hillbilly flare

I have a rule. When we move, which we do on occasion, I willingly pack up the house. And then I willingly unpack the house once we've moved. And when I say willingly, I mean I have control issues and so this is simply the best for everyone.

I let the man and his man friends move boxes and lug furniture and work their butts off on moving day. I still feel as though I have worked harder than anyone.

Don't argue with me, I really want this one. And definitely don't ask the guy who has to help with the piano.

Anyway, we got the keys to the new house three weeks ago and so we have been taking loads over every now and then. Last Saturday, the man secured a trailer from a very brave friend, on condition that the man not put his homemade anvil in it. Yes, the man made an anvil, see above picture. It weighs three million pounds. Anyway, most of the boxes had already been moved, by me, in my truck, so the man suggested we start moving furniture. Get a jump start, so to speak. Him and me. Moving furniture. I scoffed.

"No thanks, that's not my job." But, the bruises spread all over my thighs and my aching back are indication enough that I have been moving furniture. And boxes. Many many boxes.

Boxes up the stairs, boxes down the stairs. Stupid stairs.

Boxes are heavy.

Today I went over to unpack some of the kitchen and all of my food storage. I wanted to get it out of the way since when we moved it into the house we totally put it in the way.

What I learned today as I unpacked the whole wheat flour and the multi-grain flour and the pastry flour and then the white flour and more white flour and then some more white flour and then another bag of whole wheat flour is that I have a lot of flour.

Maybe too much flour. And that also, I have a problem with platters. And little platter type sets with little plates and little bowls and fun, but little, things to put tiny little pickles in and maybe some olives. Little olives. And maybe some sauce of some sort?

I don't even know what to do with these things. They are so tiny.

Anyway, we are well over half moved and I have done well over half of that myself.

Okay, probably not but my back would argue that it is, in fact, truth. I agree with my aching back.

In other news, here is a video of Amelia trying to get her front tooth out of her head. I wish it would come out already as it is hanging from her mouth in such a way that it gives her a real......how do you say......hillbilly flare?

the beginning to a happy weekend

It's a yucky, drizzly rainy day. It's also cold. It seems like the perfect day to curl up with a heating pad, a diet Pepsi, a bottle of Advil and last night's episode of Grey's Anatomy and wallow in the fact that my uterus is having a temper tantrum.

Except my heating pad is packed and even worse than that, I think it's already at the new house.

The Advil is taking forever to work. The Diet Pepsi is cold though, and ohhh so good.

Last night I went to book club and I will admit now, that I think I am broken when it comes to book club. Out of the last 12 books we have read I have liked maybe two of them. Everyone else seems to like them. What's my deal? I just want to be entertained. Is that too much to ask?

But....everyone else seems entertained. Most of the time.

I must be broken. All books entertain, of course. There is a girl at book club who is entertained by every book she reads. She just accepts it for what it is and allows it to entertain her. Why can't I do that? Is it a euphemism for my life? Am I refusing to be entertained? I might be missing the fun.

My PVR keeps skipping. It's so annoying.

I think the Advil just kicked in. The pain has diminished and I am no longer making sense. I should go back to bed.

Last night, at book club, I was looking around the room and I was thinking how fun it would be to write a short story based on all the women in my club. Fiction, of course, but use them and their personalities as the characters. It would be fun. And funny. I wonder how many of them would agree. Probably not many.

Grey's just got real sad-like.

I'm supposed to bake a couple pies for a potluck tomorrow. Geez, how old-fashioned did that sound? But I think my uterus and I just voted for one of those gigantic pies from Costco.

Happy weekend everyone. I have some *packing to do.

*That may or may not be code for something else.

sending all my love

Packing up a house to move is a fascinating experience. It doesn't seem to matter how many times I move I still end up going through stuff and finding stuff and loving stuff. Like this picture of Amelia that I stumbled across.



Honestly......

I am all over this move like white on rice. Like flies on stink. Like a duck on a June bug.

Don't ask.

The man and I have been taking loads over to the new house here and there. It's been a good workout. But back to the stuff I am finding.

Remember the days of CD's? If you are old, like me, then you remember having an extra $15 bucks kicking around and deciding to spend it on a CD.

How does HMV stay in business? Does anyone know? And RV lots. How do they stay in business?

I digress. I'm very tired. I digress because I am very tired. I blame Frozen Planet. Have you seen that show? It is pure awesomeness. And I will stay up 'til all hours watching it. And also, I had to register all the kids in their new schools yesterday and that was three schools and that is a lot more paperwork than seems humanly possible.

Or necessary.

Anyway......

I found a box of CD's. Old dusty CD's with broken cases. Ancient. From like the late 1900's.

Motley Crue, Haywire, Bad English, Dino, Quiet Riot, ZZ Top, Ozzy Osborne, Bel Biv Devoe, Black Sabbath to name a few. And by the way, who is this man I married with this most diverse music selection?

My CD's, on the other hand, well......they speak for themselves.

Utah Saints, Roxette, Jesus Jones, every Phil Collins album ever made, Bon Jovi, Tom Cochrane, Sting, some random dance mixes, U2. But the pièce de résistance? The proverbial icing?

Linear.



Ohhhhh, my Linear album. How that album saved me from the heartbreak of '89. The year I broke it off with Jeff. Jeff, who was one year older than me but one grade behind me in school. What can I say? I didn't judge. Or, I didn't judge nearly hard enough, if you ask my dad. Whatever. We dated and when it ended, in true 16 year old form, I acted heartbroken. Although, I don't think I was too terribly heartbroken. I did, however, feel obligated to the drama of a devastated 16 year old girl who was saying good-bye to her first love. There was a certain pull towards the drama, thanks to Beverly Hills 90210, and I grabbed ahold and allowed it to swallow me whole.

We broke up in early summer but we worked together. It was ridiculously torturous. Then my parents made me quit so we could go on holidays. We drove down to Disneyland. All I did on that 2 day journey was lie on my back on the seat of the van and listen to Linear.

Sending All My Love. And, of course, the appropriately named Heartache, with it's totally awesome synthesizer solo in the middle. I used to fantasize I was playing that awesome solo with this awesome band at pep rallies while Jeff was longing for my love from the bleachers of our high school gym.

Over and over and over again, I listened to this absurd album and found some serious solace at the end when the 8 minute club remix of Sending All My Love came on. I went through batteries on my trusty ol' Sony Discman like there was no tomorrow. And as far as I was concerned, there may as well not have been a tomorrow.

Linear. They were a thing.



For real.

life lessons. part 2

So no one wants my free stuff. I don't want it either so I get it. Whatever, Kijiji will eat it up. Just you wait and see.

I know there is one thing you do want for free, though, and that is my advice. Because my advice is awesome.

Completely and totally awesome. And free.

Remember awhile ago when I shared some extremely valuable life lessons with you? Things I learned the hard way? Things that I figured you couldn't live without? Well, I have more for you.

Lots more. Shall we start?

1. When you are getting ready for church and you want to lotion up your feet because you always lotion your feet, and also, it's nice out and you've been wearing flip flops and now your feet are getting all crusty, think twice. Think twice because you will probably be putting your big tall heels on. Your feet might then slide all over inside your pretty black patent heels and if you're lucky enough to not break your ankle trying to walk to your truck then your feet will slide all the way down to the toes of your shoes and the lesson you are trying to teach to the people will be torturous because your feet hurt so bad.

NO LOTION!

2. When you get the bright idea to buy one of those energy bracelets from the mall because you think it might change your life for the better, take into consideration that it may also change your life for the worse. And when you wear it for 8 days and you are so viciously cranky you start googling demonic possession you'll be smart enough to take it off. You may be so pleased with yourself for figuring it out but then, after a week, you'll forget how bad it was and put it back on. But then....... eight days later.....

DON'T PUT IT BACK ON!

3. When you are getting ready for church and you decide your hair should be straight you should think twice before you straighten it. Ask yourself a few questions first. Like: is it hot outside? Do I have to teach a lesson today? Because you know that teaching makes you sweat and sweat and straightened curly hair do not mix. Then ask yourself: did I lotion my feet and are they going to slide down my pretty black patent heels and end up crammed, in agony, at the toe? Because this stress will add to your sweaty scalp whilst you're teaching the people and by the end of the second hour of church you'll want to cry because not only do your feet hurt so bad but also, you look like a Bohemian. Frizzy hair. Bohemian.

GO CURLY!

4. If you move yearly keep your packing boxes because, well....you move yearly.

KEEP THEM!

And yes, I do keep them. Because I move yearly.

5. When you ask the wee one to help you pack up her room because you are moving, again, and she says you can pack up 'most' of her toys because she can wait a couple of weeks to play with them, you believe her. You believe her because you know that she doesn't really play with those toys anyway so what could possibly be the big deal? Well, when she cries herself to sleep every night for 2 weeks because the toys are already at the new house you can kick yourself for your awesome efficiency and also your wicked stupidity.

PACK THE WEE ONE'S ROOM LAST! LAST!

6. Always carry a block of wood with you. This way you can knock on it when you proclaim to your progeny how awesome your 3 year old hot pink flip flops are doing. The knowledge of another year with your favourite flip flops will brighten your day and lift your spirits. You'll be so pleased when it's nice enough out to wear them that you'll just have to say something. Out loud. But....if you don't knock on the wood you have in your back pocket then shortly after your enthusiastic proclamation your favourite flip flops will break. On the first wear of the season.

KNOCK ON THE WOOD!

7. Don't be surprised when you drive a bucket of army men back and forth from the old house to the new house 4 times because no one has listened to your specific instruction that it is getting donated and there is no need to take it to the new house. You unpack it from the truck, yourself, 4 times and wonder each time: what is the point? No one listens. Save your breath.



SAVE YOUR BREATH!

Breath is good. Wood is good. Wee ones are good. Packing boxes are good. Curly hair is good. Energy bracelets are not good. Lotion is good. Just not before church.

Life lessons are good.

sometimes

It's been a dark few days around here. Sometimes dragging myself out of the hole is the most energy I can muster until the storm passes. Sometimes it's not so bad, but then sometimes it is.

This was one of those times. I can feel it lifting now and every time it does I feel like the luckiest lady alive. To have survived another month.

Such drama, no? But seriously........

My latest story is up with Art a la Carte. You can read it here.

It was a tough one to write. I am constantly amazed at what people are faced with in this world and how unfair their situations can be. And not to just them, but to the people who love them.

Such sadness.

killing time

The plan was to be exercising by this time today since I do that now. But then I got an email telling me that Downton Abbey Season 2 is available at the library waiting for me to go get it. But....I have to wait for the library to open so I can go get it.

So who's waiting? That's right. Me.

Why is it that sometimes when I work out it feels so light and easy and sometimes it feels as though I am dragging a cruise ship behind me? Up hill. In 5 feet of snow. I'd be a lot more inclined to strap on my $200 Nikes if I didn't think I would be cursing them when all is said and done.

Sometimes it's just brutal, youknowwhatimean?

I am addicted to Draw Something. I have 12 games on the go. And I hate it when I have to wait for someone to take their turn.

Come on, people! DRAW!!!!

The man and I laugh our brains out trying to figure out what this garbage is someone else has drawn and sometimes it takes me hours of thinking about it before I finally get it. Like yesterday 'da artist' drew a pharaoh but really it looked like a gingerbread man cookie with a weird yellow hat with a cowlick on top. She/he drew what turned out to be pyramids in the background but they actually looked like corn on the cob. I was very confused for a very long time and then the man and I exclaimed "pharaoh" at the same time. But then we spelled it pharoah and the game said we were wrong and I yelled at the screen "that is how you spell pharoah you dumb iPhone!"

Yesterday I learned how to spell pharaoh. So Draw Something is actually an educational tool and not a waste of time.

I even got Holden out of bed to help figure one out. He's freakishly good at it. Don't tell anyone I needed the 9 year old to help me, past his bedtime.

I still have 20 minutes before the library opens up. Let's see, what else do you want to talk about?

I guess I could/should start packing my house to move. On Sunday we took the kids to see the new house and to pick their bedrooms. The house seemed way smaller than I remembered. The walls are in bad shape and they need to be painted. The people who lived there patched some stuff and did a terrible job. The light bulbs were mostly burned out. We walked around looking at all the things that could stand to be changed. I left discouraged and down trodden.

The point I am trying to make is that I need to get over myself and suck it up. I am very fortunate to be going where I'm going and I need to remember that.

But then I found out that the elementary school in that community is bursting at the seams and my two littles will most likely have to go to school a million miles away. This makes me terribly unhappy.

Terribly.

I am hoping it's just the PMS talking and that in a weeks time I won't care anymore. But these little inconveniences remind me of the frustrations I have with the school board here, which are frustrations I don't want to deal with because there are other things I want to deal with. I get all fired up about it and I want to picket and threaten and stomp my feet and get my way.

Who builds a school that doesn't accommodate the community it's built in? Who was in charge of that? Morons.

So......12 more minutes.

Yesterday I took the kids to pick paint colors for their new rooms. Jack wanted burgundy, dark burgundy and Amelia wants a colour called Hot Lips.

So yesterday, I picked paint colours for the kids new rooms.

8 more minutes. I guess I should put some shoes on.

If you need me I'll be huddled in the corner getting my Downton on.

Cheerio.

jailhouse rock

When one wakes and discovers one is PMSing one tends to be bitter and annoying unto others until one watches this video thirty-seven times.

Make sure you watch till the end because it will rock your world.

my life's ambitions. the finale

What is this place, you ask? What has the last four days been about? What is she going on and on and on about? Well, let me tell you. The last four days of me babbling away has led me to this place where I think I have it figured out. Or at least I have found the road that will lead me to a place that is all figured out.

And that was the point. Was it not?

My options are so different and so all over the place depending on what it is I wanted. But when I sat down and tried to figure that part out I was so overwhelmed with trying to pinpoint where my thoughts started and where they ended. I decided to talk it out.

Or write it out, so to speak. This is what began, 4 days ago. My life's ambitions. What are they?

So the writing began and guess what? It worked! Oh glory day! It worked. The last few days I have weighed and measured my choices and compared and contrasted them to what I want in the future. I have crossed things off the list and added things that were never there before. I have made plans and appointments and there are knots in my stomach that are related to excitement and eagerness and not stress and anxiety.

I have a new lease on life, now that my life has been given back to me, and I can see a future that actually excites me.

What is she talking about?? I know, this is what you are thinking and that's okay because that's what I say to myself many times everyday.

What am I talking about? What is it I am trying to say? Let me spell it out.

At first I thought I would try and finish my Criminology degree online through Simon Fraser University. This was the path I was headed in for many years. But now that I've looked into it it isn't what I want. Many of my courses that transferred 18 years ago don't transfer now. The course load is heavy despite the fact that it's online. The outcome of that is that I have a degree in Criminology, which is super cool, no? But, like I said, how many Criminologists do you know?

Exactly.

It does sound interesting and exciting but it doesn't feel right.

Then I started looking into finishing a degree in Social Work and that feels so wrong it almost makes me angry. Not that there's anything wrong with being a Social Worker. They work hard and they get trashed on on a regular basis and they don't get paid enough and I have seen enough of that life to know that I do not want to go to university to come out with a degree for a career that has a fast burnout rate and a high level of frustration. I am a foster parent. I already give what I can to this community. I want something different.

Social work. Not for me.

Then I started to entertain thoughts of pure gluttony. Like, maybe I'll do something silly and get a degree in Psychology or English or Sociology or Philosophy. You know, something totally interesting and yet completely useless.

This is what intrigues me the most, I will admit. I would love to read books and write essays that dazzle. I would love to say to people "I have a degree in English." I think that sounds romantic and enchanting.

Now, before all you English, Psychology, Sociology and Philosophy majors get all up in my face about your degrees not being meaningful and worthy of majoring in just remember that I have been a full time mom for the past 14 years. I am all about efficiency. I am all about how you pack a diaper bag so you have the most stuff you may need but have it weigh the least amount it can weigh. I am all about how you can get the most groceries on the tightest budget. I am all about how you can get the least amount of clothes for your boys to last the longest amount of time.

Efficiency. Bang for your buck. And I'm not just talking about money. I am talking about time.

Maybe I want to go and get a Masters and if I knew that for sure then I would play around in English and fill my soul with literary delights. Or maybe I would philosophize and ponder life's great wonders. If I knew I wanted to be a nurse or a teacher then this would be easy.

The thing is, I don't know what kind of career I am going to have, I'm too much of a mind-changer and a fly-by-the-seat-of-my-pants kind of girl. I like to keep my options open. But I am also interested in using my time wisely. So I need to focus my time on something that not only interests me but may also be useful when I am done. Whether I am done after a degree or after a masters.

Or maybe I'll do one semester and decide that sitting on my duff for the next three years writing a novel with the most amazing title you ever heard knowing perfectly well that it may never be published is what I want to do.

That is the scariest thought of them all. One that leaves me trembling from the "least-efficient" shakes. It's definitely the cheapest option. No one can argue with that.

The point I have been trying to make is that I have decided to give school another go. You know, now that I am serious and all growed up and all. I am enrolling in the U of Calgary and I am pursuing the idea of getting a BA in Communications.

And this is exciting, people. I meet with someone next Thursday to go over my decision and get the ball rolling and maybe have a few questions cleared up.

Like where do I park?

Kidding. Sort of.

I'm going to go easy the first semester to get my feet wet because, who are we kidding, I am old and rusty and need to ease in carefully. Plus, I need to make sure my family does not fall apart because I am swamped by English classes.

Oh yes, people, there will be many English classes taken.

Now, the next step is make my work horse husband see the value in this endeavor and that it will be worth the money. At least for my own happiness and fulfillment.

There's no price tag for that, is there?

I am sorry if this has been a let down at all for any of you in any way. The build up to this measly back to school decision has been a doozy. But I feel like the bang on my end was worth it. The purpose I wanted it to serve has been served. I have found a path that makes me tingle from anticipation.

I am excited! Do you know how long it has been since I have been this excited about anything?

My deepest thanks to all of you for reading my wee blog and putting up with my inability to make a decision quietly. Like, in my own head. You are a loyal bunch and I thank....

thank.......

thank you.

Yours truly,

my life's ambitions. part 3

On November 6th, 1994, out of the blue, a stranger came up to me at church and, in front of a small gathering of friends, asked me on a date to see a movie the following Tuesday. I said yes.

I didn't even know his name.

We went on that date and 7 months later we were married. If you had been there, November of 1994, you would have seen all desire for post secondary education die as love for a stranger in snake skin cowboy boots and a leather jacket was born.

He became all I wanted.

I dropped out of university, got a job with those Young Offenders and prepared for marriage. Quickly.

Fast forward 17 years and four kids later. All the kids are in school. Their immediate physical needs being met elsewhere. I have found myself with time and in that time I have tried a lot of things. I have thought many thoughts. I have mentally wandered down many avenues. The only thing I have found at the end of every road is a desire, a yearning and a regret I have been too busy since the birth of my first child, 14 years ago, to have.

Like a secret I already knew but had forgotten.

I have a desire to learn. A yearning for something new, something different. And a regret I wasn't more focused when I had the opportunity to be focused.

When all the kids started going to school full time last September I figured I would take the ten months and just do what I wanted to do. Be me. Find myself again. Rediscover old hobbies and interests. And then I would get serious.

Whatever that meant.

What I have discovered is that none of those interests of yore appeal to me anymore. I have new interests and I'm developing new hobbies. I want to write write write. But more than that I want to learn something new. I want to be organized and creative and productive. I want to work and create and redefine me.

I want to be a midwife, a social worker, an acupuncturist, a real estate agent. I want to be a doctor, a lawyer, a psychologist, a counselor. I want to run a restaurant. I want to own a restaurant. I want to plan parties and galas and fund raisers. I want to do charity work. I want to be everywhere and anywhere.

I want to write a book and then another book and then another......

My brain is flooded with desire and ideas and all of a sudden I have time for things that are just for me. Back then, all those years ago, this is what I thought I would want for myself. I thought I wanted a family and then a career.

And now? Well now I still want it. Actually, I want it more than I ever have. My life experience, my maturity, all the things I have learned, been through and discovered by past years has led me to this place...............

my life's ambitions. part 2

I was feeling as though the entire first year of my university education was a total waste of time. I had to let it go, no dwelling. Dwelling.....now that is a waste of time.

I started combing through the university's catalogue of courses, looking for something that sparked my interest. Nothing. So I moved onto Mount Royal's catalogue. Page after page after page until I found it.

Criminology. Now that sounded cool. How many criminologists do you know? Exactly.....

I read through it, decided it was for me and applied. But....one had to be 19 to get in. All of a sudden that first year didn't seem like such a waste anymore, except, I wouldn't be 19 for 6 more months. I had to woo the powers that be, convincing them I was old enough and that being 19 a month after school started was totally acceptable.

They said I could plead my case before a panel. And so I did.

I went before a panel of 4 professors and answered their questions about why I thought I was a good fit for the program. My answers were impeccable. I name dropped.

I took the mandatory psychological testing. I was accepted. Obviously.

Within that faculty there were four majors and I had to choose one. I chose Child and Youth Care. If there was anything I thought I had figured out it was kids with problems, having had 60-ish foster brothers and sisters myself.

I focused on Young Offenders and the next two years was a whirlwind of schooling, practicum-ing, and working and exhaustion.


I graduated, making the Dean's List. I refused to convocate even though my mum offered me cash to appease her.

Why am I so stubborn?

Once that two year program was up I was offered the chance to finish that degree but that would mean moving away to British Columbia and that would mean apartments, roommates and student loans. All kinds of scary. I wasn't interested. I don't really know why. Or, at least, I didn't at the time.

I decided to transfer back to the university, continue living at home, and finish a degree in psychology. Summer came and went and it was time to go back to school.

September, October, November 6th.

November 6th, 1994.......

my life's ambitions. part 1

I wasn't going to blog about this until it was settled and I was enrolled somewhere but I can not, for the life of me, get a grip on it. So I am blogging about it with the hope that one of two outcomes will occur. Real simple-like:

1. I figure it out myself by spewing it forth somewhere other than the inside of my head.

or

2. Someone just tells me what to do and I like what I hear and so I do it.

Let's start at the very beginning. Because it's a very good place to start.

We've talked about this before but let's review, shall we? When I was in grade 12, towards the end of the 1st semester, our teachers started talking about University. They said things like "I hope you know what you want to take," and "it's time to start thinking about where you want to apply," and "I hope your grades are good so you can even get in"...... or something very much to that effect.

I remember thinking to myself, university? We are supposed to know what we want to do with the rest of our lives already? One day, I felt particularly bogged down by these thoughts and so I skipped something insignificant, like math or social studies, and walked to Mac's and bought a box of smarties. I, then, wandered the halls of Bowness High pondering two things. One, I knew I wanted to go to university but I didn't have a clue about what to take. And two, why didn't I have a clue about what I wanted to take?

Why had no one talked to me about this before?

I mean, I knew I wanted to be a mom but I was certain that wasn't going to be a substitute for other things. Those other things might have to take a back burner to being a mom for awhile because when the time came being a mom was going to come first and, also, I was hellbent on being home with my kids. But still......those other things? What were they going to be?

I wandered those smelly high school halls going through my likes and dislikes. My interests and disinterests. I could be a teacher. Wait.....no I couldn't. That sounded horrible from the get go. Being a lawyer sounded pretty cool but I needed to take into account the level of laziness that lived somewhere between my love for Beverly Hills 90210 and Melrose Place.

I'm musical, I thought to myself. What on earth could I do with that?

Concert pianist. It was the most romantic notion I'd ever had. I could hardly wait to share it with Gail, my spectacularly beautiful piano teacher.

As soon as I got home I started looking into it. What it required of me was many hours of practice a day for the next few months as I prepared to audition for Mount Royal and the University.

And practice I did. The tips of my fingers were tingly for 3 months. I was preparing the fastest little Bach piece I'd ever heard. I learned it back to front. And then front to back. I don't even think Bach knew that song as well as I did. I also prepared something slow and haunting. To this day I love that song.

What was it called again?

Auditions came and went and I was accepted into both institutions. I chose the University. September came, I started school, full time class loads and 3-6 hours of practicing a day and it didn't take long to see that this program and my laziness level did not jive. I lacked passion and drive. This was not what I wanted. I decided to finish out the year and transfer into another faculty.

I was barely 18 years old........

on letting go

This morning I woke with a headache. The kind of headache you get from sleeping 5 measly hours. If I could have three wishes one would definitely involve the ability to function, energetically, happily and productively on only a couple of hours of sleep a night. I would love that. To be like Oprah.

Okay, check that. Reverse it. I do not want to be like Oprah. In fact, I can`t stand Oprah. My point is she doesn't sleep a lot. Which is the point.

I think.

Although.....she is rich........

Oy.

This past week has been a whirlwind of activity and emotion. I thought once the house sold the world would hear the great thud that would indicate the burden unloading from my back.

But the world was quiet. My brain refused to give it up. I held onto that burden with all my might for fear that if I let it go everything would come crashing down ten times harder.

I would not survive that.

And then, out of the blue, all of a sudden, we found a new house in this strange location that simply seemed too good to be true. And I waited for that to crash down on me. Because I am so used to waiting now. Waiting is what I do. And if there is anything prolonged stress has taught me, it's that waiting for bad things to happen and then having them happen is much less devastating than waiting for good things to never happen.

Nothing bad was happening and so I dared to believe, for a split second, that things were coming up Catie for once. And then I took a deep breath. Inhale.

And released it. Exhale.

The world was still quiet.

And then I did it again and again and again. Inhale. Exhale. The world? Still quiet.

The man took me to dinner, a risky move, to celebrate this most fortuitous turn of events. I sometimes gauge my stress level by his. When he isn't doing so hot I feel weighed down extra hard by my own concern over our situation coupled with his. I watch his face. I see him thinking. I pay extra special attention to what he is up too, I see him trying to keep me from stress, like a protector. I see him trying to work it through, on his own, without having to pull me in. Like I'm not already all in. I see him come to me because he needs my help and I see that it is the last thing he wants to do. I see it, the weight of his responsibility.

At dinner, I could see that all the heaviness was gone from his face. And then he said to me, "we're getting our lives back."

And just like that, I let go.

The great thud.

I couldn't believe my ears. We are getting our lives back? What does that even mean? All I know is that if the man believes it then it must be true.

Then I slept. Not well though, because sleeping is not one of my great talents. And I woke and the world was still intact. Our house was still sold. No one had stolen the new house from us. I felt my grip on our situation tighten. Could I possibly accept it? Optimism. Relief. Maybe I shouldn't. Maybe I should panic some more. Or maybe I should make it real. Test fate. We announced that we were moving and it spread like wildfire. Making it very real. Very fast.

And nothing came crashing down.

Is this really happening? I asked myself this over and over and over.....

I'm still asking it actually.

Over and over and over........

heavenly gifts

Well, we found a house. I'm not going to tell you where. Instead I will let you guess.

Like a game.

Everybody loves games, right? I will give you a clue to help you out.

This is what I will be looking at from my back deck.



This community was not at all where we were looking but all the rules changed for me when the opportunity came to live across the street from our church and the new temple.

I could never pass that up.

Never.

It's like a gift from heaven. In fact........ I'm sure it was.

closing doors.....

Willacy.


Is.



SOLD! SOLD! SOLD! SOLD!


I have one month to find a place to live and move our butts outta here. Please don't ask me where I'm going because I simply do not know.

All I do know for certain is that doors are closing. Big, heavy, burdensome doors. Like medieval prison doors. Those big heavy suckers that you need three barbarians to close. You know, the ones with the iron all over them. Those ones. And actually, I'm not just shutting them, I'm bolting them. With shackles and big medieval bolts that need gigantic medieval keys to unlock that took a medieval blacksmith a year to make because, who are we kidding, he certainly had the time.

I feel as though I have finally been released from prison and been given permission to walk away from the unhappiest time in my life.

So this is me. Walking away. Letting go of things I wanted so badly but feel like the cost to receive them was too high. An astronomical cost my family might end up paying with our stability, our happiness, our togetherness. So there was only one choice to make. Walk away. This is me saying good bye.

Good bye Willacy.

This is a good thing. Or it will be eventually because it can only go one way from here.

Up.

Time to find and open some new doors. Maybe some lighter doors.

the cinnamon challenge?

I guess we'll dedicate this week to really stupid videos of my sons. For here is another one we tried over the weekend. Or they tried. Not me. I'm too smart for that. Notice how my girls are never in these??

There are a few things I want you to ignore whilst watching this:

1. The very first thing I said. Despite the fact that I am running the video camera I must not have known it was on. Lizzie farts a lot.

2. My backyard is not landscaped and for whatever reason the lighting on this video gives the whole thing a real trailer trash feel.

Youknowwhatimean?

3. My chastising Holden for spitting cinnamon all over my deck.

Other than that.....this is what turns these boys cranks. Things that are beyond silly.

Enjoy.

down by the river

On Sunday we had a few showings so we decided to take the pup to the river for the first time. I'm so glad I have a video camera in my phone for how would the children ever remember the stupidity they partake in if I didn't record every single thing they do? I wasn't going to show this first video because I call my boys dumb and dumber in it but really, if it walks like a duck and talks like a duck.......

Seeing the first video makes the second video that much funnier. Therefore I proclaim, if you have a problem with me calling my children names then walk away.

Walk away, I say.

Also, I get loud for a moment. Sorry about that.



See, the boys wanted to throw the giant stick onto the ice but barely got it over the riverbank. So the man threw it for them. It made a loud crashing sound which the boys thought was awesome. So they wanted to "go get it and do it again." And I, in all my poor motherly instinctual wisdom, did not forbid it.

Off they went. Holden got hurt.



The man got the stick back and the boys wanted him to throw it again. He throws it. But......the end of this next video is why we are all here today. It still makes me pee a little.

Holden is 9. The drama is at least 16.



All in all, it may or may not have been a super fun trip to the river.

It depends on who you ask.