My heart has been seriously grieving the loss of my life in Reno. I wrote this poem in memory of my time there.
A love lost
A time that had been written
On the lines of a feather that has blown away
Where did it land?
Or perhaps it keeps flying
Always in route, always in motion
Never to settle
Or be written on again
You chase it, try to find it
But it is gone
Hiding from the very home it left
But what if you forget
What was shared on those lines
You forget how it went
As it started to fly
Away away and further away
A love lost
Like a ripple of water finding it's end
The dance is over
Everything is still
No movement, no knowledge
Only a silence so deadly and near
What now will come?
Something new? Something unwanted?
But you can't recognize
The view in sight is clouded
You are unsure
Nothing is familiar, nothing is home
You are the love lost
Both grounded and in flight
Both homeless and bound
Both shattered and whole
A new time has arrived
New lines are written
To fly away once more
And just once more again
They are loves lost
Monday, November 5, 2012
Wednesday, July 18, 2012
back again.
the tide is strong
it makes you remember, makes you forget
time tries to push you to your limits
I can hear myself crying as I stand silent
still in the night just trying to fight it
you can't go back, there is no forward
just a price on your day you can no longer afford
there is too much fighting for your heart
darkness and light as they tear you apart
are we nothing, are we something
are we trying and proving tiring
we wake in the morning, and fall in the night
to return to the answer that should make it alright
sometimes the beginning is simply the end
sometimes the end is where you begin
it makes you remember, makes you forget
time tries to push you to your limits
I can hear myself crying as I stand silent
still in the night just trying to fight it
you can't go back, there is no forward
just a price on your day you can no longer afford
there is too much fighting for your heart
darkness and light as they tear you apart
are we nothing, are we something
are we trying and proving tiring
we wake in the morning, and fall in the night
to return to the answer that should make it alright
sometimes the beginning is simply the end
sometimes the end is where you begin
Thursday, June 14, 2012
why I write.
A dear friend of mine asked if I would be willing to write a blog about why I write. I accepted her challenge and here is the result. I want to warn you that the beginning of my writing career isn't the happiest of stories. It is painful and sad. If you aren't in the mood for such an intro, I advise you to move on and go about your internet-grazing way. (this is me being Jude Law in the movie Lemony Snicket's a Series of Unfortunate Events. Remember how he warns the audience that the movie is not a movie about a happy little elf? I wish I could somehow get Jude Law to narrate this blog for you, I really do.)
I took the liberty of making a list to get me started. I am going to share the list with you and then elaborate. So that way if you are in a hurry, you can just read the list of reasons why I write and then move on. I'm all about pleasing the people today, aren't I?
Reasons why I write(in chronological order):
1. coping mechanism
2. communicating
3. story telling
4. creative outlet
I was born a writer. I am not really sure how or why, but I know as soon I was old enough to pick up a pencil, I wrote. As soon as I was old enough to type, I put down the pencil and got a type writer, and as soon as there were such things as online journals, I had one. My relationship with writing began when I was very young, and it started as a
1. coping mechanism. When I was a child, there were many things going on around me that shouldn't have been exposed to such a young mind. These things made deep rivers in my head that were dried up and stuck, and all I could do to get the rivers flowing out into some kind of tangible destination, was write. I would pick up a pencil and write about what I felt. I would write these stories of pain, loss, death, and hopelessness. Some of these things I wrote, I still have, and when I look back and read them, I cannot imagine my own child expressing the things I was desperately trying to express at such a young age. I was angry, sad, confused, and, for lack of better word, haunted. I asked many questions in these early writings. Many of them were just sentences of whys. I felt I had no answer. I felt writing was my only escape, the only thing I could really understand. You know how many lonely characters in literature escape by reading books? (like Francie in A Tree Grows in Brooklyn, Matilda, and Jane Eyre.) That is how I was as a child, but along with reading, I turned to writing my own stories. Writing started out for me as a way to cope with what was going on around me, things I could not comprehend. It quickly became my best friend and my favorite way of
2. communicating. I found as I started growing up, I would get very easily frustrated when I would try to explain what I was feeling or thinking. I couldn't quite get my words out and I remember many times where I would get overwhelmed and just start to cry. Eventually I just stopped trying, and wouldn't say anything. But when I really needed to communicate something, I wrote. I remember telling friends on the phone, "I can't explain it, I will write it to you." And I did. I wrote many letters, stories, and poems to anyone I wanted to communicate with. Friends, boys I liked, and even my family members would get these written expressions that I just couldn't seem to say out loud. It was around this time I got a type writer from Santa (yep, the big man HIMSELF) and started really going to town. I was 11, and all I cared about was
3. story telling. I would sit indian style on my bed in my house off of Pacific Terrace Drive and just fill up sheets and sheets of paper. My favorite part was naming the characters. There was Jackson Rose, she was a girl with a boy's name and you did not mess with her. There was Mr. Tiny Brown, he was not tiny. My most common character was my brother but I would disguise him with different aliases. I started getting notes home from my teachers telling my parents that I was going to be a writer. My teachers would ask for a 2 page report, and I'd turn in a 5 page report. Once I would get going, I just found it hard to stop. I started living through my characters and stories, and for the first time in my life, I started to feel alive. I got into poetry, online journaling, pen-paling, writing contests, and anything else that had to do with writing. I didn't know much about myself then, but what I knew was that I loved to write and I wouldn't ever stop. I never stopped, and though my life has changed dramatically since I first began writing, it is still my number one
4. creative outlet. I wrote a quote when I was 17 that goes like this, "I must create. In a moment, we are either simply living or we are simply dying. Creating is the only way to escape it, the only way to be something other than dead or alive." And it is true. Writing is creating. I create because I feel it is the only escape from just living or dying. It is the "more." It is the "why." When someone creates something, they have the CHOICE to share it or not share it. That is freedom. We have the freedom to liberate what we create and birth it into something that just doesn't live or die, it IS. And it wouldn't be without us. I am so passionate about this, that my hands are shaking now as I write this. Tim Burton could have kept the idea of Edward Scissorhands in his mind, J.K. Rowling could've left the entire WORLD of Harry Potter unknown to anyone else, Van Gogh could have kept the visions that haunted him and left them to their haunting, and Stevie Wonder could've given up what he simply couldn't see. But they didn't. They created and birthed things that will never die, they have been released and no one can EVER undo it or take it back. If you have anything you were born to do, want to do, or suck at doing but love it anyway, do it. Share it. Be it. There is a number 5. I write because
5. I am a writer.
I took the liberty of making a list to get me started. I am going to share the list with you and then elaborate. So that way if you are in a hurry, you can just read the list of reasons why I write and then move on. I'm all about pleasing the people today, aren't I?
Reasons why I write(in chronological order):
1. coping mechanism
2. communicating
3. story telling
4. creative outlet
I was born a writer. I am not really sure how or why, but I know as soon I was old enough to pick up a pencil, I wrote. As soon as I was old enough to type, I put down the pencil and got a type writer, and as soon as there were such things as online journals, I had one. My relationship with writing began when I was very young, and it started as a
1. coping mechanism. When I was a child, there were many things going on around me that shouldn't have been exposed to such a young mind. These things made deep rivers in my head that were dried up and stuck, and all I could do to get the rivers flowing out into some kind of tangible destination, was write. I would pick up a pencil and write about what I felt. I would write these stories of pain, loss, death, and hopelessness. Some of these things I wrote, I still have, and when I look back and read them, I cannot imagine my own child expressing the things I was desperately trying to express at such a young age. I was angry, sad, confused, and, for lack of better word, haunted. I asked many questions in these early writings. Many of them were just sentences of whys. I felt I had no answer. I felt writing was my only escape, the only thing I could really understand. You know how many lonely characters in literature escape by reading books? (like Francie in A Tree Grows in Brooklyn, Matilda, and Jane Eyre.) That is how I was as a child, but along with reading, I turned to writing my own stories. Writing started out for me as a way to cope with what was going on around me, things I could not comprehend. It quickly became my best friend and my favorite way of
2. communicating. I found as I started growing up, I would get very easily frustrated when I would try to explain what I was feeling or thinking. I couldn't quite get my words out and I remember many times where I would get overwhelmed and just start to cry. Eventually I just stopped trying, and wouldn't say anything. But when I really needed to communicate something, I wrote. I remember telling friends on the phone, "I can't explain it, I will write it to you." And I did. I wrote many letters, stories, and poems to anyone I wanted to communicate with. Friends, boys I liked, and even my family members would get these written expressions that I just couldn't seem to say out loud. It was around this time I got a type writer from Santa (yep, the big man HIMSELF) and started really going to town. I was 11, and all I cared about was
3. story telling. I would sit indian style on my bed in my house off of Pacific Terrace Drive and just fill up sheets and sheets of paper. My favorite part was naming the characters. There was Jackson Rose, she was a girl with a boy's name and you did not mess with her. There was Mr. Tiny Brown, he was not tiny. My most common character was my brother but I would disguise him with different aliases. I started getting notes home from my teachers telling my parents that I was going to be a writer. My teachers would ask for a 2 page report, and I'd turn in a 5 page report. Once I would get going, I just found it hard to stop. I started living through my characters and stories, and for the first time in my life, I started to feel alive. I got into poetry, online journaling, pen-paling, writing contests, and anything else that had to do with writing. I didn't know much about myself then, but what I knew was that I loved to write and I wouldn't ever stop. I never stopped, and though my life has changed dramatically since I first began writing, it is still my number one
4. creative outlet. I wrote a quote when I was 17 that goes like this, "I must create. In a moment, we are either simply living or we are simply dying. Creating is the only way to escape it, the only way to be something other than dead or alive." And it is true. Writing is creating. I create because I feel it is the only escape from just living or dying. It is the "more." It is the "why." When someone creates something, they have the CHOICE to share it or not share it. That is freedom. We have the freedom to liberate what we create and birth it into something that just doesn't live or die, it IS. And it wouldn't be without us. I am so passionate about this, that my hands are shaking now as I write this. Tim Burton could have kept the idea of Edward Scissorhands in his mind, J.K. Rowling could've left the entire WORLD of Harry Potter unknown to anyone else, Van Gogh could have kept the visions that haunted him and left them to their haunting, and Stevie Wonder could've given up what he simply couldn't see. But they didn't. They created and birthed things that will never die, they have been released and no one can EVER undo it or take it back. If you have anything you were born to do, want to do, or suck at doing but love it anyway, do it. Share it. Be it. There is a number 5. I write because
5. I am a writer.
Friday, June 1, 2012
Iced coffee for days.
ok, here goes nothing or something. I am almost laughing at myself for writing a blog that has anything to do with the kitchen, because I have some seriously talented friends that can cook and bake insane things that I could only dream of creating. Alas, I have a serious addiction to iced coffee and thought I'd share with you all how I make it possible to inject this glorious liquid into my body each day. Many of my friends who have come over and had it, love and it and start making it home. It is super easy, saves money, and well, it brings people together thus making the world a more peaceful place.
1. I make a pot of extra strong coffee. I will add one scoop over the usual 1 scoop to two cups of water ratio. my coffee pot also has a "strong" button option on it that I use as well.
2. once the coffee is done, take the pot and place it on the stovetop to cool.
3. this is when I make my syrup, which I only need to make every couple weeks. take two cups of water, and two cups of sugar (honey or agave will work as well too) and heat in a sauce pain on the stove, stirring constantly until sugar dissolves. add 1/4 teaspoon of coconut, vanilla, or peppermint extract (depending on what flavor of iced coffee you want.) pour into bottles and cool. this syrup does not need to be refrigerated and lasts forever.
4. once the pot of coffee is cool, pour into a pitcher and place in the fridge.
5. once the coffee is cold, take pitcher out and give it a quick stir. pour in glass with room from cream or milk, and your syrup. I put a little 2% in mine, and my coconut syrup. give it a stir, add ice and wallah!
the pitcher will last the whole week if you have any self control with it. we love busting out an iced coffee whenever we want. I've noticed giving the coffee a stir before each time is vital to the flavor.
quite simple right? And super yummy. special thanks to my fantastic friend Jami and her glorious syrup-making skills.
1. I make a pot of extra strong coffee. I will add one scoop over the usual 1 scoop to two cups of water ratio. my coffee pot also has a "strong" button option on it that I use as well.
2. once the coffee is done, take the pot and place it on the stovetop to cool.
3. this is when I make my syrup, which I only need to make every couple weeks. take two cups of water, and two cups of sugar (honey or agave will work as well too) and heat in a sauce pain on the stove, stirring constantly until sugar dissolves. add 1/4 teaspoon of coconut, vanilla, or peppermint extract (depending on what flavor of iced coffee you want.) pour into bottles and cool. this syrup does not need to be refrigerated and lasts forever.
4. once the pot of coffee is cool, pour into a pitcher and place in the fridge.
5. once the coffee is cold, take pitcher out and give it a quick stir. pour in glass with room from cream or milk, and your syrup. I put a little 2% in mine, and my coconut syrup. give it a stir, add ice and wallah!
the pitcher will last the whole week if you have any self control with it. we love busting out an iced coffee whenever we want. I've noticed giving the coffee a stir before each time is vital to the flavor.
quite simple right? And super yummy. special thanks to my fantastic friend Jami and her glorious syrup-making skills.
Thursday, May 24, 2012
the ocean it heard of.
I wrote this for my darling husband.
the ocean it heard of.
so what if there is a love
that's bigger than the ocean it heard of
it twists and twines, always in motion
like branches folding into hearts
no end or finish or start
it found me by surprise
like a ship all alone awaiting the tide
flooded, shipwrecked, there is no surrender
only the science and silence of a bitter cold winter
the pain and the beauty become one in the same
all it can do is consume and invade
my only chance is no chance at all
inside it's eyes I find where to fall
our story begins after it's over
I stand still but it keeps moving closer
I see you now, on the horizon
The gain and the loss, it all ties in
I believe we're inside a love
it's bigger than the ocean it heard of
Wednesday, February 8, 2012
someone like me.
when I found out I was pregnant with our second child, I knew right away that the baby inside of me was "someone like me." Chris is like me in some ways, Vaelyn is too, but this baby, I knew was someone who would be a lot like me.
when we decided to name that baby Moses, we immediately thought of the nickname Cozy Mosey, and knew it would be perfect for him. and it is. as soon as he was born, he was sensitive, sweet, and very cuddly. in fact, I think he was happiest when he was just be snuggled. he also loved to eat. which is also much like me.
after a few months of trying to get to know Moses, I found myself complaining to a good friend about how needy he was. she replied, "hey! you prayed for a snuggler!" which was so very true. Vaelyn and Chris are doers, they don't stop doing unless you force them to, and I did pray for a child who would be more like me, and be ok with just laying low at home with me while Chris and Vae went and conquered the world. Moses is an answer to prayer in many ways and he has taught me a lot about myself. he loves to be loved and he loves to give love. if I go and sit on the floor, it doesn't matter what he's doing, he will stop and crawl over to me and just kiss me and hug me and slobber all over me like he hasn't seen me in days. it's the greatest feeling in the world.
there are things about "us" that are harder to handle. like when he is over-extraverted or when he is overtired or when he is uncomfortable, what he feels is so amplified, and I have a hard time calming him down or making him feel safe. I know I am the same way. sometimes I get frustrated about it and just have to laugh, because it's like I am looking in the mirror and I suddenly realize what Chris has to deal with.
Mosey also has an incredible ear for music like I do. I have lost hearing in my left ear yet can always "hear" music that other people can't, like in a loud restaurant or music coming from somewhere far away. Moses has a deep love for music, as soon as he hears it, he comes whipping around the corner to find where it is coming from, or when I am singing to him, or Chris is playing his guitar, he just stops and stares at us. he loves it so much, and to see someone so little and young respond to something he loves is just the most magical thing. Vae has that same love for flipping off of things. :)
some days are really hard, and some days I almost feel defeated in my attempt of "getting to know Moses," as my daughter wasn't nearly as hard to figure out. but there is something great about us "hard-to-figure-out" people, we are who we are for a reason. I am so grateful to have someone like me to love, someone who teaches me about myself. he is someone who I know years from now, I will be able to talk to about things and he will understand what I am feeling because he has felt it himself.
Moses Louis, he is someone who is apart of me, someone who came from me, someone who I treasure so much. He is still new, everyday he is new, and everyday I love getting to know him, my son.
when we decided to name that baby Moses, we immediately thought of the nickname Cozy Mosey, and knew it would be perfect for him. and it is. as soon as he was born, he was sensitive, sweet, and very cuddly. in fact, I think he was happiest when he was just be snuggled. he also loved to eat. which is also much like me.
after a few months of trying to get to know Moses, I found myself complaining to a good friend about how needy he was. she replied, "hey! you prayed for a snuggler!" which was so very true. Vaelyn and Chris are doers, they don't stop doing unless you force them to, and I did pray for a child who would be more like me, and be ok with just laying low at home with me while Chris and Vae went and conquered the world. Moses is an answer to prayer in many ways and he has taught me a lot about myself. he loves to be loved and he loves to give love. if I go and sit on the floor, it doesn't matter what he's doing, he will stop and crawl over to me and just kiss me and hug me and slobber all over me like he hasn't seen me in days. it's the greatest feeling in the world.
there are things about "us" that are harder to handle. like when he is over-extraverted or when he is overtired or when he is uncomfortable, what he feels is so amplified, and I have a hard time calming him down or making him feel safe. I know I am the same way. sometimes I get frustrated about it and just have to laugh, because it's like I am looking in the mirror and I suddenly realize what Chris has to deal with.
Mosey also has an incredible ear for music like I do. I have lost hearing in my left ear yet can always "hear" music that other people can't, like in a loud restaurant or music coming from somewhere far away. Moses has a deep love for music, as soon as he hears it, he comes whipping around the corner to find where it is coming from, or when I am singing to him, or Chris is playing his guitar, he just stops and stares at us. he loves it so much, and to see someone so little and young respond to something he loves is just the most magical thing. Vae has that same love for flipping off of things. :)
some days are really hard, and some days I almost feel defeated in my attempt of "getting to know Moses," as my daughter wasn't nearly as hard to figure out. but there is something great about us "hard-to-figure-out" people, we are who we are for a reason. I am so grateful to have someone like me to love, someone who teaches me about myself. he is someone who I know years from now, I will be able to talk to about things and he will understand what I am feeling because he has felt it himself.
Moses Louis, he is someone who is apart of me, someone who came from me, someone who I treasure so much. He is still new, everyday he is new, and everyday I love getting to know him, my son.
Friday, February 3, 2012
flower lightbulb bouquet.
hi friends! so, a very good friend of mine has a little sister, who is also a friend of mine and she happens to be getting married in August! Her name is Annie, and she is one exceptionally rad chick. Annie contacted me, and asked me to take her engagement photos. flattered, I accepted. when Annie had been over a few days before that, she told me all about her and her fiance's first date. she mentioned very briefly that she loved lightbulbs, and that her fiance, Ernest, had taken her to a restaurant in downtown Reno that had cool light fixtures, trying to woo her. (I think it worked) I didn't think twice about it. well, a few nights later, I woke up at 4 am and couldn't go back to sleep. I started thinking about Annie's photo shoot coming up, and like a flash, I envisioned a lightbulb bouquet made out of lightbulbs, wire, and coffee filters. I immediately grabbed my handy dandy iPhone and googled it, then checked pinterest, and too my surprise, saw nothing like what I had envisioned. I am not going to lie, I was so ecstatic, I had thought of something "new" and couldn't find it anywhere on the internet.
the next morning I told Chris about it, and he was on board to help make my vision come true. we went to home depot and bought just a few supplies and got to work. Here are some images that will explain how you can make your own light bulb bouquets!
check out a short youtube video here.
these bouquets can also be made with tissue paper or fabrics. you could even paint your coffee filters if you felt so inclined! run with it. special thanks to my wonderful hubby and to Annie, my inspiration! love to you all.
the next morning I told Chris about it, and he was on board to help make my vision come true. we went to home depot and bought just a few supplies and got to work. Here are some images that will explain how you can make your own light bulb bouquets!
check out a short youtube video here.
these bouquets can also be made with tissue paper or fabrics. you could even paint your coffee filters if you felt so inclined! run with it. special thanks to my wonderful hubby and to Annie, my inspiration! love to you all.
where we belong.
most days, I belong home. with my kiddos. teaching them all about the important things in life. like on rainy days, you watch the goonies, and lazy days, you turn into "laundry days", when you're in a rut, have an immediate Justin Timberlake dance party in the kitchen. things like that.
other days I belong in the streets, running here and running there making sure my family has what they need and frivolous tasks are getting taken care of.
sometimes I belong spending time with friends, helping friends with their babies, hanging out with other families and letting our kids figure out how to share, which is super fun, you should try it.
there is one thing I belong doing, that seems to be my favorite out of all these things. creating. how I love to create. whether it is writing, taking photos, editing photos, doing crafts, or even drawing with Vaelyn, I just love it. it soothes me, right through to my soul. and it always has.
I remember being in 4th grade, I asked for a typewriter for my birthday. all I wanted so badly was to just write and write and hear those keys punch letters into the typing paper. when I got my typewriter, I would spend hours sitting on my bed, writing short story after short story about the things that really mattered to that little girl I was. mostly I wrote about pain. the pain I felt and couldn't otherwise express but through these stories. I still have some of them, and though tears often come when I dig them out and read them, I can articulate now what I was going through at such a young age, and feel a sense of victory that only comes through growing up.
somewhere along the way, I would say high school, I really started fearing the feedback that I would get from the things I created. I almost never shared what I wrote or drew or made. and when I did, like when reading a paper aloud in English class, I shook and almost cried every time. haha, which is funny, because I am a pretty damn loud and bubbly person. (my friends say I'm a "selective extravert" which means I usually like people but can also be a total bitch at times. but I think they are thinking of the term "woman")
now I find myself realizing, I put every ounce of energy that I have into making my children feel safe and free to be who they are. if I am not operating in who I fully am because of fear of failure, rejection, or negative feedback (or no feedback), I am wasting that energy. I have a lot to learn. I have a far way to go. thinking about it even makes my heart sink. well I may feel the fear so bad my knees shake, but I'm going to keep on walking forward. and when you all see my knees shakin, don't laugh, just root me on. (or laugh, just do it behind my back)
where do you belong? I think some may argue that they don't know where they belong, or what they belong doing. I can understand that argument, as I often need a bus to hit me to help me realize things like that. but if we set aside fear and distractions, I think these things come much easier to us. I often envy people who seem to just know what they belong doing and just do it balls to the wall (what does that even mean? balls on a wall isn't a pretty picture in my mind), I am hoping to just join them. starting today.
other days I belong in the streets, running here and running there making sure my family has what they need and frivolous tasks are getting taken care of.
sometimes I belong spending time with friends, helping friends with their babies, hanging out with other families and letting our kids figure out how to share, which is super fun, you should try it.
there is one thing I belong doing, that seems to be my favorite out of all these things. creating. how I love to create. whether it is writing, taking photos, editing photos, doing crafts, or even drawing with Vaelyn, I just love it. it soothes me, right through to my soul. and it always has.
I remember being in 4th grade, I asked for a typewriter for my birthday. all I wanted so badly was to just write and write and hear those keys punch letters into the typing paper. when I got my typewriter, I would spend hours sitting on my bed, writing short story after short story about the things that really mattered to that little girl I was. mostly I wrote about pain. the pain I felt and couldn't otherwise express but through these stories. I still have some of them, and though tears often come when I dig them out and read them, I can articulate now what I was going through at such a young age, and feel a sense of victory that only comes through growing up.
somewhere along the way, I would say high school, I really started fearing the feedback that I would get from the things I created. I almost never shared what I wrote or drew or made. and when I did, like when reading a paper aloud in English class, I shook and almost cried every time. haha, which is funny, because I am a pretty damn loud and bubbly person. (my friends say I'm a "selective extravert" which means I usually like people but can also be a total bitch at times. but I think they are thinking of the term "woman")
now I find myself realizing, I put every ounce of energy that I have into making my children feel safe and free to be who they are. if I am not operating in who I fully am because of fear of failure, rejection, or negative feedback (or no feedback), I am wasting that energy. I have a lot to learn. I have a far way to go. thinking about it even makes my heart sink. well I may feel the fear so bad my knees shake, but I'm going to keep on walking forward. and when you all see my knees shakin, don't laugh, just root me on. (or laugh, just do it behind my back)
where do you belong? I think some may argue that they don't know where they belong, or what they belong doing. I can understand that argument, as I often need a bus to hit me to help me realize things like that. but if we set aside fear and distractions, I think these things come much easier to us. I often envy people who seem to just know what they belong doing and just do it balls to the wall (what does that even mean? balls on a wall isn't a pretty picture in my mind), I am hoping to just join them. starting today.
Wednesday, February 1, 2012
mr. boombastic.
fear of failing. everyone has that fear, right? say yes. I am one of those people that has to self evaluate about every, I don't know, 15 seconds. I think a lot, I feel a lot, and I do those things hard. (that's what she said.)
I have a fear of failing, which often results in me not trying. or moving. or stepping out. I am slowly puttering up a hill that I think will change those things, once I reach the top and start sailing down.
puttering is better than nothing.
another thing I am currently fumbling with is remaining silent. I like to talk. to everyone. about everything. lately I am learning about relationship circles, and how I very easily put anyone and everyone in my closest circle. I don't think that is the way it is supposed to be. remaining silent is a good work out for me. brain work outs are just as exhausting as body work outs. I know, I checked, online.
so I know many of my blogs are me processing growing up and rambling on about feelings but that's where I'm at. I am growing up. I am realizing things, like I am not 17 anymore. which to you, is a very easy thing to realize about me. but inside, I will think and operate like 17 year-old Natalie, only to wake up one day and think, "whoa, I am not 17, and I have just spent a month or so thinking like I am." thinking like that girl does not benefit the life I am leading now. they should not mix, although I often let them only to look back and see the mess I created by unintentionally mixing them. but lucky for me, life goes on, life does not end once you realize your mistakes, it begins. a new life, a new day.
I am almost 26. I have been married for almost 7 years. I have been a mother for almost 4 years. these things define me, they have created a new me. I am still learning who she is, but I think I like her.
so, mr. boombastic. I really, really enjoy that song and always have.
I have a fear of failing, which often results in me not trying. or moving. or stepping out. I am slowly puttering up a hill that I think will change those things, once I reach the top and start sailing down.
puttering is better than nothing.
another thing I am currently fumbling with is remaining silent. I like to talk. to everyone. about everything. lately I am learning about relationship circles, and how I very easily put anyone and everyone in my closest circle. I don't think that is the way it is supposed to be. remaining silent is a good work out for me. brain work outs are just as exhausting as body work outs. I know, I checked, online.
so I know many of my blogs are me processing growing up and rambling on about feelings but that's where I'm at. I am growing up. I am realizing things, like I am not 17 anymore. which to you, is a very easy thing to realize about me. but inside, I will think and operate like 17 year-old Natalie, only to wake up one day and think, "whoa, I am not 17, and I have just spent a month or so thinking like I am." thinking like that girl does not benefit the life I am leading now. they should not mix, although I often let them only to look back and see the mess I created by unintentionally mixing them. but lucky for me, life goes on, life does not end once you realize your mistakes, it begins. a new life, a new day.
I am almost 26. I have been married for almost 7 years. I have been a mother for almost 4 years. these things define me, they have created a new me. I am still learning who she is, but I think I like her.
so, mr. boombastic. I really, really enjoy that song and always have.
Monday, January 23, 2012
facebook status translations.
disclaimer: please don't take any offense as I have written many statuses like this myself. :)
status: today my beautiful daughter turns 3, she has been the greatest thing to ever happen to me. happy birthday baby!
translation: my daughter cannot read nor does she have a facebook account, I just want you to acknowledge how awesome my daughter is and comment so everyone else can see how awesome you think she is. k thanks.
status: man, everything sucks so bad! I hate my life!
translation: I won't tell you what is going on, just keep asking me. I just want everyone to know I am super unhappy, but not why.
status: today marks 15 years of marriage! happy anniversary husband!
translation: I totally can wish my husband happy anniversary in person, which I have and will again later, however, I won't get 25 congratulations comments, or get to rub my successful love story in other people's faces.
status: dear cold, you've outstayed your welcome. please die and go away love, me.
translation: I write little cute notes to things such as colds all of the time, don't you? anyway, tell me you hope I feel better soon.
status: I guess no one wants to hang out with me today. :(
translation: listen bitches, I feel old, alone, and done for, I need someone to not only come see me, but bring me some effing starbucks. oh and don't forget to comment about how you would if you could and ask me if I am ok, which I am clearly not because none of you give two shits about me!
status: ugh, someone named their kid Harry, yuck, really who does that?!
translation: I don't think about the fact that maybe one of you either have named or may be planning on naming your kid Harry, but just know, I feel really uncomfortable with it.
status: I hate when my friends cause drama!
translation: please get worried and comment, asking if I am mad at you, so I can affirm you that it is not you. process of elimination is really best for everyone. and still, no one will ever know who or what I am talking about, I just want you to keep wondering.
status: having some great quality time with my man, watching a movie. <3
translation: I totally have my iphone out, and I am facebooking while I am supposed to be spending time with someone I love more than you.
status: seriously reno? snow?
translation: I may have lived here for years, but the wishy-washy weather here STILL catches me by surprise! it's the oddest thing, I still just can't believe it!
status: nobody loves me.
translation: tell me how much you love me. all of you, ready go.
status: I haven't gotten any action in WAY too long.
translation: I want you to know about my lack of sex life, because it's really important to you and you may be able to help. no really, anyone want to help?
status: 2 years ago today my papa passed away, I love you papa and you'll always be in my heart!
translation: my papa is dead, I am still pretty bummed about it, comment that you are sorry for my loss or that you miss him too, and it will for sure make it easier to deal with the fact that he totally never read this status update because he's dead.
status: my kids are driving me totally NUTSO today?! is there a full moon?!
translation: who wants to come babysit because these little bastards are about to die.
status: just spent $500 at Kate Spade! everything I got was so cute!
translation: all you ladies better be jealous, because that is my one and only goal here.
status: it's that time of the month again, what JOY.
translation: my vagina and I are fighting right now, I thought you all should know. and if anyone wants to bring me chocolate, that would be great.
status: what if God was one of us? just a slob like one of us? just a stranger on the bus, trying to make his way home.
translation: I AM A TOTAL ASSHOLE and thought you guys might want this great song stuck in your head because it is stuck in mine. what can I say, I'm a giver.
status: I just ran 5.2 miles, I feel so good!
translation: I hope you all feel nice and fat right now.
status: today I ran 3 miles, made pancakes from scratch, went to three grocery stores, did homeschooling with the kids, got dinner in the crock, cleaned two bathrooms, vacuumed, and now I am enjoying a nice cup of coffee, and it's only 1pm!
translation: you should really comment about how incredible I am, ask me how I do it, and then feel like a complete failure.
status: my man and I just got frisky, now to do the laundry!
translation: I like to TMI you. you've just been successfully and nonchalantly TMIed. it was sneaky wasn't it? you feel a little violated don't you? you're not picturing me doing the laundry, that's for sure. sucker.
status: today my beautiful daughter turns 3, she has been the greatest thing to ever happen to me. happy birthday baby!
translation: my daughter cannot read nor does she have a facebook account, I just want you to acknowledge how awesome my daughter is and comment so everyone else can see how awesome you think she is. k thanks.
status: man, everything sucks so bad! I hate my life!
translation: I won't tell you what is going on, just keep asking me. I just want everyone to know I am super unhappy, but not why.
status: today marks 15 years of marriage! happy anniversary husband!
translation: I totally can wish my husband happy anniversary in person, which I have and will again later, however, I won't get 25 congratulations comments, or get to rub my successful love story in other people's faces.
status: dear cold, you've outstayed your welcome. please die and go away love, me.
translation: I write little cute notes to things such as colds all of the time, don't you? anyway, tell me you hope I feel better soon.
status: I guess no one wants to hang out with me today. :(
translation: listen bitches, I feel old, alone, and done for, I need someone to not only come see me, but bring me some effing starbucks. oh and don't forget to comment about how you would if you could and ask me if I am ok, which I am clearly not because none of you give two shits about me!
status: ugh, someone named their kid Harry, yuck, really who does that?!
translation: I don't think about the fact that maybe one of you either have named or may be planning on naming your kid Harry, but just know, I feel really uncomfortable with it.
status: I hate when my friends cause drama!
translation: please get worried and comment, asking if I am mad at you, so I can affirm you that it is not you. process of elimination is really best for everyone. and still, no one will ever know who or what I am talking about, I just want you to keep wondering.
status: having some great quality time with my man, watching a movie. <3
translation: I totally have my iphone out, and I am facebooking while I am supposed to be spending time with someone I love more than you.
status: seriously reno? snow?
translation: I may have lived here for years, but the wishy-washy weather here STILL catches me by surprise! it's the oddest thing, I still just can't believe it!
status: nobody loves me.
translation: tell me how much you love me. all of you, ready go.
status: I haven't gotten any action in WAY too long.
translation: I want you to know about my lack of sex life, because it's really important to you and you may be able to help. no really, anyone want to help?
status: 2 years ago today my papa passed away, I love you papa and you'll always be in my heart!
translation: my papa is dead, I am still pretty bummed about it, comment that you are sorry for my loss or that you miss him too, and it will for sure make it easier to deal with the fact that he totally never read this status update because he's dead.
status: my kids are driving me totally NUTSO today?! is there a full moon?!
translation: who wants to come babysit because these little bastards are about to die.
status: just spent $500 at Kate Spade! everything I got was so cute!
translation: all you ladies better be jealous, because that is my one and only goal here.
status: it's that time of the month again, what JOY.
translation: my vagina and I are fighting right now, I thought you all should know. and if anyone wants to bring me chocolate, that would be great.
status: what if God was one of us? just a slob like one of us? just a stranger on the bus, trying to make his way home.
translation: I AM A TOTAL ASSHOLE and thought you guys might want this great song stuck in your head because it is stuck in mine. what can I say, I'm a giver.
status: I just ran 5.2 miles, I feel so good!
translation: I hope you all feel nice and fat right now.
status: today I ran 3 miles, made pancakes from scratch, went to three grocery stores, did homeschooling with the kids, got dinner in the crock, cleaned two bathrooms, vacuumed, and now I am enjoying a nice cup of coffee, and it's only 1pm!
translation: you should really comment about how incredible I am, ask me how I do it, and then feel like a complete failure.
status: my man and I just got frisky, now to do the laundry!
translation: I like to TMI you. you've just been successfully and nonchalantly TMIed. it was sneaky wasn't it? you feel a little violated don't you? you're not picturing me doing the laundry, that's for sure. sucker.
Sunday, January 22, 2012
benny and joon.
every once in a while, you need some encouragement. you find yourself in a serious slump, in which case I find myself in that very position as I write this. I never really felt pressure to have it all figured out, until I became a mom. now, the feeling of "I don't know what the hell I am doing with my life" suddenly has a very new affect on me then it ever has before. and yes, I can listen to my favorite music, I can watch benny and joon and drink tea, I can talk on the phone for hours with close friends, yet when things get quiet, I find myself questioning life once more and my heart begins to pound and my eyes begin to leak. what about the visions I have had? what about the dreams I have seen, they play over and over in mind. will they ever be real? I try to trust, but my trust bleeds over into wonder, then overflows into doubt.
timing is not something I know anything about. I never thought I'd get married, and I got married right out of high school. I never thought I'd have children (let alone like children) yet here I am and there is nothing I love more than being a mom. I never thought I'd live in a little city named Reno, yet it has been nothing but a sanctuary for me ever since we got here. so basically what I am saying is everything I thought, never was what was. what I am trying to convince myself of is that, everything is always ok, and even better than what I could have ever thought up myself. which sort of pisses me off.
but being in slump, it is hard to remember those things let alone live out your life like they are true. it is hard to be optimistic. I feel like someone offered me a piece of my favorite cake, and it's just sitting there in front of me, sitting sitting sitting, and not only can I not eat it, but I have forgotten how to even pick up the fork to start eating. and that just doesn't feel good. WHY WOULD IT FEEL GOOD?! THERE IS UNEATEN CAKE! once again, I find myself extremely grateful for my friends. for the friends that know me, know chris, know my kids, and I can say whatever it is I am thinking or feeling or believing, and feel safe. ah yes, that is the greatest feeling in the world I must say.
so back to benny and joon. I am obsessed right now. have you seen it? if not, go rent it right now and be prepared to get butterflies in your tummy because you've been served a whoppin heap of cuteness. that film reminds me that there is love and happiness and happy endings, and not only is it really out there, but I have it myself, with chris. he's the sam to my joon.
anyway, I feel a little better now. "you can't have your cake and eat it too." oh yes I can, and I will. all in time.
timing is not something I know anything about. I never thought I'd get married, and I got married right out of high school. I never thought I'd have children (let alone like children) yet here I am and there is nothing I love more than being a mom. I never thought I'd live in a little city named Reno, yet it has been nothing but a sanctuary for me ever since we got here. so basically what I am saying is everything I thought, never was what was. what I am trying to convince myself of is that, everything is always ok, and even better than what I could have ever thought up myself. which sort of pisses me off.
but being in slump, it is hard to remember those things let alone live out your life like they are true. it is hard to be optimistic. I feel like someone offered me a piece of my favorite cake, and it's just sitting there in front of me, sitting sitting sitting, and not only can I not eat it, but I have forgotten how to even pick up the fork to start eating. and that just doesn't feel good. WHY WOULD IT FEEL GOOD?! THERE IS UNEATEN CAKE! once again, I find myself extremely grateful for my friends. for the friends that know me, know chris, know my kids, and I can say whatever it is I am thinking or feeling or believing, and feel safe. ah yes, that is the greatest feeling in the world I must say.
so back to benny and joon. I am obsessed right now. have you seen it? if not, go rent it right now and be prepared to get butterflies in your tummy because you've been served a whoppin heap of cuteness. that film reminds me that there is love and happiness and happy endings, and not only is it really out there, but I have it myself, with chris. he's the sam to my joon.
anyway, I feel a little better now. "you can't have your cake and eat it too." oh yes I can, and I will. all in time.
Thursday, December 8, 2011
random facts and blurbs.
Ever since I was young, I've had a deep desire to be black. Instead I look in the mirror and see a white-ish, olive-ish skin covering my black-souled body. Why couldn't my mom just hook up with one black guy that just happened to have the sperm used to create me? I mean she hooked up with everyon... Ok mom bashing is extremely unacceptable, moving on.
I've always hated socks. Let me rephrase, I've always been disgusted with socks, yet recognize my dependence on their existence. Socks are like tampons, I get pissed when I have to spend money on them, the sight of them makes me shudder in disgust, yet at the end of the day, they are there to get a very specific job done. Their willingness to do that job saves me from being shit out of luck and in a very uncomfortable physical situation. If I lived in a perfect world, they're be absolutely no need for either socks or tampons.
Brown is the ugliest color, and yet my favorite. If you reread that sentence over and over and really chew on it for a while, I'm pretty sure you could figure everything else about me out. Yep, it's all wrapped up there for you.
I'm an internet lurker. Want to know the name of Dick Van Dyke's father or Judy Garland's birth name? I'm your woman. I strive to learn the random facts of famous people who already lived or are currently living the dreams I'm too puss to live myself. And you totally wish you knew Hilary Duff's favorite yoga posish.
I'm wondering when I will realize that things like staying up way too late, slacking on my house work, or getting in funks when I don't interact with anyone over the age of 3 for a few days, makes me suffer more than anyone else. I hand myself the short end of the stick, and then I'm like "thanks. (what an asshole!)" But is there a certain age when that stops? Like 36? 71? maybe if there was a timeframe I'd feel better.
When you become a mom, the word "bathroom" becomes extinct and gets replaced with "potty." The best part about that is saying to your husband, "I'll be right back, I've gotta go potty" on your date. So hott.
I don't understand why some things are attractive, while others are not. I remember being asked in high school by a boy I liked, "you don't have pepperoni nipples do you?" I don't know?! What are those? Are all nipples compared to pizza toppings? Are olive nips better than pepperoni? What about pineapple nips? Should I order a pizza with everything on it and have a compare and contrast sesh in front of the mirror? What if one person hates pepperoni nips, while the other one votes pepperoni nips all the way? Is that how you find your soulmate, by matching his favorite pizza nip shape? And what about HIS nips? Yeah, what shape are your nips boy from high school? Probably has sausage nips.
I'm really into the holidays. Like really into them. And when I say holidays, I mean October 1st to January 2nd. Everyday between those dates is a holiday, and should be celebrated with an abundance of expensive cheese and alcohol. I'd replace each piece of furniture, appliance and decor with a festive one if I could. Which makes me want to invent holly berry toilet paper. No dingle berry toilet paper!
One time, last night, I shared with my husband my fear of sharing what I write because people might find it inappropriate or offensive. He calmly and cooly replied, "I don't even know what you're talking about right now babe, ever since I met you, you haven't cared about being inappropriate." well ok then.
I've always hated socks. Let me rephrase, I've always been disgusted with socks, yet recognize my dependence on their existence. Socks are like tampons, I get pissed when I have to spend money on them, the sight of them makes me shudder in disgust, yet at the end of the day, they are there to get a very specific job done. Their willingness to do that job saves me from being shit out of luck and in a very uncomfortable physical situation. If I lived in a perfect world, they're be absolutely no need for either socks or tampons.
Brown is the ugliest color, and yet my favorite. If you reread that sentence over and over and really chew on it for a while, I'm pretty sure you could figure everything else about me out. Yep, it's all wrapped up there for you.
I'm an internet lurker. Want to know the name of Dick Van Dyke's father or Judy Garland's birth name? I'm your woman. I strive to learn the random facts of famous people who already lived or are currently living the dreams I'm too puss to live myself. And you totally wish you knew Hilary Duff's favorite yoga posish.
I'm wondering when I will realize that things like staying up way too late, slacking on my house work, or getting in funks when I don't interact with anyone over the age of 3 for a few days, makes me suffer more than anyone else. I hand myself the short end of the stick, and then I'm like "thanks. (what an asshole!)" But is there a certain age when that stops? Like 36? 71? maybe if there was a timeframe I'd feel better.
When you become a mom, the word "bathroom" becomes extinct and gets replaced with "potty." The best part about that is saying to your husband, "I'll be right back, I've gotta go potty" on your date. So hott.
I don't understand why some things are attractive, while others are not. I remember being asked in high school by a boy I liked, "you don't have pepperoni nipples do you?" I don't know?! What are those? Are all nipples compared to pizza toppings? Are olive nips better than pepperoni? What about pineapple nips? Should I order a pizza with everything on it and have a compare and contrast sesh in front of the mirror? What if one person hates pepperoni nips, while the other one votes pepperoni nips all the way? Is that how you find your soulmate, by matching his favorite pizza nip shape? And what about HIS nips? Yeah, what shape are your nips boy from high school? Probably has sausage nips.
I'm really into the holidays. Like really into them. And when I say holidays, I mean October 1st to January 2nd. Everyday between those dates is a holiday, and should be celebrated with an abundance of expensive cheese and alcohol. I'd replace each piece of furniture, appliance and decor with a festive one if I could. Which makes me want to invent holly berry toilet paper. No dingle berry toilet paper!
One time, last night, I shared with my husband my fear of sharing what I write because people might find it inappropriate or offensive. He calmly and cooly replied, "I don't even know what you're talking about right now babe, ever since I met you, you haven't cared about being inappropriate." well ok then.
Wednesday, November 30, 2011
rivers and roads.
having a horribly sentimental heart is something that can be good or bad, depending on the day. there are days when despite what that heart is feeling, it expresses a joy that overflows and brings joy to everyone else around. or there are days when it aches so enormously, just the mere achievement of feeling joy seems at a loss. on those days the carrier of the sentimental heart, might be walking alongside the road, heart pulsating with undefined pain, wondering "what would allow me to feel happiness in this moment?" would finding 150,000 dollars rolled up and bound by a blue rubber band make me happy? no. would a cup of my favorite coffee make me happy? no. would finding out one of my dreams came true make me happy? no. would hearing that the people I love are all sublimely happy. that would help, but no. would reaching a mirror and having nothing but love and acceptance for the girl I saw staring back at me, make me happy? no. the only thing that could even begin to clear away the fog that is pain and allow the tired heart to feel a glimpse of happiness, is gratefulness.
gratefulness is a sly little trickster, because it doesn't come natural to us. in fact, it is a current flowing rapidly in the opposite direction we are sailing. there are ideas in our minds that have been planted either a long time ago or even seconds ago, and those little ideas have not-so-little power. those ideas bleed into dreams, that bleed into expectations, that bleed into letdowns, that bleed into sorrow. what those ideas are, are ideas. and that is all. ideas we birthed into our own minds. which can be reality to us, we think them, we feel them, they are real. or are they? what we have is what we have, and chances are we have an awful lot.
but oh those sentimental hearts, they tell you what you long for and they scream it so loudly. not only do you feel it emotionally, but it rattles you physically. all I know is that although the sentimental heart is strong, I have to be stronger. I have to keep walking against that tide. I have to keep focusing on what is real, and I have to keep expressing joy for those around me, because if I don't, I'm simply just dying.
this video, rivers and roads, wraps me up in a nutshell today.
gratefulness is a sly little trickster, because it doesn't come natural to us. in fact, it is a current flowing rapidly in the opposite direction we are sailing. there are ideas in our minds that have been planted either a long time ago or even seconds ago, and those little ideas have not-so-little power. those ideas bleed into dreams, that bleed into expectations, that bleed into letdowns, that bleed into sorrow. what those ideas are, are ideas. and that is all. ideas we birthed into our own minds. which can be reality to us, we think them, we feel them, they are real. or are they? what we have is what we have, and chances are we have an awful lot.
but oh those sentimental hearts, they tell you what you long for and they scream it so loudly. not only do you feel it emotionally, but it rattles you physically. all I know is that although the sentimental heart is strong, I have to be stronger. I have to keep walking against that tide. I have to keep focusing on what is real, and I have to keep expressing joy for those around me, because if I don't, I'm simply just dying.
this video, rivers and roads, wraps me up in a nutshell today.
Sunday, November 13, 2011
it's been a while. (it's been a hott minute)
I really get upset when phrases that should be common phrases in my life are in fact not common phrases like the one used to title this blog post. "it's been a while" has been ruined by that song by... who are they again? oh yeah stained. they are forgotten, while the phrase is forever ruined. much like "you're beautiful". I saw your face in a crowded place, and I'll never be the same. yeah, those songs can all die. I guess it's time to come up with some new phrases. like, it's been a hott minute. wait, that's new right?
well anyway, I haven't had the time nor the energy to write in my own blog in quite sometime. however tonight I find myself alone in my bed, both kids asleep, my husband in Seattle, and nothing but an old Eddie Vedder tee and hot cup of tea (tee & tea) to keep me company. I did a little youtubing, but all that did was either make me angry at the people I am not a fan of and jealous of the ones I am a fan of. ha, and so it goes. I also have a stack of books beside me I have been meaning to read. slacker!
there has been a lot of change happening in our household. in our lives. in my being. what I have come to realize through this process, which I have realized before but not quite to this extent, is that I really suck at processing things. like REALLY suck at processing things. I've known this about myself for a very long time, but I also have never been as busy as I am now. so add change, processing change, and business, and you will find a girl who thinks she's ok, until one day she's on the couch on auto pilot wondering what the hell is going on. so I guess major life changes need to be processed. they need to be thought of, dealt with, and not just put on the back burner, left to boil over and spill all over the floor. (the killers singing about being on the back burner does not ruin the phrase, ten points for them!) I am grateful for people who know me and continue to love me as I figure out how to process the things that are coming at me.
while I am confessing what I suck at, well if I were being nice to myself, I'd say "things that don't come natural to me" but really I'll forgive myself, anyway, I also suck at grieving things. lost relationships, things that I wish were different, (ah, grieving fantasies, those are always the fun ones, here's a hint: grieving from things that actually happen is the way to go, it's called reality, maybe even sanity) grieving any type of loss really, even life change. alas, knowing these faults is the first step towards healing right? right. again I find myself grateful for those who love me through it, and even help pull veils from eyes that I would otherwise not even know were there.
today I facetimed (this vocabulary is fun, "facetimed", "youtubing") with probably my favorite human after my own little kin and she pointed out the huge zit that I currently have between my eyes. that's a highlight from my day. you think I am joking but I am not. we laughed so hard about that blemish that I am actually quite glad that it's there making my face throb, because I will probably always remember our conversation about it. that's how sentimental I am. it's the little things that bring us together. and really, the zits between the eyes are the worst. you can't hide them, they are there for everyone to stare at, hence their nickname as "the third eye." third eye blind. I'm convinced this thing isn't blind, but in fact can see and probably even has a soul.
I suppose I should end this rambling sesh right about now before what I am sharing turns from slightly disgusting to overly inappropriate, I can feel myself heading that way.
well anyway, I haven't had the time nor the energy to write in my own blog in quite sometime. however tonight I find myself alone in my bed, both kids asleep, my husband in Seattle, and nothing but an old Eddie Vedder tee and hot cup of tea (tee & tea) to keep me company. I did a little youtubing, but all that did was either make me angry at the people I am not a fan of and jealous of the ones I am a fan of. ha, and so it goes. I also have a stack of books beside me I have been meaning to read. slacker!
there has been a lot of change happening in our household. in our lives. in my being. what I have come to realize through this process, which I have realized before but not quite to this extent, is that I really suck at processing things. like REALLY suck at processing things. I've known this about myself for a very long time, but I also have never been as busy as I am now. so add change, processing change, and business, and you will find a girl who thinks she's ok, until one day she's on the couch on auto pilot wondering what the hell is going on. so I guess major life changes need to be processed. they need to be thought of, dealt with, and not just put on the back burner, left to boil over and spill all over the floor. (the killers singing about being on the back burner does not ruin the phrase, ten points for them!) I am grateful for people who know me and continue to love me as I figure out how to process the things that are coming at me.
while I am confessing what I suck at, well if I were being nice to myself, I'd say "things that don't come natural to me" but really I'll forgive myself, anyway, I also suck at grieving things. lost relationships, things that I wish were different, (ah, grieving fantasies, those are always the fun ones, here's a hint: grieving from things that actually happen is the way to go, it's called reality, maybe even sanity) grieving any type of loss really, even life change. alas, knowing these faults is the first step towards healing right? right. again I find myself grateful for those who love me through it, and even help pull veils from eyes that I would otherwise not even know were there.
today I facetimed (this vocabulary is fun, "facetimed", "youtubing") with probably my favorite human after my own little kin and she pointed out the huge zit that I currently have between my eyes. that's a highlight from my day. you think I am joking but I am not. we laughed so hard about that blemish that I am actually quite glad that it's there making my face throb, because I will probably always remember our conversation about it. that's how sentimental I am. it's the little things that bring us together. and really, the zits between the eyes are the worst. you can't hide them, they are there for everyone to stare at, hence their nickname as "the third eye." third eye blind. I'm convinced this thing isn't blind, but in fact can see and probably even has a soul.
I suppose I should end this rambling sesh right about now before what I am sharing turns from slightly disgusting to overly inappropriate, I can feel myself heading that way.
Tuesday, September 13, 2011
postpartum brain damage.
Many of women, some of whom I know personally, have struggled with postpartum depression. Postpartum depression is a serious case of sadness, anger, and fear that one can experience after giving birth to their baby. It can be very extreme in some cases or seem rather subtle in others. I have not personally suffered from postpartum depression, but I would like to birth a new diagnosis called postpartum brain damage, which I have suffered from greatly.
I have been asked by many different and very gracious people to write guest blogs or pieces for various different things on various different topics. However I have found it quite difficult to find the time to sit down and actually write anything at all, let alone something someone would actually want to read.
Ok, that was a little tiny lie, I have had some time. But what I haven't had, is the ability to connect one thought to another, or even have more than one thought in my brain that would even need to be connected to another thought, as the first thought probably wasn't even in itself one whole complete thought in the first place. Since having my second child, I have been missing something in my life that I love even more than my husband. It is called sleep. With sleep being erased from life, I have noticed little pieces of brain activity being erased along with it.
"Pregnancy Brain," yet another symptom that is totally real among moms (shit aren't we just the luckiest?) had bled over it's time frame. I was not pregnant anymore. I was supposed to know why I was standing in front of the open fridge, and I was supposed to be able to remember how I had gotten to the open fridge (teleported?). Well here I am eight months later, and I am still trying to get back on the sanity bus. How come no one ever warned me about postpartum brain damage? How come no one ever said, Natalie, you just might fall off the damn horse, but you'll find your way back on. Perhaps if someone would have spoken those words to me, I'd be feeling pretty damn peachy right now.
Well anyway, my second born has FINALLY learned how to sleep through the night. He so graciously gives me from 8pm to 6am, which is a better gift to me than if God himself were to hand me a purple unicorn. I am desperately chasing after my thoughts, catching them in a clenched fist, wrestling them to the ground, and shoving them into an airtight jar where they will find it absolutely impossible to escape me. After I have accumulated a few, I shall string them together into a sequence of excellence, double knot the unpromising end, and throw them over my shoulder until I can add to them again.
If you are suffering or ever have suffered from postpartum brain damage, I tip my glass to you. Here's to regaining what was originally ours.
I have been asked by many different and very gracious people to write guest blogs or pieces for various different things on various different topics. However I have found it quite difficult to find the time to sit down and actually write anything at all, let alone something someone would actually want to read.
Ok, that was a little tiny lie, I have had some time. But what I haven't had, is the ability to connect one thought to another, or even have more than one thought in my brain that would even need to be connected to another thought, as the first thought probably wasn't even in itself one whole complete thought in the first place. Since having my second child, I have been missing something in my life that I love even more than my husband. It is called sleep. With sleep being erased from life, I have noticed little pieces of brain activity being erased along with it.
"Pregnancy Brain," yet another symptom that is totally real among moms (shit aren't we just the luckiest?) had bled over it's time frame. I was not pregnant anymore. I was supposed to know why I was standing in front of the open fridge, and I was supposed to be able to remember how I had gotten to the open fridge (teleported?). Well here I am eight months later, and I am still trying to get back on the sanity bus. How come no one ever warned me about postpartum brain damage? How come no one ever said, Natalie, you just might fall off the damn horse, but you'll find your way back on. Perhaps if someone would have spoken those words to me, I'd be feeling pretty damn peachy right now.
Well anyway, my second born has FINALLY learned how to sleep through the night. He so graciously gives me from 8pm to 6am, which is a better gift to me than if God himself were to hand me a purple unicorn. I am desperately chasing after my thoughts, catching them in a clenched fist, wrestling them to the ground, and shoving them into an airtight jar where they will find it absolutely impossible to escape me. After I have accumulated a few, I shall string them together into a sequence of excellence, double knot the unpromising end, and throw them over my shoulder until I can add to them again.
If you are suffering or ever have suffered from postpartum brain damage, I tip my glass to you. Here's to regaining what was originally ours.
Thursday, July 28, 2011
just today.
today keeps unfolding into tomorrow
somebody forgot to tell me that's just life though
from your hand it slips out like sand
and a trail softly falls back into the land
it blows away quickly, without sound
if you remember to stop, you might look around
but I couldn't remember, in fact I forgot
I kept forgetting to wind up my clock
I'm surprised that I'm still in shock
I'm surprised that I'm not on top
my hands lie empty, I tried to hold tightly
I tried to try trying and gave up tiredly
time is wasting, I'm just now tasting what'd it be like if I wasn't just waiting
my eyes grow heavy, I'm thinking of bailing
I try to stay focused but my mind is trailing
yesterday just keeps bleeding into today
someone told me that this was the only way
nothing ever changes or rearranges nothing ever seems to engage us
but what if I woke up and spoke up and told you to shut up?
would tomorrow be okay, would today be just another day?
would I remember the way things were just yesterday?
today keeps unfolding into tomorrow,
what are we planning on doing about it though?
somebody forgot to tell me that's just life though
from your hand it slips out like sand
and a trail softly falls back into the land
it blows away quickly, without sound
if you remember to stop, you might look around
but I couldn't remember, in fact I forgot
I kept forgetting to wind up my clock
I'm surprised that I'm still in shock
I'm surprised that I'm not on top
my hands lie empty, I tried to hold tightly
I tried to try trying and gave up tiredly
time is wasting, I'm just now tasting what'd it be like if I wasn't just waiting
my eyes grow heavy, I'm thinking of bailing
I try to stay focused but my mind is trailing
yesterday just keeps bleeding into today
someone told me that this was the only way
nothing ever changes or rearranges nothing ever seems to engage us
but what if I woke up and spoke up and told you to shut up?
would tomorrow be okay, would today be just another day?
would I remember the way things were just yesterday?
today keeps unfolding into tomorrow,
what are we planning on doing about it though?
Monday, July 25, 2011
Tuesday, June 21, 2011
rose goes greetings 2.
what's up ladies and gents? I haven't had a free moment to sit here before my bloggy blog in quite some time. today I am... wait you'll never guess... tired! I know, it is shocking. last night Moses woke up at 3, he seemed a bit warm, maybe teeth are on the way. what joy.
today a very dear friend of mine is in the hospital about to have her baby, I am very happy for her, as I remember being 15 and making each other mix tapes. now we're mamas. what a magical thing it is to journey through life with people. for an old nostalgic soul like mine, it's my favorite treasure of all, the relationships I have with people and cruising through the currents of life with them. before I know it we'll be entering the grandparent stage, wondering what the hell happened to time. sigh. one day at a time.
now that I am older and a mother, I can remember all the scoldings that I now give my daughter being given to me. the most infamous ones: "quite down", "not so loud", "please be quiet", "don't scream", "you don't have to yell", "please for the love of god be quiet!". I remember these well. I remember being in junior high and getting my report cards that read: less talking, too much socializing, less talking, chatty cathy, LESS TALKING! I suppose I had a lot to say. it was good when I became a crabby teenager and was selective with who I chatted with, though those few were still enough to get me into trouble. I feel a bit guilty when I am giving those scoldings to Vae, as I do not want to break her spirit. I remember well what it felt like to hear those things all of the time and I remember feeling so full of energy and excitement (much like Vae) and it would just burst out of me. loudly. I hope to not silence Vae, although my mental health might benefit from doing so. :)
I have a few more Rose Goes Greetings to share with you as a departing gift.
today a very dear friend of mine is in the hospital about to have her baby, I am very happy for her, as I remember being 15 and making each other mix tapes. now we're mamas. what a magical thing it is to journey through life with people. for an old nostalgic soul like mine, it's my favorite treasure of all, the relationships I have with people and cruising through the currents of life with them. before I know it we'll be entering the grandparent stage, wondering what the hell happened to time. sigh. one day at a time.
now that I am older and a mother, I can remember all the scoldings that I now give my daughter being given to me. the most infamous ones: "quite down", "not so loud", "please be quiet", "don't scream", "you don't have to yell", "please for the love of god be quiet!". I remember these well. I remember being in junior high and getting my report cards that read: less talking, too much socializing, less talking, chatty cathy, LESS TALKING! I suppose I had a lot to say. it was good when I became a crabby teenager and was selective with who I chatted with, though those few were still enough to get me into trouble. I feel a bit guilty when I am giving those scoldings to Vae, as I do not want to break her spirit. I remember well what it felt like to hear those things all of the time and I remember feeling so full of energy and excitement (much like Vae) and it would just burst out of me. loudly. I hope to not silence Vae, although my mental health might benefit from doing so. :)
I have a few more Rose Goes Greetings to share with you as a departing gift.
Friday, June 3, 2011
lies.
there are reasons people lie. they lie to protect themselves. they lie because they think they are protecting you. they lie because they are afraid. they lie because they don't want to appear to be afraid. they lie because they are broken hearted. they lie because they don't understand why their heart had to get broken.
oh people. we are a funny breed. there have been some awkward situations going on in my life lately. I have constantly been wrestling through the "meaning" behind said situations. basically, I've been carrying around a load that isn't mine to carry and need to learn how to not waste energy on things that I cannot change. I am thankful for prayer, and that I can constantly remove these loads and hand them over. sure, they come back again. but I keep trying to let them go.
I never thought I cared what people thought about me. I had a very punk rawk attitude growing up. I was under the belief I could do and say whatever I wanted, dress however I wanted, and that I didn't care what people thought about it. oh I thought I was so sure. I was so far from right. The older I get, the more I realize I do care. and I find it safe to say, I care way too much. In fact, I seem to care too much about what people who I don't even like think about me. people who are mean, bitter, and think everyone in the world is wrong and they are right. yes, even those people I wish think I am a sweet and awesome person. I guess we all do. I have heard the older you get, the more those expectations fall away. if that is the case, bring on the 30s because I am ready! my goodness.
today a friend told another friend, you never give up. I want that to be true about me. I want to fight for what is right. I want to have victory over lies. I want my children to grow up knowing the truth about who they are and I want them to love others more than themselves. I am realizing more and more how much I am robbed of my joy and of my freedom by worrying about what people think about me. then there are all the barriers. the christian and the non-christian. the republican and the democrat. the liberals and the conservatives. the feelers and the thinkers. on and on it goes. certainly you can't please everyone. and you can't be sorry for who you are. I won't be sorry for who I am.
I am someone who hates when people put down others. I hate when people blab and blab out there asses about stuff they don't know the first thing about. I hate when people are closed to other ideas, other opinions, when they are closed to the very idea that their own way isn't the only way. I hate division. oh but isn't that the way the world works. let's see how many ways this world can be divided. let's see how many ways we can tear each other down. even within our own groups we do this. our own families, our own churches, our own schools, our own campaigns for things we strongly believe in, our own political parties. it's everywhere among us. how are we supposed to be encouraged? how are we supposed to feel good about raising our children among this? my brother would say, don't have children. there's the answer. let's stop making families.
oh goodness.
I could go on and on. I don't want to be stuck in the slum of this shit all the time. which brings me back to, thank God for prayer. thank God for my faith and the fact that I can give my burdens to him.
I will have victory. I will learn. I will teach my children how to LOVE, if that is the only thing I do. and people will say, that natalie rose, she never gives up.
oh people. we are a funny breed. there have been some awkward situations going on in my life lately. I have constantly been wrestling through the "meaning" behind said situations. basically, I've been carrying around a load that isn't mine to carry and need to learn how to not waste energy on things that I cannot change. I am thankful for prayer, and that I can constantly remove these loads and hand them over. sure, they come back again. but I keep trying to let them go.
I never thought I cared what people thought about me. I had a very punk rawk attitude growing up. I was under the belief I could do and say whatever I wanted, dress however I wanted, and that I didn't care what people thought about it. oh I thought I was so sure. I was so far from right. The older I get, the more I realize I do care. and I find it safe to say, I care way too much. In fact, I seem to care too much about what people who I don't even like think about me. people who are mean, bitter, and think everyone in the world is wrong and they are right. yes, even those people I wish think I am a sweet and awesome person. I guess we all do. I have heard the older you get, the more those expectations fall away. if that is the case, bring on the 30s because I am ready! my goodness.
today a friend told another friend, you never give up. I want that to be true about me. I want to fight for what is right. I want to have victory over lies. I want my children to grow up knowing the truth about who they are and I want them to love others more than themselves. I am realizing more and more how much I am robbed of my joy and of my freedom by worrying about what people think about me. then there are all the barriers. the christian and the non-christian. the republican and the democrat. the liberals and the conservatives. the feelers and the thinkers. on and on it goes. certainly you can't please everyone. and you can't be sorry for who you are. I won't be sorry for who I am.
I am someone who hates when people put down others. I hate when people blab and blab out there asses about stuff they don't know the first thing about. I hate when people are closed to other ideas, other opinions, when they are closed to the very idea that their own way isn't the only way. I hate division. oh but isn't that the way the world works. let's see how many ways this world can be divided. let's see how many ways we can tear each other down. even within our own groups we do this. our own families, our own churches, our own schools, our own campaigns for things we strongly believe in, our own political parties. it's everywhere among us. how are we supposed to be encouraged? how are we supposed to feel good about raising our children among this? my brother would say, don't have children. there's the answer. let's stop making families.
oh goodness.
I could go on and on. I don't want to be stuck in the slum of this shit all the time. which brings me back to, thank God for prayer. thank God for my faith and the fact that I can give my burdens to him.
I will have victory. I will learn. I will teach my children how to LOVE, if that is the only thing I do. and people will say, that natalie rose, she never gives up.
Thursday, June 2, 2011
salsa and sentimental hearts.
I am considering a few things. one of which, is I hope that when I am a grandmother, I have garage sales every weekend. I am pretty sure I want to scout out random treasures and lay them out on tables, serve chips and salsa, and garage-sale-it-up as much as I can. I might even wear a visor. I am pretty excited about this. my family has always made homemade salsa to sell at our garage sales. it is one of the random little things that I love about my Mexican family. we have a bowl of it out with some chips for people to try, and then we have about a dozen jars of it for people to buy. they'd always sell out literally within minutes. we've got that magic touch. it is called "nana's salsa". my nana has the greatest salsa recipe ever. or at least I thought she did until chris got his hands on it and made it better. no offense nana, that's just what chris does. at least you're not married to him. anyway, next weekend we get to contribute jars of salsa to a friend's garage sale and let's just say I'm pretty pumped about it. pumped, do people still say that?
it has been said that one can make any house a home. I am learning this, as I move from one location to the next, always waiting for that house. the house that is in my mind. this house will surely be mine one day. until then, this apartment is my home. that is ok with me. it is roomy, it is warm in the winter and cool in the summer, it has our totally amazing decor keeping it real. the kids each have their own room, which is vital since Moses still wakes up quite a bit and if they were in the same room waking each other up, I might just run far far away. ah yes, I am ok here. I am sure of it. even the sound of the kid upstairs running laps has become apart of the coziness. ok not really, that dude needs a leash tied to a tree if you ask me.
for those of you who don't know. I am an extremely sentimental person. like seriously sentimental.
sen·ti·men·tal [sen-tuh-men-tl]
–adjective
1.
expressive of or appealing to sentiment, especially the tender emotions and feelings, as love, pity, or nostalgia: a sentimental song.
2.
pertaining to or dependent on sentiment: We kept the old photograph for purely sentimental reasons.
3.
weakly emotional; mawkishly susceptible or tender
you can define me with number 3. just call me mawkishly susceptible from now on ok? I am so sentimental, I'll keep a piece of toilet paper if it really means something to me. (I am not a hoarder, do not confuse sentimental awesomeness with hoarding, don't do it. do I need to post the definition of "hoarder" as well?)
today I glanced down at my wedding rings that my mother had passed down to me and started thinking about passing them down to Vaelyn. I thought, what if none of my kids end up being sentimental? not all people are sentimental right? as a super strong feeler, (I am not a thinker. I think a lot, but only about what I feel) I can not imagine what it would be like to not be sentimental. Vaelyn might find the rings ugly, old fashioned, she may want something totally different and not even care if they end up in a pawn shop somewhere. Moses might not care about them either. they might not care about their scrapbooks or about anything that I've kept for them. (although I can't imagine moses not wanting to show his girlfriends his first-haircut-whispies in a plastic bag) what a strange thought. I've always been that way too. I remember being four and carrying stuffed animals around the store, explaining to them that I couldn't rescue them but reassuring them that someone surely would. I remember getting new shoes and telling my old ones "don't worry I won't forget about you, I'll still wear you". I suddenly feel like I'm sharing too much.
"what can you do with a sentimental heart?"- S&H
it has been said that one can make any house a home. I am learning this, as I move from one location to the next, always waiting for that house. the house that is in my mind. this house will surely be mine one day. until then, this apartment is my home. that is ok with me. it is roomy, it is warm in the winter and cool in the summer, it has our totally amazing decor keeping it real. the kids each have their own room, which is vital since Moses still wakes up quite a bit and if they were in the same room waking each other up, I might just run far far away. ah yes, I am ok here. I am sure of it. even the sound of the kid upstairs running laps has become apart of the coziness. ok not really, that dude needs a leash tied to a tree if you ask me.
for those of you who don't know. I am an extremely sentimental person. like seriously sentimental.
sen·ti·men·tal [sen-tuh-men-tl]
–adjective
1.
expressive of or appealing to sentiment, especially the tender emotions and feelings, as love, pity, or nostalgia: a sentimental song.
2.
pertaining to or dependent on sentiment: We kept the old photograph for purely sentimental reasons.
3.
weakly emotional; mawkishly susceptible or tender
you can define me with number 3. just call me mawkishly susceptible from now on ok? I am so sentimental, I'll keep a piece of toilet paper if it really means something to me. (I am not a hoarder, do not confuse sentimental awesomeness with hoarding, don't do it. do I need to post the definition of "hoarder" as well?)
today I glanced down at my wedding rings that my mother had passed down to me and started thinking about passing them down to Vaelyn. I thought, what if none of my kids end up being sentimental? not all people are sentimental right? as a super strong feeler, (I am not a thinker. I think a lot, but only about what I feel) I can not imagine what it would be like to not be sentimental. Vaelyn might find the rings ugly, old fashioned, she may want something totally different and not even care if they end up in a pawn shop somewhere. Moses might not care about them either. they might not care about their scrapbooks or about anything that I've kept for them. (although I can't imagine moses not wanting to show his girlfriends his first-haircut-whispies in a plastic bag) what a strange thought. I've always been that way too. I remember being four and carrying stuffed animals around the store, explaining to them that I couldn't rescue them but reassuring them that someone surely would. I remember getting new shoes and telling my old ones "don't worry I won't forget about you, I'll still wear you". I suddenly feel like I'm sharing too much.
"what can you do with a sentimental heart?"- S&H
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