward moment when I realized what she was doing....the moment before the moment that I should have seen coming...but no, I just thought I was being nice and helpful, and that she really wanted to hear what I had to say.

She starts, "Why don't I know you? I know everybody around these parts!" I tell her that I usually am a morning gym person and never come to workout this time of day. She says, "Well, I'm so glad you're here so I could meet you. I'm Marty." I almost said, "Well, that's my husband's name, too," but went the formally polite route and held out my weight glove-clad hand while saying, "And I'm Sabrina; it's a pleasure to meet you, Marty."

She then launches in to how she is a now retired high school teacher in our little town, and that she thought she knew just about everyone here. I told her that I graduated elsewhere, came to the area to attend college, and found myself still here; so she couldn't have known me from my high school days. She then tells me, "Well how nice. My son is home from college, that's him right over there. (We both pause to look.) He likes to lift weights, too. He's a body builder--you know--for football. So, are you a single lady?"

Enter awkward moment.

I smile sweetly and say, "No, I'm not."

I see a level of awkwardness cross her face. She pauses a moment, and says, "A married lady?"

I smile sweetly and say, "Yes."

I see her go into "recover mode" as she suddenly loses interest in me and says, "Any little ones?"

I smile sweetly and say, "Yes, four little ones."

I see her face look a little shocked as she says, "Oh my! You look too young to be married and have four children!" She looks me up and down and says, "You look great! 4 kids! Wow!"

I smile sweetly and say, "Well thank you, I'll take that as a compliment."

And suddenly, our conversation was over. I'd just been hit with a Match Maker Mishap. I felt rather foolish. Here I was just being nice, not knowing that all the body language I'd read earlier was the workings of what was now my awkward moment. Thank you very much, Marty the Retired School Teacher.

As one may imagine, the son left shortly after that (he did the both of us a favor), and I spent the rest of the morning cursing myself for once again being too naiive. That's me: the nice woman who walks, no, skips blindly into her own embarrassment.

Had I been naughty, I would have said, "What's wrong Marty-Who-Knows-Everyone? Isn't your son a big enough boy to make his own match? Actually, by the look on his face, I think my neighbor's three year old may have more intelligence, though a little less brawn, than your little tyke. Does he wear a helmet when he plays football or is he just in special ed?"

But no, no, no. I'm too nice for that.

So beware! Beware of old women that fain interest in you whilst their son peeks around the corner to see how things are going. Save yourself! Run! Run away!

OK. Enough for one night. I can only relive this embarrassing moment one last time (for you, of course, my sweet little blog). Time to roll out the dough for the cinnamon rolls that I'll be serving the kids for breakfast tomorrow. (Oh, how happy they'll be! They do so enjoy homemade cinnamon rolls!)

Takin' it Easy

You know the Eagle's song, right? Take it Easy. After all, you don't want the sound of your own wheels to drive you crazy. Lighten up, while you still can, cuz you'll never be here again. So...something something...I'm climbin' in; take it easssssyyyy.

I'm practicing taking it easy. It's going all right, I suppose, except that I don't know what to do if I'm not working. I like to work, get things done, go places and conquer things. Yeah, I'm not really that great at taking it easy. It must take a special person (maybe as in short bus) to take it easy all the time. Just not my gift, I suppose.

But I did take it easy today:

I started my day off with an 11 mile run. It was raining, so I did the first three miles (the warm-up miles as I call them) at the gym on that blasted treadmill. As soon as the rain stopped pelting the ground and lightened up to a sprinkle, I was out the door and on the road. I'd been aching to run 400S, so I hooked a left on Lincoln and headed for my destination. I had to run across the overpass to get to Frontage Road, which would give me the scenic route to 400, but there was one little problem with said overpass: no shoulder space. So, I did what any sane person would do; I ran down the middle. I passed a Sheriff that gave me a double look as I didn't bother to go around the road construction safety cones, but through them (after all, the shortest distance between two points is a straight line). But he couldn't turn around to get me, so I was scott-free (what does that mean anyway?), a real running fool. What's he gonna do anyway, give me a ticket for Reckless Running?

Oh no, my blogging time is being threatened by people who actually want to converse with me. Save meeeeee!

Anyway, I hit Frontage Road and off came the jacket, since I'd kicked the pace up a couple notches to get off the overpass I was burning hot, and with that jacket off, oh, how wonderful it was. I love my racerback running tops, especially when my skin is being kissed with soft raindrops and the faintest warm breeze. It was wonderful. WONDERFUL. I ran by farmers watering their fields, and the breeze brought the most wonderful mist of cool water right to me (no, I didn't open my mouth--I know where that water comes from!). I ran past dairies and had moo-cows (as I call them) actually run up to the fence and along side me. It was wonderful. I ran down country roads with few houses and inhaled the fresh earth, wonderfully scented from the refreshing rain; it was wonderful. I ran past a house that had 8 dogs and wasn't eaten alive, that was wonderful, too. I ran up hills without getting tired; wonderful. I ran with the view of the sun breaking through storm clouds before me, demanding a bit of glory from the darkness surrounding it; wonderful.

Then I got tired.

The sun hid away and the wind picked up. The rain started to spit on me and suddenly I had to zig-zag my miles to get a reprieve from the wind, numbing my face and threatening to carry my hat away in its wicked windy clutches. The jacket went back on and I started to get cold. NOT WONDERFUL. I took the Arlo Lott road and nearly died going up the hill, but once at the top, nearly got eaten by Michelle's flesh-devouring canines. And then I was too tired to run anymore. The hill, the dogs; not wonderful. I knew I'd have to save some stamina for the Walmart road (is it 200S?), as it's a dangerous road to run, but is safer to run than walk.

I seriously thought about turning in at WalMart and calling for a ride home. I knew I was hitting the wall. What I really needed was water. But it wasn't raining enough to actually open wide and say "ahhhhh." I couldn't let my pride be bruised, so I fought the merciless wind and stinging random drops of rain until I hit Lincoln again, and got a bit of a break as I ran the mile back to the gym. I was, by then, acutely aware of how I needed to retire my running shoes, as they felt like thin pieces of cardboard on my feet. I felt this about 3 miles back, or was it 4, but I was REALLY feeling it now; NOT WONDERFUL.

But I do have a new pair of running shoes now. And they even have just a splash of color (pink, of course) on them; wonderful.

I'm tired and my head aches, as today is a fasting day. (I'm taking it easy, remember, and what can be easier than not having to eat for an entire day--it frees you up to do so many other things).

I'm sure there's more to my story, but I'm afraid it's movie time. Oh what did the Red Box bring me tonight?

I could really go for my Junior Mints and my salted cashews right about now. As for Ben and Jerry, they're not allowed to come over for a while thanks to them visiting too much lately and bringing Love Handle with them. I love you guys, but I gotta say goodbye, at least for a while. 2 more days of fasting and we can kiss the Love's goodbye and welcome you back in, but until them, I'm sorry but you'll have to stay away.

And yes, my knees are now aching. They will, I foresee, hurt all the way through Thursday evening so that come Friday, I'll salivate over which roads I want to run the next Saturday morning.

That's me, takin' it easy.

Momma Likes

So, the house is up for sale; has been for a few days. Had my first showing the other day and the feedback from the showing agent was that my house was, "...immaculate and superbly ambianced."

Yes, thank you, thank you; thank you very much. Those are the words I like to hear. After all, my house is an extension of myself, and "immaculate" is a word that I'm rather fond of.

The buyer said the house was on the high end of what they're able to afford, but they loved the place. I, personally, think the house is priced low, and will not be willing to budge too much on the price. Was I not trying to sell as quickly as possible, I'd have the price up about $6,000.

Did you know it took me 9 hours, or was it 10, to paint my kitchen?!?! Yes, indeed. That's what happens when you are covering a medium blue color with "Vanilla Wafer," and you ask the guy at the paint counter to give you the cheapest paint available. Dumb, dumb, dumb. Learn from my mistake, don't ever do that. I may as well have been painting with water. 52 coats later, the kitchen actually transformed itself from blue to a light, bright, paled yellow "Vanilla Wafer."

I think I should have been a paint namer. Whatever color of paint I buy, I always have to rename it. Like the girls' room; I don't know what the paint color was called, as I renamed it "Pony Palace Purple." And for my favorite son, there was, of course, "Best Boy Blue." My bedroom just so happens to be brown. I think the paint color was something like "Poop Brown," but I renamed it to "Better Than Sex Chocolate Chuntey." The main bathroom is "Calgon Take Me Away Grey" and the living room is "Come and Stay a Day Blue." The dining room, which is a grey-green was a big disappointment to me, as it wasn't the color I wanted, so I didn't give that color the priviledge of having a special name.

Life is so much more fun when you put some flare into it.

Unlike most women, I'm not a stand-at-the-paint-counter-for-hours-looking-at-samples type of gal. It took me all of 5 seconds to pick my paint. What can I say, a classic "Know it when I see it" moment. I do so enjoy paint. But not know. After repainting nearly every room in the house, I'd prefer not to paint again for a long while. I do so enjoy paint, just not lately.

And the tendonitis in my arm is flared up again. As for the knees, I only run on the weekends now; usually an 8 to 10 miler which leaves me with aching knees for the rest of the week...but for some reason, I think it's worth it, so I keep doing it. Talk about a dog going back to their vomit!

I have company coming today. I suppose I should go fix my hair. Speaking of hair, I got a nice comment the other day, in WinCo of all places. There I was in the nasty public bathroom with Little Squirt, instructing her as a good mother does, on the proper washing of her hands, when the other occupant in the bathroom (who kept staring at me) said, "You have the most beautiful hair." I was rather surprised, and then thought, "Well, I did actually fix it today." I smiled and said a nice thank you. What a sweet thing to say to the woman with the untamed head of hair.

Speaking of which, I think it would be fun to do barrel racing. I was telling the girls how we could set up some barrels in the pasture at the new house and practice racing around them. Doesn't that sound like glorious fun? I'd send the kids off to school in the morning, have Ben & Jerry's for breakfast, then go race around barrels all afternoon. Call it a mid-life crisis; call it insanity; call it what ya want, but ya gotta call it fun!

Square dancing. I think I'd like to take up square dancing as well. I'd still like to do ballroom, but I think there are more options for square dancing around these parts.

And I'd like to be in a band again. I've found a good drummer....know of a great guitar and bass palyer...yes, a band.

And as for softball, I didn't get on a team this year. Hopefully I'll be moving instead.

Note to self: stop eating Chocolate Marshmellow Mateys for breakfast. Besides shaking from the sugar rush, I end up a little bit dizzy and then get a headache (not to mention that I think I see the first signs of a love-handle). This is a bad habit that's got to stop...tomorrow...or as soon as the giant sized bag is empty...

OK. Back to work!

I'm Officialy a Red Neck

That's right. I am officially a red neck. I fried my back and neck so wonderfully last Monday whilst moving tons of wood from the parking pad that I do believe I can earn the title, mostly physically, as a red neck. There are dangers to wearing cami tops while owning white skin.

But I just bathed and was able to take off an entire layer of my own skin. It was a bit of a freakish moment as I peeled large quantities of gooey skin off my backside, making me feel like some sort of exotic over-sized snake.

Gosh, just how many times can one person be interrupted while trying to write about such important things? I am now completely frustrated, have a bigger headache than I did 5 minutes ago, and no longer want to be social. Where's the mute button on people, anyway?

Argh. This red neck is taking her red backside to bed.

Moving?

Went back and looked at that house again today. I think it just may be the one. It was fun watching the kids romp around and play with the dog (I think the previous owners just left it), looking so young and carefree. Up and down the pasture they went, the whole lot of them, especially the four legged furry one, enjoying a much needed release of energy. It made my heart smile. I wanted to join them, but no, I just stood in the purple kitchen and thought about how to make the cupboards look better.

Just got done taping and texturing one of the downstairs bedrooms--a full bucket of mud to get that room done! Suddenly, small bedrooms are really appealing to me. I may just have to post some pictures of the progress. Hopefully the mud will be cured tomorrow and I can start the painting process. My right hand is a little cramped from the hand texturing, but I think I can still pick my nose, so all is well. Have you seen the new (to me, anyways!) drywall tape? Very cool stuff! SO much easier to use than the paper stuff--what a pain.

Tired. Full moon equals no sleep, equals one tired mama. And I still haven't cleaned all the dishes from Easter dinner. Oh well. But I am high on fumes from a super-sized bucket of joint compound, and I've consumed way more ham than one person should in a month's time; time to flush the system!

Seeing how brushing one's teeth while typing isn't the greatest idea, I shall sign off.

So much to do now that I've got my sites set on getting this place ready to sell;let the anality begin!

Things That Make You Go "Hmmmm"

I like things that make you go, "Hmmmmm."

Those are the things that really let you get to know a person, I think. The little odd quirks and kinks; places in people that aren't usually seen upon first glance, or even the second or third. I have a few myself:

I like to gorge (is that too strong of a word?... Nope!) myself every Wednesday afternoon at Idaho Pizza Company. Gorge, baby, gorge! I have been doing IF (intermittent fasting) lately, and let me tell ya--that's really cutting down on how much I can eat, as my stomach shrinks down to a healthy (i.e. normal) size. I think 10 slices of pizza was my all time high, then I had to finish it all off with a few of those cinnamon sticks. I totally skip the salad bar. I mean, why pay for runny salad dressing when you can load up on PIZZA? Totally doesn't make sense to me. I can't quite do 10 pieces anymore, though. I'm down to about 6 being my total maxed-out state of being. Bummer!

I love to gorge on Wednesday's because I'm normally not a gorge-er. That, and it's double punch Wednesday, so I do get, overall, a 20% savings. And, Wednesday is also the only day of the week that I drink pop. I get the perfect amount of ice, then give myself 25% Pepsi, then fill the glass the rest of the way up with Diet. It doesn't taste so dirty that way, and I'm not consuming massive calories--I save that for the pizza.

So there you have it, something to make you go, "Hmmmmm."

That, and I like Robin Eggs. The Easter candies. It's just something about the texture and the flavor that get me hooked like some crack addict, "Just one! Just one more!" Then POOF, the entire bag is gone. How does that happen? I think it has something to do with quantum physics.

Hmmmmmm.

I like to wear my cowgirl boots, especially now that they're broken in just perfect. Sometimes I wear my jammies, my boots and my hat. I think better that way. Don't know why. Either that or I've got a few screws loose. Sometimes I wear my cowgirl hat to unload the groceries. Don't ask me why, I just like to.

Hmmmmmmmmm.

I really do like my boots. Boots with attitude. A splash of sass. I was originally going to go for the brown ones with the pretty stitching, but thought they were a little too ordinary. It took me a while, (and I almost settled for brown with blue--a lighter shade of blue--) but then I found them, waiting patiently for our destinies to be intertwined; beckoning me to search the city over just to find them. Red with colorful stitching , squared toed, wing tipped, and begging to be on my feet. They are a thing of beauty. Only the uppers are red, the toe box is chestnut brown. I never thought almost $200 would come out of the checking account and onto my feet, but I'm glad it did (thank you!). There's nothing quite like having expensive inspiration on your feet. Mmm, mmm, mmm. Much like Wonder Woman and her fancy underware, I can do anything while in my boots.

Hmmm.

I'm gearing up for my country home. Just looked at a place tonight. If you were to compare the house to the palace I live in now, you'd say, "Why on earth would you want to move?" But there's just something about the view, the breeze, walking the land, and looking at the endless neighbors. Oh wait, there weren't any neighbors (just one)...that's right, baby! There was a nice hill nearby that beckoned for me to run it, and there was so much work to be done, I could salivate over giving the place a make-over. The place was ready for my cows and horses and goats and chickens, and yes, my Lacey dog. It even had fruit trees. Why anyone needs more than one apricot tree is news to me, but hey, to each his own, aye? .... Had a fireplace insert and a large dining room, which is always important to me, 5 bedrooms, a hideous purple kitchen, and a double deck that awaited a table and summer eatings; burgers fresh off the grill!. The place has potential. We'll see. We will see.

I wouldn't have to go to the gym anymore if I had a place like that. I'd be so busy working my butt off everyday whilst milking, gathering, planting, sweating; it'd be wonderful. No more boring dumbells and walking lunges or bent-over rows and flyes. Give me a hoe and a good pair of gloves and I've got myself a work out routine to get me ripped. Yeah baby.

Hmmmmmmm.

I'm tired. Supposed to watch a movie but don't know if I can make it. Tomorrow's Easter. One of my daughter's doesn't have white shoes to wear. Shhhhhhh. Don't tell the fashion police!! How could I sink so low?

Time to pass out.

Hmmmmmzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.

Life in Song

Fathers, love your daughters.


http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uhOJW4Uwy3c&feature=related


I heard you, Jason.

Everyday there is someone who needs to be heard, sometimes it is even ourselves.

“Music speaks what cannot be expressed,

soothes the mind and gives it rest,

heals the heart and makes it whole,

flows from heaven to the soul.”

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FEn74zP1glQ

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uHdcyue0bSw&feature=related

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rdlkQYyY37k&feature=PlayList&p=D396F50E5C93439B&playnext=1&playnext_from=PL&index=14

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Lx8TMaME1oc&feature=PlayList&p=D396F50E5C93439B&index=17

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WyoVJfADlwo

Let It Fade

Have you been walking on a surface that's uncertain?
Have you helped yourself to everything that's empty?
You can't live this way too long.
There's more than this, more than this.

Have you been standing on your own feet too long?
Have you been looking for a place where you belong?
You can rest, you will find rest.
You can rest, you will find rest.

Let this old life crumble, let it fade.
Let this new life offer be your saving grace.
Let this old life crumble, let it fade, let it fade.

Have you been holding on to what this world has offered?
Have you been giving in to all these masquerades?
It will be gone, forever gone.
It will be gone, it will be gone

Let this old life crumble, let it fade.
Let this new life offer be your saving grace.
Let this old life crumble, let it fade, let it fade.

Let it fade.

Are you carrying the weight too much?
Are you running from the call?
Let it fade.

You can rest, you will find rest.
You can rest you will find rest.

Let this old life crumble, let it fade.
Let this new life offered be your saving grace.
Let this old life crumble, let it fade, let it fade.

Let this old life crumble, let it fade.
Have you been standing on your own feet too long?
Have you been looking for a place where you belong?

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=791NEtPGeKM&feature=related

April Already?

It's April already? Where'd March go? Or even the end of February for that matter? And why is there a thin little blond walking around naked in my house? (No, this is not some perverted porn palace--back before defilement entered the world, people, two to be precise, walked around naked and were "unashamed.") I can no longer walk around, giggling, while naked, in broad daylight. I think that is a privilege given only to innocent pre-schoolers who like to warm themselves by the fire before lamenting themselves into actually putting clothes on (was my skin really that smooth once???).

Anyway, I can't believe April is almost half over.

Time can go so quickly, and yet so slowly at times. Fast when it's fun, painfully slow when its not, or it can go-gone: it's just gone, in a flash, when you mentally take a leave of absence and then wake up one day and say, "It's April already? Where'd March go? Or even the end of February for that matter?" Go-gone. I believe that's the official term for that certain span of time that you simply cannot account for other than you're sure you slept, perhaps ate, and bathed a few times...but you can't be sure. Is that ME I smell?

Why no. It's the new recipe I've put in the crock pot to torture me all day as I smell the sweet chili sauce tangoing with a splash of chipolte, fresh squeezed lemon, crushed garlic, chili powder and molasses. Of course, I couldn't follow the recipe exactly, that would be proposterous; so we'll see just how well these chicken tenders turn out.

So, it's April already and I struggle within my brain. I wrestle inside my head and am amazed at how one proportionally small unit of the body can be such a force to be reckoned with. I have never been pitted against myself so much as these past few months. Or has it been years? Grey mass can be so hard to reign in, bring under one's rule, to be made obedient. Many things I have been learning, my young Pad-wa, that I may one day be a great Jedi Master.

And I don't even like Star Wars.

Go ahead, stone me! Call me un-American! I DON'T LIKE STAR WARS!!! Why couldn't they just be in chronological order, anyway? Why's it got to be so confusing? Lord of the Rings, now that I can handle, even like. Beautiful scenery, quick dialog, epic battles..."And I am no man..." she passionately states, as she yanks off her battle helmet, blond locks tumbling down around her vexed face, and *poof* the demon fighter is defeated! Now, that's a scene that rivals Yoda. Come on: long haired blond babe in mid-evil dress or scary looking green globular man-it-thing in potato sack? How hard is this, really?

So, anyway, March flew by like one of those Death Riders from above movie, screeching its blood-curdling, life sucking, fear striking, screech, and now it's April. Already. Already it's April. And I find myself in a very curious place. My life now has a new perspective: the Before and After; like a canyon that divides two towns. All of life's events are neatly shuffled into one of two places, fitted snuggly into a large, nonexistent file cabinet under one of two headings: Before or After. And what a nice place, if it can be called that, for a division line; age 30.

You know that song, "Life is a highway, I'm gonna ride it all night long?" Was that written in a euphoric state? Who's life is a highway? Highways are smooth roads being, usually, the shortest distance between two other points, often creating a line. Highways have painted lines, signs giving clear directions, rest stops and soft shoulders. They're pleasant to ride, especially in a convertible, the wind racing through your hair and caressing your skin. Whilst it's a fun song to sing as a teenager, life ain't no highway.

No, baby, it ain't no highway.

How'd it get to be April already?

Sprinkles and Pics

I don't know about you, but I so enjoy the little things in life. I see the little joys in life as being the sprinkles atop the cupcake; something you don't need for survival, but something that brings a little smile to your face. Let me share some of my sprinkles with you:

At first I was a little upset that someone had taped something to the fireplace, as once something is burned onto "the black," it's a booger to get it off...if it will come off, that is. So, here I walk into the living room and someone has taped a sign to "the black." I started to get upset, thinking about how much time it took to scrape goo off "the black," the last time someone did this....but then I took a closer look and saw that a little someone had written a note on said sign. It read, "For you Mom! Love DS." Ahh, how sweet! He'd made me a fire before he'd left for school. He'd thought of me and did something to show his love; built me a blazing fire to keep my morning warm. Such a fine young man he is--he'll make a fine husband some day (but I do have in ink and in blood a paper a sworn statement saying that he'll take care of his dear old mother in her less than golden years!).









Next is a picture of little Squirt. She was just so stinkin' cute in her little jammies (which kept riding her behind and made her all the more adorable), I had to take a picture.

Then there's the pictures that my children drew me (just two of many, I might add). I nearly died laughing when dd2 drew me the below pictures of myself and someone...I'm not quite sure who's to the right, but the expression on their face is a hoot! (That's right, you don't mess with Momma Bear unless you wanna get the big guns all fired up!):











And then there's the picture brought on by the inspiration that comes while spending time with Dad (isn't the blood so incredibly realistic?):































And then there's me in my much beloved straw cowgirl hat. Though dh did nothing but laugh at my perfect gardening hat, he did say, "It's you--all the way. It's just "you." And it is. Come summer, I'm putting on my cutoff jeans, digging out my favorite tank top, strapping on my yard boots, slipping on my gloves and wearing my perfectly frayed straw cowgirl hat!

YEE HAW!!

(And yes, my lawn mower has horse power!)

A Little Over 17

Today was another blissful run, a 17 miler. Scott (the Nazi Stopwatch Man) and I did a bit over 17, as I told him I'd rather go over than be under in mileage. Total running time was 2 hours 36 minutes and, just like the song, "I feel good (du-nuh-na-nuh-na-nuh-na-nuh). I knew that I would." Actually, I was so weak at the gym last night, I came home early and went to bed at 8PM! I was afraid that I wouldn't be able to run today, but I surprised myself. Not only did I run, but I ran well. Could have run farther and could have run harder. Knees are hurting though.

I like this running thing. I think I'm hooked.

We ran the last 3 miles on the blue track, inside, once again. And once again I bared to the world my spandex clad body. But, once again, I was too hot and sweaty to care.

My face hurts. I think my sensitive skin has been burned by the wind. We had a nippy and slightly harsh east wind to accompany us on our run today. Not only is my face a blushing shade of red, but it burneth greatly.

We ran past my country house today--the house I wanted to buy before we bought this one. (It's kinda hard to purchase a home, though, when the seller is in Mexico and doesn't take offers while they're there!) It was hiding behind the tree line, off past the field, just where I'd left it. My heart hit a painful twinge as my runny-nosed running group ran by...how was my big garden that I never got to plant things in getting along? And what about my fruit trees that were sitting in the perfect spot to the west of the house? And the calves--were they still in that pasture behind the back patio? The dog runs, still to the west, ready for my much beloved Lacey dog? Was the wood stove still keeping the family room and country kitchen warm? Did the back door still need to be replaced?

But, oh, wait. That's not my house. Though I wanted it to be. And to think, now I've got my perfect cowgirl hat and no country home to go with it. But I've been thinking, I may just dig up a portion of the back yard this year to expand my little garden plot. One of the nice things about old homes is the landscaping--big ol' trees and lots of shade. That's nice, unless of course, you want to grow things in the SUN in a GARDEN.

I shall be content with what I have, though. This is a beautiful home, and I am thankful for it. I can really work my lats while scrubbing the wood floors on the enitre top level. Then I can work my triceps and biceps by vacuuming all that wonderfully light colored carpet downstairs. And once it's vacuumed, I can thus work my lats and my arms by steaming all the dirty spots out of said light colored carpet.

Looks like my time is up, as the oven screams to me that the pizza is done cooking, and the son is giving me a great, in-depth, run down of homonyms. Boy, does he have a loooong list to tell me about. What a smart little guy he is.

Off I go, to eat a few more rolos (why do they have to wrap them--I can't eat as many that way!), and serve my little dears. Life is good.

Oh Happy Day

Though I'm exhausted from my therapy session, I must say that it's a good tiredness--Retail Therapy can really perform a pick-me-up! (Am I the only one who finds it odd that Macy's has bikinis right next to the winter coats?)

Not only did I find my straw cowgirl hat for this summer (a perfect know-it-when-I-see-it moment!), but I also got a free lunch. If you've taken college economics, then you know that "There's no such thing as a free lunch." But today, it was free....at least I think it was.....but come to think of it, perhaps I now have a stalker.....so maybe my overpriced college course and pre-highlighted used 5 pound textbook WAS correct.

Either way, dd4 and I went to "Baldi's" (as she calls it) to chow down on some delectable Mexican food. As I devoured the chips and salsa (it was hot today--cleared out my sinuses!) and she licked the bean bowl clean, I did notice that the man in the booth opposite us kept looking at me. A lot of people I don't know know me, and if they don't know me, they think they do. (Do you know just how many times I get mistaken for someone else?) I didn't think much f it, but was sure to use all my manners, since I had a little person watching me intently, imitating my every more.

Jose, my favorite waiter, kept speaking to me in Spanish, as he always does. I was feeling good today, as not only did I understand everything he said, I was even talking back 'en espanol.' (Sometimes I still dream in Spanish, I know I'm still bilingual somewhere in my over crowded brain!) It wasn't until the very end, when I was waiting for the check, that I had to ask him, "que?" Then, "No se?" In Spanish he said, "I will tell you one more time, no so rapido."

He kept talking about my friend (male) and how there was no check. He finally switched to English and told me, "There is no check, su amigo paid for your lunch." Even in English I didn't quite understand...I was like, "What friend? Who? Where is he? Did he take care of the tip, too?" Jose just smiled and said, "Su amigo, yes to tip," and walked away. STINKER!

So, I don't know who it was, but lunch was practically free. Practically being in the sense that I left a five dollar bill on the table for dear little, aging, missing the tip of a finger, always kind to my family and me Jose....I remember when he first started working there; he knew no English at all. A determined little booger he is, to be this fluent this fast.

That coupled with a few good finds at the mall, added to by going to the Home and Garden show in a bit, and topped off with an intsense upper body workout I intend to do at the gym later this evening (while listening to the newest songs I've just downloaded) equals the right to say, "Oh happy day!"

Weirdness

This is so weird; life right now. I feel like I've stepped (ya know, like when you think there's one more step, but there's not, and you have that weird feeling as your foot gropes around for the step, then smacks the ground, unsatisfied?) into the Twilight Zone. I've gone from never having enough time to having ALL this time, from a state of constantly tidying everything to not having much to tidy, from making three meals and three snacks a day to making only one of each. This truly is very weird.

I don't know if I should run around and jump for joy or curl up in the fetal position and suck my thumb.

Weirdness.

You may not find that word in Webster, but it does infact (which is technically two words and not one, mind you) exist.

Speaking of weirndness, after a fun game of dodgeball this morning (and a new, big, fat bruise on my arm thanks to Mr. Fireman with too much testosterone) I dropped my undies in the shower, right onto the freshly showered wet plastic shower floor. Once clean, you can't revert to dirty undies (or sweaty in my particular case), so I had to wear the wet ones. I'd forgotten what it was like to be two and have the cold/wet sensation of peeing your pants. Of course, I didn't pee my pants, but it looked like it once I got home from the gym. Weird, I tell ya.

I ate Ben & Jerry's for lunch today with Little Squirt sitting on my lap in front of the fire. She doesn't know that I picked out all the good pieces of brownie and chocolate chip cookie dough and just left her the ice cream...tee hee hee. She was just impressed that I was actually sharing my much coveted ice cream; one day she'll wise up.

Which reminds me, I do so love the smell of pine. I love smelling it when it's felled, delimbed, scored and cut, then loaded onto the Over Sized Lawn Ornament (which, sweetly enough, is not parked on the parking slab in the back yard, but is blissfully out on the farm--far, far from my sight), unloaded at the farm, split, reloaded, brought home, unloaded and stacked oh-so-precisely on the back patio for a winter's worth of burning. I love to plop a new piece of pine on the fire and smell it's sweet aroma. Burn, baby, burn. Nice n' sweet, and nice n' hot.

I miss the old free standing stove we had at the old house. Besides the fact that ds stood by it naked and scorched himself (um, can you say "duh!"), it was my favorite house accessory. We've got the fireplace insert now, my Blaze King, and it's alright--just not as big, burly and hot as the free standing tank was.

I like fire. Always have, always will.

Infact (haven't we talked about this: two words!), my dearest brother and I used to pass the time by playing with fire, melting straws down to the very end (whilst holding them between two fingers) and thus scorching our sensitive kid skin when the straw melted onto our thumb and pointer finger. Good ol' days. Maybe I should teach my kids how to do that....I've already taught them how to fry bugs and start fires with a magnifying glass...

I think Ben & Jerry are affecting my head...and I like it. I mean, what else is there to do when you've already got your work done, read too many kids stories to Little Terror, and already have dinner fixed? And all the laundry is done. That's right, I said DONE. Just what, oh what do I do with myself besides sit here and think how weird this all is. I honestly don't know what to do with myself if I'm not doing something. But I'm sure I'll figure it out. Even when I don't want to figure things out, my brain sits there and figures it out for me....it's like it has a mind of its own.

Time to hit the library. I've decided that I'm going to get serious about my weight lifting now. Time to get focused and sculpt that body I've always thought I'd have someday. Since I'm now "jobless," I suppose I've got the time to invest in it. Or write a book. I might actually look into that, something I thought I'd never have time for amidst raising children. Funny how things can change so quickly, huh?

Weirdness.

I think I'm beginning to like this new state of WEIRDNESS.

Death and Laundry

I love mornings like this: I get up, I go; I do, I make; I cook, I clean; I love on and be loved by; I work fast and hard and see good results before 9AM even hits the clock. And thus, I give myself a few minutes downtime before I repeat the above process.

I was just folding laundry (don't all my posts relate to the fact that I'm constantly doing laundry?) and thinking about (drum roll, please): death. The end of the line. The last cigar. The finito. And why do I think about death and the day that I will die? To help me live.

I call it "forward thinking" (do I need to slap a label on this and become rich in the process?). You have to think backwards from the end (which is technically looking forward from the point you're at now) to get the clearest vision. But before you can start all this gazing, you have to know what type of ending you want to have. Choices. We all have choices.

Think of how many choices we make everyday: be all good, be all bad; be half good then half bad; be half bad then half good; be 3/4's bad and 1/4 good; be 5/8 good and 3/8 bad. And that's even before we get out of bed. I know some of you ("drifters" as I call your class of personality) don't think that you consciously think, and therefore, you just kinda drift through life, thinking that you're not thinking. (And people like me drive you nuts!!) But even drifters have to think and make choices constantly. With all this on the table, I like to have a focus to my thoughts.

Thus, I think about death while doing laundry.

What really matters at the end of life? Money? Toys? Faith? People? Fame? Hope? Inheritances? Love? Family?

Overall, I am a business woman. I've got a sniffer for a good investment like a bloodhound for the trail. I've known deeply too much death to live so nonchalantly to believe that tomorrow will always come, so I'm looking to invest today. Money isn't that important to me (I honestly think if you threw me into a 3rd World Country, I'd be happy to be free from the hefty ties that money can bring), and toys are fun, but not a crucial part of life (though I do enjoy my wheat grinder). Fame is something I'd rather other people have, and being in the spotlight is something I can endure when I have to, but I prefer my snug little non-crowded quiet hole.

So on the terms of business and investing, I choose to invest in people, mostly. For to change a life is to change the world. To touch a life, to make an impact, to relate to and exchange the things that can't be bought with currency--these are the type of investments I look into. And I like to do business well. And this is why I think about death while folding laundry.

We are given so much everyday, even on the bad days. If time were money, would we all be investing differently? Do we give our time (and money) to things that last, that make a difference, or do we have short-term vision and kiss it away to what satisfies us today? I do both. But on the good days, I'm an investor.

And today is an investing day. This is not so much a pre-planned, tight agenda as it is a focus that is alert to looking out for the opportunities that will come my way today; opportunities to invest. I've been sitting on the sidelines too long during this tough season, turning a blind eye to these some times quiet chances to splatter a few people with kindness, to enjoy my brief moment of investment, to let the warmth of a little love fill a small portion of their soul.

But I am not so naive to know that some people prefer not to be loved, as it is either uncomfortable, foreign, or threatening to them. And it is these people that need the patience of a pure love. They may push you away, spit in your face, growl and grimace, but you know that they weren't always this way; this is a learned behavior brought to the forefront by some form of trauma. These people are still worth the effort of loving, even investing in. They may be a hard investment with little return, but that's okay, because you know that you have an endless supply of what they need. And giving is so much better than receiving.

Death and laundry.

Who would have thought the two went together? Yes, I hear the washer's chime, calling me to come and pay homage to it's sleek gray physique. So my little break is over (how did my fingers learn to type so stinkin' fast?), and I must go back to the grind of being the person I am:

A business woman that mentally stands at the end of her life, looking back and says, "What a great investment!"

Life Hurts

Life. Life hurts. It's just a fact, pure and simple. It can hurt more if you have expectations that it will hurt less, and it can hurt less if you learn how to numb it. I'm not one for low expectations, and don't necessarily agree that having low expectations is the way to go. For, as I look back through history and single out the men and women who have walked wisely and made a real, positive difference in this world, I see that their greatest moments were not ones marked by "low expectations."

Thus, I feel that it's not low expectations that makes one's life happy and tolerable, but it is instead the person or object of whom or to which one puts their expectations in. Think about it.

And as you think you may realize that everyone and everything will at one point let you down, so you may contrive, what is the point of having an expectation high enough for it to plummet to disappointment? And that's why I like Psalm 62:5: "My soul, wait silently for God alone, for my expectation is from Him. " For, I am a person with big expectations and grandiose dreams...I am also a person who has suffered much disappointment. But it's all in where the expectation is placed, and I have learned to not put my expectations in things, especially in woman or man, for they will fail sooner than later. I know this well. I fail myself everyday.

Expectations are good, it's just the placement of them that are wrong. Because, as we all already know:

Life hurts.

Seasons. Right? Seasons. To everything there is a season. And we love the seasons, even those of you here from your golden land of California enjoy the turn of the seasons. Perhaps you wish that winter wouldn't stay so long, but you cannot deny your sense of childhood wonder when the seasons change. And such is life on the internal world; it weathers seasons.

Seasons are what make life interesting, and we love the seasons of change, even if it is only subconsciously. We all enjoy some sort of change, even if we try to argue that we don't. For a life without seasons is like all music having the exact same beat. No matter how masterfully done the composition is, at some point you will come to dread it, as the monotonous rhythm will no longer soothe, excite, or enrage....it will bore. And boredom is the death of living. Really living.

In and out of the seasons we go, sometimes willingly, sometimes dragged through the mire; but on we go. On I go. I will be glad for this season of pain to turn into spring, to bring forth new life, fresh air, and only the occasional storm. How long can ones' dark season be?

It is in the harsh times of life that we see who we are, how strong or weak our character is. It is through my sufferings being intensified over the past few years that I have truly become acquainted with who I am. Sometimes I, the she in me, has made me proud, very proud. More frequently, she makes me cringe, especially the confused and sometimes raging beast she has shown me she can be. But I am glad to know her, as she strengthens me, even in her bad times--she strengthens me in that I see who she can become. And this revelation is of great value, for it brings new light, new understanding, for the future. It helps to set new parameters, to know of what to beware of. For, one doesn't need to set up a fence to protect oneself from a kitten, but to protect oneself from a tiger is worthy of some forethought and strategic planning. It is not our strengths that we must fear, but our weaknesses.

We are never as good as we should be, yet never as bad as we could be. True?

Perhaps we vacillate between these two parameters of good and bad, depending on the season of life we are in. I know I do. And it bothers me. Why vacillate in the bad times? What does that say of my character? But oh, wait, there's me and my expectations again. I give myself no room for failure. None. And then I am disappointed with myself when I fail.

I am sick and wrong. And I know very well that:

Life hurts.

Yes, life hurts. But oddly enough, in pain we are united. Through pain and suffering we reach into the depths of each other, and compassion is born. Just like children: from the long gestation period of aches, pain, vomit, and fatigue, then through the wrenching I-want-to-pull-out-my-own-hair pains of childbirth comes something of great beauty; a new life. Precious. (And if you birthed your children with numbing agents, you have truly missed out on PAIN!) Through pain, we are united to our new babe; they are of great worth to us. All great things in life are worth the pain, are they not?

Let's think about that. Pain for a purpose is worth fighting for and enduring for. But pain with no purpose may very well be the death of our very souls; bacteria on our hope, limits on our faith, a total rejection of love. Yet life will bring both types of pain, will it not? But we have a choice. We can choose our pain.

Breaking the law and being thrown in prison brings pain, but that is pain that is chosen--pain coupled to consequence. Perhaps this is "bad" pain. Loving a person for the majority of your life, then having your very heart ripped from your chest as they (painfully) die, perhaps this is "good" pain; pain that came from something pure--pain that came with a season; pain with purpose.

What can I say? I am no great thinker, theologian, or scholar. All I know is:

Life hurts.

And what do we Americans really know of pain, anyway? We may think we know a thing or two as we live in a luxury the rest of the world cannot fathom. Amidst all our toys, gadgets, food, and worshiping of the god of personal comfort, we bring on ourselves much pain. Idiots, we are. So consumed with ourselves that we don't see a larger picture; our wailing over a splinter in our thumb shames us in the naked face of reality.

Life hurts. Sometimes from our own doing. Sometimes not. But overall:

Life hurts.

Valentine's Day

A day of love, aye? Do you know the real meaning of Valentine's Day? It is much more than conversation heart candies (I'm partial to the ones made by Necco), and men having to buy a dozen roses lest they enjoy being in the presence of The Ice Queen.

I ran into a dear little boy last night while gorging myself in a very un-lady like fashion, who tickled my humor bone by sharing his Valentine's Day poem with me:

Roses are red,
Violets are blue,
I think you're more fun
Than sniffing glue.

Isn't that simply precious? I loved it. I've never sniffed glue, perhaps I should start. I did used to eat paste. Texture. I liked the texture. Which reminds me, I used to eat Ajax. Sometimes I still get the urge to do so; nutritional deficiency? Psychosis? Hunger? I think it had to do more with the texture and grit. I'm very odd about my textures.

A friend made me cookies a month ago, and the texture was incredible. They could have tasted like cow dung mixed with hay and dirt, but the texture had me eating half a dozen in less time than it takes Americans to spend their Stimulus Checks.

I'm becoming more and more of a texture freak the older I get. At least I haven't reverted to Ajax. But hey, that would make for an easy date, right? "Where would you like to eat tonight Snufflelumpagus?" "Oh, my dearest Tweedletum, let's not go out. Let's just dine here by the firelight with this new can of Ajax. Would you like to peel back the white sticker that forms the purpose of a lid, or shall I?"

I miss watching the Smurfs. I saw the DVD set at Walmart. I think I may just use some of my tax return to go purchase it, grab a can of Ajax, and revisit my childhood.

Have fun with your glue.

Contemplations

I've been told by someone who knows me better than any other, that my blog is rather an odd collection of shallow topics gone in depth. He mentioned how this is much unlike me, as I'm not a person who likes shallow, I crave depth like a sea mammal craves water with a deeper shade of blue. And he's right that I write of things in this manner.

I write to the shallow because this is my de-stress blog of nonsense, a place where the unimportant and nonchalant simply flow from my fingers onto the screen. That and, quite frankly, I've been told I am "too intense" of a person--who wants to be around someone who "has a plan for everything?" Not too many people, I gather (except for businesses that need a cut-throat CEO who gets PAID to have a plan for everything!). And that is the reality of the world I live in. That is the reality of a person with a "leader's personality" (as I've been told I have, curse me!). The vast majority is looking for the ease of following the path worn well enough to travel easily, they look for the rise with the least resistance, the boat with the sails.

And then there are those who belong to the (sick) personality race of my own; ones who see a different way, a new way, a way with possibly much pain, suffering, and toil, but a way of greater value, of a vaster depth; a more satisfying way. We are but a dime a dozen, but we are the movers and shakers of the world who have visions and dreams, whose annoying "unspontaneous-ness" (and I do believe that's a relative term) can keep a crowd in control and move a large mass towards a purposeful goal. Isn't there value in that?

So much of our strengths are also our weaknesses.

Being a person of my traits can be a very lonely walk. There are few that want to be blasted with the intensity of such a person. There are even fewer that will ever get close enough to see the tender depths of such a confident shell. And it is these few that can cause the greatest joy, and ultimately the greatest pain. And such is life.

* I like 4 ice cubes in my glass. More than 4 and I can't drink my drink, less than 4 and there's just too much space for the fluid to roam freely.

* I rarely have a favorite anything. I like variety and change, within a certain parameter.

* I am spontaneous, but only when I feel safe enough to be such.

* I am fiercely loyal to those close to me, but once you break my trust, I will hold you at arms length quite possibly, for forever.

* I am confident in all I choose to do, but sometimes question who I am as a person--this bothers me.

* I hold things close to my heart, good and bad alike. There are some things that I have never, ever shared with another person, and probably never will.

* I don't like talking on the phone and rarely do.

* I enjoy working hard, even if it's 'just' in a domestic realm; I have no respect for people with a poor work ethic.

* I am claustrophobic.

* I love children--all of them. Yours, mine, theirs; I love them all.

* I can handle being the only adult with 30 children, but put me in a room with 30 adults and I'm looking for the nearest exit.

* I can be the main speaker at an event for more than a hundred people and never break a sweat, which is good, because one time I completely forgot to wear deodorant.

* I have a hard time coming to a complete stop at all stop signs, and I often run the ones that are at railroad crossings.

*I live a passionate life, and can't understand how one would live, be it not passionately.

* I don't sleep well due to stress and the numerous burdens I carry on my extra large shoulders.

* I don't know how to not carry large burdens, as a passionate person cares deeply about people and things, situations and life in general. I think there may be medical records showing that passionate people die young.

* I enjoy the domestic task of laundry now that I have a pretty gray kick-butt washing machine.

* I enjoy improving my corner of the world, making it a pleasant place, wherever it may be.

* I still don't like fish.

*I don't know that I'll ever like fish again.

*I fear the ocean, being on the water, as I don't know what lies beneath.

* I fear situations that are like the ocean, where I don't know what lies beneath.

* I love music. A friend once told me that my music is an extension of myself. I think she was right.

* I don't write much music anymore, I miss that.

* I sing at the top of my lungs when no one else is in the car with me.

* I don't like to sing in public, especially when I'm mic'd. People see me do it so often, they probably think I enjoy it. Couldn't be farther from the truth!

* I don't like to hear myself sing on my own cd's. Too bad I have children that like to listen to them.

* I was supposed to be deaf by the time I was in my 30's, so the expert said. My desire to prove him wrong has been sweet.

* I don't like to wait. I know this is a character flaw, but on the flip-side, its strength is that I'm a 'get 'er done!' type of gal.

* I don't like doctors.

* I especially don't like doctors that just want to cut things out of my body.

* I love Ben & Jerry's. But I did pass them by in the aisle today, saying "I'd love to get together with you, but you know I'll have to run 15 miles just so you don't stay with me. I'm sorry, my love, but I'll have to pass."

* I think sometimes that I think, process things, more like a male than a female. Is that wrong?

* I like things blunt. I enjoy frilly words and metaphors, just not when I'm trying to work out a situation.

* I have a friend who once called me a "word smith." Perhaps she's never heard me be blunt.

* I am sometimes too blunt.

* I am getting better at not being so blunt. I think.

* I enjoy a good challenge, but sometimes need a cheerleader to get me across the finish line.

* I'm going to run a marathon in May. I started this journey not because I loved to run, but because I liked the idea of doing something that very few people can do. Now I love to run and enjoy the satisfaction that comes with it. I smile when I think of being able to tell my great-grandchildren, "Yes, my dears, these weak little legs were once strong enough to run 26.2 miles..."

* I hate hypocrites. And I am one right now.

* I don't know who I am right now, but I can't say that I like her.

* I have much work to do and a little girl to feed. Time to make my exit.

So, is this a bit more in-depth for you, and less of a kiddie wading pool? For, you know, blue is my favorite color.

Especially a deeper shade of blue.

More Pictures

I'm tired, and waiting for a munchkin (who keeps screaming, "Moooooommmmmm!" from the upstairs tub) to finish her bathing. (And now she's crying, since her screaming didn't do the trick. She's as stubborn as her father, so let's see just how long she'll sit in what's probably now cold water and cry.) So, while she reeks out her drama for this hour of the day, I will upload pictures. Hooray!

As I upload: Oh, what drama, I tell you! Wailing, crying, and finally, I hear her let the water out. What a little rascal she is. She's not hurt; she's just upset that I didn't come running to her every whim. Training, I tell you; it's all in the training. Give in now and you'll have a monster on your hands when hormones set in. Put in the hard work now, and you'll still have a monster on your hands when the hormones set in, but at least you'll have respect.

Anyway, this is my life: I've just gotten out of the shower, turban wrapped head and all, and I slip into the kitchen to grab my protein shake, only to find my favorite son, sitting at the bar with, yes, swimming goggles on. While eating. Goggles. Breakfast. I didn't really know they went together....perhaps it's eye protection in case there's splashing whilst the force of the spoon on the milk, plus the gravitational and centripetal force, causes a great tidal wave of milk to defy gravity and thrust itself onto the cornea? I mean, at least, that's my best guess.

Then there's:

Yes, my favorite son again, the architect. This was his latest construction project. It is rather elaborate, but you can't quite see that from the picture.

And don't you just LOVE all those stickers he put all over his train table?

Thanks to Little Terror, there's also a Barbie sticker completely stuck on one of the dressers....gripe, gripe, gripe.

But anyway, isn't my favorite son so incredibly astute and as cute as a bug?


Now, you've got to love this, dd2' very own paper doll; drawn, cut and colored from her own imagination. This is the daughter that isn't the academic all star or book worm; she's much more than that. She may struggle with words, but her hands create some of the most artistic things.

I happen to like the dress she made for the doll--don't you just love the pattern and colors?

And you've got to love my white and gold flecked retro counter top beneath the doll. Isn't that gorgeous? (Hey, at least it's not GREEN like the old house!) Old houses, ya gotta love 'em! I'd take one over a new construction any day of the week!





Now this was fun. Field trip day in true Western fashion--I loved it! Though most of the activities were for the kids, I wanted to feed the calf, and ride the horse, milk the goat and run the cattle shoot. But no, no, no, I behaved myself, took pictures, and was the cheerleader for my team of little curious minds.







































I don't get it. Why go to the park with your kids and then sit on a bench and watch them play? Why not play with them. Perhaps I'm the one with a few screws loose, but I love to play at the park with my kids. I actually find it a bit bothersome when another adult comes along and expects me to sit and chat with them when I'd rather be riding the merry-go-round. (Shhhh, don't let that secret out!)

Here we were making a "train" on the slide. I must have been the cushion, as I got sat on a lot, but it was a ton of fun. I'm wondering just how long the City will leave up this old-school, high, un-gaurded, burn-your-butt-in-the-hot-sun slide. Until then, "choo choo!"




Time for just one more pic.... I had a Scensty party a while back. It was hard work smelling all those scents! I think I was completely high afterwards. Of course, I don't know what it feels like be high, so maybe I wasn't. Either way, I got tickled watching some of the kiddos go through the scents...they'd pick through the baskets and repeat the comments that they'd heard the adults say earlier. "Oh no, I could never have that smell in my house." Or, "A little too sweet."

Kids are so impreshionalbe, let's hope we shape the next generation in a way that brings a brighter future.

Now, off to detangle the mass of curls I've genetically passed on to my big blue eyes, too-big-for-her-shorts daughter. (Do you know any other 4 year old that not only tells you how to drive, "No Mom, you're going the wrong way. Turn here." but also gives shopping advice? "Mom, this one is bigger and costs not so much dollars."

Lord, help me!