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

Photographer's Anonymous

I just picked up my prints at ASDA (your Walmart). I usually upload them via my Macbaby, but since it is a Mac and the general world is geared for Winbloze, I can only download ten at a time. So, to save time, we drove to Norwich.
I stood in front of the photo machine long enough for my husband to investigate the entire store, and then made friends with the elderly man behind me while we waited for the 4-foot long receipt to slowly print out.
It was a little embarrassing. Not that I had 928 prints made (and very few duplicates), but that I could only say that these were photos from December and what has passed of January.

Yes, I have a problem.

That's the first step, admitting it, right? Is there a 12-step program to weaning myself from documenting EVERY single moment in my life? Doesn't everyone have a camera on them at all times? Normal people may run into a house fire to save their cat-- I would save my photos, and hope the cat was a good runner (save your PETA-mail, we don't have a cat) (I do now have 928 new prints).

It was a little funny when I handed the clerk my ticket and she opened the puny little drawer to discover my order wasn't in there and then walked to a corner of the room to pick up this massive carrier bag (have you ever held 928 photos at once?). She smiled and said, "Just a few photos today?" What do you say to that?

"Wait 'till you see NEXT month's!"

My husband said, "maybe buying you that bigger disk wasn't a good idea." (nor was the extra SLR, a telephoto lens that can cook your breakfast, the newer iPhoto and extra hard drive to store everything on...) I love you honey!

The Rescue

I have so many things I'd like to post, but I keep finding the coolest things on other blogs (and since I am basically a monkey when it comes to coming up with my own ideas... I am doing this one too). Painted Maypole has a Monday Mission. You basically write a post in the form of a movie synopsis.


She thought her chances were long gone. She had resolved to living a life among a sink full of dishes hardened with the morning's half-eaten oatmeal, baskets of dirty football clothes caked with mud and undiscovered smashed bananas slowing turning to goo under the car seat.
She had given up everything: a college degree, childhood dreams of fame, her art--her passions--for this life and spent most of her time trying to remember why. Oil paints sat under the stairs collecting the dust that she so maniacally tried to keep from taking over her foyer, untouched and still in the box from two prior moves. They were probably not any good anymore, the oil having seeped out of the lids long ago, but she held on to them. It was the only thing she could control in the constantly changing life as a military wife.
But one dismally gray day changed it all. A life line, thrown out in hopes of saving anyone who could have survived, falls within her reach....


Alright, it was a package, but hey, I am desperate here. The post brought a Christmas gift from my friend today that was probably one of the best care packages I have ever received. The box was stuffed full and I kept pulling things out like it was Mary Poppin's bag (which can resemble Miss Ky's Diaper bag on any given day). She was so thoughtful-- there was everything from Green Chile Carmel Popcorn (don't knock it, green chile can do some amazing things to sweets!) to Eagle Ranch Pistachio turtles and scrap booking goodies (you know, for that rash of scrap booking I will accomplish when I am not busy reading blogs).
Despite the miserable way Christmas morning started this year, this Christmas was my best yet (Hey, "it was my best day ever"! I finally got to say it) and it just keeps coming.