Entries Tagged 'Uncategorized' ↓

If I can’t talk about myself, what is the point of having a personal blog?

Those of you closest to me know how shy I can be.  Most everyone else probably assumed I was a work-a-holic or hermit. I used to purposely take any shift that would eliminate the possibility of my having to deal with people in a social setting.  People have asked, but you were a waitress, didn’t you have to be outgoing?  As far as I was concerned, my customers weren’t individuals.  They were just a part of my job.  The more polite and friendly I appeared to be, the better I would be paid.  They didn’t see me as a person, either.  I was just someone who brought food and made sure everything was fine every so often. Everyone is the star of their own movie, there are only so many memorable parts in each film; I was perfectly content with waitress #92309854 in most of those films.

The past few years have been a period of great change.  Was it motherhood?  Honestly, I don’t think so.  If anything, that drove me further inside myself for a time.  Perhaps part of the change was moving back to my home, where I felt safer.  Whatever the cause I began to peek out of my shell and began to meet some people who are leaving a profound mark on my life.  Vicky and Shelley are the first women in my church I recognized as individuals rather than “church people.”  They serve as role models in my walk as a wife and mother, as well as in my faith.

In the world of blogging Dan and Janet have not only given me a well deserved kick in the butt on occasion, but opportunities and guidance as I work to change from a hobbyist to professional writer.  I cannot thank them enough.

Yesterday, several zombies milled around aimlessly, a camera was in my face, and I was not shaking with fear.  I was far from perfect, but I was there. Willingly. In college, I left my public speaking class in tears, leaving all of my belongings behind , to throw up when the professor brought in a video camera.  I called a friend who retrieved my coat and books (it was freezing) so I could go home.

Saturday I’ll be speaking at the CREATE South Conference.  These steps are miles from the girl who picked up shifts to avoid social obligation.

Have I ever mentioned just how much I love Spring in the Lowcountry?

Playing tourist with children in tow is exhausting.  I have lots of pictures to upload.  I miss playing with my camera and need to get back into the habit of carrying it with me.  I suppose once everyone is self-propelled the idea of camera lugging won’t be so prohibitive.

It’s haircut time.

Yay or nay?

I escaped.  I am catching up on local posts at the Atlanta Bread Company in N. Chuck and generally enjoying not having any children trying to perch on me as I type.  If only this were a regular escape and not due to screwing up and mixing up the time of an appointment.

I promise I’m still here. Kadie’s death took me much longer to process than I imagined. Yesterday was the first day I didn’t feel as though I were moving through molasses. I cannot imagine how her family is carrying on.

Tonight is the first time since it happened that I’ll be seeing others not involved with this event. It will be nice to get out.

Unrelated:
[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=afNIRFCiKEo&rel=1]
Ever since I showed this clip to Tim, taking pictures for Home Ec has become much more entertaining. In an ironic twist, if I get frustrated trying to get a good shot he’ll ask, “Did you scream at it?”It’s amusing, if nothing else.

I had a last chance to call to see how you were doing, to stop by, to see the baby, to do more than say we’d get together again soon; it passed and I didn’t know it until I got the phone call today. I keep going through my hard drive. Searching.

I know there was a picture of you happy, smiling with your baby girl. I can’t find it, I know I didn’t take it long ago. I remember meaning to e-mail it, so you could see yourself as I see you. I didn’t know it’d be the last.

My heart isn’t letting me believe what is on the news and in the paper. It doesn’t make any sense.

Someone tell me I wasn’t blind to a cry for help.

I think of your baby, cold, in last night’s rain. You had hoped it would snow.

Did you know that we hear every train that roars by?

Were you frightened? Sad?

We are.

Him: This roast beef is awesome.

Me: That’s ham.

I accidentally saved this instead of publishing it.

Two states, three point five kids, and a heck of a lot of patience.

Happy Anniversary, Tim.

Don’t mind us, we’re swimming in a sea of phlegm and Nyquil. Oh, but cold medicines aren’t OK for kids under six. I would like to get my hands on the morons responsible for the latest round of recalls. A potential for overdose? Obviously their children are over six and capable of wiping their noses on something other than their own sleeves. Saline spray my left foot.

I wouldn’t visit anytime soon if I were you. We’ve probably mutated the common cold into something lethal.

The neighbors are protesting the odor of vapo-rub permeating the neighborhood, and geeks lured by the scent, are circling the block like vultures drawn to a rotting carcass.

Sleep has become a rare commodity as the children and dog take turns throughout the night.

It’s time for a ramble through a jumble of thoughts.

I’m currently reading an atrocious series, but morbid curiosity drives me on.  I’m self-conscious checking the books out of the library, but I have placed myself under a book buying moratorium.  It embarrasses me to admit it is the Left Behind series.  I think these books had potential that was lost with very mediocre writing.  How fun would it have been to have someone like Stephen King handle the story?  Of course they would have been boycotted on principle. If the characters weren’t flat, the conversation so forced, and the actions so hokey, they would be much more interesting.  Yet, like most of Jane Austen I soldier on to see what all the noise is about.  The redeeming quality?  The writing is so light that one novel only takes a couple of hours and can be stopped and started with no loss.

I find it highly embarrassing to be applauded for using the restroom by my sons.  “Wow mom! You did a great job peeing.”  I hate that I have to be so careful and take them into the stalls with me. I know my life will not always revolve around excretory actions, but some days I truly miss privacy.

I’m currently procrastinating.  I should be writing about turkey thawing, cornbread baking, and possibly a reminder to watch the teens if alcohol is being served.   I should also be looking around the local blogosphere, but  I already spent far too long on that this morning even though the output was small.  I should also be writing frugal bloggers and inviting them to join the aggregator on Home Ec 101, but I think I’m going to wait until Tim is home to get the children out of my hair.

I canceled my gym membership, yesterday.  The childcare room is just too gross to have to pay $3 a visit to use. Nine dollars a week on top of the monthly fee is just obnoxious. I also don’t like my kids watching TV, so I guess I have to suck it up and figure out how to do it at home.

I find it a little sad that it took three tries to be immediately and completely in love with one of my babies.  Yes, I just broke one of motherhood’s big taboos.  I own up to not have mooshy gooshy feelings about squalling, screaming bundles of need.   I love my boys, but there is a world of difference between cranky and content babies.  I thought Mark was “good” after my experience with Aidan’s colic.  It took Ellie to show me how sweet it could be.  Maybe it’s partly due to knowing she’s the last.  Whatever it is, I’m enjoying the feeling, although  I’m sure I’ll pay for it in her teen years.

Uh oh, the boys are giggling.  Any parent will agree my immediate attention/intervention is probably needed.