Dejunking: My Life and Home, 2015

One of the most frustrating things I’ve encountered recently is my growing desire for a Big Change.

I’ve mentioned it before here, here, and here, my itchy feet syndrome. My inability to be content with the same place for more than a few years. It has hit again. Hard. Especially towards the end of 2014 when I kept looking at 2015 with hope and excitement. 2015 represents a clean slate, a new start, a tangible end to a crappy year and the beginning of a year that isn’t crappy - in fact, 2015 has the potential to be awesome. It is, of course, what we make it, and I am determined! Determined to make 2015 a Great Year!

Back to my itchy feet. About every three years or so, I get the urge for change. Change of jobs, change of location, change of something. Unfortunately, Scott and I have already made the executive decision that a relocation right now is not feasible. We want to get Cyra through middle and high school without another move. We want to save up money so that in a few years Scott can start his plan to go to brew school. To do that we need to do a few things:

1. Stay on target - with our budget and our long term plans.

2. Keep put - no moving or major life changes.

3. Live modestly - we are planning on living on his salary while socking mine away into savings.

These three things…well, actually, just the second item on the list, put a real kink into my BIG CHANGE and ITCHY FEET plans.

What’s a girl to do?

Well, it all goes back to one of the things I’ve been obsessively googling lately: the Small House Movement. Tiny little portable homes, with tiny little footprints, being all handmade, cute, and minimalist.

I. Love. It.

Scott and I talk all the time about buying land in the middle of nowhere and building a tiny little house, a chicken coop, and a garden. Maybe even a couple of tiny little houses, one for us and then an extra one or two for guests. Ah, the dream of living off the grid and off the land.

But, in all reality, I probably couldn’t go that way, at least with the house size. I like my dvds, crafts, and games way too much. Those three things alone could take up an entire 150 square foot room!! But, I find more and more, as I look around my cluttered home, there is a lot of stuff that I really could do without. I might not be able to reduce enough to live in 150 square feet but I can certainly pare down what I have to live in my 1300 square foot home without feeling claustrophobic.

Now, by no means am I a hoarder. I’ve seen that. I’ve got a family member who is one. But I do have a tendency to collect a lot of crafting supplies. You can see my craftway here. It takes up my entire entry hall (that we don’t use anyway). But with so many crafts (I really do know how to do pretty much every. Single. Craft.) I get overwhelmed with all the supplies. It is time to pare down. I have roughly 60 pounds of scrapbook paper. Who needs 60 pounds of paper? Not this girl!! Not anymore!

So, to alleviate my itchy feet and appease my need for Big Change, I’m down sizing my life. I’ve made a list of rooms, closets, and cabinets I want to tackle and each week I’ll put a dent into my life. That being said, I’m not touching the girls or Scott’s stuff. For one, Scott doesn’t actually have that much stuff and what he does have: books and clothes, are already at a minimum. As a child of military parents, he already has a minimalist mind set. As for the girls, I’m hoping that as they see me donate, toss, and yard sale stuff, they’ll get into the dejunking.

I’ve actually already started. Remember I mentioned my recent weight loss? Well, I’ve donated roughly a third of my clothes and thrown away another quarter. My closet is much more accessible now. And I felt great about getting rid of stuff I never wear!

I think I’ve found the cure for my itchy feet and restless urge for change. Next up: The Kitchen!

Committing to Commitment

I work better, I’ve found, when I have multiple deadlines looming over my head—even if they are self-imposed deadlines. So, I know I said back in October I was back in the blogging game, but then I fell off the edge of the planet again. Go figure. I blame my BFF Sara for that, although she doesn’t know it (then again, maybe she does, she is scary perceptive like a ninja). Sara is in her third trimester and I have gone crafting crazy trying to get my BIG plans completed before Baby arrives! So October passed in a blur of yarn and fabric and emergency poodle skirts. And I’m still not done!

So what does that mean for me? Well, November is going to be busy. As always. I don’t even try to pretend to be surprised. In addition to the crafting and NaNoWriMo, I am going to commit to getting at least two posts a week. They might be short, maybe just be a photo or two. But the more I have to accomplish, the more willing I am to manage my time appropriately and not procrastinate.

And Friends, I am a big procrastinator. If I started a list of all my faults, procrastination would be at the top. I totally blame my family for that one. As the baby of the family, I learned very early on that if I waited long enough, someone else would do my task for me. Heck! My mom and sister still do it! Remember that whole painting my house thing?

(Another fault, since I’m listing them, apparently I don’t like to take responsibility for myself. But I blame my birth order for that.)

But no one is going to craft for me. And no one is going to NaNo for me. And clearly, no one is blogging for me. So I’ve got to pick up the slack. And by pick up the slack, I really mean, actually do the stuff that I want to do: crafting, blogging, writing.

Of course, there is one teensy flaw in my plan. Work. Yup. Me working, as much as I love my job (and a post is coming out soon about that) it really is putting a kink in my whole time management plan. Although to be fair, there are a few things I can do while I am at work that doesn’t interfere with actually working especially during the slow period, but don’t tell anyone I said so!

Z is for Zooted and Zozzled

Way back in my early college days I had two over indulgences with alcohol. And yes, only two because that’s all it took for me to learn that while I could hold my liquor fairly well (as in there was never any puking afterward and I always remembered everything that happened) I disliked the feeling of being out of control.

The first time I was inebriated isn’t a fun story – nothing overly exciting happened, there were no lampshades, no strip poker, no naughtiness at all. Just me being silly.

The second time, however, that’s one of my favorite stories.

I was working at a tourist trap and one of the guys that worked there invited Scott and me to a housewarming party. I didn’t get off work until after ten so by the time Scott and I got there, the party was in full swing. The guy hosting apologized that there wasn’t much left in way of drinks…unless of course we wanted to do some shots. Of course I agreed that this would be a great thing to do. Scott, the designated driver, chuckled and muttered something about me not being able to do shots.

What I heard was a challenge.

We’d only been dating a few months at that point and I was out to make an impression. And boy did I!

Ten to fifteen shots of varying alcohol later – I’ll admit, I lost count – I felt pretty good. Except for the fact that I hadn’t had dinner and my stomach was now grumbling everything was peachy. The party kicked into high gear, but within a few minutes, it became clear that Scott and I only knew a handful of people and so we decided to book out to the beach. A few others joined us and with Scott behind the wheel, we backed out of the driveway.

I was fine.

Scott drove down the street.

I was fine.

Scott stopped at the stop sign.

I was drunk.

I went from slightly hungry and fine to holy crap why is the car spinning in the span of three seconds.

Long story short (because really, let’s get to the good part) I decided that going swimming in the middle of the night in January was the best idea ever. Thankfully, I had some very sober shoulder angels who convinced me that getting in the car and heading back to the dorm was a better idea – although they had to lock me in the car to convince me of that!

Now Flagler has a tough policy regarding alcohol and drug use. As in if you are caught drinking, drunk or high on campus you get kicked off of the campus and put on academic probation. So now, imagine if you will, a very drunk me with a few friends trying to quietly sneak up to my dorm room while avoiding security and the RA.

It was beyond hilarious and amazingly we didn’t get caught (or people chose to look the other way). Once I got back into my very tilty dorm room, I went to my wardrobe to get my pajamas on. Did I mention the tilt-a-whirl way the room was spinning? I required more stability at that point than my own feet and went to lean up against the closed door of the wardrobe. Imagine my surprise when I discovered that door that I always kept closed was wide open! I fell into to wardrobe with a loud crash, upended my laundry basket all over the place and managed to crawl out sporting a bruise that ran from my butt to my hip to my knee.

The next morning Scott came to drop off my car and shook his head in amazement when I demanded a huge breakfast at Shoney’s. He was also slightly irritated at how zooted and out of control I had been. 

But I had learned my own lesson: Never do mixed shots on an empty stomach.

Zooted and Zozzled are both adjectives from the 1990s and 1920s respectively that mean drunk or intoxicated. 

Example: Zinia stumbled and tripped along the sidewalk. A bicycle cop watching her laughed, "That woman is so zozzled right now, it's amazing she can even stand!"

This post has been brought to you by the Letter Z and the fine folks at Blogging A to Z. Check out more A to Z blogs here! 

W is for Wicked

Although I grew up in upstate New York, my family is originally from New England - just outside of Boston to be a bit more specific. Aside from a few Midwestern hiccups (and I have no idea where those came from), my accent is almost neutral. 

And I hated it. 

During the summers we'd gather with my grandparents in Maine for a few glorious weeks of fun and freedom playing capture the flag in the street, swimming in the frigid Atlantic, crabbing, and hunting salamanders in the woods. The best of all times was when my cousins trips coincided with ours. I loved listening to them talk. The dropped Rs, the long drawn out vowels. It was a beautiful thing, perhaps even the start of my love affair with accents (although as I got older I grew more and more fascinated with European accents over American ones). 

I idolized my cousin Mike. Out of all my cousins he was my favorite growing up. He never ignored me, never talked down to me, and he always made time to play with me even though he was six years older. Of course, rosy glasses being what they are, I'm sure my siblings and Mike could list hundreds of times when he joined in teasing me or, you know, locking me and his other female cousins in the bunkhouse.

I loved the Muppet Show - I still do actually - and when Mike would visit he would have be practice my Miss Piggy karate chops of rolls of paper towels and he'd sing, "Hit Me With Your Best Shot" while I hi-yah'd away at the paper towels. Best of all, he'd tell me I was wicked cool in that awesome accent.

Is it any wonder why I adored him so much?

Wicked, from the 1980s, can be used as both and adjective and a adverb. As an adjective it means excellent or outstanding, when used as an adverb it means very.

Example: Wilson wandered down a wide woody path, "Wow! Those weeping willows are wicked!"

This post has been brought to you by the Letter W and the fine folks at Blogging A to Z. Check out more A to Z blogs here! 

T is for Thingamabob and Thingamajig

Sometimes my brain works far faster then my mouth does. I think a lot of people have this problem. There is actually a word for it…a condition so to speak…that essentially means that your brain searches for a word so quickly that it lands on an incorrect on. Often call Freudian Slips, these mishaps often end in hilarity.

Once, talking to Sara about one of my kittens, I made the statement, “Wouldn’t it be cool if cats had reprehensible tails?”

Clearly, I meant prehensile. Like monkeys. My brain, though, landed upon the first word that sounded like the word I wanted. Sara still gets a good chuckle out of that.

Once, way back when I first started playing D&D with my best friend’s little brother, I made a comment about fighting a Cthulhu-like creature, “I hate all those testicles.”

I really meant tentacles.

So you see my problem. My existential words often get me into trouble or at the very least an awkward, albeit humorous, situation.

I have since utilized a variety of replacement filler words that allow my mouth to catch up to my brain. I use the word “thingy” a lot. As in, “Scott, I need that thingy in the fridge.” Scott, to his credit has gotten to the point of being able to quickly decipher my filler word with a real, tangible object. I use “thingy” like the Smurfs use “smurf.”

Thingamabob and Thingamajig from the 1940s and 1930s, respectively, are both nouns used to name an object for which the name is unavailable or forgotten. Thingy, my go to word, is a derivative of either or both of these old words.

Example: Trudy dug around in the toolbox, becoming more and more troubled. Tristan, trapped under the the Toyota, tried to explain what tool he needed again. “It’s the thingamabob on the tray to the left of that tri-colored thingamajig!” Trudy slammed the toolbox shut. “You’ll need to get it your self if you won’t tell me what you need!”

This post has been brought to you by the Letter T and the fine folks at Blogging A to Z. Check out more A to Z blogs here! 

K is for Kibosh and Kosher

I have discovered something about my new work schedule: Thursdays are rough. The work itself isn’t difficult, but my hours? Those are killers. I work a third shift on Wednesday, get home around 7:20 am Thursday morning and have to be back at work by 3pm. This is called the turn around shift and it’s working me over something fierce.

I don’t sleep well during the day when I work graveyard. The phone rings and I have to get it because what if it’s the girls calling? The dog barks and I need to figure out why since she only really barks if a stranger approaches the house. The amount of caffeine I consume during the night works it way out of my system while I’m trying to sleep and I end up getting up two and three times to use the bathroom. The eastern sunlight cascades through my window and though I have blinds, it probably wouldn’t hurt to throw up some light blocking curtains.

So, Thursdays? Yeah. They’ve got it out for me. Something about the T days, I guess, because Tuesday always throws me too.

That said, I haven’t got a story for today’s words. And I feel like a complete heel because of it. Not because I’m disappointing my admiring fans (you guys are admiring, right?) but because I really wanted to have a story to share and I just…can’t today.

It’s 10 am Friday as I’m writing this and I’m ready for a nap. I want to crawl back into bed and pull the covers up over my head.

Jeesh. I’m surely pitiful! But I’m gonna put the kibosh on that right now! That kosher with you guys?

Kibosh is a noun from the 1940s meaning to put a stop to something and kosher an adjective from the 1920s meaning fair (or a term that describes food prepared according to Jewish dietary law found in the Torah). 

Example: Kelly was keen to kibosh Kevin’s kidney knickknack collection. But Kevin’s counselor claimed that the whole thing was kosher.   

This post has been brought to you by the Letter K and the fine folks at Blogging A to Z. And by the number 1418. Check out more A to Z blogs here! 

H is for Heebie Jeebie

When we first moved into our house we discovered that living in the country had some distinct advantages and some creepy disadvantages. I grew up in the country so bugs and creepy-crawlies in the house was nothing to me. But after spending so many years living in homes that had monthly pest service, I found that I had forgotten my country roots.

One night shortly after we moved in, I was curled up next to Scott, softly snoring* when I felt a tickle scuttle across my forehead and down my cheek. I reached up to scratch at the offending tickle and came away with a large spider (I am trying to curb my tendency for hyperbole otherwise I’d say something like “ginormous” or “monstrous”). I flung it and myself out of bed screeching with all the power of 100 banshees.

Scott rolled to his feet and clicked the light on in one smooth motion (proving that at least in an emergency his dexterity isn’t all that bad) and looked around wild-eyed for the serial killer that was clearly invading the house.

“Spider!!” I screamed pointing at the floor my body convulsed into a fit of shakes. “It crawled. Across. My. Face. Kill it!”

Now let me be clear, Friends, I am no more afraid of spiders than I am of cats. That is to say, I’m not at all afraid of them. However, I certainly do not want them crawling across me while I sleep. I’m more than happy to provide shelter to a spider; they eat mosquitoes and flies and therefore will typically leave them alone. And it isn’t like I live in Australia where every creepy crawly is out to get you. My spiders, usually, aren’t venomous – just big, hairy common brown crevice spiders (Mom: don’t click that link).

I had major Heebie-Jeebies that night trying to fall back asleep.

Heebie-Jeebie is noun used in the from the 1920s used to indicate nervousness although today I think we tend to mean it more as a case of the creeps or getting skived out.

Example: Heather had the heebie-jeebies when she heard a horrendous hungry howl and hurried home to hide.

*ha! Softly snoring! Does anyone actually snore softly?

This post has been brought to you by the Letter H and the fine folks at Blogging A to Z. And by the number 965. Check out more A to Z blogs here!

G is for Grody and Gag Me

Like, totally, I’m like a child of the 80s, fer sure.

I grew up with, like, Cabbage Patch Kids, Barbie and the Rockers, and a whole slew of bitchen sit-coms, in, like, the decade of the Valley Girl! It was a time of Moon Unit Zappa (she’s fer sure super super nice), Cyndi Lauper, and arcades. The early days of the Brat Pack. Leg warmers, head bands, Swatch watches!

It was, like, fer sure, totally tubular!

The 80s also affected our language and slang. Grody to the Max and Gag Me with a Spoon were common phrases at school.

Let me be clear, I was not a Valley Girl. Not even close. I grew up in upstate New York as far from the Valley as I could be, but we, my friends and I, loved mimicking the accent, that shrill squeal, and the bratty air-head attitude that we saw on TV and in movies. We twirled our hair and tossed our heads, hip cocked out to the side.

Like, fer sure.

Totally.

It was done in fun, a blatant parody of a group of people who may or may not have been depicted accurately. 

Both Grody to the Max and Gag Me with a Spoon mean something that is disgusting and are both from the 1980s. Although grody by itself was used in the 1970s, I prefer the 1980s version.

Example: Gavin gave Gabby a growler of Guinness that gushed out engulfing Gabby in goo. “Grody to the max!” Gabby gasped emphatically while Gwen glared at Gavin, “Gag me with a spoon!”

 This post has been brought to you by the Letter F and the fine folks at Blogging A to Z. And by the number 303. Check out more A to Z blogs here!

Photo A Day - Grateful

As I spent yesterday and this morning in the kitchen, struggling to cook while dizzy on pain killers (don't worry, my girls helped me out a lot!) I thought about what photo I'd use for today. But then I realized in a moment of clarity (or as the pain meds were wearing off) I might not be able to post a photo here (Oh Blogger how you disappoint me!) but I probably wouldn't have posted a photo today anyway because I don't do people photos here all that much.

And that, my friends, is what I am grateful for: people.

Amidst the potatoes, pies and turkey, I knew that even if I hadn't a single thing to put on the table today except a bowl of cold gruel, I would still be grateful because of the people I have in my life.  By nature, I am a people person. I like to pretend otherwise, but I really am. I like having people around me and with me. I like sharing my experiences with my friends and family. People make each day fuller especially when they are people you love. And I love me some amazing people!

Today as many gather around the dining room table to celebrate a completely made up holiday I am grateful for:

My Friends - Sara, Natasha, Amanda and Ericka. BFFs who've shared with me good times and bad, dreams and disappointments, celebrations, quiet times and adventures.

My Family - My Mom and Dad, my sister, who at the drop of a hat will be by my side if I need her, my brothers who grew up watching over me and protecting me even as I tried my hardest to annoy them, my extended family that I don't get to see very much but when I do it is as if no time has passed by and the family I married into, the strangers who opened their homes, hearts and worlds to me simply because I married Scott.

My Husband - We have been together for half my life and I can't imagine anyone else I'd want to share my love and life with. He loves me in spite and despite all of my flaws and idiosyncrasies. He makes me feel beautiful on days when I feel ugly, he holds me when I am sad or scared and he dedicates his life to making mine wonderful.

My Girls - If there is a center to my universe it is clearly my girls.  I am beyond grateful to have two compassionate, intelligent, playful and beautiful girls. From the very second I knew I was carrying them I loved them unconditionally. They make my world better. They make me a better person. They make me who I am.

Happy Thanksgiving to those who celebrate it today!

Photo A Day - View From Your Window

I love the view from my living room windows. A big grassy lawn, a gazebo and a pond - it reminds me of an old English estate. Not that I have ever been to an old English estate but I imagine that there would be at least one view from the manor that overlooked an expanse of manicured lawn with a pretty gazebo smack in the middle of an artfully arranged garden and a glassy pond filled to the brim with basking turtles, minnows and dragonflies.

I have a very good imagination.

This view today grants me a small taste of home - upstate New York. Although it is well into November, here in Florida it only just started to get chilly and the leaves only just turned and started to fall. It's officially long sleeve shirt weather now. (Sorry my Great White North friends for rubbing it in...how many feet of snow do you have already?)

As much as I find home is where my family is, I still miss my hometown in the autumn. The delightful crunch of the leaves under foot, the crisp air biting at the nose, the fuzzy sweaters and slippers, apple orchards and pumpkin patches, things that Florida lack, makes me nostalgic for home. But once a year, as the few deciduous trees drop their leaves, I am transported back to my northeastern roots.

Look at my little photobombing kitty, Simone. It wasn't until I had the camera aimed out the window that she decided she needed to be on the sill.

A carpet of leaves is as close as I'll get to a carpet of snow.

Photo A Day - In My Bag

I hate carrying a purse. They fall off my shoulder, they get in the way, I have to monitor where it is all the time when I'm out. It's a pain.

I used to just carry a tiny little wallet in my back pocket but then life happened and all of a sudden I needed to carry pens, loose change, inhalers and receipts. I'm not entirely sure when this happened...maybe once I landed a full time job and needed to look slightly more professional. Of course, that implies that I looked professional to begin with and let me tell you...no. Even when I am dressed for an interview I still just feel like a little kid playing dress up.

Anyway, I typically dump my purse out once a week and clean all the clutter out. The receipts and shopping lists get tossed, the change gets put into a jar, the numerous pens and pencils get whittled down to one of each and my purse is once again clean and tidy.

Interesting factoid: Once I had taken this photograph I put everything back into my purse because it isn't purse cleaning day.

Interesting factoid: Once I almost got a bigger purse but changed my mind in the checkout lane at Target because I knew that a bigger purse meant more clutter and mess.

Interesting factoid: I apply the same logic I use with a reusable shopping bag to my purse - if it doesn't fit, I don't need it. This is why I often only bring in one bag when I have to go to Target because otherwise I'll end up with a zillion things for which I have no need.

Photo A Day - Where You Slept

When I am not feeling well or grouchy or lazy I'll sometimes forego my bed in favor of our futon couch for a little shut-eye. I like sleeping on the couch. It feels rebellious and irresponsible. It brings me back to a time when I liked, and was capable of, staying up all night with no ill effects. Of course, the lack of alarm clock leaves me relying on my internal clock or Scott to wake me up in the morning and that's never a good option on a school day since I have a tendency to ignore both.

Simone was mildly perturbed at my invasion or her territory.

Photo A Day - Can't (Won't) Live Without

Out of all the topics for this month's Photo a Day, this is the one I really didn't like. I'd like to think I've grown from when I was in my twenties, when back then stuff was important. Sure I've got a collection of crafting supplies, books and kitchenware that I love. But could I live without them? Absolutely. It's just stuff.

Piles of clutter, papers, clothes, knick knacks, even my jewelry are all things I place no importance on. Sure it's nice to have. I like having things that make my life easier and prettier. But I keep going back to the fact that stuff is stuff and really in the grand scheme of things we can go without stuff.

My friends, my family, my husband and most especially my children. These are the things I don't want to live without. I couldn't for one second imagine my life without my girls or Scott. I don't want to think about not meeting Sara or Amanda or Ericka. I  might not get along with all of my family all the time (very different beliefs going on there) but I wouldn't even consider not having them as my family. They who played such an integral role in making me who I am.

By no means do I want to demean stuff but sometimes...a lot of times...I think we, as a culture, put too much importance on stuff. Too much commercialism and wants. Not enough reflection on needs and what we do have.

If all my stuff dissapeared today, sure I'd be sad (shocked and appalled because clearly I didn't realize how much my craft supplies appealed to aliens) but as long as I have my people, I'd be fine. Better than fine.

This is an old photo of my girls in Maine. It is perhaps my favorite photo of them together. Ashleigh, although occasionally exasperated by her younger sister, is very protective of her and that feeling shows through here.

My very grungy husband working on my car the other day. Sure he's got his faults, but don't we all? He gives the girls and I 120% of his love and affection. He devotes himself to making sure we are safe and taken care of, often sacrificing his own wants to make sure ours are met.

Photo A Day - A Favorite Thing

When I was little my dad, every year, would take me to the Topsfield Fair. We'd walk around the 4-H buildings and look at chickens and rabbits. We'd stroll through the big tent filled with thousands of jars of jams, pickled things and honey. I can remember towering sunflowers flanking the entrance and makeshift hay tables covered with pumpkins, gourds and Indian corn.

I wouldn't go on the rides but we'd play the carnival games and I rarely ever won anything. But once, my eye caught sight of a stuffed raccoon hanging from the upper reaches of a roulette-ish style game. One would make fifty cent bets on colors, months, numbers, days of the weeks all sorts of things. Then someone in the crowd tossed a hexagon shaped die and whatever the die landed on was the winner.

And I wanted that raccoon. I begged my dad to let me play and he handed me fifty cents. I have no idea what I put my bet on but when that die bounced across the betting table, I knew, I just knew I was going to win. Every molecule in my body knew that me winning was the only possible outcome.

Image my devestation when I didn't win.

Tears welled up in my eyes and I'm sure that a temper tantrum was imminent. My dad quickly took out another fifty cents and said he'd give it a go, but if he didn't win then it was time to move on to the rubber frog launching game that he knew I wanted to play next. With a nod I agreed because of course my dad would win me my raccoon.

And you know what?

He totally did.

But I'm fairly sure he played about a hundred more times.

Sort of looks like he's doing the hula, doesn't it?

I tried to get him from his best side, but honestly, all his sides are the best!

Bandit has been with me since I was eight years old. He is from an era when carnival prizes were made out of quality material - no plastic pellets fill his tummy just soft and oh so squishable fiberfill. He stayed on my bed from elementary school right through college. He still sits next to my bed today. I don't snuggle him as much anymore but some days when I am sad or angry with the world I reach out for him and squeeze him tight. Which is why, really, he's a bit lopsided now and the soft velvet of his nose has worn away.

This is part of a month long photo a day challenge hosted by fatmumslim.

Big Dream One: The RV Life

I’ve always been a big dreamer. I set my sights on goals that are almost unattainable like winning the lottery despite never actually playing the lotto. I dream of sailing around the world in my custom built 60 foot sailboat, The Hyperbole, despite the fact that I get seasick just looking at a boat. I dream of thru-hiking the Appalachian Trail despite my overwhelming fears of aliens, sasquatch, and alien sasquatch. I dream of opening a gaming shop with my husband even though we’d end up strangling each other after the first day or two. I dream of a bakery with Sara even though she isn’t nearby.

I dream Big Dreams.

Two of the most diametrically opposite Big Dreams have been at the forefront lately. One stems from my love of travel and sightseeing, the other from my growing desire to be self-sufficient. A third Big Dream is really the most realistic it's just a matter of pushing myself. 

Today I’m going to talk about Big Dream Number One.

Before I met Sara, home to me was a place. A single location where roots were set down and bonds formed in the community. Home was a tangible, unique space. Growing up, I moved around a lot. Maybe not more than a military family, but it seemed every few years we were up and going somewhere else. I hated it. I wanted a place that was ours and we’d never have to leave. Sara, however, taught me that home wasn’t a place and roots could be transplanted quite easily. Home is my family: Scott and the girls. If I’ve got them, then I’m good. It doesn’t matter where we live. I’m sure I would have figured this out eventually, but Sara, being awesome, helped speed the process up.

The longest I’ve ever stayed in one house was six years. It seems that maybe all that moving around in my youth stuck with me and I get itchy feet every three years or so. There’s a Tom Petty song I love, Time To Move On, and I am fairly certain he meant it to be my theme song because I always have this need to just go. 

Dream Number One would help to alleviate those feet. If I had any assets to liquidate, I would do so immediately, buy an RV (I really like this one and this one) and take to the road. I would love to travel the back roads with the girls and Scott exploring every nook and cranny this country has to offer. How cliché, right? But how very cool would it be to wake up in the morning and say, “Hey, let’s go check out Montana” and just go? How freeing is that? Today I feel like…New Mexico…Next week, how about Ohio?

If I RV’d my life I would certainly have to make some major changes. And maybe they’d be for the best. The appealing idea here is that not only would I get to travel the country, but I would have to, by the very nature of living in an RV, downsize my life. Go minimalist. I am the first to confess an attachment to my stuff: books, craft supplies, gaming supplies, bakeware, all my Christmas decorations! Gack! Just thinking about not putting my Santas out on display makes me squirm in my guts. But like wiping a blackboard clean, there is something very appealing about getting rid of everything. I’m not anywhere close to being a hoarder. I’ve seen true hoarding and trust me, it keeps me in check! And surely anything that I could not bring myself to part with would find a home in storage until I needed it again.

Maybe after a few years or so driving the road, I’d yearn to plant myself firmly in one spot.

People Love Me...

...and I feel like a complete heel.

So blog awards have been floating around and I've actually been tagged by a number of people and I never properly responded. So today, I'm acknowledging the love and giving it back. Sorry it took me so long.

First, way back when, Pickleope tagged me with a trio of awards, the Liebster, Kreativ Blogger and a quiz. I started off strong and then promptly got swept up in the Photo a Day and A to Z challenges. I was supposed to also tag others and list ten things about myself that were super top secret. Pickleope is one of my earliest followers and consistently makes me giggle and you should visit if you haven't yet. Plus, I think I might have inadvertently caused Pickleope to have arachnophobia and snort milk out of her nose once (do pickles even have noses?) so I sort of feel bad.

Then Ruby at Whispering Thoughts and Fuchsia Vision tagged my with a Liebster which I never properly acknowledged. Whispering Thoughts is a sweet blog and Ruby posts short stories there - often participating in Trifecta challenges. On Fuchsia Vision Ruby posts a lot of great photos! She is one of my early followers and always make such positive comments. I am a little concerned for her though...she once mentioned she had a monkey problem in her garden! And I was worried about aphids and pickleworms!

Melanie at Sporkin' On Down The Road gave me a Liebster too. She has fast become one of my blogger BFFs and if she lived in Florida or I lived in California we would totally hang out and she would cook fabulous food for me (not that I can't cook fabulous food. I do. Often. But she totally has an adventurous side to her food of which I am in awe). Plus she sent The Girls and me some radical wallets. Just Because! Who does things like that anymore? Her blog is very down to earth, honest and funny.

Finally, just the other day, Ken at ken-inatractor sent a Kreativ Blogger my way. Ken, a Canadian farmer who likes killing moose (or at least likes taking credit for moose slaying) and picking rocks, has quickly become on of my favorites. His posts are sometimes sweet, sometimes quirky all the time well written and awesome! And he once promised that he would ask his wife if they needed an Underwife (because I want to be a farmer's wife and Scott doesn't seem too interested in becoming a farmer) but I never heard back from him on that...odd, right?

So first up the Liebster.  

Liebster is the German word for beloved / dear / favorite. the Liebster Blog Award is "passed from one blog to another to honor smaller blogs (those with less than 200 followers) that deserve recognition for their fabulous blogging abilities."

The rules: 

Thank your Liebster award presenter on your blog.

Link back to the blogger who awarded you.

Copy and paste the blog award on your blog.

Reveal your five picks.

Let them know by leaving a comment on their blog.

Okey Dokey.

I did the link backs above, so a big thank you to Pickleope, Ruby and Melanie. You guys are great! Fantastic even! And I really appreciate the recognition (despite the fact that it took me a bit to actually acknowledge the recognition).

And for the Kreativ Blogger:

The Rules

Thank and link back to the awarding blog.

Answer seven questions. (Note - When Pickleope gave me this award there were different questions which I did answer here)

Provide 10 random factoids about yourself.

Hand the award on to 7 deserving others.

 Again, the link backs are above so a huge thanks to Pickleope and Ken for sending me an award!

The Seven Questions:

#1. What is your favorite song?

 I really don't have a favorite favorite song. I cycle through. I have a terrible fondness for 80s Monster Ballads and Rodgers and Hammerstein Musicals.

 
#2.  What's your favorite desert?
This is an unfair question that is probably a trick question designed to make me reveal a weakness! But I don't have any weaknesses unless you count tapioca, cake, custard, frozen yogurt, cookies, cupcakes, truffles...anything with sugar or chocolate or caramel or... Is it any wonder why I need to lose weight? Nope. It really isn't. 

#3. What do you do when you are upset?
It depends on what you mean by upset? A pissed off upset sends me to my room or as far away from the cause as possible. I am non confrontational and do not like to fight because I start to cry. Am I upset because I broke my favorite mug? I yell. Loudly. And curse without any profanity. Am I upset because Florida drivers give me road rage? I seethe and fume until I erupt (regardless of who is in the car) with sailor talk the likes of which should only ever be said on the docks.
 
#4. Which is your favorite pet?
Currently or ever? Currently, it would be Zoe because she is such a cat, but rarely has hairballs like her sister Simone, and she is never freaked out by everything like Junie. In fact Junie is probably my least favorite pet although she has taught me a valuable lesson: I should never own dogs. EVER!! My all time favorite pet was Precious, a beautiful grey cat we had while I was growing up. Or Abraham, a pit bull that had a heart of pure and solid gold! Or maybe Buddy my turtle. Man! This question is like asking me which kid is my favorite!!
 
#5. Which do you prefer, White or Whole Wheat?
I like both. Seriously. Weird, right? But yeah. Breads of all types are equally loved in my house. 

#6. What is your biggest fear?
Sharks. Zombies. Aliens. Bigfoot. The Dark. Growing Up.
 
#7. What is your attitude mostly?
I try my hardest to always have a good attitude. I try to look on the bright side and try to not let little things bug me.


Ten Super Secret Facts (but don't tell anyone! Okay?)

1. I’ve come close to death twice. The first time brought me one of my greatest joys: Ashleigh. The second time was far less pleasant.
2. When I sit, I curl my toes under my feet instead of having my feet flat on the ground.
3. I joke about it, but I really am terrified of aliens. The idealist in me hopes that if aliens came here they’d be benevolent like E.T. or Vulcans. But it is more probable that they’d be out to conquer and destroy.
4. My favorite painting is Flaming June by Frederick Lord Leighton.
5. I cry every. single. time. I watch Lilo and Stitch because I love my sister.
6. I am so terrified of becoming a hoarder I throw things out and donate stuff all the time.
7. I used to bite my nails but I stopped and now when I am nervous or upset, I pick at my cuticles. Sometimes until they bleed.
8. I only swim in the ocean when there are plenty of other swimmers and surfers in the water because I figure my odds of getting bitten by a shark are greatly reduced.
9. I spent three plus years working to save enough tickets at an arcade with my dad to get a stuffed 20 foot long pink snake. I slept with it curled around my bed for years until I outgrew stuffed animals and it ended up in the basement being used as a home for mice.
10. I was six credits shy from earning a double BA when the financial office met with me and informed me that I had exceeded my lifetime Stafford Loan limit and I had to graduate or come up with my own money to continue.

Bonus Facts: I can recite The Jabberwocky from memory, my favorite class in college was Milton and I have never, ever had a leech attached to me for any reason at all.

And these are the cool bloggers I am tagging for both awards:

Meg at Tales of a Half Crazed Housewife
KC at The Occasional Adventures of a Hermit
Charlie at The Semi-Retired Gamer
Valerie at Valerie Nunez and the Flying Platypi
Jamie at Awakenings and Reflections
Carly at A Sewcial Life 

And finally Sara at A Bend in the Road 

If giving blog awards is like tag then it means there are no tag backs. Stupid rules. But even so, I also think Pickleope, Ruby, Melanie and Ken deserve lots of love so go visit them too!

X is for X-Ray

I looked up at the parallel bars and took a deep breath. I was next and I knew, I just knew, that I would not be able to perform the task Coach set for us. I fidgeted in the line and tugged at my gym shirt. This was the first year I had to change for gym class. I missed jumping rope and playing kickball. Why did middle school P.E. class have to have units? Why did we need a gymnastic unit?

I watched in awe as the girl in front of me pulled herself up and propelled herself across the bars. I could see her arms straining as she held herself up and was impressed that she made it nearly all the way across before dropping neatly to the mats below.

Coach waved me forward. I tugged at my shirt again. I scuffed my feet across the floor, my sneakers squeaked and chirped. I stopped in front of Coach and listened with half an ear as she gave me instructions.

“Alright?” she asked.

I hadn’t understood a thing she said.

“Please, Coach,” I whispered up at her while my eyes were fixed on the bars looming above my head. “I can’t do this.”

“You need to at least try.” Coach gave me that look. The one that makes you feel small and like crap because you’re afraid. I was overweight in 5^th grade and Coach seemed to think I was trying to get out of any exercise.

“Coach,” I implored and nodded to a small group of girls jumping rope. “Let me do something else. I can not do this.”

“Heather,” Coach was patient but insistent, “Everyone has to give it a try first.” She leaned down, her eyes sympathetic. “I don’t expect you to be perfect. I expect you to try. That’s all I’m asking.”

I nodded even as tears pooled in my eyes.

I walked up to the bars. I could feel all sorts of eyes on my back. It made it worse. I reached up for the bars and had to go on tiptoe before I could grab them. It wasn’t as hard to pull myself up as I thought it might be, but I knew that it was going to be near impossible to lift my body up over the bars. I struggled. I pulled. I strained and grunted. Coach kept giving me very loud words of encouragement. And then I was up, my upper body over the top of the parallel bars. My arms burned and then, all of a sudden I was on the mat, my left arm bent funny underneath me.

I screamed and the tears that I had gotten a head start on flowed freely. Coach crouched beside me, assessed and gathered me to my feet. She walked me to the nurse’s office where a quick phone call to my mom had her speeding to the school. By the time she arrived my arm was puffed out twice the normal size and turning an ugly bluish purple. My tears had yet to stop. I had ice wrapped around my arm and was quickly shuffled off to the doctor’s office.

Back then doctors did everything in-house. There wasn’t a specialist just the general practitioner. Dr. Smith ushered us into an exam room, threw some lead pads over my chest and snapped a few quick x-rays – the first I’d had except for dental x-rays.

I sat as still as I could while the x-rays were being developed. Mom stood by me smoothing the hair from my forehead. The room felt too warm. I felt too clammy. Everything seemed like it was spinning and a roller coaster at the same time. I closed my eyes and gulped. With every heartbeat, my arm felt like it swelled and ebbed like the ocean tides.

“Mom?” I whimpered.

“It’ll be fine, sweetie,” she said.

I wanted to believe her. And then the doctor came back in. He waved a shiny, floppy black x-ray at us.

“It’s definitely broken.” He shoved the picture onto a light box. “Both the radius and the ulna.”

He pointed to the breaks. My bones were clearly not in the right place. The x-ray showed that just above my left wrist, both snapped – thankfully not too much and certainly they weren’t poking out through my skin. My stomach rolled as I stared at the x-ray.

“I’m going to need to set it.” 

He took out a bowl, plaster and rolls of gauze and thick cotton. I watched as he prepared everything next to the exam table setting each tool needed on a shiny stainless steal tray.

“I don’t feel so good,” I mumbled and lay back down.

“This is going to hurt, Heather,” Dr. Smith said. “I won’t lie. But I need you to lie as still as you can, understand?”

I nodded and my mom moved closer to my side. The doctor took my arm in his hands and began to gently rub.

Then SNAP! My arm clicked back into place, one of the single-most disturbing noises I have ever heard. I shrieked, my voice cracking and echoing in the room.Tears exploded from my eyes. The room spun about and tilted oddly. The door pounded open as a nurse rushed in expecting to find someone dead.

“I’m going to be sick!” I screamed and turned my head.

Mom grabbed a plastic bowl and shoved it under my mouth as heaved up my lunch. I sobbed while I puked, the smell stinging my eyes and eliciting more tears. When I was once again calm, with nothing else to come up, my mom helped me clean up and got me a drink of water to rinse my mouth out.

Dr. Smith, working quickly, wrapped my arm in the thick cotton and began slapping on warm strips of gauze dipped in plaster. My arm, throbbing slightly less than before, felt heavy and warm. The shiny white cast weighed my arm down. I felt off balance. Dr. Smith fitted me with a sling.

“The cast will need to stay on for six weeks,” Dr. Smith said. “Keep her calm – don’t let her run around. You don’t want her falling again.”

“Does this mean I can’t go to gym?” I asked staring at my arm.

Dr. Smith nodded. “I’ll give you a note.”

I smiled.

March Photo A Day - Your Name

When I married Scott, I kept my maiden name. There's nothing wrong with Scott's name except that it isn't my name. I was adamant that the only thing that was truly mine, that belonged to no one else in the world, was my name. No one could take it from me. It was my unique identification.

I have not changed my opinion on that. I still firmly believe that my name is mine alone. Although both girls have my husband's last name, I have passed my belief onto to my them unwittingly. When they speak of their futures and their potential husbands and children (I cringe every time they do this) they use their last name for their children. Maybe it's a result of not knowing who their husbands will be. Maybe it is a result of my opinion. Regardless of the reason, they are equally adamant that their name will remain their own.

Over the years, I have learned that it isn't just my birth name that is mine, I actually own quite a number of names all of which I am proud to have. The one that gives me the greatest pleasure though is Mommy.

For today's theme, I decided to get a bit creative with my many names and create my own word cloud. If you haven't ever seen one (where have you been?) you can find them here or here. I didn't want to have a computer create mine for me especially when I have so many craft supplies, so I made my by hand.

This shot is a raw one. I had just finished it and set it on my black ottoman.

This one I put it in a goldenrod painted frame that I had planned for another project. I doubt very much I'll keep it in this. I think it needs a less yellow frame.

This one is the same as the color one above but while I was playing around with my edit buttons (I don't have photoshop so I just use the MS Windows photo tools) and I really loved the extreme contrast in the b&w.