And if you're waiting for that, I'm sorry. You may as well get comfortable. My brain is completely full of holes lately.
But! I'm never without at least something to share. Thought I'd share my own blogs of interest, websites I frequent and online shops I like.
Bella Pamella - Isn't that stuff just ME?!!!
HTML Goodies - So you want to learn basic HTML, huh? Not me, but I'm glad this stuff is out there for them that do.
A Dress A Day - Erin shares my love of dresses, and she's so funny and creative. I'm never bored at her blog.
Tie One On - It's all aprons all the time, folks.
Friday's Feast - It's a buffet for your brain!
Yarnstorm - There's just something about a chippy talking knit.
Pandora Internet Radio - Free radio from the Music Genome Project. Enter a favorite artist or song and Pandora designs a station for you based on that artist or song style. I have a station named "Taylor the Latte Boy" that I listen to a lot.
WSDOT - I like to see what the weather's doing on my parents' side of the mountains. Love those traffic cams!
Provincial Arts - My friend Nicole is brilliant, y'all.
Mom's Minivan.com - Ever wonder what to do on the road? Wonder no more, my friend.
DesignHerGals.com - For the truly bored.
Longaberger - Retail therapy, anyone?
The Well-Trained Mind - Why we homeschool.
Trivium Pursuit - An article (long but worth the read) on why we're waiting to teach formal sit-down math until the kids are older. We'll concentrate verbally on everyday life math until the time comes.
Homeschool in the Woods - How cool are these timelines!
Brown Paper Patterns - Not that I sew, mind you.
Favorite Things - Again, not that I sew. But if anyone out there does, and feels compelled to, oh, I don't know, sew me something? Call me.
This Little Piggy Wears Cotton - The place I get Mary-Beth's bloomers. Dude, the name alone makes the store worth a peek.
IKEA - Who doesn't love IKEA?
Well, that ought to keep you busy for a few minutes. Until I find the rest of my brain and work up a real entry.
Monday, November 12, 2007
Friday, August 31, 2007
Before and After
(NOTE: This is an old OLD entry with quite a bit of inappropriate content. You'd never catch me publicly blogging like this now that my Savior has helped me develop a filter between the brain and the mouth, but I decided not to delete it. Just in case someone out there is having trouble finding the blessings in their current situation.)
A girlfriend of mine brought up an interesting subject yesterday. See, there was some hoopla in an online community we frequent about who works harder: the stay-at-home mom or the working mom. An argument as old as time. Well, as old as the 70's maybe. I'm not going to get into that, except to say that I've found staying at home infinitely harder and more mentally and emotionally taxing than working at a paying job outside the home. Dude, not one of my co-workers ever pooped their pants, picked their noses or melted into a puddle when someone told them they couldn't have a cookie. Well, at least, not when I was around. I can think of a few who might have indulged in a little PIP (pick in private) but I never did witness it myself.
Anyway, my friend Cheryl was curious about the kinds of sacrifices we make as mothers. Not specifically as working mothers or stay-at-home mothers. Just mothers. I have to admit, I whipped out that list of sacrifices in a New York minute and had to work a leeeettle longer on the perks. But that could be a by-product of my current mental state. (Did you know that the sound of a whining child actually reaches out and zaps a mother's brain cells? No, I swear! And if the whiner is jumping up and down you lose that precious grey matter at almost twice the speed! It's true, yo. Look it up.)
So here's what I came up with. Feel free to add to my lists as you see fit. I'll probably come back and add to it myself here and there.
Sacrifices:
Benefits? Oh yeah!
A girlfriend of mine brought up an interesting subject yesterday. See, there was some hoopla in an online community we frequent about who works harder: the stay-at-home mom or the working mom. An argument as old as time. Well, as old as the 70's maybe. I'm not going to get into that, except to say that I've found staying at home infinitely harder and more mentally and emotionally taxing than working at a paying job outside the home. Dude, not one of my co-workers ever pooped their pants, picked their noses or melted into a puddle when someone told them they couldn't have a cookie. Well, at least, not when I was around. I can think of a few who might have indulged in a little PIP (pick in private) but I never did witness it myself.
Anyway, my friend Cheryl was curious about the kinds of sacrifices we make as mothers. Not specifically as working mothers or stay-at-home mothers. Just mothers. I have to admit, I whipped out that list of sacrifices in a New York minute and had to work a leeeettle longer on the perks. But that could be a by-product of my current mental state. (Did you know that the sound of a whining child actually reaches out and zaps a mother's brain cells? No, I swear! And if the whiner is jumping up and down you lose that precious grey matter at almost twice the speed! It's true, yo. Look it up.)
So here's what I came up with. Feel free to add to my lists as you see fit. I'll probably come back and add to it myself here and there.
Sacrifices:
- Sleep
- Sanity
- Music with bad words in it
- Smooth skin (hello stretch marks and Madame Crow's Feet!)
- Nice clothes
- I have to eat a snack in the closet if I don't want to share it. hee.
- Fun car (not that I had one before, you understand)
- Adult conversation. Oh how I miss grown-ups!
- An 8-hour vacay outside my home every day
- Sex in the kitchen, sex in the front room, sex in the car, sex in the yard. You get the idea. No more 100% spontaneous sex. Darned if these kids aren't around all. the. time.
- Along the same line - noisy sex. 'Nuff said.
- Vacations, spa days, pedicures, cigarettes
- TV shows that don't feature the alphabet or the Number of the Day
- Bras that don't have flappy-flaps
- Drinks and appetizers with friends any old night I feel like it
- Not having to repeat myself. Over and over. And over. And overandoverandover. I detest repeating myself.
- Hop on a plane and meet you in Vegas this weekend? Suuuuuuure!
Benefits? Oh yeah!
- Being there to cuddle the babies in the mornings
- Being available for Love Bank Deposits whenever someone needs a snuggle on the couch. Jonah's my "every 1/2 hour hug" guy.
- Never missing a milestone
- Knowing my kids trust me to "fix it" - whatever "it" may be
- Doing school in our "jajamas"
- Being able to sit on the floor and nurse an ouchie for as long as it takes
- Knowing Ashley loves nothing more than the smell of something baking when she gets home from school, and I love being there to do it
- Getting dressed & foofy for no reason
- Not getting dressed & foofy if I don't feel like it
- Bra and deodorant optional until 5pm
- Lunch with friends once in a while
- Being available for things like MOPS and homeschool activities
- Having my twin nephews over on Tuesdays and Fridays so my kids and their cousins will grow up bestest friends. I didn't have that.
- Teaching moments happen aaaaaaall day long
- Knowing that I probably could fix that broken outlet but I don't have to because Dan will do it.
- Having the enormous opportunity to instill in my children the knowledge of the unconditional love of God and their parents, the importance of family loyalty and unity, the responsibility of being self-reliant when the time comes, the knowledge that they're entitled to nothing in this world that they don't work hard to achieve, and the assurance that they have our full support in achieving it.
Friday, May 18, 2007
Seven Random Things
I was tagged by the wonderful lady behind My Ice Cream Diary to do a Seven Random Things About Me thingee. And since I'm all kinds of random and welcome any opportunity to brain barf when I can (Hi Sarah!) I thought it'd be fun. :-)
1. Lucid dreams are a total rip-off. I very seldom have a dream wherein I don't know I'm asleep and dreaming. I hate that. It'd be soooo much more fun to dream about being L.L. Cool J's favorite girlfriend ever if I thought it was really happening. Although regular dreams have their drawbacks too. Whenever I get to have a regular dream I always wake up thinking I need to quit smoking all over again. (See Number 4.)
2. I collect enamelware. Love! enamelware. I love this and this, and especially this! Aren't they beautiful? I actually have a refrigerator box like that second item, but it's the same green color of the third one. I matched that green for the paint in my bathroom. I have dish pans, bread pans, bowls, platters, buckets. Love it. Enamelware just fits right in with my farmhouse theme I'm trying on. Of course, I try not to buy a piece I won't use. Try.
3. In 1980 I began training to be a member of the 1984 Olympic swimming team, but in 1981 my mother made me quit. My brother, Markie, had drowned in our back yard pool that Summer just a few weeks shy of his 2nd birthday and she couldn't handle being around pools.
4. I used to smoke a pack of cigarettes a day. Camel in a box, please. None of those girly-man cigs for me. I quit almost 10 years ago and I've never looked back. But oddly enough I'm a smoker in every. single. dream. I've had since quitting.
5. I had a stalker (his name is a matter of public record so I'll share it here) named James Schneider in 1995 and 96. His luck ran out when he tried to climb in my shower with me at 5:30 a.m. on September 16, 1996. Of course, I screamed bloody murder. And of course, he was caught. He took the Alford plea (too much evidence against me so there's no way I could defend myself - which means I did it but I refuse to plead guilty) but the judge threw the book at him because of two things: a) he scared Ashley (4 yrs. at the time) beyond repair and that offended the judge's grandfatherly sensibilities; and b) the dude's wife was using my vacuum that he'd stolen when the police arrived to arrest him. He served 18 months of a 2-year sentence for burglary. We couldn't prove he'd been the one coming into my home at night while I slept and doing God knows what besides stealing my stuff. We could only prove that he'd been there once and that he had my stuff. I still see his name in the paper now and again.
Number 5 leads into Number 6.
6. After my story hit the AP wire (for what earthly reason, I'll never know - who cares about a girl in Washington catching a burglar?) I was contacted by quite a few people. One of them was my grandmother in Oregon wondering why she had to read about me in the paper instead of hear it from The Horse's Mouth. (Sorry Gram!) Another was Belinda Jackson, producer of the Leeza Gibbons Show. Yes, they wanted me to come and participate in a show they were doing about avoiding being the victim of a crime. Soooooo, I did it. I flew to LA in January of 1997, taped the show, and felt the entire time that I didn't belong there. The other people on the panel had been tied up and raped, stabbed, or their children stolen and murdered. "Helloooooo. Ummm, I caught a burglar? One of these things is not like the others!" They assured me it was alright, so I stayed. The show aired on May 29th of that year. I only know that because it was my mother's birthday.
7. I would sell your first born child for a big old platter of piping hot fresh-from-the-oven tater tots. They're my biggest enemy when I'm trying to lose weight. I just can't resist! If they're in the freezer I have to eat them. And really, what's not to love? Mmmmmm. Tots. Nice and crispy outside, soft and mushy inside. Seasoning salt. Fry sauce or ranch for dipping. Yuh-huh-hum! Just thinking about God's Favorite Processed Potato Product makes my tummy talk.
Dude, I'm hungry.
1. Lucid dreams are a total rip-off. I very seldom have a dream wherein I don't know I'm asleep and dreaming. I hate that. It'd be soooo much more fun to dream about being L.L. Cool J's favorite girlfriend ever if I thought it was really happening. Although regular dreams have their drawbacks too. Whenever I get to have a regular dream I always wake up thinking I need to quit smoking all over again. (See Number 4.)
2. I collect enamelware. Love! enamelware. I love this and this, and especially this! Aren't they beautiful? I actually have a refrigerator box like that second item, but it's the same green color of the third one. I matched that green for the paint in my bathroom. I have dish pans, bread pans, bowls, platters, buckets. Love it. Enamelware just fits right in with my farmhouse theme I'm trying on. Of course, I try not to buy a piece I won't use. Try.
3. In 1980 I began training to be a member of the 1984 Olympic swimming team, but in 1981 my mother made me quit. My brother, Markie, had drowned in our back yard pool that Summer just a few weeks shy of his 2nd birthday and she couldn't handle being around pools.
4. I used to smoke a pack of cigarettes a day. Camel in a box, please. None of those girly-man cigs for me. I quit almost 10 years ago and I've never looked back. But oddly enough I'm a smoker in every. single. dream. I've had since quitting.
5. I had a stalker (his name is a matter of public record so I'll share it here) named James Schneider in 1995 and 96. His luck ran out when he tried to climb in my shower with me at 5:30 a.m. on September 16, 1996. Of course, I screamed bloody murder. And of course, he was caught. He took the Alford plea (too much evidence against me so there's no way I could defend myself - which means I did it but I refuse to plead guilty) but the judge threw the book at him because of two things: a) he scared Ashley (4 yrs. at the time) beyond repair and that offended the judge's grandfatherly sensibilities; and b) the dude's wife was using my vacuum that he'd stolen when the police arrived to arrest him. He served 18 months of a 2-year sentence for burglary. We couldn't prove he'd been the one coming into my home at night while I slept and doing God knows what besides stealing my stuff. We could only prove that he'd been there once and that he had my stuff. I still see his name in the paper now and again.
Number 5 leads into Number 6.
6. After my story hit the AP wire (for what earthly reason, I'll never know - who cares about a girl in Washington catching a burglar?) I was contacted by quite a few people. One of them was my grandmother in Oregon wondering why she had to read about me in the paper instead of hear it from The Horse's Mouth. (Sorry Gram!) Another was Belinda Jackson, producer of the Leeza Gibbons Show. Yes, they wanted me to come and participate in a show they were doing about avoiding being the victim of a crime. Soooooo, I did it. I flew to LA in January of 1997, taped the show, and felt the entire time that I didn't belong there. The other people on the panel had been tied up and raped, stabbed, or their children stolen and murdered. "Helloooooo. Ummm, I caught a burglar? One of these things is not like the others!" They assured me it was alright, so I stayed. The show aired on May 29th of that year. I only know that because it was my mother's birthday.
7. I would sell your first born child for a big old platter of piping hot fresh-from-the-oven tater tots. They're my biggest enemy when I'm trying to lose weight. I just can't resist! If they're in the freezer I have to eat them. And really, what's not to love? Mmmmmm. Tots. Nice and crispy outside, soft and mushy inside. Seasoning salt. Fry sauce or ranch for dipping. Yuh-huh-hum! Just thinking about God's Favorite Processed Potato Product makes my tummy talk.
Dude, I'm hungry.
Friday, May 04, 2007
Time to feed the fish
Have you ever felt like you've no identity inside the four walls of your home? Yeah, me too. What's more, I'm getting the distinct feeling I'm trapped here. Just thinking about my inability to venture beyond my own doormat for anything besides the grocery or visits to the orthodontist has me feeling suffocated.
I heard this song on a Scrubs (Season 2 disc 2) re-run the other day. I don't know what it's called, but the tag line throughout the song was "I'm waiting for my real life to start." It was part of a little dream sequence in which a dying woman was singing to her friends and family about what was coming in her very near future. The arrangement was smooth and reflective, almost had a mournful quality to it without being sad. Anyway, as I sat there listening, I realized I was almost jealous of that woman. Not jealous of the fact that she was dying, God no, but that she had something different to look forward to.
I know. Boo hoo Dellaina, y'big whiner. But wait, this'll all make sense. I hope. I'm still shaking it out myself.
See, it's like this. I sometimes feel like I'm in my own little ranch house-shaped fishbowl, looking out at the world from my kitchen window... or from my minivan windows... or from the pediatrician's window... Like there's this whole big world thing out there and I'm trying to figure out a way to reach out and touch it without getting scooped up by the Laundry Net or the Dishwasher Net or the Poopy Diaper Net or the Tantrum Net and wind up plooped back into the bowl.
Is there more to it than this? Am I only Dan's wife, Ashley, Jonah and Mary-Beth's mother, Hazel's source of kibble and water, and various other roles I play during the day? What part of all this is me? At what point do they become an apron I can hang up at the end of the day so I can wear my own uniform?
I can't believe I'm saying this at my age, but it's like I'm waiting for my real life to start. And since I like to play my own devil's advocate I have to ask myself: do I even know what that means? What exactly am I waiting for? And would I recognize it once it started? Would I be happy then? And what exactly does "then" look like? Weird? I'm not unhappy, but I'm sure not feeling like "a reliable and useful engine" as Sir Topham Hat would say.
Dammit. Even my euphemisms are from children's shows. That's sick, man.
I've recently told someone that she's got a responsibility to her family to make life happen for her and her children, that to sit back and let life happen to her is unacceptable and inexcusable in her situation. Someone had to say it and we all know I'm okay with that person being me. But now, faced with having to eat my own words, I'm wondering how to practice what I preach but without hurting my family in the process.
I don't want to spend my time feeling like the invisible wife in that commercial who goes unnoticed through her home fixing this and folding that. And I'm almost positive it's not on the shoulders of those I live with to make this go away. I need to fix this myself, I know that, but somehow without neglecting my family. See, I really do love and adore them, and I wouldn't want to be out in the world somewhere, feeling liberated and autonomous, but ignoring my husband and children. Honestly, given the alternatives, I'd much rather be here in my fish bowl and be Dan's wife, Ashley, Jonah and Mary-Beth's mother, Hazel's source of kibble and water. Is there truly no way to do both?
I have about 30 regular readers who most likely have been there. So tell me folks, what's the solution? I can't be the only one to sense that stepping off your doormat and into the world without looking back won't solve the problem. Is there a way to claim my own identity without sacrificing my family on the altar of Dellaina's Lib?
I heard this song on a Scrubs (Season 2 disc 2) re-run the other day. I don't know what it's called, but the tag line throughout the song was "I'm waiting for my real life to start." It was part of a little dream sequence in which a dying woman was singing to her friends and family about what was coming in her very near future. The arrangement was smooth and reflective, almost had a mournful quality to it without being sad. Anyway, as I sat there listening, I realized I was almost jealous of that woman. Not jealous of the fact that she was dying, God no, but that she had something different to look forward to.
I know. Boo hoo Dellaina, y'big whiner. But wait, this'll all make sense. I hope. I'm still shaking it out myself.
See, it's like this. I sometimes feel like I'm in my own little ranch house-shaped fishbowl, looking out at the world from my kitchen window... or from my minivan windows... or from the pediatrician's window... Like there's this whole big world thing out there and I'm trying to figure out a way to reach out and touch it without getting scooped up by the Laundry Net or the Dishwasher Net or the Poopy Diaper Net or the Tantrum Net and wind up plooped back into the bowl.
Is there more to it than this? Am I only Dan's wife, Ashley, Jonah and Mary-Beth's mother, Hazel's source of kibble and water, and various other roles I play during the day? What part of all this is me? At what point do they become an apron I can hang up at the end of the day so I can wear my own uniform?
I can't believe I'm saying this at my age, but it's like I'm waiting for my real life to start. And since I like to play my own devil's advocate I have to ask myself: do I even know what that means? What exactly am I waiting for? And would I recognize it once it started? Would I be happy then? And what exactly does "then" look like? Weird? I'm not unhappy, but I'm sure not feeling like "a reliable and useful engine" as Sir Topham Hat would say.
Dammit. Even my euphemisms are from children's shows. That's sick, man.
I've recently told someone that she's got a responsibility to her family to make life happen for her and her children, that to sit back and let life happen to her is unacceptable and inexcusable in her situation. Someone had to say it and we all know I'm okay with that person being me. But now, faced with having to eat my own words, I'm wondering how to practice what I preach but without hurting my family in the process.
I don't want to spend my time feeling like the invisible wife in that commercial who goes unnoticed through her home fixing this and folding that. And I'm almost positive it's not on the shoulders of those I live with to make this go away. I need to fix this myself, I know that, but somehow without neglecting my family. See, I really do love and adore them, and I wouldn't want to be out in the world somewhere, feeling liberated and autonomous, but ignoring my husband and children. Honestly, given the alternatives, I'd much rather be here in my fish bowl and be Dan's wife, Ashley, Jonah and Mary-Beth's mother, Hazel's source of kibble and water. Is there truly no way to do both?
I have about 30 regular readers who most likely have been there. So tell me folks, what's the solution? I can't be the only one to sense that stepping off your doormat and into the world without looking back won't solve the problem. Is there a way to claim my own identity without sacrificing my family on the altar of Dellaina's Lib?
Wednesday, February 07, 2007
Added tons of links
I know, I know. Links aren't as fun as being a fly on the wall in my Little Slice of Hell. But they'll keep you occupied while I locate my blogging brain cells.
One thing, though. When I clicked on my bookmark I didn't see any of my new links. Blogger said to try clicking my browser's "Refresh" button to get a new copy of my page rather than an old page that's hanging out as a cached copy. Of course you know I heard "blah blah blah" but when I tried it... lo and behold!
So shop away, friends! Shop till you drop!
(Oh, and P.S. - there's still no such thing as a samwich.)
One thing, though. When I clicked on my bookmark I didn't see any of my new links. Blogger said to try clicking my browser's "Refresh" button to get a new copy of my page rather than an old page that's hanging out as a cached copy. Of course you know I heard "blah blah blah" but when I tried it... lo and behold!
So shop away, friends! Shop till you drop!
(Oh, and P.S. - there's still no such thing as a samwich.)
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
