The older I get, the faster time moves. When I was younger, I never believed that time could move faster; now that I'm older, I wish time would slow the eff down!
There's a lot going on around these parts these days: a new "pup" (he's practically full grown), the move, work, dealing with the aftermath of the break in (oh, I didn't mention that? Yeah, our house was broken into while we were in Massachusetts). More packing. More laundry. More moving.
Of course, nothing is going as smoothly as I'd like it to. And, of course, I'm being infinitely lazy and procrastination-ish. There's just so much to do and I'm exhausted by it all.
The studio at the old house has been dismantled, packed and moved to the new house. The studio in the new house is currently the staging area for all the boxes we've moved over. I've had no access to my supplies and, frankly, no energy to do anything creative.
I feel sort of adrift and off course, but I know all of this discomfort is just the storm before the calm, so I keep muddling through. Fortunately, The Boyfriend™ is infinitely patient with me and this process. That's not to say he doesn't have his fair share of anxiety about all of this, too, but he's hiding it pretty well (occasional outbursts, notwithstanding).
So.. there's a lot. And there's not enough. But it's the process.
With a little bit of work and kick in the pants, all of this will be settled soon. And I can get back into the studio, pay more attention to the Etsy shop, and actually do some of the assignments for my copy writing class.
Sunday, July 22, 2012
Sunday, July 1, 2012
The Two Year Plan -- Updates
So, The Best Friend wanted to know what was going on with The Two Year Plan. It occurred to me that the best way to answer her was in a blog post, so I can, y'know, update y'all too.
Here's what's going on, in list form. Cuz it's late, I'm starting to get tired and lists are just easier:
1) The Two Year Plan is still in effect.
2) The Boyfriend™ has extended the deadline of the plan. Mostly, I think, because he's a chickenshit. :P He's saying five years. I'm saying it'll be two years... from now.
3) The parents, in their awesomeness, are selling us their old house in a kind of owner-financed situation. The Nancarita is doing this to set us up to have a nice nest egg to move home with. But this means that...
4) The Boyfriend™ is right; it's going to take us a bit longer to get home.
5) Mostly because we're both procrastinators of the first order and it's going to take a bit to get our acts together, credit-wise.
6) Because we're moving to a new house, it doesn't make a whole lot of sense to move again in a year. Well, I guess it kind of does, but I really hate living out of boxes. Which is what I'm doing now. Which is also why I haven't packed more.
7) I may have been overly-optimistic in my whole grand scheme. I want to go home, fo sho, but I also have a whole lot of stuff I want to do here, too... well, around here. There's something to be said for being within driving distance of New Orleans.
8) Frankly, I have bigger fish to fry at the mo'. Which is the whole "stuff I want to do around here" point. I have a creative biz I want to get off the ground. The market here isn't saturated with the work I do, but it is saturated back home. Sales 101: don't try to be successful in a market that already has a bunch of successful people in it... doing the exact same thing.
9) And this is the big one: wherever you go, there you are. It doesn't matter if I live here, home or Timbuktu. If I'm not happy here, I won't be happy at home. Well, that's not entirely true -- I'll be less unhappy back home because it's, y'know, home. But I think the lesson I need to learn in all of this living in a state I actively loathe is that I need to find peace and happiness within myself before I go running back home.
10) I'm willing to accept that I may end up staying here, but only if it's what feels right. At the moment, staying in Florida doesn't feel right. But I may develop Stockholm syndrome. You never know.
So there are the updates. Life keeps on happening and I keep going with the flow. But I'll say this: there are moments when you need to sit back and wait for things to happen in their own time, and there are other moments that you need to seize by the short and curlies and make them your bitch. Sometimes, it's hard to tell the difference. I'm at a point where there are a whole bunch of roads opening up to me; a whole lot of opportunities that I need to chase down for all they're worth. If I'm honest with myself, I have to admit that the move back home is probably one of those things I need to let happen in its own time. But only because I need to make some other moments my bitch.
Here's what's going on, in list form. Cuz it's late, I'm starting to get tired and lists are just easier:
1) The Two Year Plan is still in effect.
2) The Boyfriend™ has extended the deadline of the plan. Mostly, I think, because he's a chickenshit. :P He's saying five years. I'm saying it'll be two years... from now.
3) The parents, in their awesomeness, are selling us their old house in a kind of owner-financed situation. The Nancarita is doing this to set us up to have a nice nest egg to move home with. But this means that...
4) The Boyfriend™ is right; it's going to take us a bit longer to get home.
5) Mostly because we're both procrastinators of the first order and it's going to take a bit to get our acts together, credit-wise.
6) Because we're moving to a new house, it doesn't make a whole lot of sense to move again in a year. Well, I guess it kind of does, but I really hate living out of boxes. Which is what I'm doing now. Which is also why I haven't packed more.
7) I may have been overly-optimistic in my whole grand scheme. I want to go home, fo sho, but I also have a whole lot of stuff I want to do here, too... well, around here. There's something to be said for being within driving distance of New Orleans.
8) Frankly, I have bigger fish to fry at the mo'. Which is the whole "stuff I want to do around here" point. I have a creative biz I want to get off the ground. The market here isn't saturated with the work I do, but it is saturated back home. Sales 101: don't try to be successful in a market that already has a bunch of successful people in it... doing the exact same thing.
9) And this is the big one: wherever you go, there you are. It doesn't matter if I live here, home or Timbuktu. If I'm not happy here, I won't be happy at home. Well, that's not entirely true -- I'll be less unhappy back home because it's, y'know, home. But I think the lesson I need to learn in all of this living in a state I actively loathe is that I need to find peace and happiness within myself before I go running back home.
10) I'm willing to accept that I may end up staying here, but only if it's what feels right. At the moment, staying in Florida doesn't feel right. But I may develop Stockholm syndrome. You never know.
So there are the updates. Life keeps on happening and I keep going with the flow. But I'll say this: there are moments when you need to sit back and wait for things to happen in their own time, and there are other moments that you need to seize by the short and curlies and make them your bitch. Sometimes, it's hard to tell the difference. I'm at a point where there are a whole bunch of roads opening up to me; a whole lot of opportunities that I need to chase down for all they're worth. If I'm honest with myself, I have to admit that the move back home is probably one of those things I need to let happen in its own time. But only because I need to make some other moments my bitch.
Saturday, June 30, 2012
In 29 Hours...
(*Warning! This is going to be some disjointed and incongruous blogging!*)
I will be on a plane, headed home. This makes me giddy with joy!
In five hours - if I can stay up that long - I will be checking in to our flight, so as to get the best boarding options.
In about a half-hour, I'm gonna get back on the cleaning/packing/cleaning wagon, so I'm as ready to go as I possibly can be.
Twelve hours ago was the end of my first-of-six weekly copy writing classes. This shit is so balls deep and the participants were AWESOME! I'm a little bit sad we weren't in an actual class together (it's all on line); but, by the same token, I'm sure if we were all in a physical class, because we're all zany freakazoids, we'd freeze up and the rapport wouldn't have been as tight.
These are some amazingly talented folks. The moderator and instructor, Ash Ambirge is so ridiculously awesome, it's really hard to come up with anything more creative to describe her. She's sixteen kinds of spectacular. She demands that you live out loud, fearlessly, and chase every dream -- pipe or otherwise -- as if it were your last day on earth.
Suffice it to say, I'm so excited I might just pee my pants!
Even though I always say that I'm going to do this or do that on this blog (and rarely come through), I am going to try to get the class assignments up here. At the very least, the exercises are giving me some blog content to put up here.
Aaand....
About 30 hours ago, I was at a tattoo/piercing shop, checking another item off of my life list. I got my nose pierced. It'll piss my parents off royally -- and I may even get threatened with a firing, but it's worth it. Here's why:
1) I have a good nose for a piercing. There are a few features that I was blessed with, and a good nose is one of them. It's well shaped, well proportioned and symmetrical enough to pull it off.
2) I've wanted my nose pierced since I was 18. At the time, though, I had to choose between getting my eyebrow done or getting my nose done (even though I dig piercings and tattoos, I don't like overdoing them. OK... I've overdone the tattoos, but at least I'm not buying crack. Amiright?), and I opted for an eyebrow ring.
3) Piercings are not permanent -- unlike tattoos. Once this heals up a bit more, I will be able to take it out for work and other occasions that require a modicum of professionalism and decor. While I shouldn't mess with it for at least 8 weeks, I know how my body works and I should be able to mess with it just fine in about four weeks.
4) I'm 34 years old (ACK!). I should not have to not do something that, in all reality, is relatively benign because I'm worried about how my parents are going to react.
4a) My parents should also not be dictating how I live my life. See the whole being 34 thing. See also: I'm the good kid.
5) And really, in comparison with my siblings, I could probably tattoo half of my face and still be considered the "good kid".
6) Seriously, nobody has reacted to my nose ring. Not even friends that have seen me on a fairly regular basis. Nose rings are just that... well, common. It's a tiny little stud and, once the piercing heals and I can take the piercing stud out, it's going to get even tinier. Which is kind of my point about it being benign.
7) I spend a lot of time examining my pores (I'm mildly obsessed with squeezing the crap out of them). The older I get, the bigger my pores get. I seriously have pores that are bigger than the hole the piercing will leave. Which is traumatizing in its own right.
8) If my parents are going to freak about a nose ring, they probably should've freaked about the sparrow I have tattooed on the middle finger of my left hand. If that was only mild disapproval, they probably should STFU about the nose ring.
9) At the end of the day, it makes me happy. It's not alcohol. It's not drugs. It's not sex with random strangers. It's such a small thing, but it makes me feel as if I'm being more true to myself.
And, at the end of the day, being true to oneself is the most important thing.
My mom often says that my generation feels like they're entitled to happiness -- which, to her, is unrealistic and silly. But she's not exactly correct. We don't feel like we're entitled to happiness. We're willing to work our asses off for happiness because living a miserable existence just isn't worth it. It isn't worth the sperm it took to make us, the labor it took to deliver us into the world, or all the bumps, scrapes or bruises it took to bring us to where we are.
We don't expect hand outs. We don't expect a free ride. We do expect that, if we're willing to pay our own way, and it isn't hurting anyone, to live the life we want to live; to work a job that doesn't make us loathe waking up every day; to dream big and live bigger.
After all, we're only allotted so many trips around the sun. We need to make the most out of every single second.
I will be on a plane, headed home. This makes me giddy with joy!
In five hours - if I can stay up that long - I will be checking in to our flight, so as to get the best boarding options.
In about a half-hour, I'm gonna get back on the cleaning/packing/cleaning wagon, so I'm as ready to go as I possibly can be.
Twelve hours ago was the end of my first-of-six weekly copy writing classes. This shit is so balls deep and the participants were AWESOME! I'm a little bit sad we weren't in an actual class together (it's all on line); but, by the same token, I'm sure if we were all in a physical class, because we're all zany freakazoids, we'd freeze up and the rapport wouldn't have been as tight.
These are some amazingly talented folks. The moderator and instructor, Ash Ambirge is so ridiculously awesome, it's really hard to come up with anything more creative to describe her. She's sixteen kinds of spectacular. She demands that you live out loud, fearlessly, and chase every dream -- pipe or otherwise -- as if it were your last day on earth.
Suffice it to say, I'm so excited I might just pee my pants!
Even though I always say that I'm going to do this or do that on this blog (and rarely come through), I am going to try to get the class assignments up here. At the very least, the exercises are giving me some blog content to put up here.
Aaand....
About 30 hours ago, I was at a tattoo/piercing shop, checking another item off of my life list. I got my nose pierced. It'll piss my parents off royally -- and I may even get threatened with a firing, but it's worth it. Here's why:
1) I have a good nose for a piercing. There are a few features that I was blessed with, and a good nose is one of them. It's well shaped, well proportioned and symmetrical enough to pull it off.
2) I've wanted my nose pierced since I was 18. At the time, though, I had to choose between getting my eyebrow done or getting my nose done (even though I dig piercings and tattoos, I don't like overdoing them. OK... I've overdone the tattoos, but at least I'm not buying crack. Amiright?), and I opted for an eyebrow ring.
3) Piercings are not permanent -- unlike tattoos. Once this heals up a bit more, I will be able to take it out for work and other occasions that require a modicum of professionalism and decor. While I shouldn't mess with it for at least 8 weeks, I know how my body works and I should be able to mess with it just fine in about four weeks.
4) I'm 34 years old (ACK!). I should not have to not do something that, in all reality, is relatively benign because I'm worried about how my parents are going to react.
4a) My parents should also not be dictating how I live my life. See the whole being 34 thing. See also: I'm the good kid.
5) And really, in comparison with my siblings, I could probably tattoo half of my face and still be considered the "good kid".
6) Seriously, nobody has reacted to my nose ring. Not even friends that have seen me on a fairly regular basis. Nose rings are just that... well, common. It's a tiny little stud and, once the piercing heals and I can take the piercing stud out, it's going to get even tinier. Which is kind of my point about it being benign.
7) I spend a lot of time examining my pores (I'm mildly obsessed with squeezing the crap out of them). The older I get, the bigger my pores get. I seriously have pores that are bigger than the hole the piercing will leave. Which is traumatizing in its own right.
8) If my parents are going to freak about a nose ring, they probably should've freaked about the sparrow I have tattooed on the middle finger of my left hand. If that was only mild disapproval, they probably should STFU about the nose ring.
9) At the end of the day, it makes me happy. It's not alcohol. It's not drugs. It's not sex with random strangers. It's such a small thing, but it makes me feel as if I'm being more true to myself.
And, at the end of the day, being true to oneself is the most important thing.
My mom often says that my generation feels like they're entitled to happiness -- which, to her, is unrealistic and silly. But she's not exactly correct. We don't feel like we're entitled to happiness. We're willing to work our asses off for happiness because living a miserable existence just isn't worth it. It isn't worth the sperm it took to make us, the labor it took to deliver us into the world, or all the bumps, scrapes or bruises it took to bring us to where we are.
We don't expect hand outs. We don't expect a free ride. We do expect that, if we're willing to pay our own way, and it isn't hurting anyone, to live the life we want to live; to work a job that doesn't make us loathe waking up every day; to dream big and live bigger.
After all, we're only allotted so many trips around the sun. We need to make the most out of every single second.
Tuesday, June 26, 2012
This is going to get complicated. Maybe. I hope not. OK, it totally will.
And I'm not at all talking about this blog post. Or the blog title which, frankly, was really fucking cumbersome.
But in other news, half my street has no power because a transformer blew because, apparently, transformers can only take so much "being under water" before they go kaput. Why was the transformer under water? Because I'm currently sitting in a tropical storm. OK, I'm not actually in the tropical storm (I'm sitting in my house), but the Tampa Bay area is getting its ass kicked by a bitch named Debby.
Which is, ironically, my boss's name though not spelled the same way.
So, half of the county I live in is currently under evacuation orders. Driving north, south, east or west is a bitch and an exercise in "don't get pulled into a sinkhole" because, apparently, I live in the Sinkhole Capital of the World.
Because Florida sucks.
Which is why I'm going home for a week-long visit next week. YAY!
In the interest of saving money on a hotel (because, at the time, I was told that my one aunt (who I usually stay with when I come home) was selling her house and staying with the other aunt 'til she, the first aunt, found a house she liked), we're going camping. Which makes me happy to no end. The Boyfriend™ is afraid that we're going to get eaten by bears. I had to explain to him that it's not the bears you have to worry about; it's the mountain lions (and no, I'm not being cute. That's actually true). Frankly, I'm worried about the ticks. This will also be The Trolls first camping adventure.
So far, all we have is a tent. So I just ordered a bunch of "camping supplies" and am having the shipped to my nana, for us to pick up when we get to Massachusetts. Of course, my nana doesn't know this yet. I'll have to try to remember to call her tomorrow to let her know to expect a big-ass box on Friday.
I just hope that I got all the right stuff, otherwise I'm going to have to go spend more money on more camping stuff that we probably won't use again until next year. Why? Because Florida sucks and nobody wants to go camping in 98-degree heat (with 1000% humidity).
But... I'm GOING HOME! And that's the most important part. I'm so excited, I might just pee my pants! I am going to absorb as much grandmother love as I can possibly contain and whatever I can't contain, I'm going to put in tupperware for later. And I'll get some Troll time. And we'll have some family togetherness time which will light a fire under our asses to move back home.
So, yeah. It's gonna be complicated. In a phenomenally good way!
But in other news, half my street has no power because a transformer blew because, apparently, transformers can only take so much "being under water" before they go kaput. Why was the transformer under water? Because I'm currently sitting in a tropical storm. OK, I'm not actually in the tropical storm (I'm sitting in my house), but the Tampa Bay area is getting its ass kicked by a bitch named Debby.
Which is, ironically, my boss's name though not spelled the same way.
So, half of the county I live in is currently under evacuation orders. Driving north, south, east or west is a bitch and an exercise in "don't get pulled into a sinkhole" because, apparently, I live in the Sinkhole Capital of the World.
Because Florida sucks.
Which is why I'm going home for a week-long visit next week. YAY!
In the interest of saving money on a hotel (because, at the time, I was told that my one aunt (who I usually stay with when I come home) was selling her house and staying with the other aunt 'til she, the first aunt, found a house she liked), we're going camping. Which makes me happy to no end. The Boyfriend™ is afraid that we're going to get eaten by bears. I had to explain to him that it's not the bears you have to worry about; it's the mountain lions (and no, I'm not being cute. That's actually true). Frankly, I'm worried about the ticks. This will also be The Trolls first camping adventure.
So far, all we have is a tent. So I just ordered a bunch of "camping supplies" and am having the shipped to my nana, for us to pick up when we get to Massachusetts. Of course, my nana doesn't know this yet. I'll have to try to remember to call her tomorrow to let her know to expect a big-ass box on Friday.
I just hope that I got all the right stuff, otherwise I'm going to have to go spend more money on more camping stuff that we probably won't use again until next year. Why? Because Florida sucks and nobody wants to go camping in 98-degree heat (with 1000% humidity).
But... I'm GOING HOME! And that's the most important part. I'm so excited, I might just pee my pants! I am going to absorb as much grandmother love as I can possibly contain and whatever I can't contain, I'm going to put in tupperware for later. And I'll get some Troll time. And we'll have some family togetherness time which will light a fire under our asses to move back home.
So, yeah. It's gonna be complicated. In a phenomenally good way!
Wednesday, June 6, 2012
So I'm the Mother of a Teenager Now
Today is The Monkey's 13th birthday. I'm forgoing my usual sobbing over his baby books while wondering where all the time has gone tradition in an effort to embrace the sweet melancholy of being a mother.
Because, seriously, being a mom is heartbreaking.It's not the work, or the asshole comments that kids make (and they make a ton of them). It's not the wretched table manners or constant interrupting. All that's sort of part of the package deal -- take the good with the bad. What's heartbreaking is that these quite-literally-pieces of you grow up. And every year that they grow older, if you've done your job well, they need you less and less.
If The Monkey's birthday is any indication of what his teenaged years will be like, he'll be OK. There will be way more asshole comments, but there will be plenty of moments of pure "Oh my God! He is such a good person."
Of course, now that he's a teenager, he's holed up in his room completely ignoring the rest of the world. As long as he doesn't get all Emo, and comes out every now-and-again for food and bathing, I'm OK with that. It's the natural of order of things. While he's being teenaged, I'm editing photos from my trips to Alabama.
Here, have some love:
Because, seriously, being a mom is heartbreaking.It's not the work, or the asshole comments that kids make (and they make a ton of them). It's not the wretched table manners or constant interrupting. All that's sort of part of the package deal -- take the good with the bad. What's heartbreaking is that these quite-literally-pieces of you grow up. And every year that they grow older, if you've done your job well, they need you less and less.
If The Monkey's birthday is any indication of what his teenaged years will be like, he'll be OK. There will be way more asshole comments, but there will be plenty of moments of pure "Oh my God! He is such a good person."
Of course, now that he's a teenager, he's holed up in his room completely ignoring the rest of the world. As long as he doesn't get all Emo, and comes out every now-and-again for food and bathing, I'm OK with that. It's the natural of order of things. While he's being teenaged, I'm editing photos from my trips to Alabama.
Here, have some love:
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| This store is growing a tree. Inside of it. |
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| REALLY artsy downtown Opp, AL. Believe it or not, people DO live in this town. |
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| Opp, AL. Entering downtown |
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| This is Alabama for you. |
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| Ooo... artsy train lights. |
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| Ooo... more artsy train station stuff |
 | ||
| Dowtown Opp, AL after 5 PM. The whole place shuts down at 5. I'm not kidding. |
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| This was the height of high tech and the next town over from Opp. |
Tuesday, May 29, 2012
The fates, you should not tempt them...
Remember how I said it could be worse? Apparently, the fates took that as an engraved invitation to deliver a crappy week my way. A run down:
1) An employee on my staff's nephew OD'd last Monday. This meant that...
1a) I had to do her job on top of mine. Not a big deal, usually, except that we were already really short staffed.
2) My step-grandmother ended up in ICU on life support, suddenly and unexpectedly. Which meant that...
2a) I got to watch her die on Friday night. This was not a good thing at all and, in my opinion, should be illegal (the watching someone die part). But she was surrounded by people that love her, and that is a good death.
2b) The Trolls experienced their first wake. The Monkey is not a fan. It was very difficult for him. The Nugget, on the other hand, was a trooper and sat right by his Papa.
3) I got news that the nugget did not pass his FCAT, ergo did not pass third grade. He sobbed. It broke my heart. It's for the best, really, because he just wasn't ready for fourth grade (as much as he thinks he is).
4) Apparently, I blew through a red light on Mother's Day and the Pasco County Sheriff's department were very happy to collect my $158. I got the ticket on Saturday. The curse of Mother's Day continues...
5) The Boyfriend™ and I got into a tiff. It was by no means our worst fight, but it was enough to send me over the edge.
6) Our washing machine broke.
7) Our dishwasher does not actually wash dishes. It just bakes on food detritus and water film. Which means that...
7a) I have to wash all the dishes by hand.
OK Universe. I get it. It can and will get worse. I have had my quota of worse. And bad. And suck. And horrifying. And annoying. And crap. And blah. I will gladly accept good, and fun, and wholesome and loving and everything is awesome with the world. Yeah, I'll take plenty of that.
I'm off to Opp, Alabama today to lay the grandmother to rest. Opp has about 6500 souls and is a blink-and-you'll-miss-it town in the middle of some backwoods. I'm hoping for some good photography moments, but I'm not holding my breath. I'm also going to be stuck in a car for eight hours with my errant sister, whose behavior makes tattooing the side of my face look tame in comparison.
So, Universe? We're even. I'll take that goodness now.
1) An employee on my staff's nephew OD'd last Monday. This meant that...
1a) I had to do her job on top of mine. Not a big deal, usually, except that we were already really short staffed.
2) My step-grandmother ended up in ICU on life support, suddenly and unexpectedly. Which meant that...
2a) I got to watch her die on Friday night. This was not a good thing at all and, in my opinion, should be illegal (the watching someone die part). But she was surrounded by people that love her, and that is a good death.
2b) The Trolls experienced their first wake. The Monkey is not a fan. It was very difficult for him. The Nugget, on the other hand, was a trooper and sat right by his Papa.
3) I got news that the nugget did not pass his FCAT, ergo did not pass third grade. He sobbed. It broke my heart. It's for the best, really, because he just wasn't ready for fourth grade (as much as he thinks he is).
4) Apparently, I blew through a red light on Mother's Day and the Pasco County Sheriff's department were very happy to collect my $158. I got the ticket on Saturday. The curse of Mother's Day continues...
5) The Boyfriend™ and I got into a tiff. It was by no means our worst fight, but it was enough to send me over the edge.
6) Our washing machine broke.
7) Our dishwasher does not actually wash dishes. It just bakes on food detritus and water film. Which means that...
7a) I have to wash all the dishes by hand.
OK Universe. I get it. It can and will get worse. I have had my quota of worse. And bad. And suck. And horrifying. And annoying. And crap. And blah. I will gladly accept good, and fun, and wholesome and loving and everything is awesome with the world. Yeah, I'll take plenty of that.
I'm off to Opp, Alabama today to lay the grandmother to rest. Opp has about 6500 souls and is a blink-and-you'll-miss-it town in the middle of some backwoods. I'm hoping for some good photography moments, but I'm not holding my breath. I'm also going to be stuck in a car for eight hours with my errant sister, whose behavior makes tattooing the side of my face look tame in comparison.
So, Universe? We're even. I'll take that goodness now.
Thursday, May 24, 2012
I told you - NO WIRE HANGERS!
There are a few blogs I subscribe to for inspiration, aspiration, laughter, tips, tricks and ideas. I love these women bloggers and can not wait to grow up and be like them.
One blogger, in particular, Amanda Blake Soule is an amazing woman. At least on blog. She makes it a point not to put her family not-goodness on line, choosing to use her blog space to chronicle all the wonder that is her life with her family on their homestead. The good stuff looks really darn good, if I do say so myself. And she and her husband, Steve, seem to have a symbiosis that is rather breathtaking in its honesty and simplicity.
Here's the thing: As much as I admire Amanda and all that she stands for; as much as I want to be her and have that kind of magic mothering instinct, I'm just not wired that way. I am not the kind of mother who can let her children leave scraps of paper all over the place (though I do it). I am not the kind of mother that gently explains the ins and outs of life, or coddles the sick or injured.
In my house, unless you're dying, broken or on fire, you better not be crying about an injury.
I am not the kind of mother who humors children's interruptions. In my house, I will very un-politely tell the child to shut up and find something else to do, because grown ups are talking.
I never was a co-sleeping kind of mom, either. Past the age of three, The Trolls were far too old to spend a night in my bed.
I bottle fed, used disposable diapers and let The Nugget fall asleep in his high chair (more often than I care to admit). Both my boys were c-sections.
I tried flash cards and labeling everything in the house, but I just didn't have the patience to keep teaching a toddler how to read. The Nugget didn't learn to tie his shoes until he was seven.
I swear, I yell, I spank. I don't make The Trolls brush their teeth all the time. I let them leave their room a mess, and only sporadically enforce other chores.
I refused to vaccinate The Trolls until they were school age and I had to (because I couldn't claim religious exemption, what with my not going to church and all). I usually make them eat organically, except for candy. And the sweet tea. And occasional adventures at Dunkin Donuts.
I ship them up to Massachusetts every summer so I can get a break (all the while, my heart breaking until they are safely home with me), where their Loli will feed them anything and everything they want.
We have date night, and prayers and books. We snuggle - all four of us - in bed just about every night. I mostly make them do homework, and we have family dinners just about every night. There are no video games or TV during the week.
So, while I am not perfect and will never be SouleMama, I do my best. My kids seem pretty OK, for now. But just in case, I already have therapy funds set up for them.
One blogger, in particular, Amanda Blake Soule is an amazing woman. At least on blog. She makes it a point not to put her family not-goodness on line, choosing to use her blog space to chronicle all the wonder that is her life with her family on their homestead. The good stuff looks really darn good, if I do say so myself. And she and her husband, Steve, seem to have a symbiosis that is rather breathtaking in its honesty and simplicity.
Here's the thing: As much as I admire Amanda and all that she stands for; as much as I want to be her and have that kind of magic mothering instinct, I'm just not wired that way. I am not the kind of mother who can let her children leave scraps of paper all over the place (though I do it). I am not the kind of mother that gently explains the ins and outs of life, or coddles the sick or injured.
In my house, unless you're dying, broken or on fire, you better not be crying about an injury.
I am not the kind of mother who humors children's interruptions. In my house, I will very un-politely tell the child to shut up and find something else to do, because grown ups are talking.
I never was a co-sleeping kind of mom, either. Past the age of three, The Trolls were far too old to spend a night in my bed.
I bottle fed, used disposable diapers and let The Nugget fall asleep in his high chair (more often than I care to admit). Both my boys were c-sections.
I tried flash cards and labeling everything in the house, but I just didn't have the patience to keep teaching a toddler how to read. The Nugget didn't learn to tie his shoes until he was seven.
I swear, I yell, I spank. I don't make The Trolls brush their teeth all the time. I let them leave their room a mess, and only sporadically enforce other chores.
I refused to vaccinate The Trolls until they were school age and I had to (because I couldn't claim religious exemption, what with my not going to church and all). I usually make them eat organically, except for candy. And the sweet tea. And occasional adventures at Dunkin Donuts.
I ship them up to Massachusetts every summer so I can get a break (all the while, my heart breaking until they are safely home with me), where their Loli will feed them anything and everything they want.
We have date night, and prayers and books. We snuggle - all four of us - in bed just about every night. I mostly make them do homework, and we have family dinners just about every night. There are no video games or TV during the week.
So, while I am not perfect and will never be SouleMama, I do my best. My kids seem pretty OK, for now. But just in case, I already have therapy funds set up for them.
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