Mother of the Munchkins

And so it goes....

noreply@blogger.com (Bethany AKA Mother of the Munchkins) — Sat, 28 Jan 2012 02:44:00 +0000

So.... my psych class for this term includes homework assignments of a virtual rat that we are to put through various experiments.

Now, now, no frets. Besides the plus side of him being a virtual rat, by the name of Sniffy I might add, there doesn't appear to be anything morbid I can do to hurt him. There's no picking up his virtual cage and giving it a good shake, or shocking the beegees out of the little white furball.

There's no denying him food or water or putting a sun-filled magnifying glass over his cage.

Not that I was considering that or anything....

No, there's nothing untoward that can be done to Sniffy, this isn't Sims. At least, so I thought, as the experiments pretty much run him through the association of sound to food and eventually teach him to press a bar for food.

Seems easy and innocent enough, right?

Well, towards the end of these lessons we do extinction, which means taking away the associated combo of food to sound and bar press for food. One of those extinction experiments includes an immediate shock after a first bar press that produces a slight jolt in Sniffy and that's it. He wanders around his cage, grooming, rearing, drinking water and so forth, but doesn't press the bar again. Thus, extinction of what he'd originally learned.

Since some of these experiments can take up a good quality of time there's an option to put Sniffy in an accelerated time-out.

I did just that with part of extinction where, according to the manual, when all was said and done Sniffy would have done nothing more than a second bar press attempt and then the association was to be extinct.

Please note that while Sniffy is in accelerated time-out you can't see him again until the experiment has run through to its entirety.

So I ran the program through the paces, expecting to see Sniffy doing his usual thing, grooming, rearing, drinking water but not pressing the bar when the time was up. But oh no, that's too simple because when I finally hit the key to see Sniffy again, I got this:

I killed Sniffy!

I killed my virtual class rat.

What the shazbot?!

Seriously?

And here I thought I was only dangerous to husbands and houseplants, go fig!

* I have to note, as I sat trying to figure out WTH I did to Sniffy, Kip came in and sat on my lap, just watching the screen with my dead virtual class rat. His beady little cat eyes all a-glow.

Funny how the world works

noreply@blogger.com (Bethany AKA Mother of the Munchkins) — Thu, 26 Jan 2012 14:15:00 +0000

It's funny how your notion on things can change.

The great changing of the mind.

A perfect example is when I heard gossip on the gov forgiving student loans. I thought this was a great idea, even though I knew it would have to have an age requirement and thus leave myself, an older student, out of the loop.

Even so, I still thought it was a great idea but listened to many around me scoff because their student loans from a-go was never forgiven. They worked hard, they paid off all their debts, they said, while my mind was rolling eyeballs and saying get over it.

Well... then I caught a press release on Vectren preparing to replace some 1700 miles of old pipes for new across the area and into Indiana. Obviously this work is going to be (mostly) free of charge to consumers. As I read more into it, preparing to piece together a story for the paper, I got to thinking about my own past experience with the company. An experience that cost well over $3,000 when all was said and done. Most of that work included what Vectren is now going to be doing for free.

Boy, I thought to myself, I sure would like to retro that work done on the old house and get even half of that three grand back.

The more I thought about it, the more I liked the idea of getting a retro credit but reality sunk in. I very well know this isn't something that will happen.

Things don't work that way.

No rainchecks in this regards.

But it made me see what others had been grumbling about when it came to student loans. How they wouldn't mind getting some moula back on the hard amount of time they spent paying them off. I know how hard it was on my family having to part with $3K and watch a lawn get completely demolished.

Have to witness too many plumber's cracks.

Oh, and help the plumber with his work.

Shouldn't I at least get something for having to be his assistant? (I wrote about that, but that post is way, way, way back)

Alas.... I'd a moment of walking in someone else's shoes this morning. Granted it was a short walk, but a walk none-the-less.

Funny how the world works sometimes.

The mind. The heart.

noreply@blogger.com (Bethany AKA Mother of the Munchkins) — Wed, 25 Jan 2012 14:02:00 +0000

I sat in a parking lot debating whether I was going to puke or pass out.

Or puke THEN pass out.

I was so undeniably nervous, something that I've come to accept as just being part of my nature at what seems to be really inconvenient times. A part of me in terms of communication, and it doesn't necessarily have to be any particular topic or even a particular individual. It can just come out of nowhere, this anxiety that sweeps over me to such a point as to hijack my entire being.

What's always been especially striking about this bodily event is that situations that should make me nervous don't and events where I shouldn't be do... like I'm wired weird. Someone could hand me a card on a topic and place me in front of a huge group of people for an impromptu book report on said written topic and I wouldn't bat an eye. My stomach wouldn't say squat. I wouldn't feel the need to vomit or pass out. I'd be completely and utterly in my element.

It could even not be impromptu, such as in school on oral book reports. Did not phase me a bit even after weeks of building and building up to that supposed Big Day.

Yet small groups, one-on-one... I can be an absolute mess on one occasion, completely fine on another.

I used to beat myself up for it. If I had so much as an inkling that I was going to have an anxiety attack over some sort of minor get together I'd avoid it. The situation could be a family get together, a party, just meeting with a friend. There was and is never any rhyme or reason. So I'd find some excuse and bail to avoid those rampant feelings but over the last few years I have forced myself to continue forward regardless of whether I'm about to have a coronary or run screaming into the woods, into traffic, what have you.

So I sat in a parking lot taking deep breaths of the cold winter air, chewing Tums like they were the only bit of nourishment I'd ever see again.

I'm sure that sounds silly to some. That surely I can talk myself out of such anxieties but I can't, the only thing I can ever assure myself of during situations like the one I had yesterday are two things. One being that once what was about to enfold got started, I'd be okay. With two being that if I did puke or pass out, or both, which definitely would not have been pretty, at least 99 percent of the eyewitnesses... they'd never see me again.

I tell ya, that bit of advice from my mother is an absolute gem.

What's really striking is that I've never had either happen, it's only felt like it and I've only had exactly two full fledged panic attacks in my entire near 38-years. You'd think those two facts alone would be something to convince myself to chill.

The mind.

The heart.

Funny, funny things in a not so har-har way.

Speaking of hearts and minds, you must and I mean MUST watch the docu, I Am, by Tom Shadyac.

*AMAZING*

Amazon offers it for immediate watch/rental/purchase.

We'll chat more on this later.

What if

noreply@blogger.com (Bethany AKA Mother of the Munchkins) — Tue, 24 Jan 2012 14:31:00 +0000

When I get a bee in my bonnet, yes, I will nix the public reading of the ol' blog. (As I notated on my website MOTM will be open or close dependent on mood har-har)

This problem of mine is not so much a bee that needs squashed but a P-word and no, it is not PMS. It is called perfectionism.

It's not about proper grammar (Gravy knows I butcher the English language) or dotted i's or crossed t's. No, perfectionism, at its root, is about, "what ifs".

What if I sound crazy?

What if I can't get my point across?

What if the post is all over the place?

What if someone takes it personally?

What if it isn't funny?

What if, what if, what if....

I am lost in a sea of what if.

I am drowning in a sea of what if.

I think what if should be tattooed right across both my hands where I can see it, stare at it, every day, since my hands are constantly hovering over a keyboard.

Would the constant reminder be good therapy or bad?

Things that make you go hmmm? (And ridiculously date you)

What is interesting about the what ifs in my life has been highlighted by therapists, who always seem to ask the seemingly innocent question of what is the worst that can happen? Why be afraid of the what ifs in life? Why be worried when they more than likely won't happen? The latter makes me laugh, rather uproariously, with a good dose of eyerolling because my biggest fear of what if happened not once but twice.

Where are the answers to the what if fears that DO happen? That is my ultimate question. The one that will be seated on the tip of my tongue, ready to be unleashed, when I stand before the pearly gates.

Er... maybe the not-so-pearly gates?

Hey, you never know.

Yesterday I got an enormous dose of what if, closed up the blog, figuring it would help me sleep at night and it did not. I was up forever until I conceded to the fact that the question I really need to ask myself is what if I just took a vacation?

What if I rented a hotel room with a ridiculously big hot tub and simply sat it in for an entire weekend until I was reduced to a prune with a good book clutched in one what if newly tattooed hand and a bottle of Mylanta in the other newly tattooed hand?

No school.

No kids.

No cell phone.

No interwebs.

Nothing but net, I mean room service.

Now that, my friends, is a what if I could handle.

Blah, blah, blah

noreply@blogger.com (Bethany AKA Mother of the Munchkins) — Mon, 23 Jan 2012 14:51:00 +0000

That they will be their own hero.

Nobody is coming to save you,

but you can save yourself.

And when you save yourself,

you save everyone.

- Erin Brockovich

Brockovich was speaking in regards to her new fiction book and what readers can take away from it. I like it. (The quote, haven't read the book) I've always said, over the last few years, (Which seems like a lifetime) that I want to be my own hero. That I'm not content to wait on my ship to come in, the proverbial white knight to appear, or a winning lotto ticket to solve all my problems.

Well, a winning lotto ticket would be okay.

The point is, we all have to live our own lives, figure out what we want, admit mistakes, try to make corrections where possible, blah, blah, blah.

Yup, even I have moments when I stick my fingers in my ears and blah, blah, blah myself. Oy. Can I ever blather on and on.

Anyway, and blah, when it comes to answers there certainly is no one going to go out and find the answers for us, everyone is busy looking for their own.

Which means I've been busy looking, digging and then some. You know that already and like this weekend, even though I spent all of Friday and Saturday pretty much in the icks, a lump in bed amongst my homework and reading far, far, far too many psych-related material on relationships to make me wonder why do we even bother. Before nosing into the media-frenzy (impending or hearsay) divorces of Johnny Depp, Heidi Klum, and the Dooce.com blogger Armstrong. When this faboosh quote someone left in a comments section of a media blog on one of those ending marriages caught my eye.

We all suck in one way or another and we are all much more alike than we ever seem to want to admit. It’s the good sh*t we all do that seems to get forgotten.

Great comment! If we aren't stringing each other up, we are stringing ourselves up for some imperfection or another, forgetting all about the good we do. It sort of goes hand-in-hand with church two weeks ago when this guest minister did this fantastic sermon on how we've a tendency to string up people not close to us for failure to be perfect but give a free get out of jail card to those closest to us who are not so perfect.

An example, that I've witnessed first hand, is a sibling who gives another sibling a get out of jail card for adultery but strung up a friend's spouse for the same deal.

I know, not the best example, 'tis all I got this morning, but when I saw this sort of favoritism I really had to step back. Like way, way, way back about these blinding judgments, back to knocking myself off that high horse... again.

You'd think I'd have learned by now that climbing up there leads to getting knocked painfully off.

It goes back to that sermon of how God put a mark on Cain to stop the violence. After Cain had killed his brother, Abel, it would have been understandable had everyone or some gone after him out of revenge. Instead, a mark was placed upon him so that no one would touch him and Cain went on to marry, have kids, build a city... basically live a life that his dead, murdered brother never had a chance to live.

Gee, that sure doesn't seem fair that someone who did something so heinous and terrible would be allowed to move on in such a manner. Where's the eye for an eye and tooth for tooth business? Thing is, in the larger picture, as this minister explained, by marking Cain the violence was put to a stop.

A whole potential line of never ending violence was put to an end. (I know, the irony... and remember, allegoric)

It makes sense and why I find comfort in this church because they so often and readily admit to being imperfect. What minister admits to his congregation, on numerous occasions, that he and his wife almost divorced?

Just one example of many and I've written a post about this in the past, somewheres.

What I've come to realize is that the only way I can find an answer for myself is to first stop judging, thus like the marking of Cain to end the violence, I can't be judge, jury and executioner. It's not my place and like it is often stated, not like I can cast a stone when I'm not exactly squeaky clean.

It's not easy but it is rather freeing because no one is perfect.

No one.

Not me.

Not you.

Not the neighbor.

Not the person on Facebook who seems to have it all and a ball of wax...

We'll talk more about this, judgment, Facebook, celebrity divorces and all later. More in-depth, how it is helping me to find answers, to find peace and blah, blah, blah. If I tried to fit it all in one post you'd be here forever, snoozing across the keyboard and I don't want your snooze-drool to ruin a perfectly good keyboard.

...

I am both Cain and Abel.

We do bad but we also do good.

We do bad but have a second chance to do good.

We do bad but have a chance to move on and do good, elsewhere.

Har-har

noreply@blogger.com (Bethany AKA Mother of the Munchkins) — Fri, 20 Jan 2012 13:01:00 +0000

Though I wasn't dressed for it, certainly not prepared for it in any way, shape or form, I thought it be a good idea to run on the tread for the first time in mumble-mumble months yesterday.

Obviously, I should have thought this out because, for starters, I wore sweats that kept wanting to head south.

Constantly having to yank up your pants while running is not exactly productive.

Neither are un-corralled girls, that was a second issue that I was too lazy to go back into the house and remedy with a quick change to something more sporty.

Fortunately, I'm not anywhere near so well-endowed as for running to cause any black eyes.

Last, not least, and never, ever seemingly to be forgotten because they just won't give me a moments peace, Quatto and my stomach became like two car-sick kids in the backseat harping about whether or not we're there yet.

Maybe I should rename this duo Laurel and Hardy.... Jack and Jill.... Bonnie and Clyde.

Anyway, I made it all of a quarter of a mile before I decided "painting" the garage floor with my morning breakfast of egg and coffee was not really high on my list of things to do. Though I guess it could be construed as a bucket list item.

Get it?

har-har?

I don't know if it were the new back meds I had tried earlier that may have set everything off, along with the jostle of running so unexpectedly. It's not like I really sent the bod a notice, it was truly that spontaneous of a run. I went out for a walk, next thing I know, I'm running.

I know... it has nothing to do with this story but look at it!

Doesn't matter what directly caused it, I mean, I know running certainly did not help matters, I was sicker than a dog for the rest of the afternoon. As the snow pelted down and the county went under a Level 1 snow emergency (Because the first snowflake of the season is a sure sign of the apocalypse) I fought waves of pukish-ness while doing Algebra and reading all sorts of wonderfully interesting things in my psych class. You know, things on conditioning, extinction and not blinded by love being the term but what they call habituation and so forth and so on. The blue room feeling much like a ship being tossed about at sea and I was the captain, crew and skallywag.

I have no idea how I found the gusto but I did make it to work last night to cover an event.

I made it through a dinner and awards presentation without hurling.

I was so proud of myself.

It's the little things.

Course, my perseverance may have been the half bottle of Maalox I ingested during the white-knuckled drive to work. Peeps driving like maniacs, in ditches and plowed into poles. Or the fact I was compelled to continue swigging during work, after the reception and again during work. Followed by more swigging on the way home.

All that was missing was a paper bag.

I tell ya, between Tums and now Maalox, well, I should have plenty of calcium in my bod' that's for sure.

Wouldn't it be ironic to find out I'm lactose intolerant and that's why I'm feeling barfish 24/7.

That be a har-har... er... right?

I don't know

noreply@blogger.com (Bethany AKA Mother of the Munchkins) — Thu, 19 Jan 2012 12:54:00 +0000

"So do you feel bad about leaving the trail?" Katz asked after a time.

I thought for a moment, unsure. I had come to realize that I didn't have any feelings towards the AT that weren't confused and contradictory. I was weary of the trail, but still strangely in its thrall; found the endless slog tedious but irresistible; grew tired of the boundless woods but admired their boundlessness; enjoyed the escape from civilization and ached for its comforts. I wanted to quit and to do this forever; sleep in a bed and in a tent, see what was over the next hill and never see a hill again. All of this all at once, every moment, on the trail or off.

"I don't know," I said. "Yes and no, I guess. What about you?"

- A Walk in the Woods

by Bill Bryson

I don't know either.

That seems to be the word-of-the-day, or perhaps lifetime... I don't know.

Er... phrase-of-the-day.

Dang... I mean lifetime.

Gah!

That's the funny thing about life, you get your head wrapped about the notion of how something should be or should turn out and what a viscous blow when it doesn't come close. Or in the case of Bryson and Katz on their feelings towards the great AT, after managing not even half of the 2,200-some-ish miles, confused about how to feel.

Maybe I should feel lucky that while I just don't know anymore what is up, what is down, what is right or wrong in my personal life.Though work, school, the girls, all those things are going great, beyond that, friendships, relationships, what have you, I don't know. Guess that's better than having a solid foot in good or bad?

Yep. The almighty, insufferable know-it-all knows zip. Zilch. .

So in my cornfusion about those sidebars of life (Crap, does that sound insulting? I'm short on good words this morning) I did what any red-blooded American would do in my shoes, I went car shopping after work yesterday. I did the one thing, out of many mind you, that my good ol' DivorceCare program says not to and that's get a car.

Well, I didn't get, I looked, there's a difference and it wasn't anything flashy and new, believe me.

Maybe a tad flashy in my noggin'.

I won't say much more than that about my grand adventure yesterday, (I'm still trying to digest it) beyond the fact I got behind a nicely used 2005 Neon and zipped it about the Interstate, through a parking lot, looked over, under and through it. For the most part it was a solid little car, in need of an alignment, the interior, while spotless, was not as nice as my possessed Neon.

The price is excellent for the mileage.

I can't balk but I'm having a hard time letting go of my NeNe. We've been through a lot over her 145K miles, and crazy electronics, dumping me to the curbside while on my way to a job interview (Divine intervention if you ask me because that job would have kept me from finding the job I do have and love) deer trying to hitch a ride and more crazy electronic business that had neighbors planted on the doorstep to announce the Neon has gone wild.

Through it all, that car, like my last one, my much loved Daytona, has lasted longer than my relationships.

Har-har.

er... sigh

Course there's more irony in that sentence than you can ever imagine, believe me...We'll get there eventually. For now, let's partake of some music, shall we? And though part of my New Year's resolutions was devoted to positivity, which means absolutely no sad songs, I broke that rule a bit last night. So I may as well share.

Sing it to me Darren.

You, too, Hurts, with your crazy Saran Wrappings... which and BTW... what does that mean? Fresh soul? What?

Right?

noreply@blogger.com (Bethany AKA Mother of the Munchkins) — Wed, 18 Jan 2012 12:51:00 +0000

My poor brother twisted his ankle and then threw out his back.

Where he threw it must have been in the same ditch as mine.

I'm still trying to crawl out.

The bright side about all this, as I shared with him, our backs seeming to sing in harmony, is that we can be a wheelchair team in the retirement home, and my sister-in-law can be our pit crew and PR rep.

This brought about all sorts of hilarious imaginings of decked out chairs complete with I-Spy sort of gadgetry that would have our competitors eating our dust. Passing a set of teeth between us like a baton, jamming other team spokes with some illicit part of a cane... all for the winnings of an extra pudding at 4 p.m. dinner and a visit from one of our kids.

Bad humor, I know. I'm trying to look at the bright side about all the physical ailments hanging about without much luck.

Course, if we are lucky, by the time we get into the retirement home (If retirement still exists and again, if we are so fortunate to last that long, all bad backs and bad humor getting us into further trubs aside) they'll probably have hover-scooters

Now that will be loads more fun than wheelchair races, my friends.

And what does this have to do with today's post?

Absolutely zilch.

Well, okay, not entirely zilch considering how an interview I had yesterday resulted in the lamentation about being the ring leader to the lost boys.

My ears really perked up on that whole lost boys thing spoken by a teacher who has done a world of good, along with her students, all facing particular challenges in their lives.

I could well see the how and why she drew in this assortment of individuals who are looking for someone to help, someone who they trust won't judge them but will be entirely honest and point out their screw-ups without batting an eye. A person who will get back in their faces, if necessary, and force the lost boys to really think about where they are, what they are doing and where they want to go.

I thought to myself, that's what I want, to help the lost boys.

So why do I feel like I'm nothing but a black widow and once in my web they are being eaten alive?

My mother always says I raised my bro and he turned out okay... right, bud?

Right?

Hello?

Bueller?

That osmosis thing

noreply@blogger.com (Bethany AKA Mother of the Munchkins) — Tue, 17 Jan 2012 16:07:00 +0000

Hearing thunder with brief flashes of light certainly threw me off this morning and it was quickly followed by elation.

I had finally done it! I had hibernated through the entire winter and low 'n behold, 'tis spring.

Yes!

Snow sculptures can be done another year, bone-chilling walks, too. I have slept thoroughly and deeply the entire dreary months of blah, can I get a woot!

Course, I knew better. Doesn't hurt for trying.considering the girls had no school and I did not have to be an early bird at work so the wee hours have been especially delightful. Minus the whole realization it is only January and we've got weird weather going on.

Something about a snowstorm being the worst since 1985?

Seems some weather peeps are frothing at the mouth.

Oh, and not to be forgotten, the reality of the mounds of homework laying before my feet here on the bed cannot be completed via hibernation.

No osmosis here, baby, just doesn't work that way. Though things are rather interesting in my psych course which is covering various conditioning and stimuli that for once is finally sinking into the ol' noggin. I can't tell you how many times there has been discussion on unconditioned stimulus and all that is associated with it that I could never quite put my finger on or understand. This classbook is absolutely brilliant and the light bulb has finally gone off.

Unfortunately with that light bulb comes a true understanding of how unconditioned stimulus and responses, etc. and blech has an interesting power over our lives. Gives it all a bit of a whoa factor.

For instance, how we associate Monday with a great deal of negativity, doom and gloom as it is the first day back to work and the ending to the weekend.

An easy one.

How I have conditioned people, without realizing, to react to me in a certain way and how I want to re-condition them; takes a lot of effort and time, sometimes monstrous amounts of space, if it can be done at all.

That's a hard one.

Funny thing, Pema Chodron was right, life is an experiment and while she pissed me off initially with that comment I'm beginning to understand it.

We'll discuss this further, as I work to re-condition a lot of things, this osmosis thing definitely won't work on my Algebra.

Opportunity

noreply@blogger.com (Bethany AKA Mother of the Munchkins) — Mon, 16 Jan 2012 23:39:00 +0000

I had a dream about a bat last night. It was an enormous thing, seemingly all fluttery black wings more than anything and snout, so I take it was a fruit bat.

That's kind of funny... ta-ha...

This fruit bat was everywhere. In my house flying about as I kept ducking and dodging; there was no safety to be found outside as it glided from tree to tree, swooping far too close to my head.

This rather beautiful creature of the night didn't seem out to do any harm, maybe it was going to poop on my head. I don't know. What I do know is that in my dream I did not want that thing landing on me.

I can't help but wonder, had it not lost a wing (Simply popped right off mid-flight) and gone crashing to a curb, if it had landed on me, would I have screamed like a girl?

Har-har...

I know it is tacky, the har-har, but I feel compelled to point out the humor.

Anyway, according to dream dictionaries, which had to be written by a set of twins, one being on the dark side and the other a vanilla wafer, because there were two very strikingly different definitions and we'll go with the vanilla wafer's version. Goodness knows there's enough negativity out there in the world to last us until hell freezes over.

As to what a bat means in a dream, on the positive and without a run-on sentence: To dream of a bat is a sign of rebirth.

*insert canned laughter*

Go fig and all things considered like you would not believe.

I mean, I do like it, rebirth. It is full of irony, a tad unsettling, certainly a challenge. Course, the fruit bat's wing falling off, thus sending it in a spiral to the ground, followed by it yipping off into some trees is not something I really want to dissect a meaning from but too late, I already know what it means.

With rebirth comes risk, comes pain, comes potential loss.

As the bat in my dream lost its wing, fell to the ground in a heap and went off behind some tree to lick its wound, well, I can't help but see parallels in my own life, the loss, the pain, the risk.

But you know what else I see?

Opportunity.

Wanderment

noreply@blogger.com (Bethany AKA Mother of the Munchkins) — Sat, 14 Jan 2012 17:50:00 +0000

That's the trouble with losing your mind; by the time it's gone, it's too late to get it back.

- A Walk in the Woods

by Bill Bryson

I started my psych homework early this morning, I'm already behind and everything is due tomorrow.

Fortunately, I've learned not to panic, I just rip out some hair instead.

After getting half-way through though my mind started to drift. Perfectly understandable as one reads about rodents in mazes and how this translates to human behavior.

Don't we all run around in the maze of life looking for food pellets?

It was time for a break, so I decided on a walk, though my back was screaming for me to stay right where I was, on the heating pad. After all, the longest I've been able to go on the tread is 25 minutes all week before returning to the house looking like I've a corncob stuck up a nether region. And this isn't running, this is just walking. I haven't run in 5 months and it shows.

So why I thought walking outside would be any different ... who knows... but there I went anyways with a jokish inquire to mom as I walked out the door on whether or not AAA covers the towing of bodies. I could well picture a local tow trucker pulling up to my strewn carcass a good two miles from home, looking miffed and puzzled about the lack of a vehicle.

I went out the door, even with the visual of one puzzled tow truck driver right at the center of my noggin and didn't even make it a quarter of a mile before I fell.

Actually, it was a slip, I slipped on some ice beneath a dusting of snow on one of a total of three hills in this confounding corn county and did the most graceful drop to one knee ever to behold.

Okay, so it probably only looked graceful in my mind's eye and the graceful may simply come from the fact I was so relieved to have fallen so daintily. If I had to fall I'd prefer it be on a knee and not my bum or worse yet, my tailbone. With my back screaming bloody murder all the way down my end-cheeks into the back of my thighs the last thing I need is a bruised tailbone.

I would have had to call the local tow.

Grace or not, I dropped to a single knee in what had to look like a proposal to either the pavement or the sky, and somehow managed not to destroy my cell phone that was gripped in one hand. Though I did manage to bend the adaptor between the cell and my handy-dandy new earmuffs/speakers. (Oh my gosh these things are awesome! Bought with a gift card, too! More exclamation marks I say! More!!!)

In an attempt to look entirely okay with having slipped, and let my burning (face) cheeks settle, I fussed over the bent adaptor, while still on bended knee, trying to figure out how in the world I managed to bend the thing and not destroy the entire phone.

Course, in an attempt to bend it back; snapped the thing right off.

Ah well... better the adaptor need replacing than an entire phone.

So I proceeded on my walk, a very quiet walk mind you since I'd no manner in which to listen to my music which left my mind to wander, wander and more wander. Like an unleashed dog that has to sniff and lift a leg on everything while on its morning stroll... my mind wandered.

I don't know how I get anything accomplished with the amount of wandering my mind does but blog posts formulated in my noggin, along with wonderment over what the munchkins were doing at that precise moment at their dad's, whether or not I should go to church tonight or tomorrow, how much more psych homework needs to be done, is Watson a good choice or should I go with Skinner for my term paper? (crap, is the library still open?) followed by the notion I needed to hurry up the walking so I could get to the bank, backhurtsbackhurstbackhurts, is that cat tracks or squirrel....?

Whew... if thoughts burned calories I would be a toothpick.

Good news! I made it a whole two miles unscathed, there was no calling for a tow, or worse, an ambulance and for as much thinking as was going on I didn't walk out into traffic.

Something I do worry about because I've done it before, so deep in thought that an SUV and I became almost a little too intimate for my taste.

Hey, what's a stroll without a little danger, right?

Stranger than fiction

noreply@blogger.com (Bethany AKA Mother of the Munchkins) — Fri, 13 Jan 2012 13:52:00 +0000

The Universe being humorous (Universe/Humorous... does that rhyme?) I went into work with not a story to tell and left with two written.

How's them apples?

Seriously, I wrote a near 20-inch story on a bug and then a mere 7-inch on a meeting agenda.

Granted the latter I should have saved for today, but with the SNOW-apocalypse here why leave something unwritten to chance?

har-har

There was no SNOW-apocalypse here, though the local weather peeps tried to get us shaking in our woollies.

Man, I love my job, I love it and somewhere along the lines I've become fond enough of algebra to elicit a lurve for it.

Gasp!

I know, right?

Last night I zipped through four homework assignments (Zip equaling almost three hours of insanity) and then took a test to a perfect score.

Three hours of torture is so worth it for that grade. I may now have some bald spots and a few broken teeth from chewing on my pen in agony but that perfect score, that perfect score!

Now if I could just say the same of my new psych class where the reading material covers a lot of ground that I'm slogging through with hooded eyes.

It's hard to be enraptured over a whole lot of white men with some wild ideas about people. I know I'm supposed to show a reverence to the founding fathers of psychology but I'm having a hard time looking at their work with said reverence while rubbing necking their personal lives.

For instance, John B. Watson was a tad of an unsettling character, what with bed-hopping and being a little too charismatic for his own good.

How can one be interested in his work?

Life is truly stranger or perhaps far more fascinating than fiction, all we have to do is look at our own lives to know how wild and woolly life can be.

Work alone was full of fascination yesterday, cause believe it or not a bug can really have that much power over A LOT of things.

Yes, a bug. (I'd put another exclamation mark but work has shown me that such punctuation is rather embarrassing)

We'd also another sad, unfortunate deceased person on our hands, and of course, the SNOW-apocalypse that never transpired.

Then there are the strange workings going on in my life behind-the-scenes, a story and stories I will share in due time.

In the meantime, have yourself a safe but stranger-than-fiction weekend, k?

Knock on wood

noreply@blogger.com (Bethany AKA Mother of the Munchkins) — Thu, 12 Jan 2012 12:46:00 +0000

Much like my sleeping Monday night into Tuesday a.m. being the most aggravating I have ever experienced in my life. Wednesday, daylight hours at work, was the most frustrating that I can ever recall in the near-year that I have been at the paper.

How is it I could be so busy in the space of about two hours but accomplish zilch?

I've no clue.

For starters, I always seem to miss the flurry at work. I walked in to find there was a car chase and an unfortunate and very sad dead body discovery. While leaving behind in my commute a county that had a school bomb threat and a news-worthy coach retirement.

Sigh.

I am worthless on scoops.

In my near-year at the paper I've had one scoop, one, and it was on a grant. Great news for the city I work with but not exactly something to go home and brag about.... okay, well, actually I did go home and brag about it because I have something of an obsession with grants. (This city I work with is something of a grant whisperer, it is amazing)

Anyway, no sooner had I sat down at my desk in the newsroom, I found I had misread dates on an email (How is it the second week of January already?) so I'd two interviews practically on top of each other.

Went to both, always delighted with who I get to meet and speak with, always learning something new, yet walked away with not a single story.

Oh, not to be mistaken, they are stories, on down the road, but not anything for the paper over the next couple of days, which is always frustrating.

I went home, caught up with the munchkins, tried to walk on the tread but gave up after 15 minutes as my back was singing quite a robust solo, went and dabbled in homework chaos that did nothing but frustrate me more amongst an eye-watering aroma of menthol. (This is where Emma proceeded to tell me I smell good but makes her eyes burn)

Urgh.

I finally gave up at a ghastly 9 p.m., with the girls snug in bed I was free to do likewise, my head hitting the pillow and thank karma, the holy ghost, bagpipes and marshmallows, whomever or whatever, I was out in no time.

I slept great.

Does that mean today will be full of exhilarating accomplishment or potential scoops?

Eeeeeeeeh, not holding my breath on that but stranger things have happened.

Maybe yours truly will get a grant!

That's being positive about the day.

Or get a deer crinkle on the other side of the Neon so the sides match.

Now that's how I surmise my day to go.

Best go knock on wood for that grant.

Just not a fan

noreply@blogger.com (Bethany AKA Mother of the Munchkins) — Wed, 11 Jan 2012 12:45:00 +0000

Monday night sleeping had to be the worst I've ever experienced in my near 38 years of living. A quartet of aches kept me up until 4 a.m. The guys just wouldn't shut up.

My lower back beat the drums.

Stomach twanged a bad guitar.

Quatto barked a chorus while Vertigo, good old Vert sang in a deep, bluesy sort of manner that was downright depressing.

At first, the aches, while regrettable were manageable; I took comfort in knowing I'd soon fall asleep as my tired noggin' hit the sack around 11 p.m. and soon I'd be entirely unawares of what was ailing me.

I'd be in dreamland.

When the hall clock ticked off midnight I thought to myself no sweat, still plenty of time to catch some much needed Z's. Let's just roll over and see if a different position does the trick.

Nopes.

In no time the clock sang out a solitary stroke of 1 a.m. but I still wasn't quite alarmed, still plenty of time.

However, when 2 came round the bend I decided to switch ends of the bed to sleep, only to return to the same old position when 3 sounded from the second floor hallway.

When 4 doled out its alarmingly loud striking tone I was in an aggravated panic but that was the last I heard of the chimes, or anything else for that matter, until I awoke a solid hour before the alarm. (Go fig, right?) My garage band was still busy hashing out some new tunes, putting my mood in the sourest it has been in ... well... forever. Fortunately the munchkins were in high spirits and lent me some of that good natured 'tude on the way to the bus stop to bolster me up a tad or I may not have gotten anything accomplished yesterday.

Still... all these aches and pains make me feel for those who deal with chronic pain. Granted I have yet to admit that yours truly is dealing with chronic pain here, just haven't put myself into that category yet. I keep thinking that somewhere along the line I'm going to get a free get out of pain card.

Is this the illusion that I'm still too young for such constant icks?

I don't know, all I know is that the Universe... come on.... can I have a day without the grunge band practicing?

They suck and while I admire their gusto to keep on, to prevail, to divide and conquer (erm...) there's no amount of practicing that will make them any better in this case.

Sorry guys, I'm just not a fan.

Should: The operative word of the day

noreply@blogger.com (Bethany AKA Mother of the Munchkins) — Mon, 09 Jan 2012 12:46:00 +0000

Opened my class assignments for the new term this morning and let's just say my school game face should look something along the lines of The Scream.

A whole host of expletives followed in rapid succession at the tip of my tongue along with a sweetbabyjesus and a deep throb right at the center of my forehead.

Quatto, that pain in my right lower rib, gave a tiny belch, just to keep things interesting.

Who do I think I am, Superwoman? Seriously. The psych work alone at part-time would be too much to handle, but I've got it along with Algebra part deux(day machine).

Plus, this is only the beginning of what I have planned, in the works, mumble-mumble.... not school related but in the larger picture that we'll discuss in due time.

Deep breath

I have to remind myself that the beginning of each term as a full-time student always seems overwhelming at first. I've spent a little too much time as a part-timer, gotten cozy with partY time work. But I've been doing this long enough now to know, a year plus into my psych classes, the drill. So while my syllabus for my two classes came as a shock, I am trying very hard to take comfort in the knowledge that I always freak out at the starting gate.

A few minutes breathing into a paper bag.

A very, very, very long walk.

Beating my head against the desk for five minutes....

Should all do the trick.

Should.

Should being the operative word here.

Crumbcakes!!!

What a time to have given up Facebook, too. A psych topic in itself, but that's for another day, another time. I've got to hunt down a paperbag and get my walking shoes on, bandage my forehead from the desk beating.

In the works

noreply@blogger.com (Bethany AKA Mother of the Munchkins) — Sat, 07 Jan 2012 18:29:00 +0000

The past harmonizes.

- 11/22/63

By Stephen King

I finished King's latest and greatest.

Truly his best (non-horror) book ever.

Ever.

Does that sound rather worship-ful?

Maybe it's simply my mood.

Or that some old fav characters from his best horror book from long ago made an appearance?

Richie and Bevvie down by the levvie

I was ready to start re-reading the second I finished the last page but alas, I'm not far away from school starting after this long holiday break so best not.

Man, I'm so ready for full-time classes to begin, though I've no doubt in 8 weeks I will be tearing out my hair.

It won't be just numbers, papers to write, dry reading material with perhaps self-shrinking nuances; things are in the works.

Things are always in the works around these here parts as the past is always harmonizing.

Now that is some serious King worshiping.

Many, many moons ago

noreply@blogger.com (Bethany AKA Mother of the Munchkins) — Tue, 03 Jan 2012 12:47:00 +0000

In the past when I wrote a post I'd do so the night before, get up in the morning, give it a good read-over and then hit the publish button.

These newest posts I've been writing beforehand as usual but get up in the morning to read and next thing you know I'm winging something entirely different.

Just like this one.... all of a sudden, here's an entirely new topic, a little story, something that sort of helps bring us back to August when I nixed the blog, but not telling the whole story quite yet. We'll get there, eventually. (Ooooh, suspense!)

Many, many moons ago, I sat in the park with my first ex, then boyfriend, prepared to end it. I had graduated from high school and was going to a local college while working part-time at the library. I had missed the train on the college experience, at least by a year, and wanted that experience, more importantly, I wanted to get away. After a few chats with one of my co-workers, someone who became one of my best friends, I had set my eyes on a college in Kentucky. (I'm in Ohio for you new readers) I had even gone so far as to send my transcripts, if that's what you call them, I've not had enough coffah this morning, and had a date set for a tour.

The problem was that I was going to have to break it off with the boyfriend. It was the right thing to do.

Don't get me wrong, I loved him, I really did. I was crazy about him. He was sweet, he was kind, he brought me flowers and spoke all the words every girl wants to hear but I wanted my freedom, I wanted that college experience.

So we sat in the park, I broke the news and all hell broke loose.

He cried and begged me to stay.

Yours truly wigged out over this current of very unexpected emotions and because of a habit that had already by that point gotten me into worlds of trouble, and would eventually cause so much pain in my life in ways you can't even begin to imagine.... I stayed.

Most of you know what happened with that... flash forward to a long engagement, a short marriage and .... does not matter about the past, what's done is done.

What does matter is how that moment has been creeping through my mind for the better part of a week because my inability to speak up, to stick to my guns on what I wanted cost us both. It wasn't that I didn't love him, that I didn't care, but simply that my gut wanted something else. Yet, I crumbled and did what someone else wanted for all the wrong reasons.

People pleasing.

Not wanting an enemy.

Not wanting to fight.

It's funny how a habit, seemingly so insignificant, can really cost not just the person with the habit, but those nearest and dearest to them.

What bad habit is costing you? I mean, habit may not be a good word for it, as my so-called habit is rather destructive, once we really get into why I closed the blog in August. Once I really tell-all, har-har.

You know, I almost closed this blog again yesterday.

Almost.

My trigger finger is just itching to dump so much stuff because my gut is screaming at me and for once, I'm listening. It wants me to dump the entire story, the whole thing and then run. ha! That just cracks me up. My mother and I got to talking about running yesterday, we've been having these incredible, very open discussions for a week and we spoke about how running away isn't necessarily the running away from problems. Some times it's just running away from people so as to start out fresh with new people as the person we truly want to be and not the one everyone has grown accustomed to us being. A problem I have when I asked her why is it that when other people I know tell it like it is .... no one bats an eye, but when I tell it like it is, people freak out?

"Cause they're not used to it from you, that's all," Mom said and you know what, she's right.

We attach labels to people, as innocuous as they may seem, to their detriment. I've had sweet and kind attached to me all my life without people realizing those are hard words to keep up with but the worst offender is myself. I knock myself out trying to keep up with those labels when I'm as fallible, mean and grouchy as the next person.

What labels have other people given you that can't be kept up with or hurt you in some way and how much has it affected you and those around you?

I'm asking these questions because I see it. I can't tell you how often I see people falling to labels both created by others and by themselves. The hard-arse who no one thinks can be soft and they can't picture themselves being soft. The outspoken who can't imagine keeping silent. The pessimist who really wants to be optimistic.

Sigh.

My aunt told me to stop looking for answers and I can't stop. I want answers but mainly for myself. I don't want anyone's help, I don't want any white knight. I want to be my own hero, so to speak.

Now I'm rambling, time for some music to end today's post and start the work week. Cheers!

I can't open up and cry
Cause I've been silent all my life

Number 10 aka my dime is now

noreply@blogger.com (Bethany AKA Mother of the Munchkins) — Mon, 02 Jan 2012 14:39:00 +0000

Oh, I told myself lots of things, and they all boiled down to the same two things, that it was perfectly safe, and that it was perfectly reasonable to want more money even though I currently had enough to live on. Dumb. But stupidity is one of two things we see most clearly in retrospect. The other is missed chances.

- 11/22/63

by Stephen King

I helped 2011 out the door the same way I let it in, alone, and I made the choice to do it that way, to remind myself that life is what I make of it or more importantly how I choose to see it. That while I cannot control others in how they deal with life, how they see it, I can certainly control how I look at things.

Did that make sense?

Feeling like I had a choice, that by making the decision to have this sort of alone time, was very empowering. I read my King book, over 350 pages into this monster of about 850. (I would have gotten farther but kept falling asleep! And no, that's not cause it is a snoozer, it is fantastic.) All the while marveling over the central theme of how the past doesn't like to be changed. How the past throws all sorts of obstacles at the time traveling main character, Jake, to keep him from his past-changing mission.

This is so true about how we struggle with our gut instincts but this subject is another post, another day and you will be sick of it by the time I'm done. Ever so slowly I will catch everyone up with what has been going on but for today let me say that I got really sick these last few months of 2011 because I was struggling against my gut. While my gut threw all sorts of obstacles in my path, and just like Jake in 11/22/63 the more he fought to change the past, the more the past fought back, so too did my body. It was throwing all sorts of things at me, trying to get me to stop and listen for a second, but I'm notoriously stubborn. I'm a closet control freak and I think I can make any situation pan out so everybody can win, if I try hard enough and it does not happen that way.

Sometimes you have to lose.

Sometimes you have to hurt people when you don't want to and disappoint them because it is impossible to make everyone happy. When you try to make that happen, in the end, you won't be happy.

I'm not happy.

That's all there is to it.

Something is missing.

Something is wrong.

I've read and re-read blog posts from the last two years over the last month trying to put my finger on it, all the while my gut screaming and yelling, waving flags and I kept ignoring it.

As someone told me, life is messy and complicated. I've made it worse by paddling against the current at least until my mother came slightly unhinged the day after Christmas.The same day yours truly woke up to really look and I mean really look at her bedside table to the menagerie of medicine sitting there that I needed to just get through a day without pain or upchucking.

I can't live like this anymore.

I want answers.

I want closure.

I want conclusions.

I want to be authentic in my life and not wear a mask to please everyone or make others happy, and keep from hurting them at the cost of my own happiness.

I came back to the blog because I want people to know why I really closed it. But in order to do that I have to be honest, really truly, painfully honest and that means from this point forward this blog will not be pretty, it won't.

I promise to protect identities, I won't drag anyone through the mud, except myself, but what I'm going to be writing, what I am going to be saying, will NOT be altered to spare someone's feelings. It will not be dressed up to make myself look good, innocent, the victim. I'm not playing that part anymore.

Life changes on a dime, so says Jake... and my dime is now.

...

While I'm here, (And in an attempt to soften what I just wrote above) below is a list of new year tips from Positively Positive but understand, I don't care too much for the word, happy, being thrown out like it is a definite or end-of-all means. Sometimes it is not about being happy but just doing what is right.

Ack, I'm rambling! Too much coffah this morning so let's cut to the chase, shall we? (BTW, number 10 is my favorite)

Each New Year brings awesome blogging opportunities for self-help junkies like me. I love offering up tips for making positive change—especially when readers are committed. This year I’m going to take advantage of the resolution bandwagon and throw down some tips for bringing more happy into the new year.

Now is the perfect time to make powerful change—your willingness is at an all-time high.

Check out my top twelve happiness tips for 2012:
Tip 1: Let go of 2011 baggage.
It’s likely that 2011 brought many ups and downs. This year, resolve to focus on the good stuff. Choose to let go of what went wrong last year, and commit to what will go right this year. Be grateful and appreciate all that you have. When you appreciate what you do have, you create more of what you want. Stop focusing on lack and let the energy of gratitude create a more abundant life.
Tip 2: Change the conversation.
Make a resolution to change your dialogue about fear and negativity. When you think, talk, and act from a negative place, you attract negativity into your life. Commit to a new conversation. Begin the New Year talking and thinking about what you love about your life, rather than replaying the same old negative story. You might just be surprised by the results.
Tip 3: Give.
Being altruistic not only benefits the person you’re helping but greatly enhances your own life, too. This year, commit to the mantra “How can I give?” rather than “How can I get?” Giving produces endorphins, which make you feel great! Plus, giving to others helps you get out of your own way. When you focus on giving you can stop focusing on what you’re not getting.
Tip 4: Take a ME break.
Commit to a ME break at least once a week. Take time out to focus on yourself. This is a powerful habit to create early in the year. Need some suggestions? Take a long yoga class, prepare a nice meal for yourself, or create an evening ritual. One of my favorite ways to take a ME break in the evening is to give myself a facial.
Tip 5: Get naked!
This year, make a commitment to be authentic. Get naked with your truth, offering the world your greatest gift: your authentic self. Begin a practice of being yourself on dates, in the office, or even in your home. We all thrive on true connection. So this year, get naked with your truth. Don’t deprive the world of your authentic gifts. Even if it feels uncomfortable at first—go with it—you’ll feel liberated in no time.
Tip 6: Get creative.
This year, I commit to spend more time painting. This creative hobby takes me out of my daily patterns and ignites my inner spirit. Pledge to engage in a creative project as often as possible. You’ll find that time spent in creativity heightens your happiness, and gives you more energy for the other areas of your life.
Tip 7: Do innovative exercise.
Each New Year, millions resolve to hit the gym and lose weight. This year, make your physical resolutions fun! Rather than locking yourself up in the gym for days, find cool ways to shed the pounds. I am a huge fan of Hoopnotic, a rockin’ workout with a Hula-Hoop. When I Hula-Hooped as a kid, it was just a fun thing to do. I never would’ve imagined doing it as a killer (and totally addictive) workout.
Tip 8: Practice the F-word.
Carrying resentments into the New Year will only recreate the patterns from years prior. This year, vow to let go of resentments by practicing the F-word and forgive. Become conscious of whom you need to forgive (including yourself) and be willing to let go of your resentment and turn it over daily. Each morning when you wake up, set the intention to forgive. This daily intention will ignite a consciousness of forgiveness and provide you with the necessary tools to allow the F-word process to set in.
Tip 9: Eat mindfully.
To keep your Spirit Junkie mentality intact, you must feed your soul superfoods. This New Year I’ve committed to kicking the coffee. Rather than go nuts trying to eliminate everything bad in your diet, keep it simple and choose one thing to let go of. My spiritual running buddy Kris Carr offers amazing tips for cleaning up your palate in her book Crazy Sexy Diet. Let Kris’s book inspire you to keep it simple and wholesome. There’s no need to kick it all at once. Small shifts create powerful change.
Tip 10: Be Authentic.
Rather than conform to what you think the world wants you to be, in 2012, serve the world more of YOU. Make a New Year’s resolution to be more authentic. When you share your truth with the world, your genuine gifts shine through. Plus your authenticity gives others the chance to be truthful, too!
Tip 11: Sit back and receive.
I work hard to balance my go-getter mentality with my sit-back-and-RECEIVE approach to life. This year, welcome stillness and receptivity. Through a daily meditation practice, you can begin to transform your need to control outcomes and learn to sit back and receive. You’ll come to understand that stillness is sometimes the greatest action. Begin a meditation practice today with one of my FREE Spirit Junkie guided meditations. CLICK HERE to download.
Tip 12: Expect miracles.
Kick off the New Year with a miracle mindset. Begin each day with a prayer for peace and happiness. Say out-loud or to yourself: “Thank you, inner guide, for reminding me of all the love and light in my life. I welcome positive support throughout this day. I expect miracles.” This daily prayer will jump-start your day with a miracle mindset and awaken your consciousness to the greatness around you.
Incorporate these twelve tips into your daily practices and enjoy the positive results. Trust that the Universe has your back, expect miracles, and be happy!

Now for some campy pop music!

If you let it happen

noreply@blogger.com (Bethany AKA Mother of the Munchkins) — Sat, 31 Dec 2011 13:25:00 +0000

I stroked a big red A on top of his paper. Looked at it for a moment or two, then added a big red +. Because it was good, and because his pain had evoked an emotional reaction in me, his reader. And isn't that what A+ writing is supposed to do? Evoke a response?

- 11/22/63

By Stephen King

I came home from work yesterday absolutely on fire. I knew precisely what I wanted to do over the remainder of the day and into the weekend.

I went to work, put together one story and I don't recall the exact number but laid out three or four pages, and headed home near 1 p.m., maybe 2... (eh, what's an hour here or there?) had the ex come get the girls earlier than planned. But not before asking mom if she was interested in going to Richmond.

I knew that one, we were going to eat out on my Texas Roadhouse gift card from work, that two, I was going to buy King's newest release, with three being to find myself a new date book and four to have a talk with my mother.

I was on fire as I drove, like nothing I've ever seen or heard before, it was refreshing, it was great. I pointed out my lifelong fallacy of never speaking up, ever. That I hope the decisions she had made and was currently making in her life was not because she had to look like a hard arse or afraid I would judge her. Or that other's were making decisions for her, or directing her, that advice is great, but in the end...

Then I spoke of my own issues, regrets, anger, wants and what I planned to do about it, all of it.

And for the first time in, ever, it seemed like I was finally feeling, finally seeing the world, seeing the whorls on my fingers while feeling the smooth leather of the steering wheel. Seeing each individual rain drop falling on the windshield, feeling and hearing the pound of my heart, really in the moment like no other and in so long.

"All this drama is my own damn fault," I said. "I never speak up, so afraid to hurt someone or look like a fool. To say the wrong thing. I've given people the wrong impression about me. They come to these odd conclusions about who I am and that's not the real me."

By the time we had shopped for my book, found Brie some new jeans that she's been needing, found my new date book because I'm so lost without one, ate and so much talking I was exhausted. Mom drove us home as I stared out the window, head pounding, a slight feeling of dread that we were going back home, to the drama of my own making, and yet at peace.

I got into my pajamas at an odd 7 p.m., crawled into bed with my new King book, read the first chapter and then found myself here, reading old blog posts, which brings me to...remember this...?

<p>&amp;amp;lt;br&amp;amp;gt;&amp;amp;lt;br&amp;amp;gt;&amp;amp;lt;br&amp;amp;gt;the</p>

The crazy thing about all this, you needn't travel the globe for an adventure, it's all right in your own backyard if you let it happen.

Make your own adventure this new year, folks. Not dependent on others to show you the way, riding someone else's coat-tails to the finish line, do it yourself and for yourself.

Be safe.

Happy new year!

Here I are

noreply@blogger.com (Bethany AKA Mother of the Munchkins) — Fri, 30 Dec 2011 13:30:00 +0000

A lot can happen in five months.

An entire lifetime can seemingly pass.

Pretty amazing stuff.

Yet, here I are.

(tar-har)

Still have my horrid humor intact.

It's been a whirlwind and the crazy thing about it, I'm nearing the climax. Don't ask for specifics, maybe I'll write it out in some harrowing (is that right?) book someday but over the next few weeks my life is about to take an enormous.... erm... lurch? That may not be the best word for it but things be a-changin' - right in time for the new year - and after months of stress-induced physical ailments, running around with my head cut off, romance, leading multiple lives and basically true life being stranger than fiction.... Here I are.

Is it guts to come back or medication to get my blood pressure down, mind settled and reset back into goals, ambitions, necessities and blogging? Well, I was blogging, both in unpublished posts here and at my new website but like a friend said, it was like I was just visiting that new blog.

This is home.

This is where I belong.

Where I can be both insanely optimistic and annoyingly pessimistic in the same breath..

Gotta love it.

So no frets. No worries. No wondering. We'll catch up soon enough. In the meantime, be careful out there this weekend, let's all get to the other side and into the new year in one piece, mmmmkay?

I'm back...

noreply@blogger.com (Bethany AKA Mother of the Munchkins) — Fri, 30 Dec 2011 00:09:00 +0000

news to come...

You push me

noreply@blogger.com (Bethany AKA Mother of the Munchkins) — Thu, 04 Aug 2011 14:28:00 +0000

Your enemy is your greatest teacher

- Buddhist saying

I honestly wanted to put nothing more than this statement on today's post: Tainted turkey, that is all, but I think I can muster enough energy to finish off what I started last night before all sorts of fun began...

You ever reach that point where you've bitten off far more than you can chew and start to not only choke but panic? The pass a paper bag (To hyperventilate with or throw up in is your choice, I'll take the latter for $500, Alex) and someone please smack me point? (I'll freely take that)

Anyway, that was me yesterday, on the verge of panic and wondering what I need to drop to stop the insanity, because I'd finally reached a point where there was so much I couldn't find the energy to do anything, at least until I finally made it to work and was able to relax.

Yay, I know, weird.

I think it helped that being at work allowed me to feel like I'd accomplished something, that I was able to take one thing off the must-do list. I managed to put a major dent into a Friday feature due at the end of the month and it felt good. Granted, the paginator is going to kill me due to length, but that's okay, it'll either be him or the tainted turkey.

Anyway, being able to finish the majority of that story took a huge weight off my shoulders. If I'd only been able to get my 750 words for school done yesterday, too, man, I'd be in heaven right now.

... okay, a tad presumptuous, maybe I'd be in hell... cause I would have given myself a heart attack to go along with the turkey, had I attempted to finish my homework on top of everything else.

There just never seems to be enough hours in the day, never.

Which reminds me of a funny story.

Back in the day, when we all walked ten miles barefoot over Mt. Everest to school, a driver's ed classmate got a little evil.

Driver's ed was taught at the high school, after the day's classes came to an end, every Thursday.

Okay, I'm not sure if it was Thursday or not. I can't even be certain it was right after school or if we had to come back.

Boy, I suck at this story telling business when it depends on my memory.

Anyway, the teacher had stepped out of class for a moment, for reasons I can't even begin to recall, and one of the boys proceeded to open the face of the clock on the wall and set it ahead by a good hour.

Obviously you see where this is going and yes, we did get out of class early.

So what if I rush around and set everyone's clocks back by at least an hour, maybe two?

I know... I just don't think anyone would appreciate that on a workday. Not when their day tends to be drawing to a close and mine is only just beginning but it be worth a shot.

The interesting thing about all of this too many eggs in one basket is that I've been thinking about adding something else to the menu. As if a single/working/student mom needs to add anything more to her schedule. However, if I'm going to take everything presented to me as a lesson I have to drag my foot out of my mouth.

Someone said he wanted to make a difference... well, so do I... and I'd been thinking about being a part of something for some months now.

Time to walk the walk and not just the talk.

x2

I'll keep you posted.

After I survive the turkey.

Time for more coffee

noreply@blogger.com (Bethany AKA Mother of the Munchkins) — Wed, 03 Aug 2011 13:40:00 +0000

It is a bad sign that I've reached a point where I try to read coffee grounds for winning lotto numbers and whether I should take the blue or red pill?

Thought I'd ask...

Last night I was covering a commission meeting for the city where I work and suffice it to say a subject matter seemingly resolved over the late winter/early spring continues to haunt all those involved.

It's sad because this community has a lot going for it, a lot, I can't even begin to tell you how much they've got going for them but wounds that haven't had time to sufficiently heal keep getting busted open. (Oh! Just found an opening to my next story for the paper, sweet!)

Without going into too much detail, you can always Google, it involves a recall effort.

Anyway, I thought to myself, as the beaten to a horsey pulp subject melted into a truly unfortunate discussion, that these people really need to move on, they are stuck in the past.

... and that's calling the kettle black. .

It's taken a few days but the pain from Sunday's unfortunate discussion with the ex is starting to subside and it's kind of interesting that I can compare that ex-talk with a commission meeting. The old issues that boiled to the surface, from yours truly more than him, of things done in the past, have to be moved on from, left behind.

They don't matter anymore.

The problem here is the same with those at the meeting. How do all parties win? Can all parties win? And can everybody win without one group feeling like they gave too much and the other too little?

Can there be a winner or is subject at the commission's meeting seemingly the same as mine, that there can be no winners, there never will be any winners?

I think I've either had too much coffee this morning or not enough; still in debate.

I just wish there was an answer where I did not feel like I was being bent over.

I wish I didn't have someone's entire future in the palm of my hand... a position I should not be in.

I really, really need to get on the tread, just got to let the coffee settle first.

I simply hadn't expected to sit in a commission meeting, watching old wounds start to bleed and compare my situation to the one before me.
So the question is... how do we ultimately get beyond a past we cannot change?

And how does one make all parties win?

I don't believe in either of our cases, mine or commission, that one can sit back and hope that the answer will be resolved by the other party.

It's a team effort.

But the teams don't like each other...

Now what?

...time for more coffee.

(Yes, I'm playing this on loop)

Projectile vomit on the dentist and his assistant...

noreply@blogger.com (Bethany AKA Mother of the Munchkins) — Tue, 02 Aug 2011 13:08:00 +0000

I should have been nervous when I went to the dentist yesterday for one of two eventual fillings. Which, BTW, sucks considering I brush my teeth 50 million times a day, but watchyagonnado?

Honestly, I was so tired and basically feeling defeated I just did not care. I was looking forward to the pain in a sadistic sort of manner that I simply won't even attempt to explain. You either get it or don't... so as the dentist started to numb first with that snazzy bubblegum flavored lube, (bahahaha) followed by shots, I really wanted to tell him, why bother?

Let's bring it on and really make the day interesting, eh?

Course, for all my being zoned out and wanton of physical pain the dentist and his assistant had to pique my interest with the use of my chest as a tool rest. Granted, this is not the first time this has happened to me but it always makes me wonder, do they eyeball we chicks beforehand to see whether or not this tool placement will work? Like stores that have height measurements around the doorframe to better identify an escaping robber. Is there some sort of measurement when we walk through the door that says this gal is perfectly capable of holding her own tools without them tumbling into her face. While the next one is gonna be a problem.

Course, dentistry feels all sorts inappropriate anyway, we expect complications (cough) at doctor's offices, but let's face it, dentists are right there in your face. They've tools rested on my chest, dude's hands all up in my mouth, telling me when to swallow and there was no place for my arms so that I had my hands clasped below my ribcage. A position that eventually had my elbow resting way too heavily in his lap.

I think they owe me money...

Fortunately, the procedure went really fast, which was a good thing because I was beginning to wonder if I was going to be adding something really new and snazzy to my repertoire.

Projectile vomit on the dentist and his assistant...

Kind of sounds like a short story or an 11 o'clock news flash on a really slooooow day.

There have been moments in the past where I've felt uncomfortable, nervous, agitated and floored while at a dentist office. The latter being the potentially last time I was at a dentist office, on a normal drill. There was an older gent in the waiting room with me who suddenly broke down over the memory of his belated wife and went on to speak of her enormous melon-size breasts with his hands cupped in the air for emphasis.

I wasn't expecting that and from the description she wouldn't have passed the tool/chest placement markings on the wall.

So yesterday was something new, to be physically ill enough that I began to strategically try to determine whose hand should be shoved out of my face first, his or hers. But no one was decorated. I did not become the talk of the office for years and years to come.

At least, not this round, I've still another filling and a cleaning so there's still time.

....

Swimming for shore

noreply@blogger.com (Bethany AKA Mother of the Munchkins) — Mon, 01 Aug 2011 14:04:00 +0000

I'm going to be greedy today.

Today's post is entirely mine. In fact, I'm just going to be weird and direct this at me so I never, ever forget yesterday's lesson because I've finally ended that beaten dog syndrome. You know, the one where I still wag my tail and lick the hand of the person dealing the pain.

You'd think as many times as I've been smacked upside the head with reality I'd have learned by now.

I've a much harder head than I realized.

Beth, you made the decision to swim for shore. That's a good thing. I'm proud of ya.

The man has a dozen ways out of the situation he is in that does not include involving you but rather than look at those other options he had to latch on to you. Which meant you let him add a stab to the heart yesterday with the stab in the back from last year. I guess that evens things out a bit on the bod...

But it's okay, right? As harsh, brutal and cruel as the lesson was it was exactly what you needed; to be done with this once and for all. All doubts have been wiped clean. You made the decision, once the gig was up, to not let him make you a life raft anymore and swim to shore.

Why? Because there's nothing there but to be drowned in the ruin of his own making by giving so much as the tiniest of help.

He has a way out. You saw several ways out but he chose to hurt you all over again. He once again chose himself over your feelings and of what is best for the girls.

The only thing you can do now is exactly what you did, take the lesson for what it is, learn from it and heal. Kudos that instead of ripping your arm out of the socket so as to beat him with it, you kept all limbs attached so as to swim for shore.

That's thinking ahead!

Plus, shore has a whole lot more to offer and what a visual, too. A writer's feast that you can't stop running through your noggin'.

On shore are the munchkins who bring out the absolute best in you.
On shore is what remains of a battered family that has taken more licks than a lollipop.

On shore is the most amazing and awesome friends that you can't thank the Universe enough for and that you don't deserve they are just that awesome.

On shore lies the potential for someone special and hopefully that hasn't been all fubar-ed up before it even got started.

The water is choppy, it's pitch black, rain is falling in buckets and shore is but a sliver of light in the distance. This has been the hardest, toughest swim you've ever had to make because you don't like to see anyone suffer but it is you and the girls who will suffer if you bend to his will. At the very least, if you can't swim for yourself, at least swim to shore for your girls.

The man is drowning and you know what, it is entirely okay to leave him there. He wasn't there when you were drowning this last year. He wasn't there while you worked through all the pain and bitterness and tried to see every bit of the grief as a priceless lesson. And if you ever have any doubt again, all you have to do is ask yourself two things: Why couldn't he see the multiple answers to his situation that don't involve hurting and stabbing you in the back? And biggest of all, why did his concern never once include the girls?

Because it was all about him.

It is not your job to save him anymore.

You are not his wife.

You are not his love.

You cannot be his friend because he turned you around and stabbed you in the heart as you played a fool holding out hope yesterday and ultimately, he will drown you and never look back.

No one can fault you for having some hope, that's why it hurt so much and what makes you the person you are, that looks for the good in other people that they often don't see in themselves and believes that everybody has the power to change. A serial killer could be choking the life out of you and you'd still be thinking, I bet he's a really nice guy, all killing aside.

He is not going to change.

If he wants to make a difference in the world he could have started right then and there with you and he didn't... let him figure this one out on his own. He has other options.

You deserve far, far better and just think, you are done, babe! You've got the bookend lessons under your belt. It sucked, it hurt, but now you know and your humor is still intact, by midnight last night you were laughing along with the tears. That's a plus! Okay, so maybe it was the how to survive a zombie attack poster hanging from the ceiling above your bed that should really list how to survive the ex-husband's attempt to drown you.

In the end, it's gonna be okay.

Now, look away, cause I'm gonna be greedy with the music, too. It's not for anyone else today, it's for me. So warning, ears may bleed, people may riot in the streets, cause I'm really bad about music and it's gonna get ugly. By all means, make fun of me and laugh. Please?

Good gravy, let there be someone laughing here, please!!!