Well. I lied. My hiatus was not an irregular occurrence. Life whips and turns and juggles me around, and I find myself on the other side of a year finally finding time to sit at a computer...again. Apparently I am a once-a-year blogger. So I better make this one good. ;)
My sitcom life in the RV didn't last TOO long. My roommates and pup did a great job in the blessing we called home, and although it was cold most nights, smelled like a boys locker room much of the time, and all showering and restroom-ing took place half a mile away in a 'club room' - it really could have been worse. I passed my test and became a licensed in insurance. I started a fantastic and fast-paced job with wonderful people and learned a lot about myself (most of which included tear-filled prayers about why customers are so mean). I also got real cozy with a 45 minute one-way commute, that I despised more than the boys' locker room smell in my temporary home. Houston traffic is no exaggeration. After about 6 weeks, we found a home that didn't have to be hooked up, with lots of room. We added a furry family member, and named him after a dinosaur (naturally). THEN something amazing happened. I received an email out of the blue one day, inquiring about an old resume found online from my pre-move-job-search days! Who found this you ask? None other than the big 'ole Baptist church I drove by LITERALLY everyday - in walking distance of our home! After a couple interviews, a Mexico vacation, and an answered prayer I was offered the job as a ministry assistant for one of the largest churches in the area!
It's been wonderful!
Not without bouts of homesickness. Not without quarks. Not without lengthy tear-filled calls to my family. Not without hiccups. But no adventure is.
What have I learned this year?
I've learned how to trust beyond the borders I'm used to, and every moment was terrifying.
I've learned that long commutes let you catch up with old friends and family you don't see much anymore.
I've learned that time with family is never to be taken for granted or wasted.
I've learned that church families are vital to growth and the one I had back home has been irreplaceable.
I've learned that little sisters are best friends you can't ever get enough of.
I've learned how to make healthy choices to extend my life - but pizza and sweet tea will always get in the way.
I've learned that our ability to swim and not sink involves obedience and favor from God.
I've learned that my husband is my very best friend, and there's no body on this planet that gets me the way he does.
This adventure has only begun. I'm not going to promise to frequent this blog for your entertainment each week, but I will promise that as God leads me - I will impart the ugly truth and hilarious lessons the next year hold.
Thursday, February 5, 2015
Tuesday, January 7, 2014
Our Big Move: The Pilot
This Feasible Fairytale of mine has certainly taken a hiatus from the blogger-sphere, but it has NOT been uneventful. Let's just say, after 3.5 grueling months of living out of suitcases 300 miles apart, my husband and I are just one week away from a reunion away from the home I have known for twenty-er-five years (I'm going to be 25 forever I've just now decided) and embarking on a journey truly into the unknown.
We're outta here.
Now there are moments that this notion is equated with applause and celebration - like when I take up knitting on a Friday night as a form of entertainment... not a proud moment for a young pup like myself. I've done everything there is to do in this sweet little town, and as much as I love frequenting the local Target and Cinema, the 45 minute drive to the beach and endless festivals and concerts that await are a bit more applause worthy... and they don't make me feel ninety ...or twelve.
Then there are moments that cause nausea, sleepless nights, night sweats, and thought spaghetti {"thought spa|ghet|ti":// noun, referring to the female epidemic occurring when thoughts before bed string on to other thoughts, which lead to other thoughts, which occasionally cross previous thoughts, much like the appearance of a plate of spaghetti... duh} - much like the night that has evoked this entry. The What If Monster lurks around every corner, and although the appealing entertainment bait soothes it for a moment, the What If's tend to win on nights like these, and I feel very much like curling up into a giant ball of knitting yarn, rewind, and never think of leaving.
It's not like I have anything to think about though. The cramming and studying AFTER working a full day's work is nothing. And the pressure of HAVING to study to obtain a required certification for the job I have been offered to proceed with hiring me is no big deal. And the reality of moving into a temporary home with two grown men and a dog is nothing really. Yes two men, it's a long story, but no, I do not have brother-husbands, although this adventure could certainly contain enough entertainment to rival such a fabulous idea for a tv show - and guess what - moving into a temporary home with two grown men was NOT the punch line here people, it gets better! The temporary home I speak of is.... a 26 foot RV that has been loaned to us temporarily... yep. A recreational vehicle. That folks, will be the site of my first leg of this adventure. See, aren't you glad this blog is back? Combine those things with the gut wrenching goodbyes I have to look forward to this week, the loss of a relative today, the preparation for my departure at my current workplace, the piles of laundry needing to be cleaned and packed into a bag (yes, laundry will forever haunt me), the nagging thought of having to shave my legs regularly again once I'm back with my hubby (don't judge me, it's been glorious), and the inevitable late start I'm going to have tomorrow morning from staying up so late tonight, and you have the makings of a panic attack in the works and a pretty interesting blog series... or a hit tv show... or the script to another Hunger Games sequel.
So get ready people. This Feasible Fairy Tale is hitting the road... only to park... at an RV park... with a dog.. and two men... and the classifieds... and a dose of hilarity that you'll only find here.
Stay tuned.
We're outta here.
Now there are moments that this notion is equated with applause and celebration - like when I take up knitting on a Friday night as a form of entertainment... not a proud moment for a young pup like myself. I've done everything there is to do in this sweet little town, and as much as I love frequenting the local Target and Cinema, the 45 minute drive to the beach and endless festivals and concerts that await are a bit more applause worthy... and they don't make me feel ninety ...or twelve.
Then there are moments that cause nausea, sleepless nights, night sweats, and thought spaghetti {"thought spa|ghet|ti":// noun, referring to the female epidemic occurring when thoughts before bed string on to other thoughts, which lead to other thoughts, which occasionally cross previous thoughts, much like the appearance of a plate of spaghetti... duh} - much like the night that has evoked this entry. The What If Monster lurks around every corner, and although the appealing entertainment bait soothes it for a moment, the What If's tend to win on nights like these, and I feel very much like curling up into a giant ball of knitting yarn, rewind, and never think of leaving.
It's not like I have anything to think about though. The cramming and studying AFTER working a full day's work is nothing. And the pressure of HAVING to study to obtain a required certification for the job I have been offered to proceed with hiring me is no big deal. And the reality of moving into a temporary home with two grown men and a dog is nothing really. Yes two men, it's a long story, but no, I do not have brother-husbands, although this adventure could certainly contain enough entertainment to rival such a fabulous idea for a tv show - and guess what - moving into a temporary home with two grown men was NOT the punch line here people, it gets better! The temporary home I speak of is.... a 26 foot RV that has been loaned to us temporarily... yep. A recreational vehicle. That folks, will be the site of my first leg of this adventure. See, aren't you glad this blog is back? Combine those things with the gut wrenching goodbyes I have to look forward to this week, the loss of a relative today, the preparation for my departure at my current workplace, the piles of laundry needing to be cleaned and packed into a bag (yes, laundry will forever haunt me), the nagging thought of having to shave my legs regularly again once I'm back with my hubby (don't judge me, it's been glorious), and the inevitable late start I'm going to have tomorrow morning from staying up so late tonight, and you have the makings of a panic attack in the works and a pretty interesting blog series... or a hit tv show... or the script to another Hunger Games sequel.
So get ready people. This Feasible Fairy Tale is hitting the road... only to park... at an RV park... with a dog.. and two men... and the classifieds... and a dose of hilarity that you'll only find here.
Stay tuned.
Monday, July 8, 2013
HIS & HERS - a gift from God
Weddings are fun. Showers are too! And inevitably at both you'll receive/see 'his & hers' memorabilia everywhere. That's a neat idea - 'his & hers' - isn't it? To walk into marriage with a defined list of 'this is his' and 'this is hers' is great... or is it? Oh sisters... it is. And this story from my Feasible Fairytale will make you agree...
Once Upon A Time...
My brand new hubby and I moved in to our one bedroom, one bathroom, one closet castle/apartment. It was a lovely apartment. It was sure to accommodate the never-ending-togetherness we just said 'I Do' to - and we were there for each other literally around every corner. Brushing teeth with one sink. Picking out morning wardrobes in one closet. Even sitting and watching tv on the only piece of living room furniture we owned. We were one.
One frightful day (after about 48 hours of that blissful life detailed above), our fairy tale found its first bump. THIS WAS NOT COOL. We were used to living alone. We didn't co-habitate before being wed, so most of what we encountered the first 6 months of marriage was spent asking, 'uh, have you always done that?' We were very used to having our own bathrooms. Our own closets. Even our own tv's when we were bachelors/bachelorettes. This was quite a change.
Our first year of marriage wasn't the most cuddly, inside voice kind of year. It was tough. It was raw reality. Now, not all of it was from the adorable bathroom and closet cuddles we involuntarily faced, we had more than a taste of reality, and pretty much finished the entire carton of it in the first year. But inevitably, the idea of 'his & hers' seemed like much more than a novelty bath towel - it was a necessity.
DISCLAIMER: This has obvious boundaries, and isn't always best or needed for all couples. This is what worked for us, stopped numerous wars, and is done in moderation, not across the board.
We eventually stretched our legs 2 bedroom 2 bathroom apartment - and we suddenly liked each other a whole lot more.
Ladies - boys are gross. They are. And ladies - our hair sheds... a lot. Bathrooms just aren't fun places to talk about - especially when shared. If you're lucky enough to have a master bath with 2 sinks, 2 closets, and even 2 towel racks - well, you're in Heaven and you can stop reading. If your morning routines involve conversations about 'too much hairspray in the air,' 'you didn't flush the toilet again,' 'omg the drain is clogged again' - well - greetings, welcome to living in need of 'his & hers'.
I recently had an in-law stay with us for a few weeks, getting on his feet and preparing to move into our area. I graciously offered him our 2nd bathroom and 3rd bedroom, and though nothing of the impending doom I was about to face moving into my husband's bathroom (yes - we now have 'his & her' bathrooms - one of the joys of no kiddos yet and virtually NO visitors...ever). We scheduled our shower and morning prep to relay each other, as to avoid crowding, and things were good! Until ...
Things were good for him too! Until ...
Our in-law has gotten settled into his new home and new job now, and the rest of his family has moved here too, and I SPRINTED to 'hers' bathroom the day he moved out. Glory and peace rested on our life once again. He's still gross. And I still shed and spill makeup powder. But when it's done in our own separate places - all is well in the world.
Now, I mention this only because something we saw on TV the other day made this seem blog worthy(er) than the adventure itself. We were watching a show about people hunting for homes, and the wife said very bluntly, "and we need two separate bathrooms - we do not share bathrooms." It struck me like, well, well, look at you too good to share a bathroom with your husband, that's kind of rude - immediately followed by, crap - that's something I will say to a Realtor one day too!
Is this a rude thing? Is this a common thing? Is this a good-for-the-safety-of-everyone matter to others? Do spouses secretly wish they did this, but don't? I'd love to hear your thoughts! ... not that it will change our arrangements ;)
Once Upon A Time...
My brand new hubby and I moved in to our one bedroom, one bathroom, one closet castle/apartment. It was a lovely apartment. It was sure to accommodate the never-ending-togetherness we just said 'I Do' to - and we were there for each other literally around every corner. Brushing teeth with one sink. Picking out morning wardrobes in one closet. Even sitting and watching tv on the only piece of living room furniture we owned. We were one.
One frightful day (after about 48 hours of that blissful life detailed above), our fairy tale found its first bump. THIS WAS NOT COOL. We were used to living alone. We didn't co-habitate before being wed, so most of what we encountered the first 6 months of marriage was spent asking, 'uh, have you always done that?' We were very used to having our own bathrooms. Our own closets. Even our own tv's when we were bachelors/bachelorettes. This was quite a change.
Our first year of marriage wasn't the most cuddly, inside voice kind of year. It was tough. It was raw reality. Now, not all of it was from the adorable bathroom and closet cuddles we involuntarily faced, we had more than a taste of reality, and pretty much finished the entire carton of it in the first year. But inevitably, the idea of 'his & hers' seemed like much more than a novelty bath towel - it was a necessity.
DISCLAIMER: This has obvious boundaries, and isn't always best or needed for all couples. This is what worked for us, stopped numerous wars, and is done in moderation, not across the board.
We eventually stretched our legs 2 bedroom 2 bathroom apartment - and we suddenly liked each other a whole lot more.
Ladies - boys are gross. They are. And ladies - our hair sheds... a lot. Bathrooms just aren't fun places to talk about - especially when shared. If you're lucky enough to have a master bath with 2 sinks, 2 closets, and even 2 towel racks - well, you're in Heaven and you can stop reading. If your morning routines involve conversations about 'too much hairspray in the air,' 'you didn't flush the toilet again,' 'omg the drain is clogged again' - well - greetings, welcome to living in need of 'his & hers'.
I recently had an in-law stay with us for a few weeks, getting on his feet and preparing to move into our area. I graciously offered him our 2nd bathroom and 3rd bedroom, and though nothing of the impending doom I was about to face moving into my husband's bathroom (yes - we now have 'his & her' bathrooms - one of the joys of no kiddos yet and virtually NO visitors...ever). We scheduled our shower and morning prep to relay each other, as to avoid crowding, and things were good! Until ...
*insert suspenseful 'dun, dun, DUUUNNN' music here*
I saw it. Facial clippings. IN. THE. SINK. No he didn't. My husband is very handsome. He's a sweetheart. I love him so much. But in an instant - I remembered WHY we don't share a bathroom. Boys are gross.Things were good for him too! Until ...
*yeah, 'dun, dun, DUUUNNN' again*
He saw it. Makeup powder on the counter... and now his slacks... and his black dress socks.Our in-law has gotten settled into his new home and new job now, and the rest of his family has moved here too, and I SPRINTED to 'hers' bathroom the day he moved out. Glory and peace rested on our life once again. He's still gross. And I still shed and spill makeup powder. But when it's done in our own separate places - all is well in the world.
Now, I mention this only because something we saw on TV the other day made this seem blog worthy(er) than the adventure itself. We were watching a show about people hunting for homes, and the wife said very bluntly, "and we need two separate bathrooms - we do not share bathrooms." It struck me like, well, well, look at you too good to share a bathroom with your husband, that's kind of rude - immediately followed by, crap - that's something I will say to a Realtor one day too!
Is this a rude thing? Is this a common thing? Is this a good-for-the-safety-of-everyone matter to others? Do spouses secretly wish they did this, but don't? I'd love to hear your thoughts! ... not that it will change our arrangements ;)
Sunday Morningness
My Fairytale has had its share of hilarity, but one thing I don't feel I speak about enough is my faith in God. See, He is the ultimate Author of this story - so it's only fitting that I post an entry occasionally simply gushing about how cool He is. You with me still? I hope so. This won't be dull - I assure you.
Getting There
There is one day a week that will turn houses upside down, cause traffic jams in bathrooms, blow breakers, burn pancakes, and offer hope after all of it - SUNDAYS. If you're like me - growing up going to church meant stumbling over people hogging the bathroom mirror, a sea of Sunday best rejects strewn on the floor, an occasional argument in the car about so-in-so sitting on my Bible, and a shot of orange juice and a stale doughnut welcoming you into the wide church doors. It is the most hectic bliss a person can encounter, and it's a tradition that looks a little differently for me today. Today, Sunday mornings look more like a grouchy bear stumbling out of bed (no more wake up knocks on the door every 5 minutes), rummaging through clothes (no one to wash something you need the night before), and speeding to church praying the policemen in town have already made it to church (no one else to blame for being late). But it is still my favorite morning of the week. This past Sunday was no exception.
Sitting There
Sitting through church on Sunday mornings isn't quite the same either. LITTLE Tamatha church days consisted of napping, coloring, pouting for having to brush my hair and wear a dress, and the occasional thump on the back of the neck from my Daddy when my little sister used the blue crayon too long and an argument ensued. TEENAGE Tamatha church days meant sitting in the front rows like a big kid, passing notes ever so stealthily, where neither parents behind me nor pastor in front of me would notice, and actually learning occasionally about this God that I dedicated my life to. ADULT Tamatha church days include a little of all - I still enjoy coloring and sitting in the front like a big kid, but those tokens of truth that stick out of a message like a BLARING HORN are what I love about the learning part. I've learned to hear God through messages and worship - and yesterday's message from God (whether the intent of the sermon or not) was this: A relationship with God is one that PROGRESSES - and if you notice a REgression - it's time to reevaluate. (this is where you add the "Wooo!" or "Amen!" or "C'mon Brother" - in case you were wondering.
Going On From There
I sat and pondered that thought through most of the service (sorry R, I promise I'll listen to your great sermon on CD, LOL), and what a GREAT thing to do - to examine your life through the lenses of PROGRESSION vs. REGRESSION. I'm so grateful for the progression I feel I have made in my relationship with God this year. It's been a doozy of a year, that's for sure, but that's the neatest part. Looking back at the pain from loss, the frustration with circumstances, and the everyday 'blah's' that come with life from this past year - one certainly wouldn't view that as a setting for progression - but it has been! Sure, the obvious things like my progression from snoring in church to flirting in church to actually listening in church are easy to see, but the things in my heart - the things only God and I see and know about - those are the things I'm so excited to talk about! I even like that I can see progression in people I know too (not that I can see their hearts, but it's easy to see fruit from work the Lord does in a heart.) I'm so proud of some of the people in my life that are doing this too, PROGRESSING. It's a beautiful thing. But it's also humbling, because as I reflected yesterday, I remembered some seasons in my life that were either stagnant - neither progressing or regressing - or clearly regressing. When I think about those moments, I feel like others are there, and I would like to offer some insight.
REGRESSING? Well yea. And I'm sure you can think of a dozen reasons, circumstances, excuses for it - things that make you feel justified in reverting back to old ways, old thoughts, old frames of mind. Right? Well. Does it feel better to be there? Of course it doesn't. The reasons didn't disappear, the circumstances didn't improve, the excuses don't ease the pain - so now what? This is where I was. I realized that my relationship with God was important, but not something I could hang on a shelf and count on when I felt better. Sure, God never leaves or forsakes you - but He's not a genie in a bottle! You can't put Him away until you're done 'handling things your own way' and THEN bring Him back weeks, months, or even years later, you can't call out to Him in moments of pain or weakness and expect the world to magically be better - then get mad at HIM when they don't. I mean, sure you can - but what if He did that do you? Here's the truth - your relationship with God, however it came to be, was the most important decision you have ever, and will ever, make in your life. Period. So if you believe that to be true - why not treat it like it. View the circumstances, the reasons, the excuses through a different set of lenses - look at them for what they are: temporary, likely unimportant in the big picture, and nothing God can't mold into good. Once I made that decision - to place God on top, and allow all the crud to be filtered through Him and my relationship with Him - a beautiful thing happened: PROGRESSION. I'm no genius or pro on the matter, and definitely need to remind myself of this often, but it's been the easiest and most exciting true CHANGE I've seen in myself. In a situation that 3 years ago would have sent me into a tail spin of self pity, overwhelming anxiety, and many sleepless nights - I now view through the eyes of God. Because of this situation how can He get glory, how does this effect me in the big picture, and what is the Godly reaction? I'm still human - and slip up - but I find that I sleep better, view myself differently, and care a lot less about little stuff and see that a majority of things are simply the sin-nature in others. If I can't change it or control it - I'm not going to try.
*steps down from virtual pulpit* Probably the coolest thing ever about Sunday Morningness is that it lasts all week. It isn't something that stays the same, and neither should your relationship with God. It's a cool thing to look at life and see IMPROVEMENT - I encourage you to do it! Look at the progression of your life! Wooo! And if you're not there - you don't quite see it: start today, look back tomorrow - and celebrate!
Getting There
There is one day a week that will turn houses upside down, cause traffic jams in bathrooms, blow breakers, burn pancakes, and offer hope after all of it - SUNDAYS. If you're like me - growing up going to church meant stumbling over people hogging the bathroom mirror, a sea of Sunday best rejects strewn on the floor, an occasional argument in the car about so-in-so sitting on my Bible, and a shot of orange juice and a stale doughnut welcoming you into the wide church doors. It is the most hectic bliss a person can encounter, and it's a tradition that looks a little differently for me today. Today, Sunday mornings look more like a grouchy bear stumbling out of bed (no more wake up knocks on the door every 5 minutes), rummaging through clothes (no one to wash something you need the night before), and speeding to church praying the policemen in town have already made it to church (no one else to blame for being late). But it is still my favorite morning of the week. This past Sunday was no exception.
Sitting There
Sitting through church on Sunday mornings isn't quite the same either. LITTLE Tamatha church days consisted of napping, coloring, pouting for having to brush my hair and wear a dress, and the occasional thump on the back of the neck from my Daddy when my little sister used the blue crayon too long and an argument ensued. TEENAGE Tamatha church days meant sitting in the front rows like a big kid, passing notes ever so stealthily, where neither parents behind me nor pastor in front of me would notice, and actually learning occasionally about this God that I dedicated my life to. ADULT Tamatha church days include a little of all - I still enjoy coloring and sitting in the front like a big kid, but those tokens of truth that stick out of a message like a BLARING HORN are what I love about the learning part. I've learned to hear God through messages and worship - and yesterday's message from God (whether the intent of the sermon or not) was this: A relationship with God is one that PROGRESSES - and if you notice a REgression - it's time to reevaluate. (this is where you add the "Wooo!" or "Amen!" or "C'mon Brother" - in case you were wondering.
Going On From There
I sat and pondered that thought through most of the service (sorry R, I promise I'll listen to your great sermon on CD, LOL), and what a GREAT thing to do - to examine your life through the lenses of PROGRESSION vs. REGRESSION. I'm so grateful for the progression I feel I have made in my relationship with God this year. It's been a doozy of a year, that's for sure, but that's the neatest part. Looking back at the pain from loss, the frustration with circumstances, and the everyday 'blah's' that come with life from this past year - one certainly wouldn't view that as a setting for progression - but it has been! Sure, the obvious things like my progression from snoring in church to flirting in church to actually listening in church are easy to see, but the things in my heart - the things only God and I see and know about - those are the things I'm so excited to talk about! I even like that I can see progression in people I know too (not that I can see their hearts, but it's easy to see fruit from work the Lord does in a heart.) I'm so proud of some of the people in my life that are doing this too, PROGRESSING. It's a beautiful thing. But it's also humbling, because as I reflected yesterday, I remembered some seasons in my life that were either stagnant - neither progressing or regressing - or clearly regressing. When I think about those moments, I feel like others are there, and I would like to offer some insight.
REGRESSING? Well yea. And I'm sure you can think of a dozen reasons, circumstances, excuses for it - things that make you feel justified in reverting back to old ways, old thoughts, old frames of mind. Right? Well. Does it feel better to be there? Of course it doesn't. The reasons didn't disappear, the circumstances didn't improve, the excuses don't ease the pain - so now what? This is where I was. I realized that my relationship with God was important, but not something I could hang on a shelf and count on when I felt better. Sure, God never leaves or forsakes you - but He's not a genie in a bottle! You can't put Him away until you're done 'handling things your own way' and THEN bring Him back weeks, months, or even years later, you can't call out to Him in moments of pain or weakness and expect the world to magically be better - then get mad at HIM when they don't. I mean, sure you can - but what if He did that do you? Here's the truth - your relationship with God, however it came to be, was the most important decision you have ever, and will ever, make in your life. Period. So if you believe that to be true - why not treat it like it. View the circumstances, the reasons, the excuses through a different set of lenses - look at them for what they are: temporary, likely unimportant in the big picture, and nothing God can't mold into good. Once I made that decision - to place God on top, and allow all the crud to be filtered through Him and my relationship with Him - a beautiful thing happened: PROGRESSION. I'm no genius or pro on the matter, and definitely need to remind myself of this often, but it's been the easiest and most exciting true CHANGE I've seen in myself. In a situation that 3 years ago would have sent me into a tail spin of self pity, overwhelming anxiety, and many sleepless nights - I now view through the eyes of God. Because of this situation how can He get glory, how does this effect me in the big picture, and what is the Godly reaction? I'm still human - and slip up - but I find that I sleep better, view myself differently, and care a lot less about little stuff and see that a majority of things are simply the sin-nature in others. If I can't change it or control it - I'm not going to try.
*steps down from virtual pulpit* Probably the coolest thing ever about Sunday Morningness is that it lasts all week. It isn't something that stays the same, and neither should your relationship with God. It's a cool thing to look at life and see IMPROVEMENT - I encourage you to do it! Look at the progression of your life! Wooo! And if you're not there - you don't quite see it: start today, look back tomorrow - and celebrate!
Monday, May 13, 2013
To The Sensitive Sallies...
My whole life I have been ostracized for attributes my gender takes full blame for. I'm the last to know things, approached with extreme caution in emergency situations, and the consumer of tissues in even the Greeting Card isle. It is not a bad thing, it is not our fault, and it is not a mystery - anymore. There are ways to work with us. To my fellow Sensitive Sallies - this is for you.
1. DO NOT with hold information from us because you fear how we'll 'react.' Chances are - if a reaction is feared - a reaction is a rational response! If you fear a blubbering mess with one shoe and a shirt inside out showing up to the ER to see you - well - you put yourself in the ER - you're welcome for the shirt at all.
2. DO NOT start a sentence with "I'm okay - but..." Seriously? Let's examine this with even a non-emotional person. "I'm okay - BUT" - um, tell me Heartless Henry - your heart doesn't jolt for a second wondering what the HECK is coming next? Liar. Just sayin'.
Caller - if you're okay - fabulous - end with that - tell me what's NOT okay so the relief from that statement will halt whatever spastic Superwoman motion that's probably in progress with the not okay part.
3. DO NOT let us hear from someone else. Nothing is worse than the caught-off-guard emotion. "I'm so sorry so-in-so was in the hospital" or "I bet you're so excited about so-in-so's news" - ummm - this is the definition of ouch to anyone - but for a Sensitive Sally - you're now dealing with an entire spectrum of emotions. Shock first. Then anger. Then insecurity. Then a frantic glance at cell phone. A fake laugh and or smile. Then hurt feelings. Then anger again. Then curiosity. *If you're the messenger - abort. Just leave. Fast. The facial expressions you see are only the tip of the iceberg. The extensive list of questions that are about to pour out of the fake-smiling-crazy-eyed person you're speaking to will be too much for you. Simply nod. Smile. And run. *If you're the person the messenger is referring to - shame on you. You deserve the phone call you're about to get. And you'll remember it the next time you have news you 'forget' to tell a Sensitive Sally. (I believe I may have just jumped to the top of the phone tree from some readers... hopefully.)
4. DO NOT whisper. Seriously? Everyone knows that Sensitive Sallies have bionic hearing. You think you're being clever? Pshh, giiirl - we think we know what you just said. We're formulating a more-than-likely exaggerated/completely false version of truth we believe we just heard in our heads - and you better pray that the Sensitive Sally hearing it loves Jesus and won't spread that gossip anywhere. You'll be amazed at how quickly a whispered, "Do you have a tampon?" can turn into "Oh my gosh, did you hear that me and Prince Henry are eloping to Russia to adopt African birds of prey, but don't tell so-in-so because I hate her and she smells." and you'll be even more shocked at how fast it can spread throughout a room in 10 minutes.
If you're whispers are not directed toward the sensitive Sally - well - you better believe that she thinks they are now. She's probably tearing up, making a mental list of what she think she just heard, and over-thinking it more than any normal person would, and will likely find a reason to politely leave... so that she can cry in her car.
5. DO NOT leave us out. If you receive a call when Sensitive Sally goes to dinner, has a party, has a cold, had a baby, has a birthday, goes to the mall, etc - you should probably give her a call when any of the mentioned happens to you. Some Sallies are a bit extreme in this - but ones like me - think it's a common courtesy to be included in things we want to include you in. This normally ends up with Rule 3 taking place - and no body likes 2 strikes on their record to they? It stinks for anybody to be the last one picked in gym class - but for a Sensitive Sally - last ones picked usually grow up to be the crazy cat ladies... or find themselves on Pinterest for hours each night... a-hem. Anyways. Even as a courtesy - remember the Sallies - your tone will tell the Sally if you're invitation is sincere - in fact a sincere one will probably come with a comped meal and gift basket delivered later! Ha!
6. DO NOT mistake all tears for sad ones. Tears have a bad rap. They normally exit with the same terrible, unattractive face - but they don't always mean the same thing. Sensitive Sallies will cry generally with every emotion. Joy. Fear. Sadness. Laughter. Pain. Gilmore Girls ending. Good food. We're crying. It's not all bad! So do not tell us to stop. If you do - you too are expected to not blink during sneezes, jump when you're startled, or breathe. Ever. It's not something we can help. So grab a tissue for us, lie and say we're cute criers, and get over it.
I'm sure there are more helpful hints on dealing with the Sensitive Sally in your life - but this is all I could manage for now. And to my dear husband who decided to call me when he had a fender bender today... after the cop... and the insurance guy... and workplace... and after you returned to work.... I love you and am glad you're okay.... sniff sniff. See Rules 1 & 2 and we'll talk later. I'll bring the tissues. ;)
Gotta love my Feasible Fairytale.
1. DO NOT with hold information from us because you fear how we'll 'react.' Chances are - if a reaction is feared - a reaction is a rational response! If you fear a blubbering mess with one shoe and a shirt inside out showing up to the ER to see you - well - you put yourself in the ER - you're welcome for the shirt at all.
2. DO NOT start a sentence with "I'm okay - but..." Seriously? Let's examine this with even a non-emotional person. "I'm okay - BUT" - um, tell me Heartless Henry - your heart doesn't jolt for a second wondering what the HECK is coming next? Liar. Just sayin'.
Caller - if you're okay - fabulous - end with that - tell me what's NOT okay so the relief from that statement will halt whatever spastic Superwoman motion that's probably in progress with the not okay part.
3. DO NOT let us hear from someone else. Nothing is worse than the caught-off-guard emotion. "I'm so sorry so-in-so was in the hospital" or "I bet you're so excited about so-in-so's news" - ummm - this is the definition of ouch to anyone - but for a Sensitive Sally - you're now dealing with an entire spectrum of emotions. Shock first. Then anger. Then insecurity. Then a frantic glance at cell phone. A fake laugh and or smile. Then hurt feelings. Then anger again. Then curiosity. *If you're the messenger - abort. Just leave. Fast. The facial expressions you see are only the tip of the iceberg. The extensive list of questions that are about to pour out of the fake-smiling-crazy-eyed person you're speaking to will be too much for you. Simply nod. Smile. And run. *If you're the person the messenger is referring to - shame on you. You deserve the phone call you're about to get. And you'll remember it the next time you have news you 'forget' to tell a Sensitive Sally. (I believe I may have just jumped to the top of the phone tree from some readers... hopefully.)
4. DO NOT whisper. Seriously? Everyone knows that Sensitive Sallies have bionic hearing. You think you're being clever? Pshh, giiirl - we think we know what you just said. We're formulating a more-than-likely exaggerated/completely false version of truth we believe we just heard in our heads - and you better pray that the Sensitive Sally hearing it loves Jesus and won't spread that gossip anywhere. You'll be amazed at how quickly a whispered, "Do you have a tampon?" can turn into "Oh my gosh, did you hear that me and Prince Henry are eloping to Russia to adopt African birds of prey, but don't tell so-in-so because I hate her and she smells." and you'll be even more shocked at how fast it can spread throughout a room in 10 minutes.
If you're whispers are not directed toward the sensitive Sally - well - you better believe that she thinks they are now. She's probably tearing up, making a mental list of what she think she just heard, and over-thinking it more than any normal person would, and will likely find a reason to politely leave... so that she can cry in her car.
5. DO NOT leave us out. If you receive a call when Sensitive Sally goes to dinner, has a party, has a cold, had a baby, has a birthday, goes to the mall, etc - you should probably give her a call when any of the mentioned happens to you. Some Sallies are a bit extreme in this - but ones like me - think it's a common courtesy to be included in things we want to include you in. This normally ends up with Rule 3 taking place - and no body likes 2 strikes on their record to they? It stinks for anybody to be the last one picked in gym class - but for a Sensitive Sally - last ones picked usually grow up to be the crazy cat ladies... or find themselves on Pinterest for hours each night... a-hem. Anyways. Even as a courtesy - remember the Sallies - your tone will tell the Sally if you're invitation is sincere - in fact a sincere one will probably come with a comped meal and gift basket delivered later! Ha!
6. DO NOT mistake all tears for sad ones. Tears have a bad rap. They normally exit with the same terrible, unattractive face - but they don't always mean the same thing. Sensitive Sallies will cry generally with every emotion. Joy. Fear. Sadness. Laughter. Pain. Gilmore Girls ending. Good food. We're crying. It's not all bad! So do not tell us to stop. If you do - you too are expected to not blink during sneezes, jump when you're startled, or breathe. Ever. It's not something we can help. So grab a tissue for us, lie and say we're cute criers, and get over it.
I'm sure there are more helpful hints on dealing with the Sensitive Sally in your life - but this is all I could manage for now. And to my dear husband who decided to call me when he had a fender bender today... after the cop... and the insurance guy... and workplace... and after you returned to work.... I love you and am glad you're okay.... sniff sniff. See Rules 1 & 2 and we'll talk later. I'll bring the tissues. ;)
Gotta love my Feasible Fairytale.
Tuesday, April 16, 2013
Red, White, & Blue In The Face
It has been WAY too long since I have posted. But if you've read my blog at all you know that this is a tool that I use as a much more affordable mode of therapy. So my absence simply alludes to the calmness that I've been surrounded by lately.......... OR that I've been so very very busy the past few months that 'Oh, I need to blog about this' hasn't even been in question in the midst of the whirl wind life I'm living in these days. I'll let you decide which caused my hiatus, but either way - I'm back!
m or, esp. British, pa-]
In the wake of another tragedy in the USA, I'm back to explain an idea that I think many Americans share. The idea of defining Patriotism.
Now. I'm no Toby Keith. I don't own American flag ball caps and honestly, I'm not sure I fully understand the gravity of the true meaning of Independence Day. I enjoy a good hot dog. I love fireworks. I worship freely and understand that many countries don't. I have friends in the military that have served in war zones. I am married to a United States Sailor, who served as a reservist for 3 years. I understand that our country's foundations are being challenged. I voted. I pray for our President. I am proud to be an American.
Buuuut I've never been comfortable showing it.
How do you 'show it'? To be patriotic do I have to sport a flag sticker on my car window? Do I have to wear tiny 'God Bless America' pins to my clothes everyday? Or is it enough that I become absolutely ENRAGED, SICK, & SADDENED when terrorism of any kind (foreign or domestic) messes with any other state in my country?
I felt physical pain when terrorism hit a Colorado movie theater recently, and a High School years before. I was in tears for days when I saw news reports about the Sandy Hook Elementary Massacre. When I think back to the morning I went to school on September 11th, 2001, to hear and see TV's in every class room with images of New York under attack, it still puts a lump in my throat. Is that Patriotism?
It's happened again. Terrorism has hit my country. Boston, with other states and countries with residents in attendance, are healing from loss and tragedy from a day set aside for the celebration of Patriotism. It made me realize that what they were celebrating has never really been understood by myself and, if I were to guess, many Americans like me. We eat our hot dogs we wear our red, white, and blue, and put our hand over our heart during the Anthem and Pledge of Allegiance, but if you're like me, you never really embraced the Patriotism behind it.
Don't worry, you're not going to start seeing me reenacting war scenes in my back yard or waving a flag on the side of the road singing the National Anthem, but I will stand up today and declare proudly that America is a country that CANNOT BE BROKEN BY EVIL. People and organizations will try - but I think it's safe to say, that if you mess with one of us - you mess with all of us. That is Patriotism. The truth is that in times like this - sexual orientation, gun laws, and politics disappear - while our county rallies together to protect and pray for our own. That is Patriotism.
So if you're reading this and have never considered yourself 'patriotic' like I had, remember that it doesn't take a guns-a-blazin' country song, a sequin red, white, and blue vest, or a history book collection to embrace the love for the country we live in. I hope you too, will see the blessings we're given by a country we often take for granted and stand united during, yet again, another tragedy our country is facing. A little patriotism goes far. Thank you Boston for reminding me.
pa·tri·ot·ism
[pey-tree-uh-tiz-uhm or, esp. British, pa-]
noun
devoted love, support, and defense of one's country; national loyalty.
Monday, October 1, 2012
Down, Set, Couch
I love that friends/readers that experience my fairytale firsthand REQUEST blog entries. This is such entry. KW - this is for you friend. ;)
The Vinsons run to the endzone, brand new couch in tow, TOUCHDOOOOOOWN COUCH!
My husband and I have made many purchases together. We've mastered the art of grocery shopping. We've bought beloved animals together, vehicles together, even agreed on paint colors together - but nothing would prepare us for the lesson we learned just 24 hours ago.
I have been wanting a new couch for a very long time. (For those of you that have purchased furniture with a spouse, you're laughing right now - knowing exactly where this is going.) I have spent hours in the past few months, visiting each furniture store in a 20 mile radius for a couch that was in mine and Hubby's budget, could be tolerated by both of us, that we could keep for a while. But nothing seemed to fit.
We were determined to wait until we found the perfect one, and were both willing to wait until such couch found us... until yesterday. Maybe it was the cool air... maybe it was the lack of afternoon nap... whatever it was - it made us load up in to the truck, go to only one furniture store... and make a purchase. A mistake really. A lesson really. We purchased the worst mistake/best lesson ever.
Let me explain something about our family dynamic. We're not like most couples. Normally the "whatever you want hunny, I don't care anymore" phrase comes from the male in the relationship. Normally the,"Ughhh, I can't decide, this is a big decision" phrase comes from the female... Reverse that - and that's us. I'm normally the quick-decisioned-whatever-makes-you-happy-dear one in our fairytale, and my wonderful prince is the over-thinking-super-analytical-my-way-or-high-way one.
This couch purchase would blur those roles a bit, resulting in... OLE' BLUE. Whatever image just popped into your head upon reading that is EXACTLY what we purchased... A large... fluffy... BLUE ... couch. Siiiiiiiigh. Here's the play-by-play of how this came to be.
Wifey sits in protest in the couch she chose.
Hubby swings right, insisting on Bachelor-pad-ugly-media-room-couch-recliner.
Wifey searches for open compromise.
Hubby intercepts idea, and finds suitable compromise with color options.
Pea Green, Dark Brown, Blue - set hut!
Both decide on green - begin searching for rug to tie in - then from the back!! - BAM - Hubby requests to see Blue in warehouse.
Wifey huddles with staff and friends, all eyes on her.
Hubby asks: "Green or Blue?"
Wifey sees hubby's random new Blue compromise: "Blue I guess..."
TOUCHDOOOOOOOWN COUCH.
Once the blue couch was in place... and by in place, I of course mean completely out of place, because there is not a shred of blue in my house at all, and we're not yet of retirement age where it would match my sweet porcelin collectables or grandchildren's finger paintings... once it was in the room I secretly boiled with resentment for agreeing to such an ugly thing that I now had to look at for years.
Unbeknownst to me - my husband was doing the exact same thing.
Here's what really happened on the field:
Hubby wants to finally buy wifey what she's wanted for a while: a couch.
Wifey finds uncomfortable couch, but pretty.
Hubby finds comfy couch, but ugly.
Both Wifey and Hubby search for suitable compromise.
Found it.
Hubby wonders what the blue looks like, all that was on the show room floor was pea green.
Hubby sees the blue and asks what Wifey thinks.
Wifey is intimidated by friends and staff around her.
Wifey also wants to make Hubby happy, and assumes that the blue will make him happy.
Wifey says okay to blue.
Hubby thinks Wifey is happy with blue, and that he saved the day by finding something he liked that Wifey liked too.
TOUCHDOOOOOOOWN COUCH.
Wifey questions why Hubby liked blue.
Hubby questions why Wifey liked blue.
Wifey and Hubby hate blue couch.
Wifey and Hubby wanted to make Hubby and Wifey happy.
Wifey and Hubby: 0 Couch: 1
Now. We learned a very important lesson that all couples, I assume, learn at some point (I doubt it costs them as much money as it did us to learn such lesson though). There are times when honesty and speaking your mind are needed and required. This was not one of those "honey, does my butt look big" situations.
See, we learned pretty quickly in our marriage, that when you just say whatever you're thinking, all the time, without considering the constructiveness of your words, you really just nag or tear down the other. So we've been really good about thinking before we speak, and asking ourselves if what we're saying is constructive and has a solution, or if we're just complaining or stating unchangable truths.
In our couch hunting adventure, both of us wanted to make the other happy, so we only said he constructive things, not thinking about the giant household centerpiece we would be forced to live with in our home for years to come. We just wanted to make the other happy - which normally works when one sticks to what makes them happy. When both assume the other role NO ONE ends up happy.
Our 'Ole Blue found himself on Craigslist last night. He still sits in our living room, sitting all blue and couchlike for now. If someone, more than likely over the age of 60, is in the market for a blue couch, 20 hours old, for a REALLY good price they should wander over to Craigslist. And if you're someone itching to learn the lesson I did, do so with a smile, irrational optimism, bitten tongue, and empty wallet.
The Vinsons run to the endzone, brand new couch in tow, TOUCHDOOOOOOWN COUCH!
My husband and I have made many purchases together. We've mastered the art of grocery shopping. We've bought beloved animals together, vehicles together, even agreed on paint colors together - but nothing would prepare us for the lesson we learned just 24 hours ago.
I have been wanting a new couch for a very long time. (For those of you that have purchased furniture with a spouse, you're laughing right now - knowing exactly where this is going.) I have spent hours in the past few months, visiting each furniture store in a 20 mile radius for a couch that was in mine and Hubby's budget, could be tolerated by both of us, that we could keep for a while. But nothing seemed to fit.
We were determined to wait until we found the perfect one, and were both willing to wait until such couch found us... until yesterday. Maybe it was the cool air... maybe it was the lack of afternoon nap... whatever it was - it made us load up in to the truck, go to only one furniture store... and make a purchase. A mistake really. A lesson really. We purchased the worst mistake/best lesson ever.
Let me explain something about our family dynamic. We're not like most couples. Normally the "whatever you want hunny, I don't care anymore" phrase comes from the male in the relationship. Normally the,"Ughhh, I can't decide, this is a big decision" phrase comes from the female... Reverse that - and that's us. I'm normally the quick-decisioned-whatever-makes-you-happy-dear one in our fairytale, and my wonderful prince is the over-thinking-super-analytical-my-way-or-high-way one.
This couch purchase would blur those roles a bit, resulting in... OLE' BLUE. Whatever image just popped into your head upon reading that is EXACTLY what we purchased... A large... fluffy... BLUE ... couch. Siiiiiiiigh. Here's the play-by-play of how this came to be.
Wifey sits in protest in the couch she chose.
Hubby swings right, insisting on Bachelor-pad-ugly-media-room-couch-recliner.
Wifey searches for open compromise.
Hubby intercepts idea, and finds suitable compromise with color options.
Pea Green, Dark Brown, Blue - set hut!
Both decide on green - begin searching for rug to tie in - then from the back!! - BAM - Hubby requests to see Blue in warehouse.
Wifey huddles with staff and friends, all eyes on her.
Hubby asks: "Green or Blue?"
Wifey sees hubby's random new Blue compromise: "Blue I guess..."
TOUCHDOOOOOOOWN COUCH.
Once the blue couch was in place... and by in place, I of course mean completely out of place, because there is not a shred of blue in my house at all, and we're not yet of retirement age where it would match my sweet porcelin collectables or grandchildren's finger paintings... once it was in the room I secretly boiled with resentment for agreeing to such an ugly thing that I now had to look at for years.
Unbeknownst to me - my husband was doing the exact same thing.
Here's what really happened on the field:
Hubby wants to finally buy wifey what she's wanted for a while: a couch.
Wifey finds uncomfortable couch, but pretty.
Hubby finds comfy couch, but ugly.
Both Wifey and Hubby search for suitable compromise.
Found it.
Hubby wonders what the blue looks like, all that was on the show room floor was pea green.
Hubby sees the blue and asks what Wifey thinks.
Wifey is intimidated by friends and staff around her.
Wifey also wants to make Hubby happy, and assumes that the blue will make him happy.
Wifey says okay to blue.
Hubby thinks Wifey is happy with blue, and that he saved the day by finding something he liked that Wifey liked too.
TOUCHDOOOOOOOWN COUCH.
Wifey questions why Hubby liked blue.
Hubby questions why Wifey liked blue.
Wifey and Hubby hate blue couch.
Wifey and Hubby wanted to make Hubby and Wifey happy.
Wifey and Hubby: 0 Couch: 1
Now. We learned a very important lesson that all couples, I assume, learn at some point (I doubt it costs them as much money as it did us to learn such lesson though). There are times when honesty and speaking your mind are needed and required. This was not one of those "honey, does my butt look big" situations.
See, we learned pretty quickly in our marriage, that when you just say whatever you're thinking, all the time, without considering the constructiveness of your words, you really just nag or tear down the other. So we've been really good about thinking before we speak, and asking ourselves if what we're saying is constructive and has a solution, or if we're just complaining or stating unchangable truths.
In our couch hunting adventure, both of us wanted to make the other happy, so we only said he constructive things, not thinking about the giant household centerpiece we would be forced to live with in our home for years to come. We just wanted to make the other happy - which normally works when one sticks to what makes them happy. When both assume the other role NO ONE ends up happy.
Our 'Ole Blue found himself on Craigslist last night. He still sits in our living room, sitting all blue and couchlike for now. If someone, more than likely over the age of 60, is in the market for a blue couch, 20 hours old, for a REALLY good price they should wander over to Craigslist. And if you're someone itching to learn the lesson I did, do so with a smile, irrational optimism, bitten tongue, and empty wallet.
Monday, September 17, 2012
To Your Corners
I'm not nieve enough to think that married life is perfect.
I know the fairy tales we read as kids told stories of happily ever afters - but there's a reason the stories ended at the 'I do's' with a kiss - because that's the easy part!
If they were to write stories of Cinderella never picking up her shoes, or Snow White always talking to birds more than her Prince - the reviews wouldn't quite be the same. But those things are marriage.
Think about it. You're married. You're living with a person everyday, eating, sleeping, watching tv together day in and day out. Remember weekends spent with best friends? How by the end of the weekend tempers would flare, patience disappeared, and normally some irrational drama would unfold? Weeell... you're basically living this cycle every day after you say 'I do.' You're married and living with your grown up best friend! I think this same thing still occurs, on a more grown up level of course... sometimes. Ha.
I think all marriages go through seasons of strife. Nobody talks about it, because that's no fun, there's nothing glamorous about admitting to not being perfect. Sometimes strife seasons last a few hours, sometimes days or weeks, and in tragic cases, strife seasons can last years; because it's hidden, avoided, covered up, or ignored, and normally ends with a not-so-happy attorney duel.
I think it's time to talk about it! I don't need to spit out the over-used statistics about divorce - we all know it happens WAY too often. But, I think I should spit out the truth to seasons of strife (as I encounter them and handle them the best my little newly-wed self can).
There's something to be said about boxing. Let me explain. I rarely watch the stuff, or the MMA stuff that has flooded TV's these days, but the few times I've managed to choke down an episode Hub wants to watch, I notice that when things get stuck or the fighters are latched on and neither budge, the ref jumps in and pulls them to their corners. Interesting.
I think there's something about time-outs too. Let me explain. I was NOTORIOUS for spending time in corners for time out. Mostly because during rare angelic lapses in my childhood I would require punishment. The way my parents dealt punishment was by giving us options: were given the option of a spanking or minutes spent in time out. My zero pain tolerance is not a recent occurrence, and I always chose time out. Most of the time during my time-out times spent with my nose in the corner, I would try to see images in the wall texture, but sometimes I would actually think about what I had just been punished for. I would replay what had happened and think of how I would do it differently if it happened again. Well played parents. Well played.
Corners. Not a bad idea. Now, I'm no pro. And I haven't even been married that long. But my feasible fairy tale has several chapters of not-so-perfect-ness. Try coming home from a honeymoon paying bills with quarters! The first few pages of my fairy tale were spent fighting circumstances, and inevitably eachother because of them. So I think I can speak with some veteran knowledge on this topic. Marriage is not perfect. But with a few calculated time-outs and times in your corners, working through the non-perfect times become easier.
Never underestimate the power of a corner. Be it a man/woman cave, be it a drive around the block, or an extra long bubble bath - take time in a corner to think, pray, replay moments, compile compromises, and breathe.
Seasons of strife are almost always followed by seasons of joy. In the form of flowers, in a date night, in the form of a long awaited talk time, etc. The season of strife doesn't last forever. So when your flatulating Prince leaves the toilet seat up, forgets to take his plate to the sink, or watches one too many episodes of whatever manly channel he's landed on; and when you, Princess, wear your sweats one more night, or Pinterest a bit too long, or leave your hair in the drain again - remember that strife is common, strife is temporary, and strife is fixable.
- Brought to you by a woman currently in the corner... finding images in wall texture. ;)
I know the fairy tales we read as kids told stories of happily ever afters - but there's a reason the stories ended at the 'I do's' with a kiss - because that's the easy part!
If they were to write stories of Cinderella never picking up her shoes, or Snow White always talking to birds more than her Prince - the reviews wouldn't quite be the same. But those things are marriage.
Think about it. You're married. You're living with a person everyday, eating, sleeping, watching tv together day in and day out. Remember weekends spent with best friends? How by the end of the weekend tempers would flare, patience disappeared, and normally some irrational drama would unfold? Weeell... you're basically living this cycle every day after you say 'I do.' You're married and living with your grown up best friend! I think this same thing still occurs, on a more grown up level of course... sometimes. Ha.
I think all marriages go through seasons of strife. Nobody talks about it, because that's no fun, there's nothing glamorous about admitting to not being perfect. Sometimes strife seasons last a few hours, sometimes days or weeks, and in tragic cases, strife seasons can last years; because it's hidden, avoided, covered up, or ignored, and normally ends with a not-so-happy attorney duel.
I think it's time to talk about it! I don't need to spit out the over-used statistics about divorce - we all know it happens WAY too often. But, I think I should spit out the truth to seasons of strife (as I encounter them and handle them the best my little newly-wed self can).
There's something to be said about boxing. Let me explain. I rarely watch the stuff, or the MMA stuff that has flooded TV's these days, but the few times I've managed to choke down an episode Hub wants to watch, I notice that when things get stuck or the fighters are latched on and neither budge, the ref jumps in and pulls them to their corners. Interesting.
I think there's something about time-outs too. Let me explain. I was NOTORIOUS for spending time in corners for time out. Mostly because during rare angelic lapses in my childhood I would require punishment. The way my parents dealt punishment was by giving us options: were given the option of a spanking or minutes spent in time out. My zero pain tolerance is not a recent occurrence, and I always chose time out. Most of the time during my time-out times spent with my nose in the corner, I would try to see images in the wall texture, but sometimes I would actually think about what I had just been punished for. I would replay what had happened and think of how I would do it differently if it happened again. Well played parents. Well played.
Corners. Not a bad idea. Now, I'm no pro. And I haven't even been married that long. But my feasible fairy tale has several chapters of not-so-perfect-ness. Try coming home from a honeymoon paying bills with quarters! The first few pages of my fairy tale were spent fighting circumstances, and inevitably eachother because of them. So I think I can speak with some veteran knowledge on this topic. Marriage is not perfect. But with a few calculated time-outs and times in your corners, working through the non-perfect times become easier.
Never underestimate the power of a corner. Be it a man/woman cave, be it a drive around the block, or an extra long bubble bath - take time in a corner to think, pray, replay moments, compile compromises, and breathe.
Seasons of strife are almost always followed by seasons of joy. In the form of flowers, in a date night, in the form of a long awaited talk time, etc. The season of strife doesn't last forever. So when your flatulating Prince leaves the toilet seat up, forgets to take his plate to the sink, or watches one too many episodes of whatever manly channel he's landed on; and when you, Princess, wear your sweats one more night, or Pinterest a bit too long, or leave your hair in the drain again - remember that strife is common, strife is temporary, and strife is fixable.
- Brought to you by a woman currently in the corner... finding images in wall texture. ;)
Friday, August 31, 2012
Meals On Wails
Being a wife is wonderful. I love when I can cook, clean, work to provide income for my family, and do charitable work all in one day! To accomplish a craft or two in that day would be ideal - but I'm not there yet. What I did add to this day, that did in fact happen, was a tear filled car ride... *sigh* Let me paint this picture for you:
I get a call at work, in the middle of a huge, time-sensitive project, from our local Meals on Wheels. It hits me like a ton of bricks. I had FORGOTTEN that I was supposed to fill in for the staff members that normally volunteer for a Meals on Wheels route. As luck would have it, our back-up person that is familiar with the route was also out for the day - so that meant I would be filling in... having never even assisted with the route our company is responsible for. I apologetically talk to the woman who informs me that I am already 20 minutes late for the normal route time. Now, I was briefed - very briefly - the day before on what to expect. But I neglected to write down anything that I was told (which is very unlike me).
So off I go. Trying to remember street names, parking lot locations, etc. I race down the road unsure of where I'm going. Then, out of no where, I see a truck in the left lane with a 'Meals on Wheels Driver' sign in his window - I swerve to the left lane and follow - unsure of where he's taking me. What do you know - he drives right to the Meals on Wheels location!! and keeps driving - he wasn't even going there! (this was a total Jesus occurance, I'm sure of it - why else would he just drive by the place and not stop?! - I could have creepilly followed this poor guy through his entire route!)
I pull into the parking lot and race inside. There is virtually no one in the room, that I was told is normally PACKED with people, except a sweet woman with a name tag, 3 insulated bags full of food, and a patient smile. She hands me a stack of papers including a list of 13 names and locations, a map, and a handbook and wishes me luck.
I'm now in my car. Staring at my map. I stared as if I were waiting for 'Tom Tom' to appear on the paper and tell me to take a left out of the parking lot. 'Tom Tom' never spoke. I crawled down streets glancing from paper to street signs, paper to street signs, as they did in the stone age (aka 10 years ago... I was driving 10 years ago... so this fact makes me feel incredibly old of course, as if I needed one more reason to cry). After I finally go the correct direction down the street my first location is on, it's already 12:15, and these people normally have their food and are happy and full by now!
Leave it to me to not only affirm stereotypes of female driving standards, but to withhold food from the elderly and disabled in my community! Winner.
I take a deep breath and start my mission. I am approached by a resident anxious to help me - I obviously looked like the new kid. She told me she had gotten wind from neighbors that they hadn't received their food today... the food in my pocession, so she was anxious to rescue her starving friends. She walks me through the list, and we, a team now, go down the list handing out warm edible bricks of gold. When we finished the majority of the list, I had 3 more locations to find, and my partner wished me luck.
Tell me. Architects of the world. Why would odd numbered buildings be located accross the street, at a separate location, looking nothing in apppearance like the location with even numbers? Any ideas? 'Cause I don't! But I sure asked myself this over and over as I hiked around the property as if it were Jerico. I asked it in a different tone when my first tears fell... from shear pathetic hopelessness. It was quite a pathetic scene. Believe me. Now, by this time I'm starting to get hungry - which only feeds my guilt of starving these poor people who's homes are hiding from me; which in turn adds to the the pitiful under-my-breath-while-crying-in-public rant I have going while, apparently, waiting for the walls to fall. *sigh*
I finally finish my route... 1 hour and 4 minutes later. What. A. Day.
I freshen my makeup and head back to work to finish my day, thinking about what a feat that was. My encounter is like nothing I read in fairytales. Snow White did this every day! Feeding bearded men, cleaning, cooking, maintaining a balanced diet of fruits (ba ha) and never needed to freshen her makeup! That's why I'm writing my own. This feasible fairytale stars a princess with poor directional skills, who cries often (especially during sensitive times of the month), and learns something new each day.
What did I learn on this day? Well.
1. Do NOT embark on journies alone that you have never seen before.
2. Learn to read a map.
3. Crying in public is rarely acceptable... and always pathetic.
I get a call at work, in the middle of a huge, time-sensitive project, from our local Meals on Wheels. It hits me like a ton of bricks. I had FORGOTTEN that I was supposed to fill in for the staff members that normally volunteer for a Meals on Wheels route. As luck would have it, our back-up person that is familiar with the route was also out for the day - so that meant I would be filling in... having never even assisted with the route our company is responsible for. I apologetically talk to the woman who informs me that I am already 20 minutes late for the normal route time. Now, I was briefed - very briefly - the day before on what to expect. But I neglected to write down anything that I was told (which is very unlike me).
So off I go. Trying to remember street names, parking lot locations, etc. I race down the road unsure of where I'm going. Then, out of no where, I see a truck in the left lane with a 'Meals on Wheels Driver' sign in his window - I swerve to the left lane and follow - unsure of where he's taking me. What do you know - he drives right to the Meals on Wheels location!! and keeps driving - he wasn't even going there! (this was a total Jesus occurance, I'm sure of it - why else would he just drive by the place and not stop?! - I could have creepilly followed this poor guy through his entire route!)
I pull into the parking lot and race inside. There is virtually no one in the room, that I was told is normally PACKED with people, except a sweet woman with a name tag, 3 insulated bags full of food, and a patient smile. She hands me a stack of papers including a list of 13 names and locations, a map, and a handbook and wishes me luck.
I'm now in my car. Staring at my map. I stared as if I were waiting for 'Tom Tom' to appear on the paper and tell me to take a left out of the parking lot. 'Tom Tom' never spoke. I crawled down streets glancing from paper to street signs, paper to street signs, as they did in the stone age (aka 10 years ago... I was driving 10 years ago... so this fact makes me feel incredibly old of course, as if I needed one more reason to cry). After I finally go the correct direction down the street my first location is on, it's already 12:15, and these people normally have their food and are happy and full by now!
Leave it to me to not only affirm stereotypes of female driving standards, but to withhold food from the elderly and disabled in my community! Winner.
I take a deep breath and start my mission. I am approached by a resident anxious to help me - I obviously looked like the new kid. She told me she had gotten wind from neighbors that they hadn't received their food today... the food in my pocession, so she was anxious to rescue her starving friends. She walks me through the list, and we, a team now, go down the list handing out warm edible bricks of gold. When we finished the majority of the list, I had 3 more locations to find, and my partner wished me luck.
Tell me. Architects of the world. Why would odd numbered buildings be located accross the street, at a separate location, looking nothing in apppearance like the location with even numbers? Any ideas? 'Cause I don't! But I sure asked myself this over and over as I hiked around the property as if it were Jerico. I asked it in a different tone when my first tears fell... from shear pathetic hopelessness. It was quite a pathetic scene. Believe me. Now, by this time I'm starting to get hungry - which only feeds my guilt of starving these poor people who's homes are hiding from me; which in turn adds to the the pitiful under-my-breath-while-crying-in-public rant I have going while, apparently, waiting for the walls to fall. *sigh*
I finally finish my route... 1 hour and 4 minutes later. What. A. Day.
I freshen my makeup and head back to work to finish my day, thinking about what a feat that was. My encounter is like nothing I read in fairytales. Snow White did this every day! Feeding bearded men, cleaning, cooking, maintaining a balanced diet of fruits (ba ha) and never needed to freshen her makeup! That's why I'm writing my own. This feasible fairytale stars a princess with poor directional skills, who cries often (especially during sensitive times of the month), and learns something new each day.
What did I learn on this day? Well.
1. Do NOT embark on journies alone that you have never seen before.
2. Learn to read a map.
3. Crying in public is rarely acceptable... and always pathetic.
Friday, August 17, 2012
A New Tire, Tylenol, and a Latte Please
Finding a new place to live is becoming as common as ordering a latte for our Fairytale. In the 2.5 years my sweet hub and I have been married, we're approaching our THIRD move. *sigh* Just call us nomads. In fact, pitching a tent may be what we HAVE to settle with if this third moving adventure doesn't find solace soon. Let me explain - I'm a visual person:
December 31, 2009 - Married
Move 1: July 1, 2010 - Moved from Apartment Bachelor Pad to Rental House/Electricity Pit
Move 2 (1/2): August 1, 2011 - Homelessness/Literal Roaming from Couch to Couch
Move 2 (1/2): September 1, 2011 - Moved Back to Apartment (Less Bachelor Pad-ish this time)
Move 3: September 11, 2012 - Our 30 days notice is up...
So - if you're seeing the date of this Blog entry - you can see that we have 24 days to find a place to live. Or we're homeless again.
Now, I promise, each move has had a motive, we're not just itching for a headache; however, we could probably own stock in Tylenol.
Move 1 Motive: a tiny 1 bedroom, 1 bathroom apartment with no 'time out' space is a recipe for horror film/newlywed disaster. Not to mention the unfavorable location of said disaster was the location of a fender bender, car break in, drunken woman at front door, and the potty training location for our dogter.
Move 2 Motive: the selling of my kidney to pay for $400 electric bill in a 700 square foot space. Okay... so my kidney is intact, but you get it. REDICULOUS UTILITY BILLS.
Move 3 Motive: the 'unfavorable location' we were soooo wise to willingly return to has been the location of yet another car break in (resulting in over $1200 in property stolen), an audible upstairs birth control (a.k.a 3 year old that apparently never learned to walk, only run and jump... at night), and as of 1 week ago, a SLASHED TIRE ON MY HUSBAND'S BRAND NEW TRUCK.
Break out the boxes... AGAIN.
So. Why put our notice in if we didn't have a place to live you ask? Well, we did. A perfect place! A perfect neighborhood! A perfect price! We had paid the deposit and were signing the lease and in bold letters:
Tenant agrees to []inside []outside only [X]no pets.
No Pets?! Uhhh.... whoops. Now. This is a long story. But the short version is: thought I could give away dog, was wrong, hubby loves me, told the land lord sorry. And NOOOOW we're in a bind. Naturally, the very next call was a "wait!!" call to the apartment complex... who informed us that our apartment had already been rented upon our departure. AAAAGGGGHHH! So. Here we are. Move #3 in progress. With homelessness as a grave possibility. God is good, and we're not too worried (yet). But oh our Fairytale, gotta love it! ;)
And I'll have no whip cream on that latte please. Thank you.
December 31, 2009 - Married
Move 1: July 1, 2010 - Moved from Apartment Bachelor Pad to Rental House/Electricity Pit
Move 2 (1/2): August 1, 2011 - Homelessness/Literal Roaming from Couch to Couch
Move 2 (1/2): September 1, 2011 - Moved Back to Apartment (Less Bachelor Pad-ish this time)
Move 3: September 11, 2012 - Our 30 days notice is up...
So - if you're seeing the date of this Blog entry - you can see that we have 24 days to find a place to live. Or we're homeless again.
Now, I promise, each move has had a motive, we're not just itching for a headache; however, we could probably own stock in Tylenol.
Move 1 Motive: a tiny 1 bedroom, 1 bathroom apartment with no 'time out' space is a recipe for horror film/newlywed disaster. Not to mention the unfavorable location of said disaster was the location of a fender bender, car break in, drunken woman at front door, and the potty training location for our dogter.
Move 2 Motive: the selling of my kidney to pay for $400 electric bill in a 700 square foot space. Okay... so my kidney is intact, but you get it. REDICULOUS UTILITY BILLS.
Move 3 Motive: the 'unfavorable location' we were soooo wise to willingly return to has been the location of yet another car break in (resulting in over $1200 in property stolen), an audible upstairs birth control (a.k.a 3 year old that apparently never learned to walk, only run and jump... at night), and as of 1 week ago, a SLASHED TIRE ON MY HUSBAND'S BRAND NEW TRUCK.
Break out the boxes... AGAIN.
So. Why put our notice in if we didn't have a place to live you ask? Well, we did. A perfect place! A perfect neighborhood! A perfect price! We had paid the deposit and were signing the lease and in bold letters:
Tenant agrees to []inside []outside only [X]no pets.
No Pets?! Uhhh.... whoops. Now. This is a long story. But the short version is: thought I could give away dog, was wrong, hubby loves me, told the land lord sorry. And NOOOOW we're in a bind. Naturally, the very next call was a "wait!!" call to the apartment complex... who informed us that our apartment had already been rented upon our departure. AAAAGGGGHHH! So. Here we are. Move #3 in progress. With homelessness as a grave possibility. God is good, and we're not too worried (yet). But oh our Fairytale, gotta love it! ;)
And I'll have no whip cream on that latte please. Thank you.
Friday, August 3, 2012
Blank-Canvas-itis
*insert cricket noise*
Can you imagine?.... blankness? ME?!
The amazing church I am apart of has an occasional gift on Sunday mornings that intrigues the creative and tortures the A.D.D. Every once in a while we will have 1-2 prophetic artists create amazing pieces of art inspired by something the Lord reveals to them before/during worship. The artists will start with a completely blank canvas, and by the end of the worship hour, the completed work is BREATH TAKING.
Now. I've been known to let my creative juices flow from time to time. People compliment me all the time on being 'creative.' In fact, since I can remember, it's been one of the words regularly associated with me. Now, I say this not to brag - it's actually mildly pathetic that my claim to fame is having ideas on turning a paper bag into wall art... not world peace... not intellectual advances for society... nope... I can use a glue gun. I digress. Anyways, so, seeing as I'm the 'go to girl' for all things needing creating, I've been ITCHING to get my hands on a canvas myself, and to see what pours out of me.
And it happened! I received a glorious text message from a cousin that knew my interest, inviting me to borrow a canvas and paint and have a painting night. *cue angelic chorus* It was my chance! She came over, canvas, paints, and brushes in tow. We set everything up, looked at our canvas and......
*cricket noise*
Seriously. That's what happened. NOTHING. I sat and sat. Thought and thought. Pinterest ideas flooding my mind and NOTHING. I attempted one of the cute word art things I've seen a thosand times... and people. I morphed into a 9 year old child right before my eyes. Suddenly, my handwriting was rediculous, the paint brush in my hand turned into a noodle, and the canvas looked like it had come right out of a 3rd grade meet-the-teacher-night. I painted over my 'masterpiece' and stared some more at the blank (now black) canvas in front of me. This was embarassing. I was supposed to be Creative Barbie, complete with a hand made apron and miniature modge-podge bottle.
What happened? Where was my creativity? Where was my skill?! The canvas won. I lost.
Then, I remembered that creativity doesn't always have to be done with a paint brush. I've told this blank canvas adventure a few times to people, and as I tell it, I realize that 'my art don't need no stinking paintbrush.' My art is my words!
I've always loved to write. I had a poem published when I was 13. I was editor of my High School Newspaper my Senior year. Competed in journalism competitions. I was a headline writer for my College Newspaper. Writing is my art.
I love that even through this blog I can allow people to nod their heads in agreement, chuckle, or roll their eyes. I love that I can give you a word image of something from my Feasible Fairytale, and you have a better understanding of who I am. Looking at a great sculpture, a beatiful painting, or any other art can do the same. I'm just much too talkative to not do it with words. So thanks for reading my canvas! I think I'll hang up my paintbrushes for a while... until a 3rd grader can show me how it's done.
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