State of Obvious

I am currently looking for a job (you hiring?  No?  too bad...).  It's an interesting experience.  Technically, I have been offered one position so far, but I had to turn it down.  Because, seriously, I can't move my family a few hundred miles south to a place with little to no housing that happens to also smell like over-cooked beans if you are going to pay me a ridiculously low salary to teach kids all day long...Oh wait, I got off track. So, I keep applying at various places and hoping for a call.  (Funny story, another school down south in the same town that already offered me a job called me for an interview...goodness.)  Otherwise, so far I've had one email saying basically 'thanks and we'll be in touch when we start interviewing' which was better than the non-response from all the others.  It's gotten me to thinking - maybe, just maybe, I don't really want a job and so I keep putting non-job vibes out into the universe.  And instead ...

These days I don't feel much like writing.  Which is sort of a lot alarming since it's how I plan to make my living when I'm all done with school.  I mean, what is that?  It's silly, that's what it is.  Did I run out of things to say?  My husband probably would answer that question with a firm NO.  Maybe I have too much to say, but I can't or shouldn't or won't.  So I read this really funny (though a little swear word heavy) book review after our cousin linked it up on facebook.  The thing that made it really funny was the gifs.  Now, I'd link this review but it's not really appopriate for polite company and we're just going to pretend you're all polite.  Sorry.  To make up for it, I'm going to shamelessly steal the gimmick and use it here to update you on all the (you almost care about them) important events of my life from the last couple of months that I haven't been writing about.  First I was having a great summer...

So. Hi. Yep, still here.  Sort of.  Have you ever had one of those stretches of time where it just all blends into a stream of colors, and you aren't even really sure what you've been doing?  Something like sitting on a merry-go-round and watching the trees turn into streaks of brown and green.  That's my summer. Except, don't forget the part where the merry-go-round comes unhinged and goes bouncing across the lawn while everyone screams.  And when it comes to rest, you stand up and wobble around for a minute before you run over to a bush and ... well, let's not talk about it. I've come to a realization.  Nothing happens the easy way.  Nothing happens while you're just sitting around watching TV.  Nobody rings your doorbell and gives you a thousand-million-trillion dollars.  Your car doesn't magically fix itself.  The roof doesn't seal up that hole its sporting.  Your kids don't get smarter.  Your homework doesn't d...

I've decided the hardest part of being a parent is the absolute absence of control.  At first, of course, you feel completely overwhelmed by just how much control you have.  Decisions about eating, sleeping, clothing, activities, schools - it can be overwhelming to make every small decision.  But over time, they grow up.  You blink and BOOM They're almost 14. They're thinking about how fun it will be to drive. They're looking at girls. They're staying home alone. They're making choices, choices, choices - not all of which you like very much. The control was all a cruel illusion.  And now it's gone. But, what is infinitely worse, is when you see the train wreck coming.  The little signs of trouble ahead.  And all different kinds of trouble. Perhaps I could be more specific. There's this boy at church.  Maybe there is more than one, I am not sure.  This boy likes to say things about my son.  Mean things.  Hard things....

There's a certain something in the air.  It sneaks past the frozen solid mucus in my nose and creeps into my bones.  It settles in and refuses to leave.  It masquerades as grumpy moods and teary eyes.  Oh, wintertime blues, hello again. I want to laugh at myself most of the time.  I mean, how good does your life have to be?  How many blessings can you count just by looking around?  Other than a solid gold BMW, what else do you want in life than what you already have?  It doesn't make any sense really. But I'm just so sad.  And angry.  But not all the time.  Just, you know, every few minutes.  One of the kids looked at me funny or said something wrong.  There's nothing to watch on TV.  The dog is whining.  I have to clean up the house again.  The laundry is breeding.  It's always something. Did I mention I'm also a nag?  Trust me, my family feels that way.  Lately I feel like I can't ...

Not so long ago I was wrangled into attending the General Relief Society Meeting portion of General Conference , an event sponspored by our church and aimed at men.  Just kidding, this meeting was aimed at women.  They do this every six months.  And I usually don't go.  What can I say, I'm a rebel.  Nevertheless, I set aside the rebellion and went to this meeting.  The first two speakers were ok.  One of them looked like she probably would be the type to carry chocolate chip cookies in her purse for emergencies.  I liked her.  But I digress.   The concluding speaker for the evening was Dieter F. Uchtdorf.  And first, it helps that he is nice to look at.  He's kind of what I picture Prince Charming looking like later in life.  Second, he's got a great accent.  What is it about accents that make people more interesting?  I wish I had one.  I mean other than the midwest-meets-New-Mexic...

My son is having a conversation with himself.  It's fairly common these days.  The mumbling, the sighing, the mouthing words without sound.  It happens all the time. It makes my blood boil in my veins.  And also, my eyebrows shoot skyward like they have strings pulling them up.  It's very annoying.  (The eyebrows and the conversations.) See, the thing is, I asked him to read a book.  A good book, one I've read and enjoyed.  ( Pillage by Obert Skye , if you're interested.)  He's reading this book for school.  He has to read about 14 books by the end of the quarter.  I'm really hoping that means December but I'm not sure. My son, bless him, went right into convulsions. The body language alone is fascinating.  Arms and legs and head bobbing in separate directions.  And then there are the sounds.  Long exhalations of breath, lungs emptying at alarming rates, teeth pressed together so that the air comes out in a wh...

I woke up on the wrong side of the bed today.  It was the side I always wake up on, actually, but today when my feet hit the floor my mood hit the basement.  And we don't even have a basement.  Perhaps it was my toe.  It's really sore.  I'd regale you with the story of why it's really sore, but you probably don't care and toes fall into that realm of the interweb most of us should really keep private.  For the good of others. Maybe it was because I hate waking up early.  And yes, for me early is anything before 10 am.  I'm an adult and I am entitled to hating the morning.  I will never be a morning person, no matter how I try.  And yes, I have had jobs and school and other reasons to wake up before the sun rises.  I prefer to wake up after the sun is already well on it's way to mid-sky-position.  Early to bed, early to rise, yes I know.  But I don't have to like it.  Maybe it was just the general way-too-hottedn...

I find myself wishing it was all so much easier I see people that seem to skip through life on tip toe, and smiling And I wonder how they do it What's the secret Why can't I learn it. I've gotten good at making mistakes Repeat, rinse, repeat, repeat, repeat The rhythm of falling so familiar that I don't feel right without it Rinse, repeat, rinse, repeat, repeat Stepping back from the brink of disaster is a much harder tune to play. Have you ever been fed up with yourself with your choices with your stumbling with your failing So fed up that the good things seem small and the bad things feel tall I feel that way today.

This evening my children spent about 30 minutes conspiring.  Conspiring is a mostly beautiful sound.  A lot of "Don't let Mom seeeee!" "Get one of those!" "That's what we need!" instead of the usual "Josh _________ me!" or "CAAARRlllyyYYYY!" I like it when they make up their own little games, I like it more when it involves a surprise for me.  I wasn't sure what to expect.  Crayon drawings?  "Crafts" (quotation marks are the closest thing to sarcasm font on the market today) ?  Edible treats? Wrong, wrong, wrong. My children sued me.  As in, an elaborate trial with a briefcase full of evidence, a possible witness in the form of our dog, and Dad as the judge. I was accused of being unfair.  I took away Josh's TV and video game privileges because he didn't finish his school work by 3pm.  And while I did, and do, find this amusing on many fronts (imagine, if you will, hard core giggling while ...

Today began.  And then it was all downhill. First, a visit to the doctor's office for Josh.  Nothing major, just a check up so that he can get a prescription for stuff to help concentrate.  He hasn't been taking this stuff all summer, but school is starting soon.  We're talking something like 3 weeks soon.  I know! Then, we stopped at the health department.  My healthy kids needed shots.  Lots and lots of shots.  Because I wait to get said shots until I absolutely have to.  (And they've never spread a communicable disease!  I know, you're welcome.)   We walk in, children prepped for pain with the promise of a visit to a pizza place that features a large mouse after said pain. But, there's no nurse on duty today.  At the health department.  Sigh. Home, and the internet.  A phone call and assurances that the health department in town (30ish miles away) has a nurse on duty to give shots, and off we go.  I...

I tried out the crazy new hip website called Bag Borrow Steal.  I am not sure if you've heard of it, but apparently you can rent purses and bags there.  The designer kind.  I thought, "hey bags and purses!  I like those!" and I signed up, signed in and started to shop for an officially official designer bag to rent. First, what is with purses that can carry small towns inside?  I recently bought a new bag that can pretty much hold Carly in it if she squishes herself into a ball.  I bought this giant bag on purpose - mainly because I am typically the receptacle for everything my kids HAD to bring but now can't possibly carry for one more step.  Also, the pockets are large enough to hold a calendar and I'm thinking that when school starts that might be handy.  Even though I'll probably be carrying a back pack at that point.  But you never know.  Anyhow...my bag isn't nearly as big as most of the designer purses out there.  Second,...

I am not sure who, exactly, is responsible for selecting tags for shirts.  Whoever has this job is either a) malicious or b) a nudist. Case in point:  my undershirt has the most stiff, scratchy, annoying, skin flaying tag ever in creation.  And for some reason, unknown, this tag is situated in the side seam of the shirt right where my pants waistline sits.  Why, why, why?  Oh I forgot: malicious nudist. It is my formal request that from now on tags are: a) printed ON the cloth b) removeable without ripping a giant hole in the fabric or c) made of something soft and pleasant.  Silk maybe? Satin? Cotton? Sincerely, Me 

I am baffled. I know this happens so regularly that no one is surprised.  But what me has me all turned around today is spite.  In particular, being mean for mean's sake. I think of myself as a nice person.  It is one of the few qualities I have that I rarely doubt.  I like it when people smile, when they laugh, when they feel good.  I like seeing someone brighten up or walk taller.  When someone feels good, I feel good.  Happiness is contagious. So is politeness. So is charity. So is respect. Lately there doesn't seem to be a whole lot of respect going around.  Especially when we throw in things like marriage, religion, politics, rights, weight, money, choice, standards, morals.  Let loose any of those words and suddenly perfectly normal, sane people turn into lunatics.  Raving, rude, disrespectful lunatics. We can disagree and still like each other.  We can have a different viewpoint and still understand the other ...

I am not a fan of Mother's Day. This year I really just wasn't into it.  I tried to pretend but I didn't want to read sappy articles about how wonderful moms are, and I didn't want to write them either (hence a post full of funny faces to mark the day) .  I didn't want to look at cards or chocolates or any of that dribble.  It has nothing to do with my own mother, I'm pretty lucky in that department.  And my mother-in-law was an angel before she ever left the earth.  It has nothing to do with my kids or husband, they honored me suitably with breakfast in bed and a week of no chores.  It was more about how Mother's Day reminds me of nots . I'm not able to have more children for whatever reason.  And although I've mostly come to terms with that idea, it still burns.  I am not patient, or kind, or thoughtful.  Shoot, I can't even remember what I've promised to do/finish/help out with/supply.  I'm too wrapped up in ME to think ab...

First, let me just say, the lady who sent her son back to Russia because she couldn't parent him anymore?  Gross .  And sad .  And I do not, in any way , support her decision. Do I understand, in ways, what she felt?  Of course I do. Second, it is NOT just adoptive parents who should sympathize!  EVERY parent has moments where they think "OH MY GOSH, WHAT HAVE I DONE!"   Adoptive, biological or otherwise, the responsibility of keeping someone alive when that person is resisting you at every turn is EXHAUSTING . Parenting stretches you to the very limits of love and humanity.  It tests your patience, your resolve, your capacity to forgive, your pride, your creativity, your decision making skills, your follow through...need I go on?  To be a parent is to give up control.  And I don't know about you, but that is REALLY HARD for me. But it is also extremely satisfying when it goes right.  And healing when they drop a kiss on your ch...

I'm not sure if you've read the case of Baby Emma .  If you are an adoptive parent, like me, reading stories like this puts a surge of fear and sorrow through your body.  Literally, like a knife. I shall paraphrase her story for you:  Emma's biological mother decided to put her up for adoption (what an ugly turn of phrase by the way.  It sounds like she was on the auction block or something.  Who wants this baby, going once going twice...) knowing that Emma's biological father wanted to keep her and raise her.  She didn't tell Emma's father that she went into labor or that his daughter had been born.  And Emma was consequentially given to a Utah family, where she now lives. As I was reading about Baby Emma, it occurred to me that the real problem at the root of this story is who, exactly, this child belongs to.  You see, if Emma's mother had decided to get an abortion, her father would not have been able to stop that action no matter how will...

not Heavenly Powers, but rather Government Powers, in case I need to be clear. You are exhausting me today. You have worn through my optimistic shell down to the pessimist that secretly lives inside. Apparently, this new healthcare reform is THE END OF THE FRIGGIN WORLD. If it doesn't hold up, we're all DOOMED. If it does hold up, we're all DOOMED.  I'm pretty much banking on we're all DOOMED, there doesn't seem to be any other options. Also, I'm not really sure how this happened but apparently my NM driver's license was suspended in 2000.  I didn't have a NM DL in 2000.  I didn't even live here.  And nobody told me it was suspended either, not until today when I tried to officially become a resident.  I'm pretty sure a majority of my brain cells just died.  But I'm not really surprised because we're all DOOMED anyhow. DOOMED. With affection , Me

when I look around my little world and think OH CRAP. How did I get here?  This is not the direction I was pointing myself to go.  I had PLANS. Big plans. College.  Law school.  Novels.  Money.  Style.  Class. I was going to change the world, one word at a time. Somehow I ended up washing faces.  And bottoms.  And floors.  And windows.  Dusting shelves and wiping counter-tops.    Somehow the highlight of my day turned into shopping at the thrift store.  (I bought 3 one dollar records on Monday: Glen Miller, Camelot, and South Pacific.  Yes, records.) I've discovered that I have a lack of bankable skills.  Which is ironic since I used to be a teller.  For five years.  But apparently that wasn't enough for a local bank to hire me as a teller.  {boggle}   And I have discovered that being at home for five years is akin to never working at all.  I'm very discouraged ...

Have you ever had a dream where you are in a van (maybe a mini-van of some sort, packed full of kids no more than 5 feet high) , careening at top speed (who knew a mini-van could go that fast!) , down a twisting turning canyon?  And at the bottom of that canyon is dooooom .  Did you read that to yourself with an echo in your head?  No?  Go back and do it, I'll wait.  Dooooooom. That's how my house feels these past few days.  A mini-van of DOooOOooM flying down the turns into a bottomless canyon. Because apparently my children have caught the dreaded winter disease .  No, it's not the flu.  Or pneumonia.  Or croup.  It's not even polio or anything else like that.  It's the much more hazardous (to their health and my sanity) Bickers .  Bicker Bicker Bicker (pause to eat/cry/sleep/whine) Bicker Bicker Bicker . It doesn't even matter that Santa is watching them.  Oh no .  Who cares?  They are 100% devo...