Blog Blog Go away, Come again Another Day

Blessings of the Day.

Every morning, whether it's raining or shining, I wake up to fresh air. Air filled with the scent of damp, fertile earth and oceans of blossoms. Occasionally during the spring, it's a little too fresh-- as in animal freshness -- but for the most part, the air is sweet. I never give it any thought. I rarely take a moment to just breathe.

Every morning I wake up to the antics of my quick, lively children-- whether or not I want to. And there are days I don't want to. Take yesterday, when I heard them down in the dining room giggling and hiccuping in their hysterics while I was dressing... only I discovered they weren't in the dining room. They were on the trampoline in the back garden. All four of them, in their pajamas, outside at 7 am. My poor neighbors. I bet there's mornings they don't want to wake up to my lively children as well.

Every evening, I hear the "silence" of a house that's truly lived in: the washer spinning and making it's "preparing for take off" noises -- the occasional 50p coin clanging against the door, the dishwasher humming away at a plethora of uneaten food holding fast to our mis-matched dishes, the sigh of my computer as I pull it out of the deep sleep.

That may not be quiet to you, but after a day with toddler that can call dogs from miles away, and boys bickering over whose Match Attacks cards were left in the toilet-- that's quiet.

And in that quiet as I look back over the day, I have my moments of "I wish I had...".
None of which ever includes, "...spent more time on my computer while my bottom half grows larger".

So today, you're receiving this post through the magic of blogger scheduler. The heavy breathing Mac Baby isn't coming on. I'm going to attend A2's recognition ceremony for the Museum Club he participated in; say good bye to a great guy retiring from the Air Force and kiss grubby little faces (my children, not my husband's military friends) while letting the unswept dog hair swirl around our play. I will enjoy the noise and the quiet. for one day.

Surely I won't suffocate if my mouse is removed from my hand and connections to this addiction is severed for just one day....

Just breathe....

My Dad is Missing

If you've come for a giggle, today may be the day to go surfing by.

I'm answering a question on david mcmahon's blog: "What's the most important thing you've ever lost?" Some may think I instantly answered, "my mind" but my thoughts went immediately to my Dad.
It was over 30 years ago, so it surprised me that it was the first "lost" I could think of (I regularly lose keys, children, my temper and most recently-- the oil bill... not a good loss). So I've pondered it a bit and considered what I lost from his early death.

When my dad left on an out-of-town bowling trip, I never expected he wouldn't come back. I lost that invincible feeling all children should have.

When he left behind a grieving widow, I also lost my Mom. She worked two jobs and went through years of anger--at him for leaving her behind.

I lost the man who would let me ride my bike to work to see him. He worked at the Glen Canyon Dam, and amidst all of the turbines, dripping tunnels and bright yellow hard hats, I liked "his" snack machine the best.

There would be no more midnight drives talking on the CB radio when he bowled an amazing score.

As for driving, without him to drive, we no longer did our annual 3-day drive to Kentucky to see family.

I lost my privacy. It's not always good to tell a prepubescent girl that her daddy still watches over her all of the time. I hid myself while on the toilet, in the bathtub, while changing clothes.

I lost my immediate family (Mom, brother and sister). We all kind of just went separate ways--well, everyone else went their own way, I was 13, where was I going to go?

I went to drugs. When my dad died I lost my innocence. Swimming among kids who lived for the next high or shot of tequila, I lost sight of my dreams.

I lost 11 inches of hair on a party night. My dad would never let me cut my long, thick hair and since he was gone, I let a drunk cut it all off. I've only managed to let it get that long again once in 30 years-- but it wasn't thick and shiny. It was an older person's over-processed hair, so I never saw it pretty like that again.

When I found my way back to some normalcy (as normal as a 17 year-old girl basically raising herself can get-- Mom may have hit a mid-life crisis in here somewhere), my father wasn't at my theater productions, choir performances, High School Graduation, or when I graduated from college.

At my wedding, he wasn't there to give me away. A white Calla Lily sat on the chair that would've been his.

He has never held my children, never heard A2's infectious giggle, or marveled at A1's beautiful dimpled smile; heard J1 rock the house with his drums, seen J2 leap straight up in the air to block a goal or watch us all fall head-over-heals for a little mischievous baby girl.

I lost the ability to trust that we will see each other again tomorrow.
Which is a good thing, I think.

One night, during a terrible time with our oldest son, I spent the whole night worrying that he would take his life and leave this planet thinking we didn't love him. But I did love him. With all of my heart. I just wanted to ring his neck, not lose him forever.

I also gained a beautiful man as a step-father, and saw my Mom emerge again.

I would've never joined my church, met my husband (had these destructive Spring Breakers--I mean blessings!) and moved all over the world.

And because I wouldn't have moved away from my family and friends to a new country where I sat alone while my husband played in the sand in the Middle East, I may have never felt lonely enough to start blogging.

And I would've missed out on you.

The people whose comments make my heart smile and posts sometimes makes it cry.
And that, my friends, isn't a loss at all.

Great Reads for the Weekend

I have not been a very good bloggy friend. If you've noticed I haven't stopped by, it's because I've started a new blog over on cre8Buzz and it is taking all of my brain power (all 2 oz I had left) trying to customize my page. And, I still haven't sorted the mess out with my web browsers/hard drive/whatever. I am sooo left behind in this computer age.
So today, in the 5 minutes I had without an extra growth or two clinging to my leg or smearing snot onto my shirt (no, I don't mean that I am smearing snot on my shirt), I caught up on a little reading.

IF I had actually noticed that I wrote my 100th blog when I did, I might've told you 100 things about me (highly unlikely, but still). On that list would have been:
#99). I am a gleaner. Not so original, but I can glean like nobody. Scrap booking? I can monkey a page, but don't expect me to come up with my own idea. Web Surfing? The hubby often brags to his coworkers how I can manage to find the most amazing deals/photos/blogs/You Tube videos etc.... Now if I could turn that talent into a lucrative venture, hmmmmm.

#100). I share real good. (No more room to mention my eloquence and fantastical grammatical abilities).

So today in my un-interrupted 5-minute bloggy bliss, I harvested some real treasures and it's my pleasure to share them with you.

First, for a real belly laugh, check out Tammy's weekend posts (posted ahead since she somehow is escaping from real-life for the weekend). I love this girl's wit. She's the one you want sitting in your living room when you find out your hair dye (that just sat on your head for 25 minutes) has been contaminated with hair removal. You'd still laugh.

To purge yourself of any apathy that may have crept in with this crazy new ice age we've plunged into, check out a story about Allie on Such Simple Pleasures (a wonderful blog with a lot of heart).

And a beautiful picture of Olivia, the third child and only daughter of Tara-- a SAHM who is also a Pastor's Wife, living in waaaay below zero temp. in Canada.

Flea wants you to think about what's really important to you, and after you're done answering her question, see what Fred and Bessie are up to now, and check out the video of Star Wars....

David McMahon's blog is one you really can't afford to miss a day of. He posts funny news stories from around the world; beautiful, original photos and tips on how to achieve them; Post Of The Day where he honors posts he's gleaned and interviews with bloggers. Nice guy!

Last, Kathryn has just posted her 100th (dang, how did I miss this milestone? And was my 100th some lame thing? I'll have to check). She's a daily read for me, but the post that touched me the most (and put her on my computer speed dial), is the Happy Birthday Dad post she did in Nov. 2007. This is an absolute, do not miss, read.

There are others I should mention and others I read and wish I knew where the heck I found them (anybody know where I read the blog about the 20-something woman who started a cow farm with the hubby and decided to give it up and is now about to board horses????), but my freed-leg time is over... and Miss Ky has emptied out an entire box of batteries.
I love my life.

We're all In the Gutter, but some of us are looking at the stars*

To be so young and carefree. I can't tell you the last time I sat in the sunlight buck-nekked and picked sock lint out of my toes.

I have been reluctant to come out and play because
1. WOW --the depression-slap upside the head this week.
2. After reading so many really cool blogs, I am beginning to wonder if I really have anything to say. (Doesn't mean I won't say something... have you seen me try a wordless "any" day?)

So now I am pondering the psychology of blogging.

I first began my blog because I was really fed up with where my life was (or wasn't) going. I googled (insert unhappy wife/mom/Air Force dependent etc... here), and happened upon a blog... that was telling my story. From there, I clicked on more links and found my spirits lifting. I began to feel like I was connected to these people somehow and feeling like what I was experiencing was o.k.

In the weeks that followed, I did find a few blogs that basically told me I was a selfish person for not reveling in the joys of wiping snotty noses and throwing unsalvageable underpants out for the third time in a week, but the great thing about blogs is how quick you can leave the offending post (wait, that wasn't your cue to leave).
The bad thing as a blogger is that I have entered this "need to perform" mode. You know, I need this post to be better and funnier than the one before.
Crap.
That's the whole problem with face-to-face friends, isn't it? It's the very rare friendship that we let down our guards showing who we are, quit entertaining and allow the friendship to really deepen. We take that risk of exposing all of our ugliness and still being liked.

THAT's what blogging is supposed to be doing for me, but somewhere in there I started worrying.
I worried about posting how I have every intention of changing my nationality if Hillary becomes president. I worried about sharing something that lifted me spiritually during the week--I wasn't ready for anti-God comments. I worried about becoming annoying with stories of my kids, and what sicko may be reading them.

I worried that someone might steal my photos. I worried that in my newby-ness, I may have committed the unpardonable blogging sin... Should I have asked you before I told everyone reading my blog how great your blog is? Putting your link in my side-bar, is that like posting your unlisted phone number (or worse, like sending you email 'forwards')?

I actually dropped my mask one day. The day I received the news that President Gordon B. Hinckley passed away, I wanted to acknowledge it, but did so thinking, "well, there go a few of my bloggy friends".
But you didn't go. Some of you left kind comments, some of you just ignored it and that was ok too. And maybe our bloggy relationship just grew a little bit, if only on my part.

This is me, this is who I am.

I have suffered some sort depression, probably linked to childbirth, on and off for a few years. I pull out of it and appear like I am doing fine, but then something major happens-- like the ketchup bottle falling out on a tile floor-- and I get slapped back down. I'd like to think it's a chemical imbalance and my body will sort itself out (yep, and then along comes MENOPAUSE).

In the meantime, I blog because writing interests me.
I read blogs, because I like knowing there's life outside my nappy-changing, nose-wiping, bed-makin', toilet-scrubbing, three-ring circus.
I am an artist that hasn't done ANY art in at least 5 years, and haven't painted seriously for 11 years. Yikes, seeing that actually typed... ouch.
I laugh a lot when my body isn't fighting me, and enjoy humorous blogs as well as the tear-jerkers and posts that have me rooting for the under dog (you know, aka: mom).

I go to church every sunday and some days in between. My family says prayers together, we eat our meals at the table together, and we drive each other mad... together.

I have no problem with any other religions and am actually fascinated in hearing our differences.

I don't like my food to touch, but I don't think it's bordering on nutty, I just take a lot of time getting flavors just right and don't want one taste to contaminate another.

I love taking pictures, and if someone wants to steal them, I will be flattered, but I will hunt them down (and force them to spend a week in my house with my kids).

So, now that we're opening up, I feel I can be a little more honest with you...
and tell you

I've NEVER sat nekked picking at my toes.
However, Miss Ky is obsessed with it (shoes and socks come off with every car ride), and she's a happy baby, so maybe ...?

*Oscar Wilde

My Drug of Choice

I read on someone's blog how comments left on a post is her "crack". I wish I knew where I read it so I could give her credit for such an accurate comparison.
I can be having one of my moodiest mornings and with a quick check of the email -- VOILA! mood gone.
You know who you are... to see your name in my mailbox brightens my day. I love "getting to know" you through your stories of your children, the trials of a parent's illness, the sad passing of your beloved cat, your struggles and accomplishments.
Here's something silly about me you may (not) want to know:
I almost got to the point of hero worship of one blog. I lurked for weeks, eagerly clicking on the quick link I made in her honor, anticipating what was going to happen with the dawning of each brand new day. I was never disappointed... well maybe once when she made several jokes about Republicans (wait! Don't go away, I'm a good person, really!)(oh, and the jokes were hilarious). I loved her wit and admired her great writing style.
So imagine how silly I (should've) felt when I yelled from my cold, little computer room, "Hey! I have a comment from ____!"
I was beaming (She knows me! She knows who I am! She read my blog!).
My dear husband, who occasionally has that look on his face (the look of 'is-this-normal-or-is- she-about-to-fall-of-the-edge?) smiled... it didn't reach his eyes.
I just couldn't expect him to understand. He doesn't drink, smoke or do any kind of recreational drugs---come to think of it, with his job, he rarely does prescriptions--- so it would be hard for him to understand how the woman who just had a mouth-frothing tirade over a box of tea cakes being opened (meant for said woman's Mum in the States) could come out of the room with a silly little euphoric smile on her face--over a stranger's comment.

So comment away.
I do look you up and I usually discover that there's a reason we were drawn to one another's blog.
I should warn you though, that I am pretty hard to get rid of.

I once met a nice lady on Ebay whose daughter's love for Disney's The Little Mermaid almost matched mine (she was only 6, there was still time). She purchased a Tyco Ariel doll from me that I had 6 of (don't ask). We've been pen-pals for 7 1/2 years now. We send birthday cards, photos of the kids, Christmas letters and I can't even list all of the thoughtful things she has done for me. How great is the internet? And how great is blogging?!