I love reading the inspirational stories of faith filled women on the internet. The stories that lift you up and remind you that no amount of awful can overcome joy if you resolve to make it so. I feel, as is probably intended, like they are speaking directly to me, be peaceful Nellie, your savior loves you, you are doing just fine.
They tell us about their past. the addiction, the pain, the suffering, and the awful crap that could have destroyed them. Could have turned them into bitter, angry husks of the woman they were destined to be. They talk about the years spent in a haze, the things that they did while at rock bottom, about surviving, of hurting the people who tried to help them, of the reasons they have to despise themselves.
They talk about the Moment, the one when they realized that they were off course. They tell about coming back to reality and the hard work it takes to go from giving up to giving it their all. They tell us how they turn failure into success, and how everyday is a struggle.
And we identify with parts of the story.
We cry at the truth they speak, because it touches our soul.
We pass it along to our friends and say: Read this it will change your life.
I want to tell stories that change lives.
I want to live a life that inspires others.
I want to speak truth; hard, ugly, but cleansing, truth.
The problem is, I don't think my middle of the road, making it, totally thankful, messy life is one that people want to hear about, or can identify with. I'm knee deep in babies and full time job and girl scouts and family. Life is not easy, but I've never truly fallen away. I've never had addiction, infidelity, abuse, neglect or even a prolonged really hard time to overcome. I am blessed in ways I don't deserve and didn't earn.
I'm sure I could find a hundred things to complain about:
I'm broke
I'm fat
I probably have ADHD or some variant of screwy brain chemicals that affects my focus.
I HATE housecleaning
I have all the student loans
I procrastinate, like whoa.
etc, etc, etc....
But those things are not special, they are not extraordinary, Basically, I feel that there's nothing significant about me or my journey that is ever going to inspire others. I've never been an outcast, or part of the in crowd. I didn't have a string of bad relationships. I never lost touch only to find my way back to a long lost someone.
I struggle with my desire to share stories about my life because I don't think they matter to anyone but me. I desperately want to write about my life, and have it be meaningful to others; (which I recognize is a bit cloying, I'm not totally unaware of my weirdness) but ever the worst critic of myself, I worry that deciding to try to share in a bigger way will result in being shot down for being so dratted ordinary.
When you've lived this type of life and you have no real hardship to speak to, it's hard not to come off sounding holier than thou when you talk to people. "I've basically been blessed my whole life, look at how awesome I am!" But that's never been my outlook. Life is hard, everyone has things in their lives that aren't great but you get through it, right? And you are thankful for the good things because you know that there are bad things and the good things make it so you can bear the bad things with a little more grace.
And I'm not wishing for hardship, or requesting a test of faith, I just wish there was a way that I could use my peace filled life, and experiences with getting through the small hardships as a way to help others to recognize the small wonders in their lives. To be thankful, to be peaceful, to feel forgiven and accepted, and to know that small lives are not wasted lives. I wish there was an audience for that, because I see the things being put on TV and the internet. People feel less than fulfilled because they don't live like a musician, or famous athlete, or one of the Kardashians. There's a premium placed on a life full of drama and nothing noteworthy attributed to a normal life with kids and Sunday school and birthday parties in your living room.
I guess what I wish is for a world where value was placed on making ends meet, and loving your babies, and staying faithful because you made a promise. I wish I could use my life to help others see the joy of small things, and the peace of a thankful heart.
3/25/2015
3/09/2015
I Miss the Gym
No really, I do.
Before I had 4 children I was able to pack up the girls and drop them off at the childcare center at the gym and walk three miles on the treadmill with little effort. It was all so easy.
It is no longer easy.
4 is different than 2 in a few ways(because math), the most annoying of which is that 4 is considered too many for the gym childcare center. If you ask me, no one needs the gym child care center more than a mother of 4, but I would be requiring more than a reasonable amount of support for my children, 2 is the limit. So I stopped paying to go to that gym. and now I don't have any gym, and I miss the gym.
Luckily the weather has become agreeable in Missouri this week and when I go home this afternoon there will likely be enough light to allow me to unfold the behemoth and take the kiddos for a long walk around the park.
Sunshine has shown interest in a birthday 5K and Erin has agreed to accompany us as long as we don't decide to sprint it. I feel like sprinting in my current state would likely lead to cardiac emergency followed quickly by death, but we won't spend a lot of time on that. Needless to say, I need to get my butt movin (because for serious you guys, my butt is huge, again)
I sincerely hope that I can make the hard changes and get healthy again, but I'm not as sure as I was before. Mutti has started counting calories and is losing. Jeeves gave up pizza for lent and is losing. I have an unhealthy addiction to cheddar pretzels and I'm retaining water and emotional all the time.
I'm hoping that a new set of goals, and perhaps a bigger end goal will be the thing to keep me on track. I want to take my mom on a road trip to Texas and eat at a few places we have seen on the food network and go to some amusement parks, because we both love roller coasters. I need to get down to about 165, and I don't know what I currently weight but I'm guessing I need to drop about 70 pounds, if not more.
Next on the docket, buying a new scale, fleecing the pantry and finding a way to find the balance I need. More Water, More Sleep, More Movement, Less Food.
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| I got my nose pierced! |
1/02/2015
99 Problems (aka: A whiny post, be warned)
It's the beginning of a new year and rather than being filled with the hope of an awesome year full of weight loss, a potential promotion and potential crafty business. I am weary.
I have no doubt that all of those things will occur, I will be losing weight because my ass growth has gotten out of hand. I will continue to strive for a higher position in this lovely company I work for and I fully intend to begin crocheting and felting awesomeness to try to sell in the fall for Christmas cash.
But in the gray cold morning of January 2nd, staring down 32 and not sleeping nearly enough, I'm just dead ass tired. To my bones tired. Tired of almost everything really; of food, of my messy house, of my reprehensible wardrobe, of driving, of car troubles, of bills, of television....everything.
I'm tired of being overly responsive to nonsense things that shouldn't bother me. How did I become super emotional girl? When did harsh words and masked criticism become something that devastates my day. Why do I feel on the edge of tears most days and incapable of moving past the mopes most days? I don't like being this girl, she's a downer.
I'm tired of the way I look. I haaaaaaaate my hair, and my clothes and my face, all of it. I look like a corpse, and a poorly dressed corpse at that. My new job is awesome but buying new clothing for myself is not really high on the list of things in my budget, so I'm stuck wearing things that don't fit well, are stained, or are just not attractive. The not fitting well thing is my own stupid fault, I've gained back every pound and am right back where I started. It's disheartening, but apparently giant ass is a thing I'm going to have to fight against for the rest of my life.
I'm just tired, tired in my body and in my soul. I don't sleep enough, or well, or consistently....
It's a problem.
I got lots of problems.
12/11/2014
The City of Canals and Life Savers
When I was somewhere around 10, my grandparents came to visit us in Germany where we were living at the time. They came for an extended visit and after a few days of visiting at home we all piled into the minivan and went on a European road trip.
Safety regulations being a bit looser then than they are now, My younger brother and I rode in the back of the mini van, amid the suitcases and snacks. Driving from mid Germany to Denmark was no lickety-split undertaking but we had game-boys, and books so we weren't bored. Many may not remember the first versions of the current hand held gaming systems. Far from the web-connected, camera-enabled mini computers you have today; these were gray boxes with green screens and purple buttons. You could play games that were in one color, gray...and the best of those games was tetris; which I currently credit for my ability to pack two babies and 100.00 worth of groceries into a single cart at the grocery store.
While in Denmark we did lots of amazing thing, according to the photos. My own memories of that trip have been worn thin by time and have dwindled to several sensory based glimmers. I remember it being colder than we thought so we purchase coats that had a specific feel to the fabric that I have never been able to find again. I don't recall what happened to mine, but it was soft and warm and it smelled new.
I remember falling asleep beneath a feather stuffed comforter, and the smell of the city, which was a combination of warm bread, river and stale cigarettes. Whenever I catch a whiff of that in my life today, I close my eyes and breathe it in, grasping for a clearer memory of the giant wooden shoes that I stepped into outside of one of the tourist shops, or the McDonald's positioned, quite strategically, in the red-light district.
Europe is vastly different that the United States and things that we tend to hide behind black windows and only hint to on signs are basically just out flapping in the breeze in the streets of Amsterdam. We drove, walked, boated and trained past nude beaches, brothels, "toy" shops and open solicitation. I remember the most common direction from my parents during that vacation was, "Look down!" Look at the floor" It's funny now, and probably was at the time as well, at least to them; but I recall being super irritated about it.
My most dear and distinct memory from that trip is a boat ride we took on the canals. We climbed down in to a glass roofed boat with tables and benches. I sat across from my Grandmother and next to my mother as we motored through the city looking at bridges and buildings. Or that's what we should have been doing. Instead I was having a contest with my grandmother. She would hand me a butter rum life saver and we would both eat them at the same time and whoever had the candy that lasted the longest won that round. There was no score keeping just a candy by candy contest that pitted her against me and I'm certain she let me win when I did.
Growing up in the Army meant that I didn't get a ton of time with my grandparents. When we lived in the states we would drive to Missouri from Maryland on Christmas; and sometimes in the summer. When we were in Missouri, for a week or two, there was a whirlwind of family, parties, people I didn't remember, presents, and then a long drive back to the east coast at the end. It was never enough time. I never wanted to leave, none of us did.
That premium on time with them made this trip stand out to me more than any other in my youth. Having them to ourselves, without the cousins, aunts, uncles, friends, jobs and chores to pull them away was miraculous. We went to a Renaissance festival, slept in what was called a hotel but I'm convinced was actually just someones living room, ate multitudes of amazing food, laughed more than one would have thought possible and made a single special memory that travels around in my heart.
They say that your sense of smell helps you access memories more than any other sense. And I suppose that it must be at least partially true. I cannot smell Jovan White Musk without turning to look for my grandma's smiling face. But for me, almost as strong, is the taste of butter rum life savers. As soon as it touches my tongue I am taken back to that day, on that boat, and even now I try to make it last as long as possible and smile when it finally breaks, remembering that little girl I was and the amazing way that a piece of candy can make you feel like the most important person in the world.
Safety regulations being a bit looser then than they are now, My younger brother and I rode in the back of the mini van, amid the suitcases and snacks. Driving from mid Germany to Denmark was no lickety-split undertaking but we had game-boys, and books so we weren't bored. Many may not remember the first versions of the current hand held gaming systems. Far from the web-connected, camera-enabled mini computers you have today; these were gray boxes with green screens and purple buttons. You could play games that were in one color, gray...and the best of those games was tetris; which I currently credit for my ability to pack two babies and 100.00 worth of groceries into a single cart at the grocery store.
While in Denmark we did lots of amazing thing, according to the photos. My own memories of that trip have been worn thin by time and have dwindled to several sensory based glimmers. I remember it being colder than we thought so we purchase coats that had a specific feel to the fabric that I have never been able to find again. I don't recall what happened to mine, but it was soft and warm and it smelled new.
I remember falling asleep beneath a feather stuffed comforter, and the smell of the city, which was a combination of warm bread, river and stale cigarettes. Whenever I catch a whiff of that in my life today, I close my eyes and breathe it in, grasping for a clearer memory of the giant wooden shoes that I stepped into outside of one of the tourist shops, or the McDonald's positioned, quite strategically, in the red-light district.
Europe is vastly different that the United States and things that we tend to hide behind black windows and only hint to on signs are basically just out flapping in the breeze in the streets of Amsterdam. We drove, walked, boated and trained past nude beaches, brothels, "toy" shops and open solicitation. I remember the most common direction from my parents during that vacation was, "Look down!" Look at the floor" It's funny now, and probably was at the time as well, at least to them; but I recall being super irritated about it.
My most dear and distinct memory from that trip is a boat ride we took on the canals. We climbed down in to a glass roofed boat with tables and benches. I sat across from my Grandmother and next to my mother as we motored through the city looking at bridges and buildings. Or that's what we should have been doing. Instead I was having a contest with my grandmother. She would hand me a butter rum life saver and we would both eat them at the same time and whoever had the candy that lasted the longest won that round. There was no score keeping just a candy by candy contest that pitted her against me and I'm certain she let me win when I did.
Growing up in the Army meant that I didn't get a ton of time with my grandparents. When we lived in the states we would drive to Missouri from Maryland on Christmas; and sometimes in the summer. When we were in Missouri, for a week or two, there was a whirlwind of family, parties, people I didn't remember, presents, and then a long drive back to the east coast at the end. It was never enough time. I never wanted to leave, none of us did.
That premium on time with them made this trip stand out to me more than any other in my youth. Having them to ourselves, without the cousins, aunts, uncles, friends, jobs and chores to pull them away was miraculous. We went to a Renaissance festival, slept in what was called a hotel but I'm convinced was actually just someones living room, ate multitudes of amazing food, laughed more than one would have thought possible and made a single special memory that travels around in my heart.
They say that your sense of smell helps you access memories more than any other sense. And I suppose that it must be at least partially true. I cannot smell Jovan White Musk without turning to look for my grandma's smiling face. But for me, almost as strong, is the taste of butter rum life savers. As soon as it touches my tongue I am taken back to that day, on that boat, and even now I try to make it last as long as possible and smile when it finally breaks, remembering that little girl I was and the amazing way that a piece of candy can make you feel like the most important person in the world.
12/05/2014
Big Deep Breaths
I have deep breath places.
Places that lower my blood pressure and stress level until I can sit, completely still and breathe deeply. Places where I don't need to be entertained. Places where I feel no pressure to look or perform. Places where I sleep better than at home.
Girl Scout camp is one of those places, the tall shade trees, the lake, the trails and the general connection with nature are like food for my soul. I just can't get enough of it. Last Labor Day I took my girls to camp with tentative hope that they would come to love it as I do. I was blown away when my little's, with their TV and Nintendo filled lives, took to camp like ducks to water (see what I did there?) They helped find firewood, chased frogs, played with flashlights and slept through the night even through a short rainstorm. I could spend weeks there, listening to the wind in the trees, taking naps, canoeing in the lake and swimming in the pool. It's a deep breathe place. One where the calm and peace are likely written all over my face. I come home bug bitten, bruised, scratched, sunburned and happy.
Another of those places is the Farm. A friend of ours owns a bed and breakfast that allows you to rent an entire house for a weekend (for less than many hotel rooms) and there is a creek, and old farmhouse, a fire circle and acres of places to explore. they have spent year cultivating a hummingbird following and now in the summer months you can sit on the wide front porch in one of the wooden swings and listen to the buzz of the colorful kamikaze birds as they come close to get a sip of something sweet from the feeders. The spring fed creek is cold, even in august and after building up a small dam, you can get a pool float, grab a cool beverage, put on some sunglasses and laze away an afternoon, soaking up to sun. At night, the lack of city lights lets a multitude of stars shine down while you make s'mores and listen to music around the campfire. It's heavenly and I hate when it's time to leave. I breathe deep there too.
It's a lovely thing, breathing deep. It's a thankful, peaceful feeling, it feels right.
11/10/2014
Light Fixtures, Organization and Bebes!
This weekend was painfully productive. I am tired, but I feel empowered. I cleaned and organized and cooked and snuggled my babies and really felt connected to my life. Which is a thing I find myself lacking sometimes.
There are occasions, when I'm slogging through the day to day where I feel like life is something that is happening to me rather than a thing I am doing. I almost feel like a spectator watching from a theater wondering why the chick on screen can't seem to get her damn laundry under control, and why she continues to shove food in her face, and why can't she just relax enough to benefit from the obvious devotion of her husband. I'm mostly a mess.
I think I need weekends like this one to bust through that screen and be present. To start to teach my Sunshine how to sew, to sit still long enough for Doodle to fall asleep on me, to disconnect and talk with Banana about Ninja turtles and to start teaching Jammer how to feed himself.
I took them all to the grocery store by myself on Saturday, which is not a thing I do frequently, and while trolling down the aisle with my duck-ettes in tow I picked up a jar of Pickles and set it in the cart next to Doodle, who has to ride in the basket (because carts are not make for two babies, unless you are shopping at costco.) Not 2 minutes later I turn from the milk cooler to see the giant jar of pickles fly out of the cart and smash onto the floor of the store. The mess was epic and marvelous, and smelly. Pickles are great but you generally don't want to smell like them.
I could have ended the trip, but I was on store 2 of a three location campaign and I had crap to get done, so I sent Pumpkin for help, grabbed a new jar of pickles, moved the glass items beneath the cart and soldiered on. It was horribly embarrassing, I could just hear people thinking,
"Why can't that idiot control her toddler"
"Wasn't she watching him"
"What kind of dumb-ass puts glass in a cart with a two year old?"
I told the voices in my head to put a sock in it and went on to get yogurt, I didn't have time for self loathing and doubt and I wasn't going to ruin a perfectly good day over a two dollar jar of pickles.
Then yesterday I decided while the sun was still up, I was going to put in the two yard sale found light fixtures I had purchased in my room and the nursery. I looked up an instructional video on you tube and then installed two lights. Felt pretty good about myself, for a short period of time.
Then I started doing laundry and didn't stop until after 2am and I still have 6 baskets of clothing to put away, sweet mother of pearl we create a lit of laundry.
So here are some photos from the weekend. I love my babies
There are occasions, when I'm slogging through the day to day where I feel like life is something that is happening to me rather than a thing I am doing. I almost feel like a spectator watching from a theater wondering why the chick on screen can't seem to get her damn laundry under control, and why she continues to shove food in her face, and why can't she just relax enough to benefit from the obvious devotion of her husband. I'm mostly a mess.
I think I need weekends like this one to bust through that screen and be present. To start to teach my Sunshine how to sew, to sit still long enough for Doodle to fall asleep on me, to disconnect and talk with Banana about Ninja turtles and to start teaching Jammer how to feed himself.
I took them all to the grocery store by myself on Saturday, which is not a thing I do frequently, and while trolling down the aisle with my duck-ettes in tow I picked up a jar of Pickles and set it in the cart next to Doodle, who has to ride in the basket (because carts are not make for two babies, unless you are shopping at costco.) Not 2 minutes later I turn from the milk cooler to see the giant jar of pickles fly out of the cart and smash onto the floor of the store. The mess was epic and marvelous, and smelly. Pickles are great but you generally don't want to smell like them.
I could have ended the trip, but I was on store 2 of a three location campaign and I had crap to get done, so I sent Pumpkin for help, grabbed a new jar of pickles, moved the glass items beneath the cart and soldiered on. It was horribly embarrassing, I could just hear people thinking,
"Why can't that idiot control her toddler"
"Wasn't she watching him"
"What kind of dumb-ass puts glass in a cart with a two year old?"
I told the voices in my head to put a sock in it and went on to get yogurt, I didn't have time for self loathing and doubt and I wasn't going to ruin a perfectly good day over a two dollar jar of pickles.
Then yesterday I decided while the sun was still up, I was going to put in the two yard sale found light fixtures I had purchased in my room and the nursery. I looked up an instructional video on you tube and then installed two lights. Felt pretty good about myself, for a short period of time.
Then I started doing laundry and didn't stop until after 2am and I still have 6 baskets of clothing to put away, sweet mother of pearl we create a lit of laundry.
So here are some photos from the weekend. I love my babies
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| Banana and BayMax |
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| Sunshine with her new quilt |
 |
| Sleepy Doodle getting Mommy Snuggles |
 |
| and Moose Snuggles |
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| Jammer watching WonderPets |
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| Lights! |
11/07/2014
Songs for My Munchie-Girls
As a semi-conservative musically driven general mess of a person I enjoy losing myself in song. I listen to all genre's and decades. I enjoy Pink Floyd, Carole King, Megan Trainor and Randy Travis. I believe that all music has value and it is a beautiful outlet. My parents had eclectic music taste and I am so happy that I got all of the influences they gave me. I love covers, I love musicals, I love oldies, I love country, I just love it all. (Except Neil Diamond, dude, no)
Even the Pit Bull, Nikki Minaj, Justin Timberlake stuff has a place, that place is a club, where people who are old enough to manage their shit can decide if they want their ears assaulted with profanity and verbal pornography. Look, I'm not knocking it, I've wiggled my tush to that type of music on many occasions. But I feel like the radio has lost something as the club music makes it way onto the airways.
I am irritated by the musical offerings on the top 40 radio stations these days. When I listen to the radio in the car I want to sing along. I want deep lyrics and great accompaniment. I love to belt out Bohemian Rhapsody and Desperado and The Day The Music Dies. I don't want to talk in the car, I want to sing, all the way to where I am going.
My girls are old enough to recognize and ask about the words in songs and this has lead to some conversations I hadn't wanted to have at 8 and 6, and now it has lead to a concrete decision to avoid listening to those stations with my kiddos in the car.
Look, I'm not naive enough to think that they will stay little forever. I don't even really want that. The sarcastic sense of humor both of them have developed is the highlight of my life these days. I just want them to listen to music with positive messages because I recognize the effect it has on me and my outlook. When I listen to Firework, or Just the Way You Are, or Brave... it can change my day and make things a little better. I want that for them, to have a heart light enough that song can turn the tide of a rotten day.
Even the Pit Bull, Nikki Minaj, Justin Timberlake stuff has a place, that place is a club, where people who are old enough to manage their shit can decide if they want their ears assaulted with profanity and verbal pornography. Look, I'm not knocking it, I've wiggled my tush to that type of music on many occasions. But I feel like the radio has lost something as the club music makes it way onto the airways.
I am irritated by the musical offerings on the top 40 radio stations these days. When I listen to the radio in the car I want to sing along. I want deep lyrics and great accompaniment. I love to belt out Bohemian Rhapsody and Desperado and The Day The Music Dies. I don't want to talk in the car, I want to sing, all the way to where I am going.
My girls are old enough to recognize and ask about the words in songs and this has lead to some conversations I hadn't wanted to have at 8 and 6, and now it has lead to a concrete decision to avoid listening to those stations with my kiddos in the car.
Look, I'm not naive enough to think that they will stay little forever. I don't even really want that. The sarcastic sense of humor both of them have developed is the highlight of my life these days. I just want them to listen to music with positive messages because I recognize the effect it has on me and my outlook. When I listen to Firework, or Just the Way You Are, or Brave... it can change my day and make things a little better. I want that for them, to have a heart light enough that song can turn the tide of a rotten day.
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