Ramblings of a Red-Headed Step-Child

Packing Up

noreply@blogger.com (Heather) — Wed, 01 Jun 2011 13:43:00 +0000

It's time to move on from this place.

5 years is a long time, and I'm finding that I'm just not the same person I was when I started this blog. I've moved on and started another - but am somewhat cautious about inviting everyone I know to it. If you wish to follow, simply send me an email at hthrmyr (at) gmail (dot) com.

Blessings!

© 2006-present Ramblings of a Red-Headed Step-Child. All Rights Reserved

Oh, the things I've NOT been doing!

noreply@blogger.com (Heather) — Tue, 22 Mar 2011 05:51:00 +0000

It has been awhile, dear readers, since I've had much NMM fodder...but ~~this weekend~~ the past 2 weeks? FULL of it. (For those of you who are ignorant to how NMM works, click the button!)

I absolutely did NOT, after a full day of Screech's incessant and ear-piercing, uh, screeches, find myself an incoherent, brain fogged mama. And I did NOT decide to pack us both into the car a little after 2, hoping a change in scenery would jolt his temperament back to the peaceable one he used to bless us with, only to find the clock, glaring 2:15 at me. And, because glares are seen and not heard, I did NOT seem to hear the aforementioned glare hissing tick-tocks at me, accusingly. I did NOT have to mumble to myself, "2:15, why is that sticking in my mind like a bad idea?" repeatedly, and I most certainly did NOT panic when it suddenly came crashing into my consciousness that Middleton's OM team was doing a dress rehearsal of their problem in front of the school at their assembly and he'd told me their curtain time was 2:10. I did NOT utter a swear that starts with S, because such language is absolutely NOT a residual struggle of my childhood influences for me. I did NOT gun it straight to the school and did NOT feel a flood of relief upon seeing that the assembly was only just beginning. You see, since I was NOT actually late, none of that earlier stuff mattered. I made it to see my special little guy perform, and he was none the wiser! Phew.....

I did NOT freak out when Special Ks birthday cake (yes the party was almost 2 weeks after her birthday, thank you to the Over-Scheduled School-Aged Children stage in life) failed to rise, instead sinking into layers with miserably gnarled topography. Said cake's failure to rise was NOT due to my stubborn inability to drop the SuperMom attempt at creating memories that really wouldn't be all that different had I made a cake mix that I knew would turn out reliably. Because I do NOT have any motherhood issues...at. all. I did NOT attempt to fix the cake's lopsided layers by strategically placing the low ends atop the high ones, nor did I try to level them with obscene amounts of frosting. Nope, the cake turned out perfectly, if I say so myself...picture evidence is not so easily shared....it's on my FB acct and my Droid and has not been uploaded to my lappy.

I also did NOT lose my running shape this summer, dropping from a 6 mile avg run, 3+x/wk, to a less than 3 mile avg run, 1-2x/wk. Because I'm harder-core than that! I did NOT, therefore, entertain* the idea of running the Sharin' o' the Green 5k last week because it was 1.) Just hours immediately preceding K's bday party and 2.) a stretch, given my current lack of running. *Entertain = go to the online registration for the race, only to abandon the thought prior to hitting submit....or maybe you actually do hit submit and subsequently talk yourself out of it, forgetting you had hit submit. Uh, yeah... My memory is shot, y'all! Because, 1.) I, again, have NO issues with needing to prove myself, and therfore feel NO need to put myself in such an overcommitted frenzy that only SuperMom can master, and 2.) well, let's just say I know my limits. Because I was NOT so silly to register for this race, I stayed up into the wee hours of the morning. And failed to hydrate. Then, mere hours later, I did NOT chug some water, put my running duds on and get the dog all excited, grab my phone (b/c I cannot live without my iMapmyrun app!) only to find an e-mail from Active.com wishing me luck at my race just before I set out the door. I did NOT frantically run upstairs to rouse Mr. Fixit and tell him, "Uh, I guess I did register for that race and I gotta leave NOW!" I did NOT speed to the race site only to get there when registration check-in was supposed to close, and I certainly did NOT revisit my unwholesome talk when I couldn't find a parking space. I was NOT simultaneously Relieved (ah! not LATE) and Frustrated (I'm gonna have to jet back for the party!) that registration was running 15 minutes behind schedule. I did NOT have to walk for approximately 3 mins after 2.5 miles, because I'm In Such Great Shape I've Run A 10k Before! And I did NOT lose the full-on sprint to the finish line from the last corner to a woman who had a good 15 years on me, but most certainly, I did NOT puke seconds after crossing the finishing line when I began to put the brakes on. I mean, heck if I ran a 5k in a sub20 time, then I'm entitled to puke, but 37 minutes was not really puke-worthy...it wasn't even a PR for me. I did NOT walk immediately to my car, arrive home, and proceed to rapidly sponge bathe, apply deodorant and change clothes only to get everything gathered up for the b'day festivities, arriving at the party less than 40 minutes after crossing the finish line. Because that would require SuperMom. And I? Am so NOT her. But maybe I am, sometimes.

I did NOT forget that the Mother's Day Out program Screech has been going to when I work was closed for the Neighboring School District's spring break (which is different from our school district's spring break and therefore, not on my radar) last Tuesday. Therefore, I did NOT get all ready to go, drive down there, only to see it was a ghost-town and be slapped with the realization that I'd Failed To Plan. I did NOT go to my contracted agency's office with baby in tow whilst he slept. And he did NOT wake up while I was trying to transfer files, and proceed to cry while other people may have been in therapy. That will NEVER happen again. Ugh....

So....per Almond Joy and Mounds, somedays you feel like a nut, sometimes you don't. Lately, I'm on a nutty streak.

A Synopsis...of Sorts

noreply@blogger.com (Heather) — Mon, 07 Mar 2011 07:38:00 +0000

Sort of in that I just don't do short stories all that well, right?

So....

This week I had an assignment for my class to:

Interview the finance person for a non-profit/government/healthcare organization; and
Get them to reveal their most pressing financial challenge for the coming year[s] to me; and
Write a BRIEF (one order of Heather's Kryptonite coming right up!) memo to the instructor detailing said organization and their respective challenge, as well as my 'penetrating analysis, offering sage advice."

Because either the instructor didn't get the memo that we are all students, many of whom have never had direct financial management experience outside of casa del :insert last name here:, or he uses sage advice with license looser than the tooth my daughter refuses to just. pull. out. already!

I digress...as usual.

Anyway, the caveat was that we were to pick complex situations, and organizations for whom we didn't currently work. Hmmm....Well, he didn't say we couldn't pick an organization for which we used to work, so I shot off an e-mail to the CFO of the organization that hired me fresh out of college some 9 years ago.

Dear CFO dude who used to really intimidate my 22 year old self with both his physical stature and his intellectual command of numbers,
Hi! Remember me?

I really hoped he didn't actually remember me, as in actually working together with me, because I was really young, green, and well, I shot my mouth off at him on my last day. To my credit, he was being a jerk at the time and I was later praised by others for my boldness. Perhaps he remembered me for my work with the homeless count, or other such community presence.

Blah, blah, blah - hey, I'm doing an assignment for grad school, and could you do me a favor by interviewing with me?

His response was, yes of course he remembered me, yes, he'd love to help me out, yada yada, bada bing, we set a date and time.

The other day I set out to interview him and as we reacquainted ourselves, he pretty much told me that I'd left a good name with the agency and if I'd like to help them out with some grant-writing while their development director was out on maternity leave, they'd love to have my help. Remember when I said that whole deal about breaking the nets? Yeah!

Then we get down to business.

Except he paints this totally rosy picture for me about the agency's fiscal outlook. Bottom line is that legislation being implemented re: Medicaid eligibility, not to mention the impact of our craptastic economy, has increased the number of folks eligible for their services, and since that is the bulk of their budget - business was booming.

We talk a few other details and I get kind of stuck.

I say, wrinkling my nose in quiet frustration, "Well.....the assignment was for me to identify your challenges and then," I go into air-quote mode, "offer my 'sage advice' on what to do to address those challenges. But it seems like you guys have already had your challenging years and are now rebuilding. Hmmm..."

He says, "Yeah....I might challenge you to talk to another non-profit and compare and contrast...."

I look at him and tap my pen on my notepad a few seconds.

Something clicks.

"So, you basically have said that due to the bad economic conditions more people are becoming Medicaid-eligible, due in part to unemployment or under-employment, and that has benefited you. What happens when the economy rebounds, and those consumers who came to you in their unemployment find new jobs, with insurance, and say, you're not in the insurance's network so they leave? What do you do then, I mean it seems like you might be in a 'bubble' like the housing market was in, right?"

He looks at me and smiles, in concession. "You," he says pointing at me, "You always were a pain in my side with your questions, weren't you?" And it seems like some of the memories of my days with him are returning. He clarifies, "I mean that in a good way, ya know? It means you're smart, and that's good - really good. But for someone like me, it is SO ANNOYING!" He laughs and nods his head. "That right there, that's our biggest challenge over the next five years. Bing-O." It was such a fraternal way of paying a high compliment - and with the earlier job offer, I was practically floating on the clouds!

I smile and tell him, "See, I can make this assignment work after all - just had to dig a bit!"

We talked some more and wrapped up. Then he took me to meet the development staff person who wasn't on maternity leave - whom I actually worked with, albeit only via e-mail, while I was at the city. Then he told on her that she had once confided in her co-worker that CFO Dude really intimidated her too and that she didn't like to work with him! We laughed and talked some more and I really began to see CFO dude in a new light, one that made him look less like a bogeyman who could chew me up and spit me out.

Then, he asked Development #2 if she could take me to the clubhouse (a vocational rehab site for the consumers) and give me a tour, which she did. It was amazing and I was truly proud to have had some affiliation with such a meaningful organization.

And, cut! This is so long, and yet it has virtually none of the she-said-and-then-I-said details that my hubby and friends got to hear - thus, I stand by my title.
© 2006-present Ramblings of a Red-Headed Step-Child. All Rights Reserved

Friday Fragments + FREE!

noreply@blogger.com (Heather) — Fri, 18 Feb 2011 20:25:00 +0000

* It only took me a year, but I finally landed my first review/giveaway gig. Please click over to my first ever giveaway post and enter to win a free natural lip balm!

* This morning Screech spilled my coffee on my laptop. I was horrified. I've already been having problems with the memory (needed a BIOS update, but not sure that was all as it was acting up again this week), and if I lose my stuff, there goes my business! Thankfully most of my stuff is accessible via my e-mail. Note to self: invest in external hard drive. Now I'm en route to a computer repair shop to get it fixed. I love my children, love them, love them, love them!

* Parent teacher conferences + President's day = 5 days in a row of all 3 kids, sans break. Pray for me

* Parent Teacher Conferences revealed that my kids are doing great academically, but Middleton is.... "I wouldn't say de-FIIIIIIIII-ant per se...." said his teacher, "but there's something there." To which I said, yes, and it has been going on for some time (within weeks of his birthday - which was in July - he began acting like a moody little teenage girl and Mr. Fixit has since been known to say, "That boy needs a Midol!") and it seems like he's taking on a victim mentality where it is Certainly Not My Fault and Life's No Fair all the time. We're working on it. And Special K has had some run in with the whole Queen Bee/Wannabe dynamic it would appear.

Stream of Consciousness

noreply@blogger.com (Heather) — Wed, 09 Feb 2011 20:26:00 +0000

I hate getting behind. But last week Special K and Middleton were out of school for not one, but two non-snow snow days. The weather was below zero with wind-chill, but the roads were clear and not hazardous in our area with very little actual snow, so I didn't really get why they got two days off, seeing as it IS Colorado and things do get cold from time to time, but hey, whatever, right? We mostly did alright, with little to no altercations, save for the incessant undoings of anything I attempted to do domestically, which then resulted in subsequent RE-doings to the power of x, x being that mysterious value of "you will never get anything accomplished today, bahahaha!" Quality time with the kids, good. Falling behind in laundry, housework, my Finance Mgt for Non-Profits class, and life in general: Bad....very bad. I'm digging out. Slowly. Obscene amounts of caffeine are predicted in the forecast.

Mr. Fixit and I had a date night on Friday. The first since.....our anniversary??? Which would have been July. Sad, I know. It was GLORIOUS. My BIL and his wife had given us a gift card to The Outback for Christmas, and some friends had graced us with a gift card to the movie theater, also for Christmas. Last month, after a snow storm during which Mr. Fixit had done his usual neighborhood snow-blowing, I came home to a note on the door from our neighbor which had a gift card in it - also for the Outback! We had a friend's daughter come sit our kids since she is saving money for a missions trip this summer (also - tangential side note....14 years ago, if someone would have told my 18 year old self that the then toddler with the cute blonde hair and brown eyes would be babysitting my own children - kids, me? and plural no less? - in what would seem like a blink, I would have laughed at them maniacally). So we ate at Outback in conversation that was blissfully absent of whining, pinching, or some other activity warranting parental intervention, and then went to see 127 Hours. It was a good movie. But, I was unprepared to be hit with torrential emotions as I seem to have drawn some keen parallels between Aron Ralston's plight with that of my own glance at mortality nearly two years ago. Vastly different settings and details, but that familiar roller coaster of hope and despair, coupled with a mutually experienced, primal, and determined will to survive, left me shaking in my seat as the credits rolled, hands fanned out in a vee and my thumbs attempting to dam the tears. PTSD's adrenaline had been coursing through me, unbeknownst, and culminated at the scene where he finally knew he was going to make it, for reals, as the helicopter hovered over him....at first just a few tears flowed down, but then I was sobbing and shuddering, borne of something extremely similar to that very potent cocktail of joy and adrenaline one experiences moments after giving birth. *sigh* life is good, eh?

I got my first paycheck as a free-lancing, independent contracting, non-profit consultant on Saturday! And I now have me a fancy-pants business account with a registered trade-name and DBA and everything. I'm so excited about what the future holds for this endeavor and just know that 2011 is going to be a great year for us.

I don't remember how I landed on this article about extended nursing awhile back, but I swear, it rings so true to my life, particularly this part:

...They are his breasts now. He strokes them lovingly through my shirt and cups them with his palms. He blows raspberries on them and giggles. He nurses in a toddler variation of Downward Facing Dog while simultaneously thumbing the pages of Goodnight Moon. He slaps my chest with both hands and shouts....

I don't know that I'm as embarrassed as the author of the article says she was re: Screech's extended nursing, but we've definitely cut out nursing in public at this point not because I worry about what other people will think, but 1.) his acrobatics are mutually exclusive with any attempts for modesty, which is MY preference, and 2.) there has to be some sort of balance around teaching him boundaries, no? I still enjoy the quiet moments, the cuddles. Though it did a number on my body's balance of supply/demand, I had incredible peace of mind when he had 2 GI bugs back to back because I knew through nursing he was getting nourishment as he simply would not eat any food or drink other liquids. But there are times, like Saturday night in bed, when I get tired of always having an unwieldy toddler stretching my breast into positions once filed in the erstwhile mental category of "humanly impossible."

French's yellow mustard has something going on. Special K is something of an anomaly for kids when it comes to her tastes in sandwich spreads - that is, she is a mustard and lunchmeat only kinda gal. Same goes for burgers, hot dogs, and other condiment-requiring foods. She'd do great in TX, no? Last week at the International Festival, Middleton just about popped a gasket b/c the mustard at the concessions stand, French's yellow, was too spicy. I tasted it, and sure enough, it had the vinegary twang of yellow mustard but the heat of the hottests of Chinese mustards. I assumed it was an isolated incident. Until today when I was making lunches and Special K insisted that I NOT use the mustard I used yesterday because it burned. Sure enough, the brand new bottle I bought was not the same taste we've relied on for years.

Well...this has been days of SoC writing, best to hit publish and get to work.

© 2006-present Ramblings of a Red-Headed Step-Child. All Rights Reserved

So, How's it Feel to be Jealous of a Muppet?

noreply@blogger.com (Heather) — Tue, 01 Feb 2011 07:28:00 +0000

Sidenote: I decided to return to using nicknames for my family members...I just like the whimsy it lends to my stories.

Today was a rare day that Mr. Fixit was home with me, without one of us being deathly sick. He'd worked Saturday and was beat.

So, because we are old and boring anymore, and because we still had little Screech with us and thus could not just spend the day in wild abandon with each other, we set out on some errands, and the promise of a quiet brunch, together.

First, we went to get Screech caught up on his vaccinations. Let it be noted that I am NOT one of those moms who thinks that vaccinations are bad, mmkay?, nor have I EVER let my kids get off schedule with their immunizations before, but Screech kept getting sick whenever I had the idea to get him in (and vaccinations during suppressed immune functions ARE bad) and the universe only just now aligned for him to get his 18 mos appointment stuff done. 3 months late. Anyway, so we got that done. I do hold vaccinations in poor regard just because of having to reckon with seeing my little ones in pain and anguish, especially when they are wearing that betrayed look on their face of "Mother!! What in Hades are you letting this wretched nurse do to me? LETTING her?!? I thought you loved me!" Of course, less than 5 minutes later, all was forgiven, I think....

Then we moseyed along, cautiously, as the then-light dusting of snow that looked harmless was quickly turning into black ice with a skiff of the white stuff atop it and accidents were popping up all around us, to Target, where we were hoping to acquire a new backpack for Special K since hers had long since decided to abandon any semblance of functional zippers. Turns out? Backpacks with any quality to their design are not so affordable these days. I mean, we were talking minimum of $30 for packs that were still pretty flimsy! So after a lot of hemming and hawing, Mr. Fixit and I just decided that we'd let Special K use my Swiss Gear daypack for her use. Because we are all about the practical on the cheap. We laughed at ourselves after that as we'd just spent an hour of our time shopping for something only to leave empty handed.

Next stop, Sam's Club. For the purpose of scouting out truck tires - a purchase that is inevitably coming up the pike but I keep wanting to put off. Truck tires are EX.PEN.SIVE!!!! We priced things out, taking mental notes as Mr. Fixit said he would do some online research and compare costs at home. We found some really nice Osh Kosh winter coats for $5.33 - which was 50% less what I paid for Screech's USED coat from Once Upon a Child this season! So we got one for Screech to sock away for next winter (wish they would've had sizes big enough for Middleton and Special K, but alas! no such luck), grabbed a giant tub of parmesan cheese and went to the check out.

Wouldn't you know it that it was one of those mornings where all of the checkout aisles not only had some serious lines, but it was like time was suspended for all of them as various price checks and other obstacles stalled them out. While we waited, I people watched.

And grew increasingly self-conscious of the fact that, while I had showered before we left (since I'd pleaded to get one in before we headed out, on the grounds that showers are NOT guaranteed for SAHM's, and especially newly WAHM's, with toddlers, and I SO needed one), I had not styled my hair after blow-drying it, applied any makeup and was wearing my frumpy clothes thanks to it being my bloated week of the month. Normally, I don't care about that kind of thing - normally, I am confident enough to wear no makeup into the workplace, knowing that the only time I need to take the effort is when I want to. But today was an anomaly.

There were fit, perfectly made up, beautifully dressed, well coiffed women in abundance this morning.

Well, I have an anti-poker face, in that whatever is going on inside my head is totally apparent to even the newest of acquaintances.

Mr. Fixit noticed and asked me what was up with the frownies.

I told him that I was feeling a bit below average in comparison to those around us, leaning my head toward the gal in designer jeans and boots ahead of me. She was dainty and petite in frame, naturally olive in complexion with perfectly highlighted platinum locks and had a structural beauty to her face with prominent cheekbones and pouty, collagen-filled lips. Minus the boobs, she looked, to me, like Pamela Anderson.

Source: Life.com

Mr. Fixit immediately quipped, albeit in a hushed tone so that only I could hear him, "You mean her, the one that looks like the chick from the Dark Crystal?? She looks like a damned Muppet, Heather!"

Source: Henson.com

No sooner did he say that than I was able to see the uncanny resemblance.

And couldn't stifle the ridculousness of my up-til-then feelings of inferiority.

Nice to be reminded that beauty is indeed in the eye of the beholder - and so much nicer still that my beloved's eyes are so discerning.

Hello, Right Hand? Meet Left Hand, and Please Take Heed of What the other is Doing

noreply@blogger.com (Heather) — Fri, 28 Jan 2011 19:12:00 +0000

I've been dreading this week....

Particularly because my inner Grover insists there's a monster at the end of it. Particularly on Saturday.

It's a scheduling ~~cluster#@$%~~, erm, nightmare.

Kelsey's Girl Scouts troupe has been working very hard on their display on Korea that will be part of the annual International Festival. Kelsey digs learning about new cultures and ethnicities. A lot. Earlier in the month I was planning out my calendar, and at some point I had a jotted a note reading:

So I got about it and lo! The Girl Scout Council of our town had scheduled the International Festival on January 29th.

But wait, Kelsey had another commitment on the 29th. As in, my little Special K (my newest nickname for her!) had earned herself a place in the district spelling bee after kicking some booty in the school bee.

Now, some of you know that in my former career, I was something of an executive scheduler, and as such, am a little O-to-the-C-to-the-D when it comes to those pesky little things called details...so, when organizations that work with school-age children schedule major events fail to consult the academic calendars, respective to the population they serve, it grates on my nerves much like the waitstaff at the Olive Garden manage to do with the parmigiano. Because clearly nothing says, "We're training your girls up to be short-sighted leaders - but it will be meaningful and fun along the way!" than a myopic planning maneuver such as this. Oh, the other pet peeve is that our town's IF is not listed on the Events Planner portion of the GS COLORADO website, but the neighboring town's is listed as if it is the only one for our region, in February....seriously, these people need some admin skillz!

So there was my visceral reaction - but then Kelsey's was somewhat heartbreaking. She quickly melted down into her woebegone state that is fairly common anytime anything deviates AT.ALL from how she expected things to be (I feel for my future son-in-law, how I feel for him and pray for a gentle, long-suffering soul to step into that future role!). Then she said, "Well, then I just won't do the spelling bee - I'll do the International Festival instead!"

At this point, the tiger mom in me - who normally pushes the snooze button and stays in hibernation as long as possible - came out and said, "No ma'am. You most certainly are not going to forsake an academic activity for some fluffy little foreign fair. You're going to spell like a champ, like it or not. This is not the first time you'll have to make a decision in a conflict, so put on your big girl panties and suck it up, buttercup." Because I have principles, and academics are important in them. So are actual leadership/service learning opportunities - if they were going to help out at Habitat for Humanity that Saturday, I'd have probably let her skip the spelling bee. But to forsake it just to go hang out with a group of girls, many of them the mean girl types at that, gabbing about Bieber and Taylor Swift and what clothes are in while they go and participate in a Cliff Notes version of world travel? Nah.....

So....after that it stood that our weekend schedule would look like this:
Saturday:
Leave the house at 7:00 am in order to get from our northern-most district home to the southern-most district school by 7:30
7:30 - check-in at the spelling bee
8:00 - 9:30 Wait as Kelsey completes the written spelling bee exam - if she makes the cut, then we go on to oral round at 10:00
10:00-noon - Oral Round .... OR if she gets cut, make a mad dash to the other side of town and get her to the IF

Meanwhile, I will have both of the boys because Seth was informed at the beginning of the month that this was his Saturday to work.

And I'm on deadline for some grantwriting.

And holy cow am I realizing just how diligent I have to be with the time management trying to get this all done....

Also? You extracurricular people who can't plan to save your life are putting a big rain cloud on my parade!

© 2006-present Ramblings of a Red-Headed Step-Child. All Rights Reserved

Oh Snap!!

noreply@blogger.com (Heather) — Tue, 25 Jan 2011 09:16:00 +0000

Today an old HS friend emailed me with some questions about changing up blog templates, code and what have you...

I told her I knew some, but really just enough to be dangerous.

And then I got a hankering to finish the attempts I'd made at customizing this template's header - which I did and am very pleased with the results.

However....

In doing so, I completely wiped out my blogrolls!

And my memory really fails me when it comes to remembering stuff that is automated (and I'm kind of old fashioned and still click through to people's sites instead of reading a feed :gasp:).

So, if you're not already on here and would like to be, please leave your url in a comment.

Thanks!

© 2006-present Ramblings of a Red-Headed Step-Child. All Rights Reserved

Resorting to the Bottle

noreply@blogger.com (Heather) — Sun, 23 Jan 2011 17:43:00 +0000

This winter has zapped me of a certain joie di vivre...

While the sun is visiting more tropical elsewheres, oft-sunny Colorado has had to suffer through a dulled down version of its usually radiant natural beauty. Even in winter, we usually have crystal blues and bright whites to lure us into venturing outdoors, despite the cold. But not this winter.

Skies blanketed with clouds cast a sallow film onto the already scarce daylight. Coupled with the bitter cold January has brought with it, and the winds, the infernal winds!, this muted experience has resulted in my hermit-like (for me, that is) retreat to the indoors, making the days long and weary.

Then there are the voices of doubt. Those that question me frequently enough that I question my reality.

These things have got me hankering for a bit of liquid courage.

Something to drown out the voices and make the day shine a little bit more.

Help me find a little bit of comfort and spice.

Oh, wait, before you go all Intervention on me, let me clarify:

I'm not talking about Smirnoff, merlot, or Coors.

No, behold; the bottle of which I speak:

You see, with me staying increasingly indoors, the afore mentioned sallowness and muted colors have not only applied to the scenery outdoors, but to my hair as well. Just as a blonde's hair dulls up in the winter, so does mine lose some (though certainly not all) of the coppery undertones.

The voices? Only the frequent commenters who inquire as to where my son(s) gets his red hair from, while I (and often Seth too, with his red beard) am standing right there!

So....after a long period on the non-hair-coloring wagon (nothing has touched my hair since the highlights I did when Christopher was a newborn), I've fallen off in hopes of escaping the reality of this situation.

And I likey.

Disclaimer: both pictures are in the same crappily lit room, my bathroom, for equal opportunity purposes. No make-up is being worn in either picture, so please brace yourselves for what you are about to see. My face is noticeably redder in the second picture only because I exfoliated while in the shower in which I washed out my hair; the new color does not make my skin look like that! Finally, picture quality is not great, but it's what I've got.

Before

After

I think this was just the mid-winter pick-me-up that I needed.

© 2006-present Ramblings of a Red-Headed Step-Child. All Rights Reserved

Metaphorical Fish

noreply@blogger.com (Heather) — Thu, 13 Jan 2011 09:25:00 +0000

Last week I was something of a mess. To say the least.

But you know me....I don't do the whole minimalist thing, right?

Sooooooooooooo.....about last week...

Our family was recovering from what is now being referred to as the 2010 Year-End Pukefest, a quaint little GI bug that tore through EVERY family member with a vengeance for almost a whole week. The laundry was epic, taunting me to the point of overwhelmed tears. My wee baby boy, Mr. >5th %ile for Weight, didn't eat, save for breastmilk, for a whole week, turning his already scrawny form into downright gaunt...and that is not just a hypersensitive mama growing paranoid, this is a noticeable weight loss that caused comments from others. Yeah, that helped too.

The older kids went back to school, and though the officially dreaded re-entry day was smooth, the subsequent ones were not. As in I completely lost my cool with Kelsey, in one of her horribly defiant I-will-NOT-go-to-my-room-even-if-it-is-more-for-you-to-cool-down-than-it-is-for-me-to-be-in-trouble moments, and while it didn't escalate physically, it prompted Colton to retrieve the phone and inform me he was dialing 911 because he was so scared. Well. If that's not enough to deflate the hot air running the anger balloon and cause it to create a heaping pile of GUILT I don't know what will do it for ya....

And then, as we had been healthy for mere days and just in time for the weekend :read: Urgent Care, Christopher began to cough. And run intermittent fevers. During which time he became attached to my hip, or breasts as the still-nursing case may be, and any separation to said appendages was cause for marathon meltdowns. And the non-eating resumed. A myriad of PTSD-like emotions, due to the coughing and intermittent fevers triggering memories of my own hellish journey, legitimate maternal worry, and battle fatigue set in.

The low-grade, ambient stress regarding my potential return to work gnawed at me as a big cloud of UNKNOWN loomed over me. I can deal with a lot of things, but UNKNOWN is akin to Alice's Jabberwocky: a formidable foe that initially scares the muchness out of me. Eventually, I can get to a point where I can slay the UNKNOWN as Alice totally made the Jabberwocky her b!t*#, but as of last week, I was still in the "Oh, hells no!" phase regarding defeating the UNKNOWN. As such, it was kicking my booty. Not to mention the fact that after I'd submitted my application, I got a response from a local non-profit re: a grant consulting proposal I'd sent them. Their response was yes, they would like me to contract with them on an on-going basis. So then I was torn between was that the right thing and I was abandoning that, testing God, in favor of the higher-paying, more family-time sacrificing job at the city? Mother guilt X the UNKNOWN = WRECK

It was no surprise then, that I cried at the drop of a hat over E.V.E.R.Y thing. Movies. TV shows [that I'd already seen!]. Songs. Intonation in my child's voice surely meant that I was a failure at everything. And was so irritable with Seth that super stoopid things became grounds for verbal grudge matches.

Not pretty, right?

Monday, I took Chris to the doctor. Diagnosis: double ear infection and croup - not killer pneumonia as my paranoia had tried to persuade me. Easily fixed with some time and medication.

Then, I called the HR department at the city, and anonymously inquired as to where they were in the hiring process for The Position.

"Oh, well, they've already interviewed and I think they've got a person in mind now. Thanks for your interest."

My first instinct was self-defeating, that maybe-I-did-something-so-wrong-that-it-negated-all-the-previously-glowing-commentary-from-my-former-boss thing - serious self-doubt, ya know? I mean, they didn't even call me for an interview! That lasted for maybe 5 seconds though.

And then...

You asked Me for a roadblock if it wasn't where I wanted you right now. You told me MY will and not yours, remember?

Ok, God. I get that. And yes, things DO happen for a reason, and so I will trust that. In the meantime, could You shed some light on this for me? Clarify just where we're going with this whole exercise? I mean, uh, the money has to come from somewhere right? And it's, uh, not there. So, while we're on this whole 'you said' schtick, might I remind You that You said You had 'plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future,' so, don't forget that, mmm-kay? Thanks.

Sidenote - I know that kind of prayer seems irreverent to some, and for you I will apologize. My intent is not to offend - I just think that God wants my heart, my real heart and not some Pope-ish, rote acceptance of the things that don't quite seem fair or clear. So we are real with each other like that.

Yesterday was good.

Today I went to a non-profit networking meeting and it felt good. A peace that things would fall into place covered me. A few people inquired about my consulting services and asked me to follow up with them.

Tonight I got a voice mail, informing me of a key opportunity with which to substantially expand my [from-home] grant-writing business. All through church I kept feeling goosebumps. That phone call that quieted that small, albeit powerful, voice of self-doubt I heard the other day. When I followed up on it and spoke to the person who'd called me, I was buzzing with gratitude my Heavenly Father for the very real potential that lay before me.

In early December, I was about to give up on the consulting endeavor, as I hadn't managed to get many bites.

I'm reminded of a story in Luke Ch. 5:

One day as Jesus was preaching on the shore of the Sea of Galilee,^[a]great crowds pressed in on him to listen to the word of God. ² He noticed two empty boats at the water’s edge, for the fishermen had left them and were washing their nets. ³ Stepping into one of the boats, Jesus asked Simon,^[b]its owner, to push it out into the water. So he sat in the boat and taught the crowds from there.

⁴ When he had finished speaking, he said to Simon, “Now, go out where it is deeper, and let down your nets to catch some fish.”

⁵ “Master,” Simon replied, “we worked hard all last night and didn’t catch a thing. But, if you say so, I’ll let the nets down again.”

⁶ And this time their nets were so full of fish they began to tear! ⁷ A shout for help brought their partners in the other boat, and soon both boats were filled with fish and on the verge of sinking.

⁸ When Simon Peter realized what had happened, he fell to his knees before Jesus and said, “Oh, Lord, please leave me—I’m too much of a sinner to be around you.” ⁹ For he was awestruck by the number of fish they had caught, as were the others with him. ¹⁰His partners, James and John, the sons of Zebedee, were also amazed.

Jesus replied to Simon, “Don’t be afraid! From now on you’ll be fishing for people!” ¹¹ And as soon as they landed, they left everything and followed Jesus.

This year is going to be a deep-water year, I have a feeling.

© 2006-present Ramblings of a Red-Headed Step-Child. All Rights Reserved

I Didn't Wanna Do It

noreply@blogger.com (Heather) — Thu, 06 Jan 2011 08:20:00 +0000

I'm not much for the so called genre known as Chick Lit, nor do I find myself drawn towards the books Oprah has endorsed as worthy for her club.

As such, Eat Pray Love held no real appeal to me, with the whole premise of glob-trotting to find oneself being completely irrelevant (and impractical) to my life - I didn't feel a connection would be made. And I didn't see that it fit in with my values, seeing as its plot hinges upon the dissolution of a marriage - apparently for little compelling reason, other than the oft-cited, self-indulgent "I fell out of love." That whole vein of thinking is a selfish cop-out to me, being that I've fallen out of love with my own husband about as many times as I've fallen in love with him over the years, and where would we be if I'd been so selfish to call it quits on those grounds alone?

Lately, I've been in a funk though, and found myself craving something inspirational, if not just a couple hours of thought-provocation. So I added Eat Pray Love, the movie, to my Netflix queue.

And promptly fell in love with it. So much so, that I now want to read the book.

Oh, Julia Roberts' character, Elizabeth Gilbert, struck me as selfish alright - but lately, I have seen myself in that light, too. It was nice to be able to project my frustrations with myself onto someone else for a couple hours for a change.

Some of the more new age-y concepts of God didn't align with mine - particularly that of God dwelling within you...as you. Theological tangent in 3..2..1: I agree that God dwells within those who choose Him and commit to Him, that's called the Holy Spirit - and I even agree with Gilbert's assertion (below) inasmuch that God lives in any of us, despite our tempers, our ambitions, emotions, etc., but God does not conform to us by living in us, as us, nor does He conform us all into the same type of Stepford-like person. Instead He transforms us into beings that are closer to Him and His will, as he takes up residence in our diverse, as He intentionally created them to be, souls and personalities.

God's not interested in watching a performance of how a 'spiritual' person looks and behaves. The quiet girl who glides silently through the place with a gentle, ethereal smile...who is that person? It's Ingrid Bergman in "The Bells of St. Mary's" – not me.

That does ring true...I certainly don't think that Mary Magdalene and a bunch of ignorant fishers, some with tempers, were the quiet, spiritual types with ethereal smiles, speaking "Peace be with you," to passersby - and yet, these are the types among whom Jesus chose to dwell. God wanted them, and He wants me, as me, and you too.

So, overall? I found some nuggets of wisdom and inspiration that I'm that surprisingly resonated with me.

A friend took me to the most amazing place the other day. It's called the Augusteum. Octavian Augustus built it to house his remains. When the barbarians came they trashed it a long with everything else. The great Augustus, Rome's first true great emperor. How could he have imagined that Rome, the whole world as far as he was concerned, would be in ruins. It's one of the quietest, loneliest places in Rome. The city has grown up around it over the centuries. It feels like a precious wound, a heartbreak you won't let go of because it hurts too good. We all want things to stay the same. Settle for living in misery because we're afraid of change, of things crumbling to ruins. Then I looked at around to this place, at the chaos it has endured - the way it has been adapted, burned, pillaged and found a way to build itself back up again. And I was reassured, maybe my life hasn't been so chaotic, it's just the world that is, and the real trap is getting attached to any of it. Ruin is a gift. Ruin is the road to transformation.

This made me think of the whole beauty for ashes passage in Scripture, and comforted me, particularly the thought about getting too attached to the events of life.

The largest nugget, though, would be the Quest Physics conclusion, emphasis mine:

In the end, I've come to believe in something I call "The Physics of the Quest." A force in nature governed by laws as real as the laws of gravity. The rule of Quest Physics goes something like this: If you're brave enough to leave behind everything familiar and comforting, which can be anything from your house to bitter, old resentments, and set out on a truth-seeking journey, either externally or internally, and if you are truly willing to regard everything that happens to you on that journey as a clue and if you accept everyone you meet along the way as a teacher and if you are prepared, most of all, to face and forgive some very difficult realities about yourself, then the truth will not be withheld from you.

Again, as a Christian, I see this through a bit of a different, albeit complimentary, lens. Mainly, I feel the Truth Gilbert speaks of is none other than Jesus, but all the same I see a parallel in this quest physics theorem with the whole spiel that He gave about us denying ourselves, taking up our crosses and following Him. In doing such, I believe that one of the biggest crosses we have to bear is that of the blinds we wear regarding our innermost workings – that unless we look long and hard at ourselves and take an honest inventory and repent of those things counter to what God has in mind for us, unless we take up that cross, all the other ones we may carry, our jobs, roles and relationships, etc., are in vain. It’s kind of like in The Power of a Praying Wife, when Stormie Omartian realizes that the ‘Father, change him’ prayer is far less important than that of ‘Father, change me.’ But, it’s not all blame and shame for the self – as Gilbert states, once we see the difficult realities about ourselves, we. must. move. ON! lest we simply want to pick that sucker [cross] up and just stand there with it. We gotta follow the Leader, and to do so, we have to want to be different and follow the trail He’s blazing, not the one we’ve trod on forever, comfortably.

For myself, I’ve been in limbo lately re: the whole working versus staying at home conundrum as a result of the recent job opportunity. [should hear something late next week or early the following week].

On the one hand, I’ve seen some things flourish in the time that I’ve been at home that I’m afraid to let go of, should I get the go-ahead from God (right now our prayer is – God, we *think* this was a sign from you, but if it is not, please prohibit it from happening – if it is, let there be incredible peace and green lights all the way). Like Elizabeth Gilbert’s quest for balance, I desperately sought to improve my family dynamics when I embarked on this journey. But, also like Gilbert, in doing so I eradicated anything in my life that I thought would distract me from my quest. I quit volunteering in the non-profit community; I turned down opportunities to speak and participate in homeless programming panels under the guise of not having childcare and/or still needing to recover from my illness; I’ve flaked on countless friends and family and insulated myself to where I’ve focused all my energies into my family. As Gilbert became the woman who couldn't possibly risk her newfound self by loving a man, I’ve become that martyr-like woman who’s made her family her idol and dares not risk her newfound sense of family by pursuing interests that feed her essence, that person God created her to be. A mother is never “just” a mother – she is a child of God with her own unique gifts, talents and purpose, many of which will [and should] benefit her family, but need not be exclusive to that.

Whether I get the job or not, I want to find some kind of balance again. One where my husband and I make time for each other alone, beyond the bedroom. Where I can volunteer some time and give back. Where I feel as if I am answering the call to be a light in my community, not just my own home; however, not forsaking my own family in doing so. I want to feel secure again, to not feel the tightening of the walls each time my phone rings, dreading whichever creditor it may be. I want to write again – creatively and frankly – and yet, I’ve looked back and seen that my most prolific writing periods were those in which I had to balance many things.

All this inspired by a movie based on a book I thought I’d hate.

Amazing what happens when one opens her mind, eh?

© 2006-present Ramblings of a Red-Headed Step-Child. All Rights Reserved

Changing of the Season?

noreply@blogger.com (Heather) — Wed, 22 Dec 2010 15:23:00 +0000

Two and a half years ago, Seth and I set out on a faith journey.

This journey involved bringing another child into our family, and me leaving my career to be a full-time SAHM. We crunched numbers based on Seth's current take-home pay, health-care coverage expenses, cost-savings from no childcare, etc. It was going to be tight, but doable. Ideally, the plan was for me to continue my MPA program very part-time, to keep student loans at bay, and finish around the time Christopher would start school so that I could go back to work. Kelsey would be old enough to spend time with them after school until I got home, would I be working FT.

But that's where things have fallen short.

Seth's annual income has decreased by about $10k from our 2008 projections due to a harsh economy. And then I tried to die, sans insurance. That was NOT CHEAP - although, please let it be known that I'm quite glad to be ALIVE and well! So, yeah, there've been some wrenches thrown our way. Each month, our finances have gotten progressively worse, despite some serious downsizing of our lifestyle, to the point of having to decide what to pay [late], what not to pay, and what to catch-up on.

We've been praying for quite some time that God would show us what to do. I've thought about getting a night/weekend job, to avoid incurring child-care costs, but Seth has not liked that option as it would strain our marriage, and he already works a hard, manual 50+ hours/week. I've tried to garner some free-lance work, and only just recently have landed anything substantial, and yet still not at all steadily coming in.

And then, two weeks ago, I was praying about this very issue as Seth's body is wearing from his work - he'd had high blood pressure at Thanksgiving, some neck pain and extreme fatigue that disheartened me and left me with visions of him working himself to death - when I received an e-mail. It was from my old boss at the city. She was announcing her departure from the city as she had landed an opportunity of a lifetime with the United Way.

Thus, her position, for which I was the assistant for 4.5 years and have very first-hand knowledge regarding, was open.

Could it be? An answer from God? Or an illusory trapping laid out by the enemy in which I could become self-important and lose priority again? Hmmmm.....dilemma.

I've had many mixed emotions about this position, and as a result have done a ton of soul-searching, investigations re: hidden costs (both material/physical and spiritual/emotional), and had many a heart to heart with my husband. I've cried at the thoughts of the confusion my little boy might feel when Mama leaves him all day every day all of a sudden. And I've thought that if I have to work, and it sure appears it's going to be that way, that it might as well be something that I love doing, which I did.

Ultimately, we've decided, together, that I should apply for it, with the prayer being if this is not God's will, that He put up an undeniable road block in this path. It is an unbelievable opportunity, one that may not come about for a very long time, and is in keeping with my professional goals/abilities.

Yesterday, I submitted my application. With glowing references and a letter of recommendation. Now we wait, as the hiring supervisor is out of the country until after the first of the year.

© 2006-present Ramblings of a Red-Headed Step-Child. All Rights Reserved

Say Whaaaaaaaaaaat?

noreply@blogger.com (Heather) — Tue, 16 Nov 2010 21:26:00 +0000

So, last night was a very chaotic night at Casa del Meyer accented with the full regalia of tween angst.

We got to see all of the, uh, pleasantries of the age, including but not limited to: [for the full effect, this is best read with a game-show announcer voice as in, "Chuck, tell them what they've won!"] Huffy Sighs, Extended Eyerolls, High and Low Pitched Whining, Slouchy Slumping, and my all time favorite, Stubborn Stomping.

Yes, it was such a pleasure.

Somewhere along the line Kelsey picked up the tired old hat of, "It's not fair being the oldest, I have to do EVERYTHING!"

To which I responded in a few different ways, the first being, "Everything? Really? Hmmm...." and subsequently went on to inventory all the things for which she actually isn't responsible in our home, which is really quite a lot still. Imagine!

My second response was in tandem to the first - being that I myself was an oldest who actually did get saddled with a lot of undue burdens simply because of my placement in the birth order, and thus I try to be sensitive to her and not put too much on her plate. I went on to explain to her several of the things I had been responsible for at her age - things which she's not yet experienced.

It didn't quite sink in yet and she continued her woe is me act about how she was always going to be the oldest and it just wasn't fair!

And....

I, in a moment of extreme exasperation, may have said something to the effect of, "Kelsey, honey, it is not like I simply spread my legs and said to your Daddy, 'Let's make a baby girl and name her Kelsey - let's make her be the oldest child of the great brood of children we will have and then, let's make her life a living hell!' Seth may or may not have shot me a look that said he could not believe I'd just said that. Hey, they know how babies are made, it wasn't like I made major TMI faux pas, right?

There was a moment of uncomfortable silence. Or two.

And then...

I offered, "Besides, being the oldest comes with some perks. You were the first to go on any sleepovers. You'll be the first to stay out late, the first to drive....the first to...move out and be on your own. It's not all bad."

I saw her eyes flicker.

A smile curved from the outer cheeks into her mouth.

And then she said, "Well, that'll be good - the driving - because then when I'm a teenager and I don't like you anymore I can go away sometimes." There was no malice, no sass about it, just straight up plain talking out of her child's mouth.

My head may have spun a few times in response to that.

"Care to tell me what you mean by that?" I asked, one eyebrow arched significantly higher with curiosity.

And rather matter of factly she replied, "Well, most teenagers don't like their parents that much - I don't expect to be different, do you?"

And then I tried on the Huffy Sigh, accessorized with the always popular Make-Up Hug, and said, "You goof. I DO expect to be different - I'm not that bad am I?"

"No, I just thought that was the way it was."

"Well, you thought wrong."

(Except that I have long suspected that teens and parents don't particularly get along because it is God's way of making their parting bearable when Operation Empty Nest is initiated....so maybe there's something there, but it doesn't have to be that way!)

© 2006-present Ramblings of a Red-Headed Step-Child. All Rights Reserved

Stretching Time...

noreply@blogger.com (Heather) — Sun, 14 Nov 2010 04:48:00 +0000

The ~~Great Inquisition~~ pointed questions started around his birthday:

"How much longer are you going to nurse him?"

I'd just smile and respond that I wasn't sure, it depended on what he wanted.

I've always been of the school of thought that leaned toward child-led weaning, especially as children extend nursing to the point of being more psychologically aware and perceive weaning as a sort of maternal rejection. which, I might add, is not necessarily what weaning is, per se, but I could see how a toddler might have some perceptions that Mommy no likey him or her any more if she's suddenly putting the brakes on their nursing relationship.

Kelsey pretty much weaned herself somewhere in the vicinity of 14ish months. Basically, with the introduction of the tasty vittles we refer to as 'table food' and sippy cups of whole milk, she mainly only continued to nurse as a security rite that was part and parcel of her bedtime routine. Then one night, she didn't want to nurse before bed. And just like that, she took her first of many steps toward individuation from Mama, walking toward her own personage.

Six and a half years ago, my weaning process with Colton was not my idealized version. Always hanging out in the < 5th percentile for his weight, he was small and couldn't stand to backslide on the growth charts. But at 9 months, he did, losing a whole pound, which alarmed our pediatrician. My milk production was still high in volume, as the pump would demonstrate, but it seemed that it had lost some of its nutritional substance. Thus, nursing ended abruptly and a regimen of double-strength formula began until the weight was gained back. After that lonely pound returned, regular formula was on the menu until he was old enough to have cow's milk.

Now, Christopher is 18 mos old, and the comments are becoming even more pronounced than they were at his birthday as he is showing no signs of giving up the boobs. I mean, it's not like he nurses for his sole source of sustenance or even all that much, really. He loves him some sippy cup and I gladly fill them with water, cow's milk, almond milk, [diluted] juice. He nurses before bed most, though not all, nights, and occasionally he'll want to nurse before naptime, though that waxes and wanes. And that's pretty much it. But when he wants to, he certainly lets me know. Among his signs are 1.) crawling up into my lap and assuming cradle position, 2.) tugging on my shirt, and 3.) my personal favorite, plucking the pacifier out of his mouth and shoving it into mine!

Oh sure, some days I tire of his demand upon my body, usually on days when he is experiencing teething pain or is sick and just wants his mama to hold and love and nurture him All. Day. Long. But mostly? Mostly I see these times as opportunities to love and cuddle my last baby, stretching the space between today and tomorrow, defying the proverbial blink. He knows full well that he's the final child, and has thusly stayed little - or as our pediatrician said at his last check-up, "You just make really petite boys." - to humor me. See also: wrapped Mom and Dad around his little cherub fingers.

He's growing more and more insistent on independence each day - the most recent manifestation being his determination to put water in his own cup from the fridge dispenser - and in good time he will decide he doesn't need the comfort of the breast any longer. But until then, I'm happy to be in a staring contest with Father Time - because I know that once I blink, that old bastard's won and my baby will be gone.

© 2006-present Ramblings of a Red-Headed Step-Child. All Rights Reserved

A Life Less Grace-Full

noreply@blogger.com (Heather) — Tue, 09 Nov 2010 09:25:00 +0000

I certainly haven't written enough about our pets on here to be confused with a John Grogan type, or for you to have known them very well.

Some of you might be saying, "She had animals? Who knew?"

But just because I haven't written much about them doesn't mean they aren't a huge part of our lives. Because they are.

A little more than 9 years ago, we had a new family of three: Seth, me and baby Kelsey. We'd tired of apartment living, and when Seth's mother's cousin announced that their turn of the century farm-house, on acreage, was now available for rent, we jumped at the chance to live in wide open spaces. This, coupled with the first round of tax rebate checks issued by George W. Bush, fanned the fever with which Seth had been afflicted for some time: puppy fever. He wanted a hunting dog, as he'd taken up waterfowl hunting, and a family companion as well.

He found a breeder in a nearby town who'd just had a litter of lab pups, black and yellow, and were pre-placing them in homes. So we went to visit, with Seth saying that he really would prefer a male due to the cost differential between neutering and spaying. He also said he needed to balance out the estrogen to testosterone ratio in our new little family. They were all adorable pups, particularly the yellows, who were almost strawberry blonde in color.

But one little black pup just kept coming back at me with sweet eyes. The persistent pup had an upside down T of white on its chest, just like Mama's white star on her chest. It made the pup stand out, as did her sweet temperament. I told Seth, "This one's not going to let us go without picking it," while I flipped it over to inspect whether it was male or female. "It's a girl," I said coyly, with a smile on my face, and seeing that she'd managed to also nab his heart, I added, "Seems you're still going to be surrounded by females."

I mean, how could anyone resist this sweet girl?

More than we picked her, she picked us.

We named her Grace and loved her wholeheartedly.

Seth trained her diligently, using Richard Wolter's Water Dog, and at first, we mistakenly credited Wolter's training regimen with her superior performance. But, as we spent time with numerous friends and family members who also had labs, we began to see just how inborn her athleticism and love for retrieving was. Grace was the fastest, the best swimmer, most obedient, and most muscled out of all of them. And her temperament was always sweet.

Over the years Grace has hiked many a trail, sat in anxious wait in the duck blinds with Seth, retrieved many a ball, duck, cat*, shoe, and other oddball item for us with great love and joy, warmed my** bedside, camped, logged countless running miles with me, not to mention enduring many tugs, body-flops and other such intrusions upon her from the kids as she was with us through all of their baby and toddlerhoods.

Around the end of September, beginning of October, Grace started coughing occasionally. By late October, she'd begun coughing more regularly and we grew a bit concerned - no other symptoms presented at this time. And, she'd started to get finicky with her food and wasn't eating a whole lot. ~~Two~~ Three weeks ago, I went to take the dogs on a run and she started coughing about 2 miles in, and shortly after the coughing fit - for which I'd stopped- she stumbled, almost as if she were about to faint. Needless to say, we walked the rest of the way home. I called Seth and we took her in to the vet.

Her temp was up a bit, on the high end of normal, the vet explained - similar to being 99 instead of 98.6, so not too concerning. She weighed in at 76 lbs, which was almost 20lbs less than her highest weight of 95lbs. That caused me to suck in my breath a bit. The doc explained that her heart and lungs sounded great, but that without xray or bloodwork it would be hard to ascertain what was wrong - a $500-$800 gamble as even if these tests showed something was wrong, it may not be treatable. She got Grace to cough for us, and said it sounded like it could be kennel cough - so why not give her some Amoxicillin for the next 2 weeks and then if it was kennel cough, that'd take care of it?

That was the route we went, and some days seemed like she was improving, but then she'd decline. By Monday of last week, she was flat out refusing to eat and had difficulty getting up and/or laying down. She'd atrophied before our very eyes, looking gaunt and weary.

Monday morning, I was dragging as I'd had a late night paper that I'd worked on, and 6 hrs was not enough sleep. I walked down the stairs to find Seth, sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of the back door. Crying. He looked at me and said, "She's not right, and I don't know what to do." And my heart sunk.

I told him I'd call Kathy. Kathy is a woman we met through the kids' last in-home daycare. I've often wondered what the purpose of the kids being in that daycare was, as the provider only watched them for some 4-5 mos before calling it quits. Colton had befriended Kathy's son, though, and they would continue to get together on occasional playdates. As I got to know her, I discovered Kathy was a vet, though she only provided one specialized service: in-home pet euthanasia.

So I did, and after a description of what was going on, Kathy determined that something was seriously wrong, either with her heart or some form of cancer, and that Grace was acting like her life was coming to a painful end. While Seth's cry session had pretty much already started our minds down this path, this consult cinched it for us. We opted to have one last night with her, and scheduled her procedure for the next day.

We took her to the pond and open space at the end of our neighborhood, letting her walk in an environment which she loved: wetlands. It was in places such as these, with ducks quacking and geese honking, that Grace loved wildly. We sat with her and watched the sunset, and smiled wanly as she perked her ears up whenever a quacker flew overhead. Even in pain, the desire to retrieve never left her.

The next afternoon Dr. Cooney came and we sat with Grace on our living room floor, where she was at peace. If we'd taken her to a vet, her final moments would've been riddled with anxiety given that she'd had some pretty traumatic stints at the vet***. We stroked her and held her while she was sedated, and continued to do so - albeit one-handed as Seth and I held each other's hand during the procedure - and tearfully said our goodbyes as Dr. Cooney administered the injection that would put her into an eternal slumber. After Grace had passed, Dr. Cooney made a nice keepsake clay paw print of Grace's for us to keep. It is now in a shadow box filled with pictures and symbols of her favorite things for us to remember her by.

This was by far the hardest thing I've had to do in my adult life....and I struggled with it at first, but we got closure from the CSU vet teaching hospital, as we donated her body for study, in their discovery that Grace had advanced lung cancer that had metastasized throughout her body. They said had we waited another day, she would have been in extreme pain and begun to slowly suffocate. So,I am glad that we were able to circumvent the pain and keep her just long enough.

But enough of remembering her final moments - the following is a tribute to Grace and all her finer points!

* by a sort of Pavlovian default, Grace learned to retrieve the cat we had when we lived in the farmhouse. Being trained to have a soft mouth, so as not to damage Seth's spoils from waterfowl hunts, and her association with Seth's psst-ing at the cat when she was up to no good, resulted in her actually mouthing the cat and carrying her to us when it was being naughty with a mere 'Get the kitty,' from Seth. That cat hated us for it.

** Grace felt obligated to jump on the bed and keep me warm whenever Seth was not there to do so. It didn't matter if this was for his morning shower, or if he was away on a trip, nor if I'd just decided to take a midday nap. This wouldn't be so funny if she'd done it for Seth as well, but she never even tried it with him!

*** Yeah, the vet pretty much evoked several PTSD moments for Gracie. When she was just a bitty pup, she fell out of the pickup bed while we were camping, and her toe caught on a moving tire, resulting in trauma that involved a 2 hr drive back to Fort Collins and emergency amputation of said toe. Then, when she was spayed, her incision got infected and she ripped her stitches out - thus, the vet cleaned her, restitched her and put a halo collar on her. But she ate thru that and tore the stitches out again, so subsequently she ended up being sedated, restitched and kenneled at the vet's overnight that time. And if all that weren't enough, she had another foot drama a couple of summers after we bought our house, having sliced her foot open on a neighbor's lawn edging. So....vet = much howling, dander raising, and huffy-puffy hyperventilating. Thus, not an option for us to take her there for her final moments.

Grace's first bird retrieve was actually not intended. Seth had been training her with dummies, and scent, and all the drills. We went on a church campout and one morning while out fishing with Seth, she retrieved a live mallard drake on her own initiative! Seth was so proud, but it was illegal - not hunting season or licensed for that matter - and so he was alternately telling her "No!" with "Good girl!" as he got her to put the duck down.

She was so sweet and docile that she never bothered to fight back at Porter, the puppy we got 3 years ago, when he began getting aggressive and nipped her every time they'd be outside together. Even though Grace was more than 2x his size and weight and could've totally made him think twice before trying it again.

Grace loved people SO much though, that she'd get ~~kind of~~ freaky spazzy when people showed her attention. She was a love addict that way ;) You couldn't just pet her once, she'd nudge you, loudly and firmly, to do it again and again. And try to crawl into your lap. We often told her she was a lab dog not a lap dog!

Grace had the wettest, slobbery-est mouth I have personally seen on any dog to date. Especially when combined with a loving session per above, you would be bound to get slimed by her. Always special was when this occurred out of doors and there were bark chips, grass seeds, [insert other miscellaneous memento here] in the goo that oozed out of her mouth.

She loved to run so much, that I just had to grab my running shoes for her to go completely nuts. I remember one time after this kids started school this fall when I'd tried to get up and run before everyone got up, so as to avoid the heat, and she was howling with excitement so much that it woke our whole non-morning-lovers household up [at o'dark thirty no less] AND several of the neighbors too.

But, that said....she never did figure it out that for optimum running, she needed to poo before we went. I mean, she knew certain pants, shirts and shoes, on their own or together - she was that perceptive! - meant a run was coming, and yet EVERY time, we had to stop and poo. And not by the poo cans on the trail either (again, observance on her part would have been nice). Nooooo, she had to poo at the most inopportune times and places. She was silly like that ;)

Well, it is late, and I've been hammering away at this for several days. I think we're good.

We miss you girl. You were our best girl - the only female in Casa del Meyer who didn't get fussy and have the occasional meltdown. Porter is a different animal without you, which truth be told, is kind of nice, but if I could have you back and healthy, I'd gladly have him return to his dumb old ways. But, as Kelsey said tonight, the more days go by, the less we cry. Doesn't mean we don't miss you, but just that we know you're doing good on the other side, chasing all the ducks you'd like.

Open Letter to my Professor

noreply@blogger.com (Heather) — Mon, 11 Oct 2010 04:42:00 +0000

Dear Prof:

When did academia become nothing but an advanced level in the name-dropping game?

All these hypothetical memos to illustrate the comprehension and subsequent application of leadership strategies that we've already discussed, ad nauseum, make me think that public ed's current protocol of requiring superfluous demonstrations (my kids have to deal with that too, btw) of concept application has crept into higher education.

Can we be done, please? The memo, is truly, truly not my friend. Its brevity alone, with its clipped tones and snappish sentiments, brings a spirit of animosity as I try to approach the memo. With my artful, albeit well-crafted and eloquently stated ramblings, we are like oil and water. I partner up with essay and research like we are BFF's, but memos? Particularly in the context of trying to show that I have read the material and DO know what I'm talking about, in dealing with memo, I feel like I am looking in at the popular kids, desperately dropping academic names in rapid-fire without really having an in to the conversation to begin with and no way to conclude either. So yeah, memos? Particularly hypothetical memos? Pretty much suck it.

Anyway....I just turned in a memo that felt like crap to me. Maybe you will brandish it with another shocking 98%, or maybe, more likely, this is my wake-up call this semester to QUIT PROCRASTINATING ALREADY!!!!

Yours,

© 2006-present Ramblings of a Red-Headed Step-Child. All Rights Reserved

Says Who?

noreply@blogger.com (Heather) — Sat, 09 Oct 2010 20:09:00 +0000

Last Saturday we went to the mountains for a much needed family retreat.

Seth and Colton rode the dirt-bikes while Kelsey and I hiked with Christopher.

The news stations had claimed that we'd missed 'peak viewing' of the fall colors in our neck of the woods. I'm not sure if that's because some of the leaves had begun to fall or if it was due to some brown beginning to hedge in on the radiant oranges and yellows. But I maintain that it was still gorgeous and a sort of aesthetic therapy to be out there:

It was gorgeous and a nice time away from home.

Christopher has been bitten by the motorcycling bug too...picture of that is still on Seth's phone.

© 2006-present Ramblings of a Red-Headed Step-Child. All Rights Reserved

Letter to God

noreply@blogger.com (Heather) — Sat, 25 Sep 2010 22:58:00 +0000

In the interest of brevity, and to preserve a sense of vagueness, WHY?

Why is it that just when I think I'm going to be ok, that my overwhelm is about to be tamed, life hands me a blow?

I mean, really, is it to keep me humble? To force me to rely upon you when I'm getting a smidge too independent?

I question that at times, but I know as soon as the thought escapes my lips that's just not the way you are. I also know that you see the whole thing with a context which I lack - the future. And that YOU PROMISE this future will bring me good and not harm. You promise that to us in your Word, over and over again, and like a child I want to remind you of that because now? Doesn't feel so harmless.

I'm confused.

And convicted.

A bit of an emotional yo-yo, bouncing somewhere between the grays in a black and white dichotomy of feelings.

I'm thankful for your foresight, and that I can already see some of it.

Tuesday, when I accepted a friend's offer to watch Christopher and then the older two when they got home from school, so that I could get back on top of my housework, school work and business stuff that had totally overcome me, I thought I knew how precious that gift of child-free time was. I thought I knew what an answer to prayer her offer was.

But I had no idea.

I had no idea that I would be capable of little more than wrenching sobs, falling prostrate on my floor, only to lie in the fetal position several times over the course of that next day. That I'd go for a run to calm down, only to work myself up into a more agitated frenzy, throwing my water bottle as far and as hard as I could with some symbolic visualization attached to it.

But you did. And you knew that I'd be in no position to care for my precious little angel, so you put it on the heart of a sister to serve.

Thank you.

I don't know why this life has to be so hard. I know the whole schpiel about beauty in the breakdown, that the stars shine the brightest when it is the darkest out, etc., etc., and I know that it's all relative to our unique paths life has led us on thus far...and.... I sometimes compare what others are going through as a means of diminishing my pain, to put things in perspective perhaps. And maybe it changes a bit, but not a whole lot, because regardless of whether THEY are dying, or have a sick child, or some other such thing that is much more horrible than what I'm dealing with, I still have to deal with my things, their things don't take it away.

You drive a hard bargain - answering my questions with your word. But you're kinda tough that way in general.

And so it goes.

Anyway....I need you right now. A lot.

© 2006-present Ramblings of a Red-Headed Step-Child. All Rights Reserved

Catching my breath....

noreply@blogger.com (Heather) — Sat, 11 Sep 2010 23:25:00 +0000

I've been a whirlwind of busy since I wrote last. And showing no signs of slowing down any time soon.

That means bullets....

9 years ago I was pretty stunned, having a 6 mo old baby, just wondering into what kind of world I'd brought my child, longing to hold my husband as we were in Idaho visiting his grandmother. I'll never forget. For those whose lives were impacted more, you are always in my heart, but especially so on this day.
Seth went hunting the past two weekends, and while we traveled to Craig this last time, I'm kind of burnt on the whole long weekends with the kids by myself. I don't know how you single moms do it, honestly, and my hat is off to you. Seth's dad shot an elk this last time, and I really don't know how either of them have functioned this week. If it were me, I'd have gone into a coma of exertion, seeing as they hiked over 40 miles, most of it with 50-75 lbs of game meat and gear hanging from their shoulders. And then spent 8 hrs on Monday bent over a table butchering (I helped some with that, but caring for Christopher meant that my in-laws and Seth did the bulk of the work), and then we drove into the morning Tuesday to get home. And wake up mere hours later to re-enter Normal Life. I'm still struggling to get thru the day without an IV of caffeine, and I didn't do nearly as much as they did!
Nonetheless, I am thrilled to have free-range, natural red meat in the freezer, but not really so pleased at the prospect of doing it all over again next weekend. :(
Mostly because we don't get time to be present with each other and then with everything I have going with school and my launch of Square Peg Innovations, I've been busy at night too, and before I know it, a week has passed since we've said 3 words to each other.
October will be different.
It has to be.
Despite being hectic, I am in good spirits. I know that God is guiding.
Today was the first day I ran in a week - and I kicked BOOTAY! And last week I only made it out twice. I'm trying to figure out the best time to go. If I go after the big kids get on the bus, then by the time I'm done and showered, my morning is gone. Going before everyone else wakes is difficult in that my dogs are so freakish when they see me put my running shoes on, they wake all inhabitants of casa del Meyer, the neighborhood, and well, the dead. And since I value not being Public Enemy #1 with those I love and who live nearby, well, I'm still figuring it out. Mayhap I ought to wake at dawn to do my chores and then run when the kids get on the bus. That just doesn't have the same draw to it, eh?
I've forgotten how much attention toddlers, especially when they are in that painful transition from 2 naps to 1- require. It's all Christopher, all the time! No, don't climb on the table! No don't dump _________all over. No, no, no! Seems like that's the only thing that comes out of my mouth anymore.
I discovered Cool Beans Playhouse today, and am IN. LOVE. It is likely to become a study/work destination when I must spend any length of time on the computer. It worked beautifully for us today as Seth had to work and I found myself with all 3 kids on my own again.
Yesterday I received a card from a church friend with the kindest words. Me, an inspiration? Apparently so....hearing that more and more lately, and know what? God works. It's all I really wanted when I started this whole running journey, to be a testament to the truth that all things are possible, with Christ. I couldn't have done all this on my own. Case in point - when I tried to be athletic and 'healthy' when I was younger, I found myself ensnared in the hell of an eating disorder. This time? I am blissfully free of that bondage. Sure, it's a nice perk that I'm smaller than I've been in years (fit into a size 8 dress my mom gave me this weekend - HOLY SMOKES, Y'all! that's the size on the tag of my wedding dress!), but that's not what's driving me. I'm really trying to treat my body as a temple, and in so doing, avoid the ailments such as type 2 diabetes, high blood pressure, gout, etc that plague my grandmother and others in my extended fam. Because my kids deserve better than that. And so do I.

Come Take a Gander, Would Ya?

noreply@blogger.com (Heather) — Wed, 01 Sep 2010 22:03:00 +0000

Yes, this is shameless self-promotion.

I have been working very hard on getting a professional web-site up (without the bucks) for my new consulting biz.

Come take a look, and if you REALLY love me, give me some feedback. Constructive criticism is ok, I'm a big girl, but no haters, please!

© 2006-present Ramblings of a Red-Headed Step-Child. All Rights Reserved

"I can Haz More Thumbtacks?"

noreply@blogger.com (Heather) — Mon, 30 Aug 2010 05:35:00 +0000

So questioned my daughter - rather brash and loudly so, too, I might add - with her nose all scrunched in incomprehension Saturday afternoon at the library, of all places in which to be loud, right? Well, without the whole lolspeak vibe, anyway.

Just prior to her interrogation, I'd hushed her and her brother telling them they needed to be more tactful. Which apparently she heard as TACK-FULL.

So, there I was at the library whispering furiously at them to just. be. QUIET! and we would address their questions in just. a. minute!

You see, as we were checking out, there was a family with a little girl in an umbrella stroller. The little girl had the limp, atrophied posturing and blank open-mouthed stare of a child with severe cerebral palsy, muscular dystrophy or some other such congenital disorder, likely coupled with some mental delays as well.

And sticking out of her trachea was a feeding tube.

It was that upon which my kids had fixated, and while Kelsey knew to be quiet about the girl's situation, Colton blurted out, "MAMA! What is WRONG with that girl?!?"

Now, lest you think me some kind of insensitive or ostrich-type of parent who doesn't talk with her kids about people with different abilities, let me just say my kids get that people come in different packages. We've had talks about wheel chairs and prosthetics, Downs' syndrome and defects like missing appendages, etc. I'd like my kids to know that the world is not all painted in the general shades of able bodied white middle-class 10 fingers 10 toes neurotypical conformity that our community tends toward. That there is diversity beyond skin colors and religions.

But we were caught off guard with the feeding tube. It was a first for them. And they were genuinely curious, and compassionate for her as well I'd like to add, not just being insensitive jerks.

Once I got them to quit staring and asking pointed questions within earshot of her parents, I told them what I knew - which was basically that it was a feeding tube because for some reason the girl couldn't feed herself or be fed. I didn't know what exactly was 'wrong' with her, but knew that she had some disorder with which she'd probably been born.

Phew!

And then, not five minutes later, we were moseying on over to the Target Supercenter (can I just say here and now that the planners of this center were genius putting a satellite library in a shopping center? I LURVE this place with a big chunk of my heart) when we happened upon a woman, on her way into Toys R Us, who was quite obese, and....had what appeared to be severe burn scars on her arm, one of which was a bulbous, baseball sized keloid scar.

What are the odds?!?!

"Mama!" Colton intoned frantically, "That lady...."

"Shhhh!" I motioned them along and said, "Yes, her arm is quite unusual - it looks like she was badly burned at some point, but luckily she is still alive! She knows her arm is very different and not normal, though, and probably doesn't need you guys pointing out the obvious - it will just make her feel badly."

Crickets. Accompanied by blank stares.

So, I trudged along....awkwardly and painfully. The following analogy is the only thing I could think of!!!

"Say Kelsey was somewhere and no matter what she did she couldn't get to a bathroom that was open and through no fault of her own ended up having an accident. Now she's a big girl, she knows she peed her pants and is embarrassed like crazy because she realizes what she's done, right? But then, two little kids walk by and say, 'Mommy that big girl peed her pants, what is WRONG with her? Isn't she old enough to know better? What is her problem?' So, how do you suppose that's gonna make Kelsey feel?"

It clicked. We had a dialog and we all came away better for it.

Until we were in Target and walked past a gorgeous young lady who just happened to have underwear longer than her dress, or shirt, or whatever it was supposed to be. And Kelsey read my mind and said the inevitable; "Where's the rest of that girl's clothes?"

At that point I decided the ~~freakshow~~*, er, outing was over.

And that after I climb out of my hole, we'll have to revisit tact.

REPEATEDLY.

* I am not saying that anyone of these individuals were freaks in the mean sense of the word, just that seeing all three of them within mere minutes was a statistical anomaly in which my parenting skills were sorely lacking to advise.

© 2006-present Ramblings of a Red-Headed Step-Child. All Rights Reserved

Try this again....

noreply@blogger.com (Heather) — Fri, 27 Aug 2010 17:37:00 +0000

I did this blog meme awhile back a few times, but never kept up with it. And my foodie friday stuff has been on hold seeing as we are in re-entry mode with school (both me and the kids), start-up mode with my new business, etc.

Go to Mrs. 4444's and check her Friday Fragments out - she is the inventor of this gig, after all!

I recently had some new fans on my FB page for this blog whom I didn't already know, so I checked them out and whaddya know? We're 'mutual friends' with multiple other bloggers. So I have some new content to read, YAY! Which means you, dear readers do too, as my blogroll has been updated.
Last night I was reading some excerpts from Malcolm Gladwell's Outliers for my class, and can I just say this man is an investigative reporting genius, the way he puts things together? I first became acquainted with him in a New Yorker article, Million Dollar Murray due to the work I was doing with homelessness in our area, and later read Tipping Point for another class. Anyway, it's fascinating stuff, this that I read last night - talking about how most experts, athletic/musical performers and success story people in general put in 10,000 hours, roughly 10 years, before they hit it big-time in their profession. Later I got to thinking....my time in my field is getting closer to 10 years (including my hiatus from employment - seeing as I was still active on a board - I'm at 8 1/2 years), and that inspires me and reinforces my desire to jump back in, albeit if from home. The future has great potential.
****ETA - After thinking on this some....I wondered how come this 10,000 hrs rule doesn't seem to hold true for parenting. I mean 18hrs x 365 days/year (for a typical SAH parent during the first year) equates to more than half of the requisite hours....then I realized, parenting is fluid rather than static, that is, the phases and stages change, thus we are perpetually logging and re-logging those hours, never to reach 'expert' status. Unless of course, you are Michelle and JimBob Duggar, or some other such prolific procreator, in which case you CAN reach those 10,000 hours for each stage and eventually DO get that status.
I really have the decorating bug right now, but not the money to do so. I REALLY am in love with this organization station idea from this month's Better Homes and Gardens (can't find it in their website, so no link! :( ) but I need to get a ~~cheap~~ affordable sideboard cabinet, preferably shabby antiquey and second-hand - at least the second-hand price! I also want to paint my kitchen a mustard yellow color to warm it up (and downplay the smudging that is seen so readily on my WHITE walls, truth be told) and hang this adorable platter with this great photo frame, both from Cracker Barrel, on my wall. Not too pricey, I mean we are talking under $50, but it is $50 that I don't have right now. So I'll wait, and hopefully things will remain in stock!
Also - sorry for the comment moderation, but some stupid Asian characters spammer from Australia kept hacking into my posts, even with word verification. I tried to have it be only registered users that could comment, using open ID, but for some reason my non-Blogspot readers couldn't get on to comment like that. So......comment moderation it is. I don't delete or censor comments, so no worries about that, ok? Thanks for understanding!
Happy Friday!

On Owning Some of What [and Who] I Am

noreply@blogger.com (Heather) — Thu, 26 Aug 2010 20:42:00 +0000

Headless Mom recently shared a blog post of Jodifur's on facebook.

And I am so glad that she did, because it was one of those resonating gems of the blogosphere, a post in which you read and find yourself saying, "I am so totally there, too!" Well, maybe without the 'so totally," anyway. And maybe just for me, anyway... This is a hint to just click over and read it, lest you be reading my thoughts without full contextual insight.

I don't know Jodi, but I relate to the whole undermining of one's self - be it in the realm of my hobbies, abilities, appearance, etc., I have the tendency to speak in 'I'm really nots' and dismissive notes of how old something I'm wearing might be.

But no more.

Inspired by Jodi's closing statement that she IS a runner - I'm going to write up a list of things I am, and own them free and clear of the debts brought on by insecurity. That sounds a heck of a lot better than I'm good enough, I'm smart enough and doggonit, people like me, doesn't it?

I'm a sinner. Saved by the blood of Jesus Christ, from whom I draw my hope for the future, but still a sinner who still makes the same stupid mistakes everyday. I wish that I knew God better - and love the song below so, so, SO much because Jennifer Knapp does such a great job at capturing my heart - but the beauty is that there is always room to grow.

I'm a wife and mother to some pretty terrific people. Which makes me pretty blessed overall, even on the tough days. Someone PLEASE remind me of this on Sunday/Monday as Seth is taking 3 days off from Casa del Meyer to go archery hunting and I may just be going a little crazy by then.

I, too, am a runner. I have a running mix on my ipod, see the same fellow runners on my route every other day (because I have a route and a time that I stick to, like other runners do), read running articles, have run a 5k, 10k, and now am training for a half-marathon. I mean, what's it take, a full marathon to make someone a runner? Enough hem-hawing about it, Heather! You're a runner!

I am a writer. No longer will I hesitate to say this. I am now writing professionally, even if it is not the Great American Novel and is just grants and technical writing for now, it is beyond a personal blog. However, should I ever revert back to just writing a blog, I will still realize that I'm a writer, regardless of brand or label. I create with my words and always will.

And because it is so important to me....I am a red-head! The shade may be mellowing due to hormones or the seasonal light change or whatever inexplicable phenomenon you to which you wish to ascribe this occurrence, but I paid my dues as a red-headed child and I am still a red-head! Don't make me get the bottle.....

I am pretty. That one is so hard to write, because I struggle to see it. Always have, even when I was younger though I now can clearly see the beauty I had then. It also seems kind of an arrogant thing to say - which I'm not quite sure how it got construed that way, I mean we [women that is, I've met men who have no issue with this, even when, maybe they, uh, should have] have no problem identifying ourselves as smart, but pretty? Maybe because smart is measurable and beauty is in the eye[s] of the beholder and therefore it requires a certain assumption on a woman's part to say that she is pretty? Anyway...I'm starting to catch glimpses of my outer beauty again. Long-term weight loss tends to blur the mirror in this regard. As of today, I've lost 53 lbs since Christopher was born. 40 of those pounds were baby weight and fell off relatively quickly (I think in 7 mos?). The last 13 have been a b#$!h to shed. But they're gone. I have about 13 more to lose to get to my 'realistic goal' weight - the weight I was and maintained for 2 years while Colton was a toddler. My 'crazy weight loss' goal is 10 more past that weight, as my doctor told me that was where I should be ideally. If it is life consuming to get to that weight and maintain it, it's a no-go and the doctor can suck it. As it is, I bought an Ann Taylor dress at a thrift store in May, a 'motivation dress' if you will, with the goal of wearing it by Labor Day. I fit into it today! I'll probably need to wear a shaper with it, as it is a sheath style dress and hugs my tum a bit more than I'm comfortable with at this point, but there's no more arm chub at the gathers.

I'm coming into my own, gaining new confidences everyday. The 30s are by far the greatest decade yet.

© 2006-present Ramblings of a Red-Headed Step-Child. All Rights Reserved

Out of Context

noreply@blogger.com (Heather) — Fri, 20 Aug 2010 21:21:00 +0000

Every year the night before school is an open house/ice cream social where the kids and parents can meet the teachers, unload the backhoes of school supplies, and snarf down a little frozen dairy goodness before the chaos is unleashed.

It's fun to see the kids' excitement as they find their friends and catch up on who's in whose class, what they did over the summer and details such as how exactly they broke their arm.

Seth hardly ever gets to go since it coincides with his last hour of work, so Tuesday night he was trying to get the 411 from the kids at the dinner table (which ended up to be a very late supper that night).

"Didja get the teacher you wanted, Kels?"

"Not really...." she paused. Then very emphatically, she said, "I just wish she had some balls!"

It made me snort a little, the look on Seth's face.

"Well, ok, then? Is she that much of a pushover?" He asked, clearly on a different page than the one Kelsey and I were on.

"What?!?" she asked in the rare, but occasional 'dumb-blonde' tone of but I don't get it.

He went on to explain what a pushover was and she was still blank.

"But, Dad-deeeee, I know what a pushover is - I just don't get why you'd say that because she doesn't have balls, though."

I could have intervened, but the humor of it all was cracking me up.

Suddenly, it dawned on my daughter that she and her dad had entirely different pictures in their minds, thus she said, exasperated, "Dad!!!!! I meant exercise balls - you know, to sit on?? Instead of a chair?!! The other 4th grade teachers have balls but mine doesn't and it's not really fair because that would help* me."

* it's a sensory thing.

And then all that humor tension climaxed into a fit of laughter at our table.

******
Completely unrelated, save for the out of context theme....

I've been curling my hair for a little something different lately - contemplating a body perm, but that just wigs me out (pun intended - me so cheesey) and makes me think of the aforementioned fashion crimes of the 80s.

The other day I was curling my hair before church and Christopher was walking around the bathroom. He was babbling and messing with his hair when I realized that he too was 'curling' his hair. With a wrapped (read: unused and perfectly sterile) tampon!

Oh dear, that one had me laughing for awhile too..
© 2006-present Ramblings of a Red-Headed Step-Child. All Rights Reserved

The One Where I Relate to AC/DC

noreply@blogger.com (Heather) — Fri, 20 Aug 2010 06:41:00 +0000

You know...as in, one of two heavy metal bands proclaimed by the t-shirts of the two poorly animated, infamous-for-their-utter-lack-of-conventional-values characters of the 90's known as Beavis and Butt-head.

Yeah....the 80's have their fashion crimes of which to be ashamed. The 90's? We had Beavis and Butt-head and the dumbing down of humor to fart jokes for an entire generation. *sigh*

Anyway....so, I do this thing where I associate moods, happenings, etc. with music, quotes, TV and all other things pop culture, right?

Today it was AC/DC's Back in Black playing in my little mental concert for one. Because I am one Klassy Babe when it comes to my musical repertoire - thanks to one former step-father who never could break free of the hold of 80's metal bands, and Blondie as well come to think on it, had on him and that he saw to it that we, too, were appropriately ~~indoctrinated~~ uh, educated re: their cultural significance; usually such education occurred while he was drunk. Fun times.

Why, you ask, did you have Back in Black playing in your head today, Heather?

Because quite simply,

...
I've been too long I'm glad to be back
Yes I'm, let loose
From the noose
That's kept me hanging about
...

I'm coming back. In ways that have been dormant for a good long time, I'm seeing glimpses of who I am and who God's teaching me to be along the way.

Kelsey and Colton started back to school Wednesday, and Heaven smiled down on me. Writing that makes me feel like a bad mother, a bit. Because I chose to be a SAHM in order to be more present with my kids and yet come July each year, I can't wait to be away from them for 40 hours a week. Ok, so maybe that last part is hyperbole, but not by a huge amount. To be fair, the kids were equally happy to leave me behind every day :) I have been able to be productive and get my house in respectable shape again, there is a return of that blissfully quiet period, 2x/day!, known as NAPTIME, and routine, how I love thee. School is good.

Colton was totally stoked that the new gym teacher (whom I foresee to be the object of many young girls' affections due to his youth and looks) was wearing the same Marvel comics t-shirt as he was. 2nd and 4th grades this year.

New School Shoes

While not going to school, little Chris was part of the obligatory 1st day photos.

Bus!!

I re-start my MPA studies, from which I took hiatus in 2008 and 2009. I will only be taking one class this semester, but I'm excited. I do keep cracking jokes about the class, as it is Leadership and Professional Ethics - joke being that there's a difference between personal ethics and professional ones? Syllabus looks good and challenging, but not overly so. Feels do-able.

As of today, we are caught up on our mortgage and all of our household bills - which is a place we haven't been since last November. Medical stuff is still hanging out, but we've cut some serious fat out of our budget, finally saying goodbye to Directv, and hello to Hulu, Netflix, and a digital antenna, slashing our grocery bill with sites like CouponMom.com and GroceryGame.com, riding our bikes more than driving the vehicles, etc. And, now that things are calmer at home, I'm really doing the free-lancing thing! I got my first client this week - a local NPO seeking funding and yet lacking a grant writer. Then, tonight I received an e-mail from a legitimate business in Denver asking me for my resume and references as they had a client in need of a funding researcher/grant writer. So, between the cutting of expenses and addition of some income, those medical debts are going bye-bye - no doubt about it.

A newer friend from church remarked how I was going to be superwoman this fall with 3 kids, going back to school, running high mileage, and starting a business. Certainly, I'm not super woman, but for those of you who've known me since this blog's inception (or before) y'all know I like the busy, like the real busy and not the busy work. I once worked FT, was in grad school, regularly volunteered in both the older kids' classrooms, took Kelsey to weekly OT appointments, cooked from scratch, etc. and did it fairly well. Some situational things popped up occasionally, namely marital during that time period, that got me down. And then I needed a break, so I slowed down and tried to follow God a little more closely.

The past 2 years have been huge in the growth department. The latter part of 2008 being a preparatory season, 2009 being a sort of demolition/rebuilding year, and thus far 2010 has been further rebuilding with an unveiling starting to take shape.

I feel as if, structurally speaking, I have the same foundation, as in, I'm still the same stubborn, feisty, big-word loving kind of gal I've always been. True, some parts of me have gotten those sort of whimsical face lifting reminiscent of HGTV's lower budget programs, such as the coupon clipping, cloth diapering, home-growing features that are new but not foreign to me. But other parts of me have been completely gutted, refashioned, and repurposed...My kids are bearing the brunt of my stubbornness being channeled into my parenting.

So, Angus sings it for me in my mind...."I'm back. In black". Though usually not all black clothing, I can generally be found wearing black flip-flops on any given day.
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