With a Little Love and Luck

Crisis of Denomination

2013-05-15T20:25:00.000-05:00

As kids, we never really went to church, because we attended a Catholic school and church was a weekly part of the school routine. I remember asking innocently one day why we didn't go on the weekends and I was told that going at school counted. I accepted the answer happily and went about my business. We also had to do confession annually & I'd get scolded by the priest every time because we didn't go to church. Why did I confess it? Because that's what you did.

After I completed my nine years there, I went off to a public magnet school. My best friend at the time was going too, and one of the religion teachers, a former nun, warned her that faith would be difficult to maintain if she didn't continue to attend Catholic school through high school. I still think about that conversation often.

My parents offered me the choice of attending the three years of weekly confirmation classes my parish required or waiting until I felt like I knew what was right for me. I declined because I didn't know where I was with my faith and my parents respected that. Offering me the freedom to choose is still one of the greatest opportunities they afforded me.

In college I felt drawn back to the church. I attempted to enroll in adult confirmation classes, but those in attendance had never been Catholic and were asking questions about things I'd had drilled in my head since age five. I stepped away again.

When we got married it was important to our families to be married in a church. I didn't need to be confirmed at the church we chose-baptism, reconciliation, and communion were enough. We participated in mass for a year before our wedding until we moved out of the parish six months after.

It wasn't until I found out I was pregnant that I felt called again. Filled with gratitude and anxiety, I prayed the hardest I've prayed for the health and safety of my boy. We had him baptized. We continued to attend until he was nine months old.

The head priest in our current parish is absolutely awesome. He started out at my Catholic grade school, did my first communion, and baptized my brother. His sermons are interactive, thought provoking, and funny at the same time. He involves the children in every homily and makes them feel important. We became unable to attend his slotted mass because of B's nap schedule.

The priest in the slot that fit B’s schedule is of a much, shall we say, older school. His sermons were stern and long. He made no bones about putting politics into the mix, and he condemned those of other faiths. I respect your right to have opinions, but when the phrase “turbin head” comes out of your mouth, I lose respect for you. Drake and I mutually agreed that this was not the type of environment that we believed in. We stopped attending and haven't been back.

The recent women's and equal rights issues have further distanced me from the church. I'm having trouble finding a balance between the message we are loved despite our sins, we should be kind to our neighbors and you can't be Catholic if you're pro choice, birth control is a sin, gays are going to hell.

I believe that the Catholic church is losing young people like me at a rapid pace. I believe that being s good person is a huge part of being a Christian/Catholic. I believe priests should be able to marry.

I believe I can be Catholic and be responsible with my reproduction. I believe I can choose to be pro choice in the case of rape/incest or the mother's life. I believe that the women in those awful situations are the only ones that can make those decisions based on their well being and medical diagnoses. I believe that I can't have babies I can't pay for, and I don't think anyone else should be forced to, either, but I do not believe abortion should be used as birth control.

I believe in programs like Planned Parenthood, which I, a married thirty something who never got pregnant before marriage, took advantage of as a teenager. We didn't have health insurance for a while, so I had my first OBGYN appointment with Planned Parenthood. They provided me with a year of birth control, which I medically needed to regulate my cycle, that got me through my freshman year of college. I didn't become a statistic, thanks in part to them.

Drake and I recently expressed interest in attending church again. Except.

Yesterday I noticed the signs all over the church property and neighborhood that popped up like mushrooms after a rainstorm:

Planned Parenthood = More Abortions.

Sigh. My feelings on that statement are for another day. But, I will say that seeing those signs around the perimeter of the church may as well have been a force field that kept me from entering the doors. Maybe that’s what they want. Maybe not.

So here I am, battling my denomination again. I feel unwelcome by the Catholic Church but uncomfortable in all of the other churches I've tried. I guess I get to live in recovering Catholic land a little longer.

I'll make sure my kids get the start that I did. I'll make sure they are baptized and they receive their basic sacraments that I still believe they should have. But. I will also be sure to give them the opportunity to choose their path. I'll support them when and if their beliefs and ideals don't quite mesh. I'll remind them that God is in their hearts, not in a building, like my mom taught me.

I have faith in the new Pope. I have faith in the younger generation looking to find a balance between progress and religious tradition. I have faith in the little ways God calls us back, like the kick of a baby in utero, the sun beams shining through the clouds, the way I’ve seen people rally together in times of tragedy.

The thing about faith, though, is despite my struggle, I'll hold on a little longer. I'll wait in the wings and see where time takes us. As long as I keep Him in my heart, I think God will understand.

Terror Within

2013-05-13T21:08:00.000-05:00

When I think of terror I don't think of a mentally ill white man shooting up my child’s school. I don’t think I need to avert my eyes and shift in my seat when a Muslim gets on a plane with me or a black man crosses to the same side of the street.

When I think of terror, I think of how the victims of the Second Line shooting this weekend felt as they dove to the ground. I think of the mothers of the ten year-olds shot searched for their babies. wondering if they were okay. I think of the reporter who dedicated her life to making sure acts of violence are not pushed aside as a cultural or socioeconomic problem only to fall victim to the violence.

I am 30, white, and Catholic, with a degree. The mainstream media or Joe Blo politician might peg me as being glued to the TV clutching my purse (with handgun tucked inside) during the Boston coverage, the Benghazi coverage, or the like. But guess what. They’d be wrong.

The first question I ask when there’s a tragedy isn’t “WAS IT TERRORISM?!?”

It’s “Is everyone OK?” Followed by secondary questions such as “Why?” “Have the families been notified?” “What can we do to prevent this?” Do we have evidence enough to point a finger before we start to slander the accused?”

So when I saw this article on Gawker today, I was both relieved and enraged. Finally, someone said what I've been thinking. The FBI stated that the attack at the Second Line Parade yesterday wasn’t an act of terrorism, but street violence. Oh good. Back to the regularly scheduled program, right? Nothing to see here, folks. Just a black guy with a gun and a need to retaliate. No need to address the underlying issue or send in the troops and funding.

Yes, this did happen in an area that’s no stranger to violent crime. It was during an event attended mostly by African Americans. That’s exactly why it pisses me off. We brush these things aside because it’s the norm, and not just here: in Camden, in Chicago, in Detroit. Shall I go on?
I am disappointed that the thought “in the 7th ward, that makes sense” crossed my mind. I am weeping for the city that courses through my veins.

I’m pissed that people don’t think of this when they make their backdoor handshake deals on gun control. I’m outraged that those opposed to gun control use the US versus the THEM argument, as in the “us” need their guns to protect their own from “those THEMs” that have darker skin color and an inability to consider consequences. When was the last time you saw a fifty something upper class white man in the hood going conducting vigilante justice? They’re not protecting anything but their ideals.

I am sad that we, as a country, are telling ourselves that these incidents are unpreventable because the THEM have bred a culture of retaliation and disregard for the lives of others which cannot be undone. Instead, we shift the focus to terror mongering. After all, it’s easier to blame faraway lands for their differences than to address the mistakes our forefathers made and the consequences that resulted. It’s easier to fantasize than face reality. Until we can face our reality and make real change the terror will still lie within.

Long Lashes at Last?

2013-05-10T18:25:00.001-05:00

I was selected to try out the new Fysiko eyelash growth serum. For 16 weeks I will apply this natural serum and update with photos along the way. Here's day one's extreme close up!

Falling into the gap.

2013-04-25T21:59:00.002-05:00

Back when I was in the throes of my PPD, my therapist and I would discuss my arsenal, or toolbox, which I could use when presented with a stressful situation. We made plans, I took notes, and we did exercises until she was confident in my abilities to attack the chain reaction that my triggers would cause. I've generally been able to use these tools to get through the bumps in the road. Then my therapist moved away, and the new one she recommended didn't accept my insurance, so I decided to put my big girl panties on and head out on my own.

Typically, I keep myself so busy that I don't have time to think about the what-ifs. I numb myself from vulnerability by doing ALL OF THE THINGS. This strategy works pretty well, except now, when I have nothing "extra" to do.

The last month has been tough. I've been trying my best to make use of all these things my therapist taught me, but to no avail. Multiple people have asked me if going back to my doctor or finding a new therapist (a nightmare in and of itself) had crossed my mind. Believe me, I've considered it. But, today a very wise friend pointed out:

Your doctor or a new therapist can't make life not suck.

She's right. I can be the Bob Vila of mental health, but no one can fix the fact that that seven different things we NEED broke at the same time, after our emergency fund got depleted. No one can tell me what the universe has in store for me-- what my next career move is, or when we will expand our family. No one person can make the news we read less morbid. I don't have a crystal ball to see if we'll win the lottery, and so on and so forth.

I've decided to allow myself to not be okay for a few days. I'm letting the bootstraps stay in knots. I'm allowing myself to remember that "Why me?" is valid, whether your troubles are life changing or just annoying.

To my friends that have even suckier suckage, I say this: allow yourself to be sad. You're allowed to be real, to feel raw, to shake your fists at the sky and scream. Crying means you care and you haven't checked out. You're putting your all into making life not suck, and the mere fact that you have to do that--sucks.

As for me, I'm going to listen to that wise friend. I'm going to allow myself to mourn lost possibilities before I devote my heart to something else. I'm allowed to have a gap with nothing to fill it.

I'm going to be okay.

Book Review: The Happiest Baby Guide to Great Sleep

2013-04-11T20:37:00.002-05:00

Just in time for my son's transition to toddler bed-dom, I was asked to review Dr. Harvey Karp's new book, The Happiest Baby Guide to Great Sleep, Simple Solutions for Kids from Birth to 5 Years (William Morrow Paperback; On-Sale: March 19, 2013; $15.99; ISBN: 9780062113320), Dr. Karp stuns the world again by solving the #1 problem plaguing new parents: exhaustion. In case you didn't know, Dr. Karp is the acclaimed writer of the Happiest Baby/Toddler On the Block series.

In this book, Dr. Karp does a great job of getting his reader involved easily. The book doesn't bore with heavy scientific facts. It doesn't judge, and it offers real-life examples of how to put the basic principles into practice.

What he helped me realize is that the parent needs the sleep training just as much as the child. We already put many of the practices he suggests into play, but we give in entirely too easily. Therefore, the toddler has trained us!

We've implemented a few new things already, like quiet play in his room, an hour before bed, "playing the boob," and gossip. I can already tell that these few tactics have boosted his mood and made him more amenable when it comes to getting him to cooperate. My son especially enjoys the loveys, white noise, and bedtime sweet talk.

I will admit that I hurried through the newborn sections because we only have a 28 month old, but I plan to use those sections whenever number two comes around. For now, I'm going to highly recommend the book to a friend that is due to give birth next week!

I'm really grateful to have found this book at exactly the right time. Hopefully, with Dr. Karp's help, we should all be sleeping through the night again in less than two weeks!

I am participating in a book review campaign with One2One Network. I received this book from Harper Collins for the purposes of reviewing it. I have not received compensation. My participation in the campaign enters me into a drawing for a gift card. All opinions stated are my own.

I Will Become What I Deserve

2013-04-11T11:40:00.001-05:00

Yesterday, the day crushed my spirit before it even began. A bit of a setback the night before set off a string of frustrated reactions to what seems like little things now that I'm out of the teary fog. I locked myself in my office and put my headphones on, nose to the grindstone. I pounded the keys as if my feelings were their fault. I vented to anyone that would listen.

After a bedtime fight, I cried more to Drake, realizing through the tears that I've been discussing my life limbo crisis with everyone but him, the person I should confess my stressors to first.

You see, I don't think I'll ever know what I want to be when I grow up. At least, I've yet to come across something that makes me feel whole and fulfilled, like I'm meant to do it forever. I'm jealous of people that have a defined path, including my husband. He may not always be perfectly content in every moment-he has bad days, like we all do-but he at least got to realize a dream.

The only thing I've ever known I was meant to do, out of my entire repertoire, is be a mom.

The thing is, I can't do that full time. Ever. I'll never be able to be a stay at home mom. I need to work for financial stability. I need to contribute for my mental stability. Admittedly, my children and I would probably make each other bonkers; I need my space and my adult time desperately.

Not being able to fully commit to the one thing you've ever felt you were meant to do is draining. It's disheartening. Will I always feel unfulfilled, or will I come to terms with the fact that I AM a full time mom, though I'm away from my children for half of the day?

Since December 2010, I've always been a mom. The clock doesn't define my role. With time I will accept this.

As for the other Holy Grail I seek, all I can do is the best I can with what I have. I can always promise that my self doubts about my future will not define my quality of work. I have to hope that the old adage is right, that hard work and dedication pay off.

Image via alimakesthings.com

Embracing My Story

2013-04-03T21:05:00.003-05:00

Recently I've been busy. Busy job searching (Gasp! I said it! though I've pretty much given up the hunt to do something at the end of this run-on sentence), busy picking up extra work to help us get by(see #1 for reason behind that), busy balancing momming and wifing and working and maybe planning baby #2 (yep, there, I said that, too. Gasp again!) As if that weren't enough, I've got a few more things on the horizon.

My PPD story will be featured in Babytalk Magazine both online and in print next month. Supposedly I get paid for it, scratching "published" off of the old bucket list.

Katherine Stone has asked me to be part of something very, very special. More on that later. That invitation means another thing, related to all of the biggies up top:

I'm fully embracing my story.

By sharing and embracing, am I putting myself out there for future employers to see & possibly discriminate? Am I exposing current coworkers that don't know I blog to the real truth behind my mega attitude change over the last 3 years? Will my tech-savvy grandfather read about me having sexual issues related to my PPD/A?

Yes. Am I terrified? Yes.

Truth is, wherever I go, whatever I do, I'll be taking the scars and the lessons with me, so it doesn't matter if the seedy underbelly is out there for all to see. By sharing my story, I'm doing something that matters. Something I believe in. If that means that I'm at risk for being cast aside, I'm okay with it.

I want my kids to know that even though I may not have always had my dream career, I worked my tail off for them: at the office, at home, and in the world, so it will be a better place for them. A place with less stigma, a place that they can believe is their oyster, their American dream, whether they become doctors or sewer treatment plant workers, gay or straight, religious or atheist.

To make them believe in themselves, I have to show that I believe in myself and our little life. That means risks. I want them to know me---all of me. I want them to know that I accept what's been handed to me and I mean to make the best of it, because I want the same for them.

I was going to say.

2013-03-27T14:22:00.001-05:00

I was going to say that I don't agree with the argument that same sex marriage ruins the purpose of a man and woman coming together to raise children, because "that's best for the children."

I was going to say that I don't see these people pushing to stop unwanted children born to single parents, abandoned by one, or abandoned by both to be raised by a family member or dumped into state care.

I was going to say that just a few months ago I saw the same people arguing for the sanctity of marriage trying to cut services for the aforementioned people, but suddenly they're silent about that issue so as not to ruffle any non-white feathers.

I was going to say that part because there's still stigma about homosexuality in ethnic communities.

Now these people want to make friends? Now these people want to love their neighbors, as long as they're straight and will prove this point? That's cutting off your nose to spite your face.

I call bullshit.

I don't buy into the convenience and fear-mongering. I don't buy into disguised hatred. It's hard to see progress. It's hard to see how I'm going to convince my children that all men are created equal when I see that only applies when it's convenient for a political agenda.

It's hard to speak your mind without being called racist, or sexist, or a bigot. Good for those people for sticking to their convictions.

But you know what? I think it's time for people to grow. Look back, then look forward. Using a mind AND a heart to make informed decisions is the only way to progress.

These children we're so worried about at least deserve that much.

To spout, or not to spout.

2013-03-27T07:41:00.001-05:00

I've been quiet lately. Partly because I'm busy. Partly because I've been afraid to hit publish.

There are so many things I want to talk about here, yet I'm so afraid to put things here that will be found later.

I don't know if that makes sense.
This space started out as a place where I could share our journey as a new family. I have letters to B here, joyful moments.

I don't know if I want to soil it with my opinions on rape culture, politics, or how I'm conflicted about my feelings towards friends that are also bigots... I don't know if I want B to look back on this later and find some things I'm not ready to share with him, even though sharing it with the world seems easy.

But then again, this is mine. My own little empire where I can spout what I want, and no one HAS to read it if they don't want to. I've made it my policy to be an honest advocate. Where does that fine line get drawn?

I'm not sure. Such a delicate thing, putting your life out there for all to see, isn't it?

Stay tuned.

Sneak Peek: Patrick & Emily's NOLA Engagement Photos

2013-03-09T21:21:00.001-06:00

My one and only little brother is getting married in October. The wedding is in Memphis, where Emily is from, but they live here in New Orleans. I was thrilled when they asked me to take some engagement photos of them in their favorite spots, so we packed up this morning and hit the town.

Mississippi River Bridge


Banksy's Umbrella Girl

We found great graffiti at the abandoned hospital on Jackson Avenue

Garden District

Cemetery

Bead tree on St. Charles Avenue

Creole Creamery, their favorite spot.

Cupcake Girl Don't Live Here Anymore

2013-02-20T14:47:00.001-06:00

When I started this job nearly five years ago, I swore I wasn't going to play the quiet 'yes man' role anymore. Why? Because I did it at my first job, and then when I got comfortable and things got stressful, I got labeled as "moody." So I figured, I'm just going to say what I think from the beginning and people will have to accept me for me.

Except I didn't. I started down the same damned path as the first job: Cupcake girl. I brought treats to everyone to be friendly. To say Hey! I'm nice, and reliable, and thoughtful! Of course I'll volunteer for that project or to learn that new skill! Eager! Excited!

It was great while it lasted. Both times. I was included in everything, I felt wanted and liked. And then I burnt the fuck out.

The difference between the two? Second time around, I became a mom.

The first time, there was some ridiculous petty drama I won't relive here that caused me to have my first panic attack ever. The point is, it drove me to realize that I was depressed and anxious and I needed help. I got it, things improved. I got a new job and a new start.

There I was again in cupcake land, flitting about, tackling everything that was handed to me with what I thought was ease. Then? BOOM. Unexpected pregnancy. I got tired. My priorities changed. By the time B was born, I didn't give two shits about keeping up with cupcake girl. B got all of my attention.

Fast forward six months and I'm overwhelmed again, in need of help, again. Again, it takes a panic attack to clue me in. A year of therapy and nearly two years of SSRIs and I'm *mostly* at peace with this new identity of mine.

Where am I going with all of this, you ask?

I haven't made cupcakes for my coworkers in over two years. Many of them know I've been doing my best to fight off my depression and anxiety and have supported me. Many others have changed their attitude about me.

I'm no longer included in things, which I'm mostly ok with. I just figured it was part of the childless employees vs. employees with kids dynamic that sometimes happens around here.

Until today, when I found out that again, I've been categorized as "moody" and my attitude unpredictable.

Fine. The larger party of me doesn't care. I'm not the same person I was three years ago. Not by a long shot. I like this one better: self aware, resilient, not afraid to ask for help, willing to take a stand when it matters. These people have no idea how hard I've worked and how long I've fought to get to this point.

But then? Cupcake girl is my voice of doubt. She says I can do it all. She says the easier road is the 'yes man' road. Go back to being the shrinking violet. Don't air your truths and let them see your vulnerabilities, she says.

Here I stand, voices of doubt and certainty fighting each other. Should I Vaseline my teeth and bake? No. Not when I have clean, unfolded laundry to the ceiling and projects to complete for people that really care. Not when I have snuggles to soak up and a husband that thinks I'm the best thing on earth.

What I know now and didn't know then is how to identify when I've taken on too much. That is huge, people. Huge.

What I will do is smile in the hallway. I will remember that I am the sum of ALL of my parts and not just the parts some people choose to see. I will remember that I wear my heart on my sleeve when I don't always mean to.

I will take these things and do the best I can, because neither this girl nor cupcake girl of old would live any other way.

Word Up

2013-01-05T14:51:00.001-06:00

Every New Year, bloggers more dedicated than I pick a word as their goal for the year. I can't remember last year's word I picked and frankly, I'm too lazy at this moment to sort through it all on my phone and look it up.

Good start, right?

Anyway, I know I did pretty well for the first eight months or so, and then that pesky little hurricane came along and I allowed it to be my excuse for everything. Then I just got busy. I stopped cooking, stopped cleaning (as much), and now I'm here, ten pounds heavier with dust bunnies the size of German Shepherds under the couch.

Of course, I have a list of 377864785 things I want to do this year. Some of them are exact repeats of last that didn't pan out: pay off consumer debt, live a healthier lifestyle, don't wait until two weeks have passed to put away the clean laundry, cut back my social media to spend more time with D and B.

But then, I did a ton of stuff. I ran a half marathon, I got lots of flower jobs, we paid off over 8k in debt (nowhere near what we need to pay off, but still), and we continued to work on being a better family. I learned new healthy recipes, how to meal plan, and how to combat some of my pesky mood symptoms.

Not too shabby.

What do I want to do that's so different? Not much. I just want to stick to these things I know I'm capable of doing. Therefore, my word is commitment.

I commit to
Spending more time with my family
Making better healthy choices, including exercising and food
Eating out less
Caring for myself more
Learning that it's okay to say no
Giving myself more credit for my talents
Continuing efforts toward debt payoff
Rekindling my work ethic
Getting up earlier (see above).

I think that's more than enough to work toward. Oh. I forgot about getting laundry folded and put away in a timely manner.

Can't have it all, I guess.

I've got a fever, and more cowbell won't cure it.

2012-12-12T08:34:00.001-06:00

You know, this Internet is a blessing and a curse, just like BA said yesterday(link).

It makes me feel happy happies. It makes me feel emotions I didn't know I had. I've met people and read stories of their triumph through experiences I'd never dreamt possible in my little bubble. This has contributed greatly both to my anxiety and my knowledge base.

But sometimes, like this week, I just want to shut it off. My circle is so widened that there's a fine line between hearing a fact about a stranger and experiencing emotion about that fact as if a close friend told me the same news.

I've seen countless pregnancy announcements this week. I'm happy for all of them, I am. But I'm sad that it's not me. I'm sad that we're not in the position we'd hoped to be in in order to be better prepared for an expansion to our family.

I'm sad that I'll never know what it's like to know what day I've ovulated and then wait patiently until I know enough time has passed to see if this is the lucky month.

My body doesn't work like that. Never has, never will. B was a surprise that came after my doctor told me I'd need intervention to get pregnant.

Thinking about trying again a few months from now thrills and scares me. Because last time wasn't on purpose, I don't know how to handle all that comes with "trying." I'd like to think I won't be disappointed if it takes a while, because I know it will. But that won't make things any easier. Will it "just happen" again? Will it take a month? A year? Will I need intervention this time?

Thing is, I don't know what's in store for us. No one does, but it still scares me. To want something so badly, but know that there's a battle ahead that I can't prepare for? Sucks.

To add fuel to my brain fire, a friend gave me her unused pregnancy tests "because they're expensive and I couldn't bring myself to throw them away." Someone else told me they were jealous of the fact that I'm so sure I want another one. Not a week goes by where someone doesn't bluntly ask me if I'm pregnant or trying for kid two. Yes, I've gained some weight. Yes, the baby fever is strong. Thanks for the reminders.

Meanwhile, I'm a week in to a raging AF with no end in sight. Well played, uterus. I see what you're doing there, fighting the universe for me.

It's not time yet, but hopefully, soon. I promise, when it is, I'll let you know. Until then, can you guys lay off the Spanish Inquisition? My tired brain meats would appreciate it.

Two.

2012-12-03T22:06:00.000-06:00

How far and how fast we've come, kiddo.

You're so big, and so independent, so smart and tough (maybe a little too tough.)

You love art, "biiiig chrucks," the color green (gawaain), shooting basketball, and lest I forget, your beloved moon.

As I helped you to the highest tower and the fastest slide at the indoor playground tonight, I couldn't believe how proud you made me to be your mom. I know your daddy feels the same way.

Just when I thought you were nearly ready to run off to college, you called out to me in the car: "Mommy? Hand." And I held your hand the rest of the way home.

Thanks for reminding me to remember the small stuff.

Happy Birthday.

I love you, sweet boy. Keep being you. It's making me be the best me.

Magic Boots

2012-11-04T21:33:00.001-06:00

I wanted to share my thoughts and feelings on all of the wonderful people I met at NonCon, but after all this time I think I'm abandoning that idea.

Instead, I've got something better.

One of the big sponsors for NonCon was Country Outfitter, a gigantic, all you could ever dream of in your wildest cowgirl fashion dreams emporium. Everyone knew that they'd be giving away four pair of boots to lucky NonCon attendees at the closing party. Ree Drummond, The Pioneer Woman, would be picking the names from a hat at the end of her closing keynote speech.

As Stephanie, Jana, and I got ready for the party, we decided that all three of us were feeling lucky. Wouldn't it be awesome if we all won? As it turns out, we WERE feeling lucky.

Jana, Steph and I

I'm pretty sure everyone in the state of Georgia heard all of us squeal with delight as Ree called our names. I never win anything. On top of the high I was riding from the weekend, I felt unstoppable.

Photo by Ann of Mundane Magic

I had my boots picked out before the night was over.

When they finally came, I ran home from work to get them. They fit perfectly, and just as Stephanie from Country Outfitter promised, they were the "tennis shoe of boots."

I wore them just about every day that week. My coworkers said I was like a whole new person: full of sass and confidence.

I think they're right. Those boots make me feel amazing, like I can conquer the world. Maybe it's what they represent-that weekend full of self-worth, nature, new friends, belly laughs, and words.

Simply put, they're now my magic boots.

And now the best part of all of this here babble: Country Outfitter is giving ME the opportunity to give a lucky reader their very own pair of cowboy boots.

All you have to do is click HERE, enter your email address, come back, and leave me a blog comment below telling me what pair of boots would make you feel like you had it all.One lucky winner will be chosen by random.org on November 18.

(I can't make you do this part, but if any of you would like to "like" my FB page, I sure would appreciate it.)

Now, go forth and good luck!

Disclosure: CountryOutﬁtter, a retailer of women's boots is providing $150 gift card to one of my readers.

Sally Field Says Hello

2012-10-21T22:48:00.001-05:00

It’s been a week since NonCon. For seven days I’ve been trying to figure out what I wanted to say. I’ve decided that my words will never be able to do it justice, so here I offer my word vomit (in segments-YAYZ!) I've already spewed my love for Stephanie over here.

We made it to MS and took a terrible photo.

As I looked around the room that first night, I was in awe that I was in the room with some of the people I looked up to, and I knew there would be more the next day. I felt my best approach would be honesty: I proclaimed my terror when faced with meeting new people. I quickly discovered that I wasn’t the only one, and it felt good.

There was just something about it-I don’t know if it was the first glimpse of fall, the small size, the setting-but there was a collective sigh of calm by the end of JC’s opening keynote speech where we all FELT that there was something different about what was going to happen. Her words encouraged us that we COULD. Whatever it was.

For me, it was remembering that my voice counted in the big sea of uncertainty. It was that I wasn’t going to be able to ride on anyone’s coat tails this trip. It was that I had to challenge myself to be ME from the beginning, instead of playing it safe and then letting people see the real me after I got comfortable. Years of that got me nowhere, so I decided that I’d let it all hang out from the beginning.

And you know what? It worked. I had so many Sally Field moments. There wasn’t any of that awkwardness that I’ve grown accustomed to when I stand up for myself out of nowhere at the office, when I do one of my goofy voices, break out into song, or crack an inappropriate joke in mixed company. I was thrilled to meet everyone I met, and I felt like some of them were even thrilled to meet me back.

Have you ever gotten to hug your hero? Someone that has affected your life in such an immense way, probably without them knowing, that it’s very possible that they could have saved your marriage or even your life? I did, Friday morning. I. Hugged. Katherine. Stone. And boy, did I cry. Not only did I get to hug her, but we ate lunch together. And then she invited me to sit next to her at her roundtable presentation. And then we sat on the floor of the party and talked like friends. It was the opposite of nearly everything years of being the dorky girl had conditioned me for.I thought it couldn't get any better. But then it did.....

My superhero mask wiped away, but that's OK because she knew and liked my seedy underbelly anyway.

Daisy Chain

2012-10-19T12:20:00.001-05:00

Daisies. I think they're on my mind this week because of Jess.

So much so that when I did a video message for a friend in need, I referred to our Postpartum Depression circle as a "daisy chain of love." I didn't know what I was saying at the time, because I turn into a fumbling deer in headlights in front of a camera without editing. I’m a florist in my spare time. It felt right.

Looking back, I was spot on. We, the women who have come to know and love each other, have formed a daisy chain of love.

I did a little bit of research today. Daisies are hardy flowers. Some species grow in the cracks of cement just as easily as they can in an open field. They are tough enough to be cut from their roots but still bring grace and vibrancy to the container they're placed in for days. They give life until they're spent. According to this, Daisies are associated with "purity, loyal love, beauty, patience and simplicity."

Take that in, then bear with me as I get a little nerdy:

Daisies are among the family Asteraceae (aster, daisy, and sunflower family) the largest family of flowering plants. The name 'Asteraceae' is derived from the genus Aster, meaning star.

Just like the stars the family is named for, they can guide you home when you're lost. Sunflowers and daisies follow the light from the sun, which is called heliotropism. The extent depends on the species. If you're ever lost, a field of sunflowers can act as a compass: open flowers are always facing the east.

The name daisy is derived from "day's eye" due to the fact that they only open during the day and close at night. Other names include "thunderflower" because they are prevalent in summer when thunderstorms are frequent. In England, many refer to it as bruisewort since the crushed leaves were used for soothing bruised skin.

Unexpectedly fragile, yet easily woven together to form a stronghold, we fight for each other. We hold fast as a beacon for others, but we all have our time when we just can’t shine and the darkness pours in. If our stems break, we knot together to fix it, yet we can easily add another when they are ready to join in or come back to the fight.

We have the ability to heal each other’s bruises. We thrive when the rain falls. We come in all shapes, sizes, and colors.We are beautiful. We are thriving. We are growing.

Together.

Information paraphrased from http://www.livingartsoriginals.com/flower-daisy.htm

Timing

2012-10-19T10:44:00.001-05:00

I do my best blogging when I'm not supposed to be blogging, say, at the office or in the shower.

The things I want to say push through my fingertips like weights, but the list of things calling my name around me weigh heavier on the parts of me that control the phalanges.

I have so much to say about NonCon, about the love our little PPD circle is spewing for those in need, and about these magic boots I keep talking about that make me feel like superwoman.

Now where did I leave that time-turner?

Balancing.

2012-10-17T13:41:00.001-05:00

I'm coming down from my high. The high of meeting amazing people that accepted me for what I am, yet encouraged me to break from the chains of anxiety that hold me back.

Let's not forget the narcotic high I rode for six days thanks to an infected wisdom tooth.

I'm back to life, my life. The life I love yet at this minute dread. My calendar stares back at me reminding me that I've once again overbooked myself. My pile of work grows and grows, and with it grows the desire to put all of it in a shredder because sometimes I'm convinced no one would notice anyway.

I need to catch up.

I need to clean my house.

I need to run-I can feel the darkness coming. I have to run from it, through the pain I'll feel through the first few miles. It will be worth it. But first I have to find the time.

I need to do more with B. He's growing and learning so much. Every hour it seems that he soaks up life like a sponge.

I need and want to give Drake the time he craves and deserves.

I need to work on flowers.

I want to write. With purpose. Write more than this stream if consciousness my fingers are vomiting now.

I want to work on my blogs. I want to use the knowledge I gained this week.

I want to take more pictures. I forgot how happy I am behind a lens.

I want my clothes to fit again.

I want to have a few months where I don't have constantly calculate how to rob Peter to pay Paul.

I want to meet my goals.
I want to help others.
I want to read again.

I want to call my friends and have meaningful conversations.

I want to write Thank you notes to the people that have been so kind to us.

I want to do it all, not because I feel pressured to. Because that's how I'm programmed.

I want to be able to say all of this without anyone worrying about me. I'm okay. I just need to get it all out into paper somewhere and out of my head and my heart.

I'm trying. I'll get there.

Balance just isn't my thing. Yet.

It happens.

2012-10-13T14:16:00.000-05:00

As you know, I met some people online in the last year. I joined Twitter solely for PPD support, and it opened up a whole new world for me. My "real life" friends didn't really get it, but they did their best to understand. My husband put up with my stories about the friends in the computer, the late night texts as the girls and I got comfortable with each other. We dreamed about conferences together, despite the miles and varying social anxieties between us. One of them lived in Poland, but her family lives in Texas. She convinced me to attend a small start-up conference with her while she was in the states visiting her family. I signed up, figuring I'd worry about the details later. Fast forward to October 10. I kept this a bit quiet simply because it would sound ridiculous to anyone that isn't into Twitter and the Blogosphere. I picked a stranger up from the airport. She stayed at my house. I left her alone there while I went to an appointment. There was trust and respect that we had built via that little blue cord that goes to nowhere but connects us to everything. Then, we got in the car and drove seven hours together. You know what? It's like we've been friends for ten years. There was ZERO awkwardness. She loved B from the moment she met him. She brought Drake the special candy he fell in love with on our trip to Germany three years ago. She gets me. She's been my cheerleader as I've come out of my shell this weekend. She watched my eyes get teary as I hugged one of my heroes. She doesn't think I'm weird because I packed glitter and craft supplies in case anyone was lacking a costume for the theme party. She's bragged on my baby more than I have. She's tough and vulnerable and sharp. She's known pain and heartache, but manages to make it a positive part of her life. She's pretty mouthy and I'm a little jealous of the confidence she exudes. What I'm trying to say is that I'm thankful for that little blue cord. I'm thankful that it's made me take chances. I'm also thankful that she didn't shank me with the corkscrew shiv we were given as swag last night.

Flowers

2012-09-30T22:18:00.000-05:00

Just popping in to say hi. I have been SO busy with wedding flowers lately that I haven't had time to blog. Soon I'll set up a photo album with examples. So if you're here for flowers, thanks for your patience and shoot me an email!

Be the Change, Baby.

2012-08-07T21:33:00.001-05:00

Bennett-

It seems I always write these letters to you when there's a hot button issue out there. It's not that I necessarily get involved, but watching these things play out makes my wheels turn even faster than normal.

I don't claim to know it all. I'm aware that I'm just one person with few connections, little money, and only this tiny space as my platform. Sometimes, I get frustrated when it seems like the things I say and do go unnoticed.

But.

I realized something tonight. I've been quiet most of my life about the things that cause the most controversy. I don't like conflict, and I tend to cry when I'm put on the spot.

Being quiet hasn't helped the people that need support. Until recently I thought silence didn't hurt, either. I was wrong.

People have an inherent need to be right. They are going to twist words to meet their agenda, and you're going to have to fight like hell to stand against that. It doesn't matter if they are correct, or fair, or just, because in the quest to be right, those actions get mangled to fit.

You don't need anyone to agree with everyone. You won't. Keep your ears and eyes open at all times; listen to what people have to say without judgement. Hope that they will grant you the time of day you've granted them by reading or listening to their words.

People trying to fit in all the time are the ones with the hardest lives. You can only put on a show for so long. It's exhausting. Be yourself, and you'll find the people that matter will flock to you. I'm not saying it won't hurt like the dickens when others snub you. It will. I just hope it doesn't take you nearly three decades to find people that make you feel like you can be yourself at all times.

There are mean girls and bullies everywhere. Challenge them by being confident in the person you are.

Surround yourself with people of all backgrounds, races, and creeds. You'll be amazed at what you learn.

I promise to teach you that different is beautiful, and not really different at all. It really does take all kinds to make the world go 'round.

Ignorance is the easy route--it's why so many choose that path. With knowledge comes responsibility for you and your actions. Many are too immature to be able to handle such things.

You must stand for the weak--not because they can't stand up for themselves, but because they need allies to grow strong enough to make change.

Do what you can, when you can. It may not feel like much, but it takes just one snowflake to start a snowball.

"Be the change you wish to see in the world." -Gandhi

I love you, baby. I want great things for you and the world you'll grow up in.

Mama

Hiatus

2012-08-02T21:09:00.002-05:00

I've been on a blogging hiatus. Obviously.

What have I been doing? Much to my own surprise, I've been living life. I haven't worried about what I'm going to write about. I'm not constantly reaching for my phone to jot down ideas so I don't forget them. I've cut back on my phone addiction. I've gotten back into a groove at work. I went for a few things I probably won't get, but I tried. Blogging included.

This space is for me...for us. I got wrapped up in the new and exciting and I forgot about why all of this is really here.

For this.

And this.

And remembering what kind of life I lived instead of what kind of life I'd like to try and live by trying to fit in and be ALL OF THE THINGS at one time. So here's what I know now:

I'm a scientist with a love of words.
I'm an artist with a hint of ADD.
I'm a wife who can out-fart her husband but make him swoon two minutes later.
I'm a mom discovering how motherhood molds a person into what they were meant to be.
I'm a daughter finally catching on to why my mom always said, "because I'm the mom and I said so."
I'm a friend, even if I'm 2,000 miles away and we haven't talked in a year. I'll pick up right where we left off.

I've made a difference to people, enough that they've taken the time to reach out and tell me so.

That's incredible. Thank you.

Things I'm Afraid to Tell You

2012-06-17T21:18:00.001-05:00

First, I should acknowledge those who started this: Lisa, who started this round, Jess Constable, who came up with the idea, Ez of Creature Comforts, who turned it into a movement and Laura Rossi's Huffington Post Article on this topic.

Deep breaths. Ok, here goes.

1. B got all of our good features. All. I'm terrified that kid #2, whenever that is, will be a girl that gets ALL of our worst genetic features that will combine to ensure a childhood full of name calling: My dumbo ears, Drake's Eddie Munster widows peak, my dark circles, odd toes, untameable orange frizzy curls(a generation up).... I know that I will think this child is the most beautiful child in the world, but I don't want my kids to experience the taunting I did.

2. I'm starting to understand now why older generations are the way they are re: why stereotypes exist. That is to say, I don't believe them, but the older and less naive I get, the more I see why people would start to make these generalizations. Let me be clear: I am NOT racist. I have friends of all backgrounds, colors, and creeds. This realization with age is heartbreaking, in a way. At what point did I stop looking at everyone with Pollyanna eyes? I hate it. I fight these inner demons every day as I watch the news and hear about another murder, another corruption scandal, irresponsible parenting, or see video of a toddler being thrown from a car during a police chase. I still believe that you should love everyone, that they start with a clean slate. Now, I just have to suppress this innate desire to scream things like, "tell me again how you even graduated from high school, let alone college?" "pull up your pants!" "discipline your child!" "oh, you've had issues with ALL of your child's teachers? Of course it's them and not you or your child." "you call yourself a Christian yet you preach hatred for those that are different?" "oh, you're applying for a job but you've showed up in jeans with your boobs hanging out?" "must be nice to just tell me to buy formula when you've never had to pay for it." I KNOW. I'm aging in an ugly way on the inside. Did I mention I hate it and I battle with this daily? UGH.

3. Our sex life was the pits for a few years. Sorry, honey, but I don't think you could deny it if asked point blank. Honestly, it's a miracle B was conceived. It got even worse after he was born, but we've both worked really hard to reconnect on all levels.

4. I'm a people watcher. Duh Lindsay, we know this about you. But? Sometimes I can get really mean and judgey. Not fair. I have no idea what anyone's story is, and I have no place to comment upon first glance. Not that this makes it right, but growing up in one of the most eclectic cities provided me with plenty of training. Old habits are hard to break.

5. I don't know what I want to be when I grow up. I get fleeting ideas which become pipe dreams, which I abandon because in order to provide for my family and allow my husband to do what he loves, I have to make sacrifices. I'm not bitter about it, it just makes me feel....lost.

6. I submitted a pitch to a big website a few months back and now I'm boycotting it. Because? I can't believe the typo-filled, blatant grammar-mistake-laden fluff they actually pay people to post who know NOTHING about the topic I pitched for (it wasn't for one of the "coveted" topics.) Sour grapes? jaded? Maybe both. ~~This may or may not have had a tiny bit to do with my current disillusionment of my place in the blogging world.~~

7. I was finally feeling like I fit in the blogging world, and then suddenly, I just didn't. I think I realized that I couldn't appropriately delegate my time to my real life and family, my real passions, and my job while also devoting the HOURS it takes to "make it" in this social media world. Seriously, people must block off 4-6 hours a day just to engage by tweeting, commenting, replying to comments, etc. How can you keep your house clean, bond with your children, cook healthy meals, spend time with your significant other, watch TV, read, AND do all of that? I just don't have it in me. See above, pipe dreams.

8. I've had to step away from my beloved #ppdchat and Facebook support groups, etc. I reached a point where I was providing support to others more than myself or my family. I hope those of you reading this know I'm always lurking around if you need me, but I'm finally feeling better and mostly whole again. I think the meds are finally right, I'm exercising again, and I just feel... Good. I'm not saying I don't need you, because I do. I let the prospect of new friends and support distract me from the beautiful things I already have. I'm finally at a point where I can say I'm mostly healed. I have all of you to thank for that.

9. I'm still afraid to write the post about why I quit my job as a zookeeper. I'm not sure I CAN write it without it becoming some sort of expose or bitter memoir, which wouldn't be entirely accurate for the 12 years I devoted to that place.

10. I read everything I write no less than 15 times before I publish. Not because I'm editing for errors, but because I'm afraid of what people will think about what I write, because as I've said before, I'm much braver here than in real life.

11. I had something else here, but I erased it after days, yes, days, of stewing over it. I just can't, as much as I want to say it aloud.

Whew, that was hard. Word vomit, much?

Thanks to Robin and all of the aforementioned for inspiring another real post from so many of us.

18 Months

2012-06-03T23:45:00.002-05:00

Bennett-

18 months have passed since you entered our lives. Every day I learn something new about you, but more importantly, from you.

You are so quirky. You kiss your Spiderman toothbrush goodnight when you're finished brushing your teeth. You love snowballs and popsicles, veggie burgers, strawberries, and you'll try just about anything daddy and I eat. You ate an entire bag of Zapp's Cajun Crawtators today without flinching from the spices.

Your favorite "toy" is a tupperware tub you put on your head as a space helmet.
You already have a signature dance.

The water is still your favorite place to be. You're already learning how to swim between your days at the pool with Ditter and Pa and the hot tub with HeyBay and Murph.

You wake us at almost exactly 7:15 every morning with a cacophony of "MAMA! MAA! MOOM!"
Your spirit lights up every room you enter, and you've already got a sharp sense of style.

You're thinning out from all of the running you do, but you've still got a nommable amount of pudge that I never want to go away.

2t Pajamas

I wish I could do a better job of explaining how amazingly awesome we think you are in this space. However, I like that my words flow better when I reach into your crib after you've been asleep a while, take you in my arms, and rock you until you stir. You are a gift to this world, my love, and I am so very privileged to be a part of molding you into the man I hope you'll become.

Your grandfather is the best photobomber EVER.