Sunday, November 22, 2015

Healthy Outlets

Yesterday, I cried. 

I was on the brink of tears all day and managed to keep it together - because, you know, it's unprofessional to cry at work - right? My emotions didn't get the memo. A professional planning meeting and dropping the Littles off at PE were two such instances where I did not keep my emotions in check.

But yesterday, I did.

But I wasn't fooling anybody. I could never be in a position where I would have to lie (or not tell the whole truth) to protect a secret because, apparently, I wear my heart on my sleeve. At the very least, my eyes are an open window to my soul. They are a spiritual TMZ of the body. They know all. They tell all. All they don't care when it's appropriate.

So, even when I think I'm keeping it together; I'm really not. At least to those who have my figured out. And man! Do I hate that! On one hand, it's extremely comforting knowing that there are a select few on this planet that really understand how I work (and probably a little bit more than myself). This is comforting. However, it's extremely frustrating having these people in your space when you feel like you don't want to share what is going on in your head - either because you just don't want to share or because you don't know what's going on.

And yesterday was one such day. I didn't know what was going on. I didn't know what I was feeling exactly.

Magenta. That was me.

And I hid it well. Not really. But I managed.

Until I got home and TMB saw it all and asked those all-too-imposing questions that get the waterworks flowing.

What's wrong?

Everything. Nothing. I don't know.

And then I did. And then we talked. And then he said something extremely profound:

"You need to find a healthy outlet."

And I do. But what? What can I do that will relieve all the magenta feelings that well up inside of me, day after day?

And he's not the only person to say this. Several people who love me very much have said I need to find a healthy outlet. Recently, I was told that I give and give and give and if I don't take time for myself, all my giving is going to use me up. (It was a little bit more eloquent that that, but that was the general gist.)

I enjoy reading and now, since I'm on break, I feel almost certain that I can finish a book I started two weeks ago but haven't quite gotten through. I'm also pretty certain I can make it to the library before Thanksgiving to borrow the third book in the series (I love series, don't you?)

But the problem is, I don't feel refreshed when I read. If anything, it makes me feel more anxious - especially if a main character is going through something dramatic and I want to see him or her through to the very end.

My readers will understand that all readers go through this. It's just what we do.

But the problem is, it does not really renew anything. I can't even say it relaxes me. I do enjoy it and I will continue to enjoy it and will continue doing it (although not as much as I'd really hoped because I choose not to take time to read.) Still, that is not my healthy outlet.

Which brings me to writing.  Is writing my healthy outlet?

I believe that yes, it can be. I recently wrote a loved one an eight page letter, pouring out my love and support to them. (They will be receiving it soon, so I cannot reveal to whom the letter is addressed, lest they read my blog - and I really hope they do.) I remember having a great pen pal relationship with a friend in California. We would take a week or two to write to one another and we'd end up emailing pages and page of general chit chat to one another.

And I loved keeping in touch with my friend this way. I loved connecting with her trials and her joys. The "voice" in which we each wrote to one another was almost like we were talking face-to-face. I would laugh. I would cry. I used to devour those letters.

As I write this, I think I've discovered what my healthy outlet is. It is writing but more than that, it's connecting with people I love and cherish.

And it's the one thing that's really been missing in my life.

Once upon a time, I used to write. I wrote letters. I wrote stories. I wrote little anecdotes. Most of my writing was never read by anyone. And to be honest, putting some of my "stuffs" out in the open is very scary. I want to share but I'm afraid of what you will think about what I have to share. Will you like it? Will you agree with me? Will I insult you? Anger you? Will you reject me?

The People Pleaser in me shines through.

But despite it all, I still have that urge - that need - to connect with people. I'm not as eloquent live and in person as I tend to be on paper. Once upon a time, I was great on paper. I look back over past things I've written and I feel they were really well formulated. I feel I've lost that. No, "lost" is the wrong word. I've placed in the back burner - so much so that it's been collecting dust. It's still there. I just need to dust.

Ultimately, I feel the need to get my thoughts on paper (or screen). It's even more therapeutic when it's read and enjoyed by someone. Hence the letter writing.
I could be doing another type of writing. Every November, writers spend 30 days at their computers, at their desk or in coffee shops, pecking out 50,000-word documents for National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo). I competed one year. I finished a manuscript. I have been meaning to flesh it out (50,000 words hardly constitutes a novel). Yet, there it sits, printed out in six manila envelopes, unedited. 
I contemplated participating this year, but thought with everything going on, I probably shouldn't add something else to my plate. I even commented on Facebook that while I couldn't do it this year, as a 40th birthday present to myself, I'd do it next. 
I still want to do that. But this morning, while I was taking a shower, I thought of two sequels to the novella I wrote in 2007. And I just know if I don't put something down on paper (or screen), I'm going to completely lose the ideas. I already lost a flash drive that had several stories on it. I really should get some ideas down and save them in a place where they won't accidentally get lost. (I suspect there was a rip in one of my purses and when I donated the purse, I didn't check the hole. 
For all I know, the person who bought the purse doesn't know that the flash drive is in there. Wouldn't it be spectacular if the person, tiring of the purse, donated it to the same store she bought it from and then on whim, I went to the store, found the purse, bought the purse, and found my flash drive?)
What a story that would make!
Until next time,
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Friday, October 9, 2015

Funerals are the for the living

Pin ItIt's been quite awhile since I've written anything on my blog. But seeing as how today marks the first day of a five-day weekend (Fall Break) and I have something I want to say, now is as good of time as any to get back to it.

My mom is dying.

There. I said it. Out loud. Well, in print. I've said it in my head a million times. I've said it to my mom in conversations. I've said it to my husband. I've said it to friends. But I don't think I've ever put it in print. I just did. And if it's on the internet, it's true.

Only, in this case, it really does happen to be true. No Google search will tell me what my mother's doctors haven't already.


A lot of cancer.

My mother and I have been pretty transparent about her passing. As time goes by, she has shared with me what she wants as her final wishes. I suspect I'm not the only one she's told, so I won't really be going through this alone. My husband is going through it. My children are going through it. My brother is going through it. My aunts and uncles and cousins are going through it.

But I'm the only daughter going through it.

Part of my mother's funeral includes readings from the old and new testaments as well as one psalm and one gospel. And my mother wants me to choose them.

As I'm reading through all of them, trying to find the perfect one, it suddenly dawns on me that funerals aren't for the dead.

They are for the living.

Once my mother is dead, she is dead. I do not believe in people coming back as spirits or angels. And to be honest, I really don't believe loved ones watch over us. So I do not believe my mother will be "hanging around" at her funeral.

As a believer, I believe my mother will be healed and she will no longer be in any kind of pain once she dies. I do believe in a Heaven and if what people tell me is true, I believe she will be there.

But one place I do not believe she will be is at her funeral.

But, that said, it's nice that God is giving her time to plan for her funeral. This saves loved ones the agonizing experience of choosing things when they are clouded by their grief and really don't know what the loved would have liked or wanted.

So, I'm reading through these verses and I feel like I'm just going through the motions. My mother is a new believer and unless she's studied the books of Isiah, Lamentations, Job, Psalms, 1 Corinthians, 2 Corinthians, Romans or Revelation in detail, I don't think she's going to be familiar with many of them. I think the people in the congregation may have studied from these books, and as such, will be familiar with and comforted by them.

But mom? I don't think so.

I have contemplated if I wanted to speak at my mother's funeral or not. I wasn't sure what I would say. What I could say. Or what I wanted to say. (Maybe some things are better left unsaid.)

But then I had a revelation of sorts. I do believe in divine intervention and I do not believe in luck or coincidence.

I will speak at my mother's service.

But I will not read a verse from the Bible. I will let the minister do that.

Instead, I will read something that will mean the most to mom. The one constant that has kept her grounded, even if only by a thread at times.

Footprints in the Sand

One night I dreamed a dream.
As I was walking along the beach with my Lord.
Across the dark sky flashed scenes from my life.
For each scene, I noticed two sets of footprints in the sand,
One belonging to me and one to my Lord.
After the last scene of my life flashed before me,
I looked back at the footprints in the sand.
I noticed that at many times along the path of my life,
especially at the very lowest and saddest times,
there was only one set of footprints.
This really troubled me, so I asked the Lord about it.
"Lord, you said once I decided to follow you,
You'd walk with me all the way.
But I noticed that during the saddest and most troublesome times of my life,
there was only one set of footprints.
I don't understand why, when I needed You the most, You would leave me."
He whispered, "My precious child, I love you and will never leave you
Never, ever, during your trials and testings.
When you saw only one set of footprints,
It was then that I carried you."
- by Mary Stevenson
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Tuesday, July 21, 2015

Monday, June 29, 2015

Baby, it's hot outside!

Is it hot where you live? It's hot here. Not as hot as it has been, but it's still pretty toasty.

Add to the fact that we live in GA and we have humidity on top of it all.

People say humidity makes it hotter.

Does anyone really believe that?

 Sauna or over, hot is hot!

Being that it has been so hot, I haven't been keeping up with my walking like I should. But, I've decided that hot or not, I need to walk. During the winter and fall times, I don't walk with water. During the summer, I cannot walk without my water. So, I've been drinking quite a bit  more than I usually drink. And because I'm drinking more, I'm noticing how much my family is drinking. Which isn't a lot.

The Man Beast was really starting to notice that Baby Girl hasn't been drinking hardly any. He wanted to create a chart to help her chart her water.

Today, after coming home from my walk, I did a quick search for some charts that I could print out to get her started while TMB solidified his idea of a water chart.

And I found this one:
photo credit: Kids Food Fest
 It's absolutely perfect! Here's how I made it my own:
  • I added The Boy and Baby Girl's names to the chart
  • I labeled each glass of water for the days of the week
  • For the last glass of water, I labeled it "weekly total". The person who drinks the most for the week gets bragging rights
  • I added an over-all goal of 8 glasses of water a day/56 glasses of water for the week
Here is my personalized version:
But I've already altered it - even after putting it on my fridge!

It dawned on me that the cup TMB uses to drink his tea (now water, because tea doesn't count) is different than the cup I use to drink my tea (now water, because tea doesn't count) is different from the cup the kids use to drink their milk at dinner.


We're sticking with ounces. We are all going to try to get as close to 64 ounces a day (eight 8 ounce cups) with our own cups. That means that the kids technically only have to drink four of their cups a day. The Man Beast and I have to drink a little over three. If we go over - great!

Why the game/competative aspect? Shouldn't water have it's own rewards? Why would a non-competative family choose to do something so...competative?


Baby Girl gets a kick out of bragging rights. She's not a braggart, but she does enjoy winning.

As a family, we all need to drink more water. But as a family, we're supporting Baby Girl who isn't drinking hardly any water at all.

I can tell right now that The Boy and I are just along for the ride. We're going to settle for our four and three cups a day, respectively, and call it a day.

But it's on with the other two.

Until next time...
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Saturday, June 27, 2015

The Day I Cleaned Up My Friends List

Today, I went through my friends list and cleaned it up a bit.

 I unfriended a few - but not many (at least, not yet).

 I also played with a few Facebook settings. 

 You see, you can not only categorize your friends (so you can post content specific to that group - useful if you're sharing information with co-workers or family that is not pertinent to everyone on your friends list) and you can also choose to follow and/or get notificatoins when your friends post something.

 This is useful if you have a friend who is a heavy Facebook user who might flood your page with pictures and videos, preventing you from really seeing any other content from your other friends unless you scroll aaaaaalllll the way down on your page.

 And since it's a general consensus that Facebook can be a huge time suck, this feature is very beneficial.

 But I went through my friends list for a different reason. It dawned on me, that while I have over 350 friends, I rarely interact with any of them outside of Facebook. I can count on one hand the number of people who text me or call me. You might wonder why I would keep 300+ friends on my friends list if I only get contacted by five.

 There's a very real purpose.

 This is the breakdown of my friends list:
  • Family
  • Church Family
  • Co-Workers (Past and Present)
  • Friends (elementary, high school, and college)
  • Scouts
 It would appear that Facebook has become more of a bulletin board of happenings. Birthdays. Weddings. Prayer meetings. Yard sales. 
 It is not for social interaction. In fact, I get more social interaction from the groups I belong to than actual interaction from human beings I actually know. It's networking.
 That's not to say that I don't have anyone interacting with me on Facebook. I do. Especially when I post about hot button topics or ask hot button questions. Which is good. I have a wide range of friends - liberal, conservative, believers, non-believers. It's good to get discussions going.
 But it is not the platform to hold a conversation that could easily be held via text, over the phone, or (even better!) in person.
 So, while it's true that I have 300+ "friends", I don't *really* have 300+ friends - and that's okay.
 Family and friends are there when you need them. And some connections are stronger than others. If I had a flat tire, I know who I would call. If I needed help for other things, I knew I would call. Different friends serve different purposes and I think that's okay.
 So, I will keep my Facebook active because it's a great way to stay in touch with people (especially those who live far away). It's a great way to share pictures, recipes, and cute/funny/sad/emotional stories.
 I'm not dissing Facebook.
 I just need to be a better friend.
 Until next time, 
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Saturday, May 2, 2015

Keepin' It Real: Emotionally Raw {New Series}

Today, I took off from work to take The Man Beast to a doctor's appointment out of town. He doesn't drive anymore. The 45-minute drive each way gives us an opportunity to talk. Real talk. Undisturbed. Up close and personal.

While the nature of the doctors visits aren't exactly positive or something that either of us look forward to, the drive is something we both cherish.

Today, we talked about many things. Our talks usually involve the heart-to-hearts. Sometimes, we just talk about stuff that annoys us, in general. They are good talks and I enjoy them.

But as we were driving back into town, we got on the subject of distractions. I don't think he'd mind me telling you that his distraction is video games. My distraction is reading.

My distraction used to be writing, but with the hustle and bustle of life in general, I've gotten away from it.

And I told The Man Beast as much.

"I look back at older blog posts and they're pretty good. Not great by any means, but good. I look at more recent ones and they are lacking something."

People continue to compliment me on my writing. I suppose I have nuggets of genius. Well, more like tiny flecks. But they are there.

In the moments of silence, I wondered what changed between my writings three years ago and my writings today. Logically, I should have more to write about today than I did three years ago. But the truth of the matter is that I'm so overwhelmed with the emotion of the past three years, that I think I'm paralyzed in my writing.

Much of it I cannot share in a public forum. At least not yet; if ever. Other parts are so incredibly raw that I'm afraid of sharing. What will people think? Especially people in my real-life circle of influence who know me - or at least know of me?

But writing has always, always been therapeutic for me. As a child, there were times when my mother and I couldn't talk to each other without eating one another alive. But we could write. And we did. I don't even remember who began the trend, but if it was her, it was a stroke of genius on her part.

Writing letters to one another allowed us to say our peace without fear of the other interrupting us. I don't ever remember writing hateful things (she might be able to tell you differently), but my writing was always honest.

And I think I've gotten away from that honesty.

For four years, while I finishing my degree (the second time around), I wrote a research paper every week except for holidays. I usually took one class, every eight weeks. On occasion, I took two.

Very few of these papers had emotion in them. The closest I ever came to  emotional writing was when I explained my teaching philosophy. And even then I had to back it up with facts.

How can you support emotional writing with facts?

You can't.

Emotional writing is just that. It's not necessarily based on facts, except the ones you perceive from your point-of-view. Not everyone's truth is your truth. Exposing your truth is what makes writing great.

Even fiction writing has an element of truth in it somewhere. It has to. Otherwise, it's flat.

Emotion makes writing, all writing, come alive.

So, I'm attempting to get back to me in my writings. To do this, I'm starting a new Rambling that I'm going to call Keepin' It Real. And I'm going to do exactly that. I'm going to expose my heart and my mind and put myself out there like I used to.

I am what is missing in my most recent writings.

I write for me. I don't write for you. I let you read it, but ultimately, I need to write for me. If what I write can inspire you - fabulous. But I need to write. I just need to.

I don't need to write a book. I've done that. Maybe one day, I'll flesh it out a bit more and consider publication. But right now, it's one of those things I did to prove to myself I could do it.

I don't belong publishing anything until I can get back to who I am as a writer. I've lost it, but I intend to gain it back.

So, periodically (read: when the mood strikes), I will write a raw piece. It will be truthful. I will hold nothing back.

One day, I hope to share everything. But until then, I'll share what I can doing the only thing I can.

By writing.

Until next time...


Sunday, March 15, 2015

Lazy Sunday Post

An amazing thing happened this week: I was actually productive, getting everything I needed to get done, done with "tie" to spare on my calendar. 

What this has enabled to me to do is those little projects that, when I pass them, I utter, "I really need to do that", but never have time.

Take yesterday, for example. I was able to not only clean out my hutch, emptying all its contents, washing them, drying them, dusting the shelves and replacing the items, but I was also able to clean off my desk (complete with paper decluttering), clean off the bookshelf in Mom's room (that I've been meaning to do since December!) and clean off all three shelves - which are also in her room (notice the trend?)

What that means for me today is I get to sit, quietly and do absolutely nothing if I choose to.

What a wonderful feeling.

Instead, I will cut and organize my coupons, finish my Bible study for the week, and continue reading the book I'm reading.

I am ready to tackle the week - and what a busy week it will be. But for the first time in awhile, I look on it, hopefully, instead of filled with dread.

May you all have a pleasant week ahead.

Until next time -
PS - Only 6 more days until Spring!