Updates, General

Hello!

I hope you all are doing well!  I am currently taking a small break at work to update my blog!  I’ve been crazy busy of late. I started my new job on August 1st, so I’ve been figuring all of that out, helping my husband return to finish his degree, and also working on side projects!

I wrote three book reviews for Bowling Green Daily News last week, and one for Edmonson voice.  I am currently reading three books at once. I am reading I, Ripper by Stephen Hunter for my book club on Saturday, and The Man Who Loved Birds for review, as well as a Higher Education book a couple of professors wrote (also for a review).

I am pondering dying my hair red… it also needs cutting.

As things are beginning to level out, I am going to start writing again.  I want to get back on the wagon, and really work on my witch novel, which will be my focus for November. I plan to finish it by the end of November, which means I need about 65,000 more words on it.  We shall see how that goes!

Surely I will start writing on my blog more as well. I am currently obsessed with the song Lost Boys by Ruth B. If you haven’t heard it – go look it up on Youtube.

Oh, and I’m obsessed with PokemonGo.  I’m level 21, almost 22.  SO MUCH FUN!

Laters my friends!

Back in Action!

Hello!

First, let me apologize for my disappearance.  July was a crazy month for me, full of interviews, anxious waiting and panicking, chasing my son around, and generally stressing about money as I didn’t have a job yet.

The good news, I have been hired as an Academic Adviser for the School of Professional Studies at WKU, and I started August 1st. It’s been a whirlwind of getting things figured out, starting my new job, and all such things.

Hopefully I will be back to posting on here soon, back to writing, and reading more and more.  After all, I have to get ready for NaNoWriMo…

Later!

Body Image – Always Something

My friend Monica Spees posted about body image issues today. She was really on point with how difficult it can be for women to deal with body weight issues.

It hit home for me, and I thought of what has been going on for me.  I had an interview yesterday, and that is always a stressful time. First impressions mean a lot. When doing research online, one of the things you often run across is that women who wear makeup are thought to make better impressions, its expected, and they usually fair better with first impressions.

I do not wear makeup. I generally try to wear it to interviews anyways. Problem is, I have Blepharitis according to my doctor.  I have always had issues with the skin under my eyes – constantly dark, and oddly wrinkled. Any time I brought it up with the doctor they would say it was an allergic reaction, or would give me a topical creme that didn’t seem to help. I never got a straight answer. Last year it started becoming worse, itching more often, becoming redder/darker and certainly reacting if I wore makeup for a special reason.

I brought it up with my new doctor, and he immediately told me it was that. It seems to fit. It’s awful. Can’t really be cured, except maybe with plastic surgery. So, yeah. Just have to deal.  I had my last interview yesterday.  My skin under my right eye was driving me bonkers. I couldn’t wear makeup, it would only make it much, much worse.

And it kills my self-confidence. Which is obviously an issue going into an interview. I think I overcame it.  I can’t help.  It’s not also something I can really explain in an interview. It’s depressing because it makes it look like I’m tired or never sleep. I hate it with a passion. Honestly, makeup doesn’t do a lot to cover it. Most people tell me they never notice it, but I know.

I have other body issues – certainly weight. However, I’ve made strides in accepting that. I have lost quite a bit of weight since having Xander two years ago, and actually weigh 15 pounds less than I did before I became pregnant. So that’s cool. Still have issues.  Still not at 140 like I want to be. But it helps.

It’s sad that I feel like I need to wear makeup to make a good impression. It’s sad that we feel like we need rock hard abs, or perfect bodies. There is no such thing. I hope that we will move past this eventually and change the way we feel about women/media/etc.

Remember that you are beautiful! Accepting ourselves may be hard, but it’s an every day thing. The perfect number on the scale does not equal 100% Happiness. It might make us feel better overall, but being happy in other ways is just as important, if not more so.

Throwback Thursday: Writing

Hello my friends! So I said I would do this two weeks ago, and I don’t think I did it last week. I wrote this my freshmen year in college… almost 8 years ago. It won first place in the short story writing contest at my college. So, here is an excerpt from an award winning short story of mine…

Vertical Suicide

Lives are spent learning who we are inside: what makes us tick, what triggers our anger and our tears.  As children we play, never worrying about reality until an event happens that brings that elusive thing crashing down upon our heads.  In that one moment we are forced to grow up, to change, and to truly learn who we are.

For most, we learn something new all the time.  It is impossible to know yourself completely, our environment changes too often for us to stay the same.   The search is never-ending, it will continue until the day we die.  Inside we struggle with ourselves, asking questions like “Why do I feel this way”, “Why can’t I do what I want”, and “Why can’t I change myself?”

Life is hard, a proven fact everyone knows.  From the single parent with three children working two jobs, from a homeless man on the street begging for your change, to the CEO of a company worrying he might cost someone a million dollars.  No matter what position you hold in society it never changes. Masks are worn every day, a smile when you want to cry, an “okay” when you want to scream.

My story is like everyone else’s. Except for one thing.  I have decided to tell mine. As people say, bravery isn’t the absence of fear; it is taking control of the fear itself.  I can’t run any longer.  There is no escaping the truth I see inside myself, no absolution in lying. Nothing can change my past and my choices, and until the day I admit them, there is no finding out who I am.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

            Rain fell in a heavy mist, coating the ground, the very air around me.  I twirled in that mist, feeling it on my face, my skin, the gentle caresses of nature.  My mind was on all the things that had happened.  From waking up that morning to seeing my boyfriend at school, everything was running through my head.  The day had been lovely, and I was returning home.  Walking up to the door, I heard screaming; furious shouting that seemed to make the world cave in, my happy day fading away till I was once again a hollow shell.  Sitting down on the step, the rain continued to fall, but now I no longer delighted in its caresses.  I simply wanted it to wash me away.

A few hours later, my mother noticed I was out there.  She said not a word, just opened the door as I walked in.  Neither one spoke to me, I simply walked to my room, and shut the door.  I did not know if the fighting would start again.  Usually it did.  So my defenses went up, the music blared, and my mind absorbed itself into another reality, a fantasy someone wrote for me to get lost in.

Sure enough, the fighting began again.  Something as simple as the remote being lost started it this time.  I wondered if the neighbors could hear it.  If the careful pretense my parents tried to keep up in town really fooled everyone.  In this day and age when people avoided the truth like poison I was almost sure no one saw the glances, heard the screams.

My fantasy world collapsed, that night, and as I had on so many others I cried myself to sleep; knowing I would wake up in the morning pretending nothing was wrong at home.  Tears stained my pillow, and the blankets wrapped around me, a false security.

The next day in psychology we learned about certain mental disorders, and things people do to themselves to stop pain.  I had heard about cutting but never really absorbed the true meaning of it.  That night as I walked through the back door to avoid my parents yelling in the living room, I realized how much I truly wondered if it worked.

A bathroom holds so many dangerous items; it wasn’t hard finding a sharp blade.  The razor slid across my wrist, a horizontal streak of red that slowly dripped down my arm.  The mirror stared back at me, and I could see the lies of my face.  The blonde hair that hung almost to my waist, the brown eyes that spoke of sorrows no one ever looked close enough to see, and the smile on my face.  The smile I showed everyone who looked at me, saying, “I’m fine.  Just fine.”

Even as the thoughts that I was crazy drifted through my brain, I could imagine the hurt in my heart, the scars it held, bled through that cut.  Soon I moved to the left arm, cutting it the same way.  I sat there watching the little amount of blood drain from the cuts.  Eventually I heard the yelling quiet, I drifted back into the world, and wiping up the blood, erased all evidence from that place.

My mother was asleep in her room, avoiding matters that pressed all around her.  The bills lay on the table unopened and unpaid till the last minute, and my father slept on the recliner. A wall was built around each one of us, separating our feelings and hiding our pain. I didn’t try to wake one of them up, I didn’t try to tell them how I felt. I simply dealt, and so I entered my room, to cry myself into another oblivion.

The next day I woke up hoping to start fresh, a new day, a new life.  Dressing I noticed the angry red welts on my wrists, and with a change of plan I grabbed a long sleeved shirt.  The hiding began that day, and slowly I sank even further.

On my way to school, I thought about what was happening.  I swore to never cut my wrist again.  I pulled into the school parking lot, and there was Derek.  He was leaning against his car, waiting for me.  I smiled, even though I was overwhelmed with fear.

What if he noticed the cut on my wrist?  I hoped he wouldn’t.  I didn’t know how to explain it otherwise.  As the car came to a stop, I fiddled with getting my backpack.  Finally, I gave up stalling, and got out.

“Hey.” He said in a slow drawl.

I smiled, while pulling down the sleeves of my shirt.  Thankfully it was a little big on me and the sleeves could cover my hands.  “Hi”

Derek wrapped his arm around me.  As we walked into school I noticed people staring.  We were more of the popular crowd.  Neither of us was the best looking at the school, but both of us were noticed.  Derek was one of the few happy things in my life lately.

I shook my head, trying to erase the thoughts from my mind.  We headed to our first class, English.  I talked to all my friends like nothing had changed last night.  So as the day went on, even though I kept the sleeves pulled down, I didn’t think about it.

My last class of the day was psychology.  We were still covering depression.  I kept my hands under the desk, and fidgeted the entire time.

Finally the bell rang and I was able to escape.  I met Derek by the car.

“Hey, Sarah, do you want to go to the park?”

I thought about it.  I really didn’t want to go home.  So, I agreed.

The park was a known place for making-out.  All the couples went there, even during the day.  The cops turned a blind eye till about midnight.

A few hours later, after we had gone to the pizza place for food, he took me back to the high school, so I could get my car and drive home.

We kissed goodbye, and as I drove off, tears began sliding down my face.  I didn’t understand what I was feeling.  Even though I had been sure to hide the cut all day, I wished someone had noticed.  That someone had seen what I had done to myself, and explained my own emotions to me.

Arriving home, I still knew nothing.  Confused, and hurt, I walked through my back door into the middle of a fight.  I managed to hold myself together, till I entered the bathroom.  Once I shut the door, I stated bawling.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

            I could talk about that day, about all the other days that followed.  How I pretended to care that the most popular girl in school was sleeping around with a bunch of guys, or that perhaps another had breast implants.  About how all the days at school were filled with meaningless rumors and endless battles to be the most popular.  Nothing changed there, and nothing changed at home. I came back to that… place every night.  My heart wasn’t there.  My home wasn’t in that house.  Every night I cut my wrists, and my thighs, every night I watched the blood that kept me alive in that miserable place pour from those self inflicted cuts.

My boyfriend, he never noticed.  That I wore long sleeves, that there was liquid foundation and powder on my wrists to help cover the scars.  Months after I made that first cut, and still no one noticed.  No one knew, and I played the game.  A game I hated.  Eventually he noticed I didn’t talk anymore about school, I didn’t attend all the sporting events.

When he did start to question what was wrong with me, when he finally noticed what was wrong with me, I ran.  I told him he didn’t know me, and never had.  That was it, my one chance perhaps of resurfacing and I severed it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

            The hot water fell on my skin, turning once pale flesh, angry and red.  Tears poured from my eyes like rain during a thunderstorm.  I simply stood there, wishing the world would go away; wishing that I just could wake up tomorrow and everything be different.

Slowly sinking to the floor, my hair hanging wet in front my eyes, the pain rattling my heart and seeping though my bones.  Fake was something no one should be.  Yet here I was, no one knew the real me… I didn’t even know who I was anymore.

The tears slowed, as a razor drew down my arm, vertically… the way to kill.  Pain I controlled, pain I could endure.  And as my heart poured onto the shower floor, I simply lived in that moment, the moment of my death.

(Promise the full story ends on a happy note)

Writing Habits Tag

This tag comes from Amanda McCormick!

Writer Habits

Where do you like to write:

I have talked about this on a previous post.  I generally write in my bed or on my couch because I have to watch my son.  I do write at work sometimes at lunch, and I have fond hopes of one day actually writing at my desk at home…

What program do you like to write with:

I write with Word. I love Scrivener, but I didn’t buy it last year, and I’m waiting to win Nano and hoping to get it this year.

What is your current writing project:

Oh my. Well, my blog is always an ongoing project.  I have my “Fated Destiny” story about a dragon rider (fantasy) that I hoping to one day complete. I’m currently working on what I have – it’s all printed out. I hope to edit it and go back and fix some large issues I have with it so I can keep the story going.  My current project for Camp Nano and Nano is “We Witches Three,” my new novel about… three witches!

Have you ever finished a novel? If so, when and what was it about?

No. Sadly. Lots of short stories.

What was the last project you completed:

Do essays for school count? My current issue is that I haven’t finish a novel.  I write many short stories though. Essays projects. Book reviews.

Do you snack when you write:

Ha.  Yeah. Way too much.  I love sour gummy things.  Or gummy worms (my current obsession is the all berry bag), as well as the gummy Sour Patch Watermelons. Oh how I love those.  There is always chocolate. I usually drink tea or coffee.

When is your favorite time to write:

My favorite time to write is when its raining. Sounds odd, but I love the sound of storms.  I sometimes play storm soundtracks to write otherwise.  I came up for my entire premise of “Fated Destiny” driving home during a storm one day, which started out life as a 17 page short story.  Other than that – early in the morning or late at night.

What music do you listen to when you write:

I have a playlist of music on youtube that is Celtic and instrumental. Storm soundtracks. And currently my new obsession is “Light of the Seven” from Game of Thrones.

How long have you been writing, and what inspired you – basically, why do you keep this habit of writing up:

I have been writing for as long as I can remember. My first real short story that I remember was for our portfolio in fifth grade and it was about everything coming to life when we left school. And the Pencil and Pen got married.  I love writing.  It helps in large part with complicated emotions.  My drama/English teacher in high school said that her best writers always had complicated pasts, things to deal with/not an easy childhood.  I can say that’s true for me as least. I love creating, and these ideas are in my head anyways. Might as well use them.

I tag Monica Spees (if you get tired of this just tell me) and any of my author friends who are reading this!

Camp NaNoWriMo Begins

It has begun! Camp NaNoWriMo begins! I am working on my new novel, We Witches Three, with a goal of 20,000.

I have not entered in all my data for last month for my various blogs and such so I won’t be sharing total word count for June until tomorrow.

I am off to great start for camp with 1000 words though, so yay!

I have new fantastic writing music: The Light of the Seven.

Dear me, it is glorious. If any of you watch Game of Thrones you probably know what I am talking about. And let me say, the finale for Season Six was amazing. And this song. Oh this song.

So it’s my new jam.

Night folks!

A Letter to George RR Martin

To George RR Martin,

I just watched the season finale of Game of Thrones. I am in awe, and in love, and possibly hate you with a tiny piece of my heart. I am everything that a fan of such a fandom can be.  You have created this world, this amazing place, and you have shared it with us. And for that, I am thankful.  They always say that many read as an escape. Escaping to your world, while dangerous if real, is truly wonderful.

I recently read several posts about you asking Stephen King about how on earth he manages to write so many books.  Facing backlash from not being able to finish “The Winds of Winter” on time, I know that you have dealt with your fair share of crazy, upset fans.  Who knows what people have said to you.  Lord knows we aspiring writers have often heard the advice of “Writers write. Pick a time. Sit down. Write words, rather they be good or bad.”  I’ve lived on the quote that for us writing is breathing.  And it’s often true.

And other times writing is not as easy as breathing. It can be hard, and painful, and I just plain stop.  I have an unfinished novel. I’ve been working on it for four years.  It is probably not even half way done, as I rewrote the whole dadgum thing after changing the viewpoint. Then I realized it had a fatal flaw, and just completely stopped early this year. Recently I dreamed up another novel, actually fully plotted this one out, wrote about 5000 words and hit a brick wall. I feel as if I need more research. I am unsure if my characters have enough “voice.” I remember the B’s and C’s I received in creative writing classes in college, and the times I did not win contests.  All of that overshadows everything good thing I have heard about my writing.  And that does not even matter, as much.  My self-doubt wins for the day.  And the writing waits.

You asked Stephen King if he never had a bad day, a day where he felt he had no talent, and thought maybe you screwed up and should have been a plumber or something.  All I can say is, I am so glad you did not.  You have given your readers (and/or watchers) an amazing gift in this world you have created.  Whatever demons you have battled to get this far, thank you for winning those fights.  Thank you for the rewrites, for the tweaks, and the words and the hours you have spent writing.

But more than anything else, thank you for showing me that you can be successful without writing every day.  I have tried to do this. I have tried to push myself through bad days and just get words on paper.  It is not how I function, apparently. I lay here, trying to sleep before getting up early to go to work, and I failed. Because I was thinking of that episode. I was thinking of your books.  I remembered that conversation.  And I finally realized that maybe I do not have to push myself the way I have been over the past year. Oh yes, it would be wonderful if every day I could sit down at a certain time and just write.  I am not, however, financially able to be a full time writer. I have nothing published.  I must work. I actually love my work. I have a husband and a toddler.  Life happens.  I’m tired of feeling guilty because I just could not write that day.  Or that I chose snuggling with my son over writing on my laptop. That I may not have the talent necessary to call myself a “writer” or an “author.”

I am tired of feeling like I must not be a writer because I cannot write every day.  You, sir, are an aspiring writer of unfinished novel’s dream come true.  Thank you for writing when you can. Thank you for pushing past your fears, and giving us this world that you dreamed, that you created, that you labor over.  Spend the days enjoying your fame, and talking to fans. Ignore the haters.  Write when you can, and as a reader of your books I do hope as often and quick as you can.

But as writer who finds it often times hard to write, Thank You for being honest about your process.  Thank you for not bowing down to deadlines and standards and common practice and churning books out like butter. I feel that they would not be what we wanted, anyways.  As you say, they would not be the best you could make them.  It may have been easier for you as a writer, and me as a reader, to be able to write every day and get them published.

Good luck writing,

A Writer Who Knows Nothing

Reading/Book Review Update

Oh me, oh my.

I’m having a hard time getting into a book this past week, for several different reasons.

First: Our book club picked “John Dies at the End” for June. The audiobook was on Overdrive, so I downloaded it.  I could not. I could NOT finish it.  The writing bothered me.  The tone bothered me.  There character drove me crazy. And from what I have been told, it got even crazier as it went on.  Only one person in my group liked it. I take that back, she LOVED it, and gave it five stars.  To each their own. I even tried to watch the movie on Netflix and made it about three minutes. To anyone who loved it, I’m sorry. I tried.

 

So, I think disliking that one so much but trying to listen to it as much as I could for book club kind of ruined for it me on the reading front at all.  That being said, I have several lined up I need to read. And I’m behind on book reviews. I need to review Queen Hereafter for the Edmonson Voice. I’m glad I get to review whatever I want for them.

'Third Target' an action-driven storyI have several books lined up for Bowling Green Daily News.  My review on “The Third Target” by Joel C. Rosenberg was published today. Check out the link for my full review, but overall it was a great read. There is death, destruction, politics and a bit of romance. It does have Christian overtones.  The overall politics are fascinating and slightly disturbing, since it is fiction but seems to ring so true to today. I have “The First Hostage” sitting on the shelf ready to read but I needed a small break from such topics.

I am reading “A Ghostly Grave” by Tonya Kappes, which was sent to me by BGDN. I am only about 20 pages in. It is … unusual. I thought it was a romance at first, but it seems to be more of a paranormal investigation type mystery – and the second in a series. I know I have two more coming from them, and possibly another on my shelf they sent.  I also have “The Drafter” by Kim Harrison to read. I’m actually really excited about that. I LOVED her Hollow series, and had been wanting to read her new Peri Reed Chronicles. She posted on her blog that they were looking for a few readers to get ARC’s of her second book in the series (The Operator). I wrote in, and talked about my blog, and that I could get my review published in the Bowling Green Daily News. I was picked for it, and will get The Operator in October. However, as a great surprise, her publishing company sent “The Drafter” (Which I had almost bought), along with an extra copy to give a friend to make sure we were all ready for the next one!

I have a few others I have bought myself that I want to read. Not to mention all the ones I’ve just been picked up or been given. I really wish I could make a living reviewing books and doing this all the time! Maybe then I would I wouldn’t be so behind…

So how do you handle being behind on your reading list? I’m ahead at least on my Goodreads goal! What do you do when you hit a book funk? When do you call it quits on trying to read something?

Parenting in Public: Judgement Come Forth

Today, my child was in a mood.  Now to begin with, he woke up at 6 am pretty happy.  But as the day wore on, with no nap in sight, we went back and forth a bit on the toddler mood spectrum.

For those of you who do not know my child, he is loud.  And I say it with love. I have a loud kid. He just is naturally loud. If you have met his father, you’d understand.  And generally, it really doesn’t bother me. Kids are loud anyways.  We chase each other with swords through the house screaming at the top of our lungs. We run yelling outside, and we dance like idiots. He is two. Some people I know love to tell me just how loud my kid is, like I haven’t noticed (that gets a bit annoying).

And he is a little extra loud. Oh, especially when angry.  And my child throws the occasional “I am utterly pissed and have no way to express it so I shall scream now” fits.  They aren’t fun. But they are rare.

I had Book Club today. An event I love, that happens once a month.  Most of the time Xander isn’t there – I usually tutor before hand so he stays in Brownsville with my awesome sister-in-law.  However, he does like Barnes and Noble, and today there was not tutoring. So off we went, backpack and shoes on, and he even got over not riding around in his car and having to get in the actual car, no problem.  He fell asleep. Ah, yes, the long awaited, oh so needed nap.

And shocking, he stayed asleep when I moved him to the stroller, for almost another hour. But when he awoke in Barnes and Noble, we went full on grumpy mood. I tried to appease him with trains, but there was another kid there, and he decided he just wanted to be held. And he stayed grumpy. He wanted to go outside to the car.

Honestly, I gave in. And I gave up. Because I know how loud my kid is, and especially just how loud he can scream.

And I hate the screaming. But even more so in public. It’s harder to deal with. It just plain is.  Parenting in public is difficult, and annoying. Even when your child is only minorly upset, you know you are instantly thinking about what everyone is thinking about your parenting. We have become a society that throws judgement around like we all know the perfect answer. And we don’t.

There are a million examples of this.  Mom bloggers.  Breastfeeding vs Formula. The recent gorilla incident, and then the Disney incident which ended much worse.  It takes a millisecond for other parents, or even NON parents (who honestly, can be much more frustrating), to start throwing out blame or advice. “I wouldn’t have done that” “Why wasn’t she watching her child” “Well, I never would have let that happen”

And on it goes.  And in public there are people who stare. And people who try to offer advice or judgement to your face.  Some try to be nice.  Some are downright rude.  And that, my friends, is stressful.

So yes, my child wanted to be held.  I held him.  Yes, he was grumpy and rude to my friends. He wanted to go outside, and screamed when we couldn’t walk through the window. I talked to him calmly, fussed at him, told him he could not talk to people that way. I put him in the stroller, and out we went.  And I just decided to leave.

Because no matter if I had continued to walk around holding him, or if I had let him sit in that stroller and yell at people or just be downright meant, it was no longer a fun experience for me. I can’t shop or talk about books or any of it, when I’m worried about my child. And really, I shouldn’t. I should do what is best for him and me. And in that moment, as much as I didn’t want to, leaving was it. We went and got him some juice.  We went and waited for his dad to go on lunch, and he heard birds and got all excited. So we drove from tree to tree while he said “here bird” and made that noise we all make to get dogs or cats attention. It was cute. And he was happy.  And I was less stressed.

So why did I go on this giant blog rant? Well, partly because a friend asked me to talk about this stuff more here so I’m trying that out.  Partly, because I’m still frustrated about something someone said.  Also, it’s been a rough day. I’m not sleeping well these days. Xander woke up at 6 am. My ear has been hurting nonstop all day.  He peed all over himself and his blanket and sheets when I tried to put ear drops in my ear, and then I had to give him a bath (which he loved). I went to make sure my dogs had water, and found a dead kitten by one dog’s doghouse. That upset me a lot. I drove to Bowling Green. I had a quiet hour with my friends, and then he was upset. It just was not the spiffiest of days. So when it came to dealing with the terrible twos, I took the easy road.

Posting this is opening myself up to all the advice, comments, judgement and drama possible in the land of internet.  And that is sad.  I hear people complain because we use Facebook to make ourselves look perfect. But if we ever open ourselves up to our insecurities, things go horribly wrong. People are mean and rude.  And Judgemental. At least most people in public couldn’t get the nerve to say to me what they would online (and we all know that is true). Then again, I have friends who love to repeat parenting advice, or give me that look when they disagree or really wish I’d let them handle it. I also have the friends/relatives who automatically try to yell at or discipline my child when I’m literally standing RIGHT THERE trying to talk to him.

It takes all kinds. It used to take a village, right? We used to give more support, and offer help, and just be nice to one another.  Now we feel like we have to one up one another in the internet land.  We say whatever we type, not thinking about how it affects someone else. And its sad.  We need to stop judging. I’ve seen some great posts from fellow moms who say the same thing. When you see a mom struggling, or doing something different from you, stop, think, and possibly just let it go.  They may be having a horrid day. They may not feel well.  But honestly, they know their child.  They know what works. And they know what actions will cause what.  It’s their choice.  Its their family. And as long as they aren’t beating the child in front of you, or doing something damaging, you need to let it go. I can work better on this than I do, even now feeling it from the other end.  So let us all breathe.

I know my child. I kiss his “hurts” and hold him when he cries, and get him to sleep at night.  There is two people on the a list that can pretty much say whatever they want to me about him and give me advice (and honestly, they hardly even do, which may be why they are on that list), and that’s about it.  I appreciate support, love and understanding.

(PS – Shout out to my book club for pushing my stroller for me, and following us around while I tried to make him happy.)

Oh The Treasures We Find…

So, I’m on a mission to get rid of stuff.  As I have way too much stuff. So does my husband, but he is a pack rat (I see most of his stuff staying) but I’m hoping to at least get it more organized and hidden in the back of our attic.

Going through a tote we took out of storage, I found these. Oh my.  From essays in high school, to all my poems, short stories and who knows what else.

This could get interesting.  As I’m trying to post more, my new idea is to do “Throwback Thursday” but with pieces of my writing.

Now you have that to look forward to 😛

Now to go back to the piles of crap to sort. Wish me luck!