tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23722088256842654222024-03-13T13:37:30.578-04:00Random RamblingsCarlahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01645308475742783422noreply@blogger.comBlogger280125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2372208825684265422.post-28770984496781429292019-02-27T15:27:00.001-05:002019-02-27T16:14:43.455-05:00Hurts and hopes<p dir="ltr">I have a Master's degree. In counseling. So I like to think I know a thing or two about humans. But there is still so much I do not understand. I totally get that growth and change are a-turtle-in-molasses slow. But it feels to me, in my limited understanding, that we are worse than stuck. We are moving backwards. </p>
<p dir="ltr">We are overly sensitive and too easily offended by everything and at the same time so self-centered we don't care who we hurt. What happened to walking a mile in someone else's shoes? What happened to if you can't say something nice don't say anything at all? What happened to the simple, genuine apology? We are so defensive. All. The. Time. </p>
<p dir="ltr">While I don't necessarily agree with it, I am beginning to understand the Huz's desire to acquire an arsenal. He sees lawlessness ahead and wants to defend that which he loves. I want to prevent the lawlessness from becoming reality.</p>
<p dir="ltr">I have never been what I would call an active activist. I don't go to marches or rallies. I don't closely follow politics and platforms and such. I fully acknowledge I am pitifully uninformed about some big things. I read the local news on my phone to see if any of my clients' parents have been shot or ODed. </p>
<p dir="ltr">I can't handle more than that. My heart hurts too much to know more than surface details. I am appalled by the fear and ignorance (yes, I said it, ignorance) that I see. </p>
<p dir="ltr">People are people. Love is love. Why can't we learn to move on? Why are we stuck fighting the same battles? Why do we still need #metoo movements and black lives matter and rainbow flags? Have we learned nothing?</p>
<p dir="ltr">I am ashamed of us. Yes! That's what that feeling is. Shame. Shame to be part of the stuck-ness. Shame to be associated with an organization that I feel just made a huge error in judgment. Shame for my backseat feminism. </p>
<p dir="ltr">Am I suddenly going to attend rallies and financially support all the causes I believe in and get political tattoos? Well, let's be real. No. I am not. I don't like crowds and I have no money.</p>
<p dir="ltr">I will continue my quiet, respectful defiance and hope that people listen when I do speak. Because my words are carefully chosen. I do not wish to add to the noise of life.</p>
<p dir="ltr">I will make Wonder Woman earmuffs.</p>
<p dir="ltr">I will love and support and encourage each young life I have the pleasure of coming into contact with whether they be black, white, yellow, purple, or green; gay, straight, or bi-curious; male, female, gender confused, or transgender. </p>
<p dir="ltr">I will work on my own fears and ignorances.</p>
<p dir="ltr">I will hold on to hope.</p>
<p dir="ltr">And maybe I will get a new tattoo.<br></p>
Carlahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01645308475742783422noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2372208825684265422.post-78382338234893313672019-01-18T18:59:00.001-05:002019-01-18T19:48:09.271-05:00Bruised and battered<p dir="ltr">It started at 3 am on December 22, 2018 and hasn't stopped. I don't mean to be dramatic, come on!</p>
<p dir="ltr">I frequently encourage my kids, er clients, to write about their feelings and tell them about my multiple journals to show them I am not asking them to do something I wouldn't do. But to be honest, words are failing me. </p>
<p dir="ltr">How do you write about the guilt and anxiety of not taking your kid's tooth pain more seriously? Is 4 (soon to be 5) trips to 3 dentists since the 22nd penance enough? </p>
<p dir="ltr">Does lecturing you parent that an ER visit equals a phone call, not a text, no matter the time of day make that ER visit any less panic inducing?</p>
<p dir="ltr">What is there to say about driving almost the exact stretch of highway where the accident happened on your way to the funeral?</p>
<p dir="ltr">And just when you think you are finding your balance again you are thrown an unexpected snow day followed by unexplained stomach pain. Just when you think the dark cloud of sadness, stress, and anxiety is lifting you learn of the death of another kind, wise, remarkable individual with whom you had a personal connection. What words come then?</p>
<p dir="ltr">When the dog escapes the fenced in yard and is off roaming the neighborhood, when two fights break out at school before breakfast is over, when you pack peanut butter and a knife, but no bread. What then?</p>
<p dir="ltr">For a reader and wannabe writer, words soothe. Words bring understanding. Words heal. But sometimes words don't come easily. Sometimes counting stitches feels too much like work and the hand can't figure out how to draw the jumble of emotions.</p>
<p dir="ltr">Sometimes it is easier to find a Golden Girls marathon on TV. But only when you can't find M*A*S*H. And you shake your fist at the heavens or the universe, or your partner who stepped over the basket of clean clothes rather than carrying it upstairs. And you blast the music alone in your car. And buy the candy bar you know you will regret (but just one!). And you cry at a stupid video of people making wigs for kids with cancer. And you put on your pajamas at 6:30pm on a Friday. </p>
<p dir="ltr">You ask for a hug. Then remind yourself that you are stronger than what life throws at you; that the tooth is out, and the stomach is better, and the scar is barely visible; that your sense of humor will return, the stitches will come together, the hand will make sense of the madness, the sadness will lift, and the words will come.</p>
<p dir="ltr">Bruised and battered. Sad but strong. <br>
</p>
Carlahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01645308475742783422noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2372208825684265422.post-48673765714636095192018-08-16T20:32:00.001-04:002018-08-17T06:01:17.254-04:00Happy Anniversary <p dir="ltr">I doubt many (if any) of my friends would describe me as a mushy romantic. Trashy novels aren't my jam unless there is a really good murder mystery mixed in. I pick action flick over chick flick 9 times out of 10. I just am not good at public displays of romance. I go for humor over gushiness (is that a real word?). I am making myself uncomfortable already. </p>
<p dir="ltr">We are celebrating 11 years of marriage. and by celebrate, I mean we look at each other, shrug, and agree it has been pleasant enough for us to continue. (See, there is that "humor" I was talking about.) I like to think that after 13 years together, he knows how I feel about him. I also know sometimes you need to hear it anyway.</p>
<p dir="ltr">So...</p>
<p dir="ltr">My dear Huz,<br>
Thank you for the laughs (even when, especially when, I want to be mad at you) and the love; for spoiling me at Christmas, and not getting mad when I buy books. Thank you for getting the oil changed in my car and tolerating my crazy hair colors (we have an understanding). Thank you for good vacations, health insurance, and calling me first to rant when work sucks. Thank you for teaching our kid about superheroes <i>and</i> enduring endless infestations of glitter. Thank you for supporting my growing mermaid obsession and letting the dog out the last time each night. Thank you for saying I could go back to school to be anything I want without reminding me how much I still owe on my student loans. Thank you for not commenting when I come home with more yarn. Thank you for choosing a different movie when I do not want to watch the one you picked out. Thank you for picking up milk. And eggs. And poison ivy relief stuff. Thank you for eating cereal without complaint when I am too tired to cook. I could not have made it through everything that has been thrown at us over the years, especially recently, without you. When the unfairness has threatened to break me, you have never once failed to let me smell the chocolate on your breath. Just like the tattoos on my skin, you have left a permanent mark on me, one that would be too incredibly painful to remove. Happy anniversary, I heart you.</p>
Carlahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01645308475742783422noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2372208825684265422.post-59276280312110923302016-01-08T21:52:00.001-05:002016-01-16T18:56:43.420-05:00So this happened...<p dir="ltr">It all started a couple weeks ago. I was brushing Punky's hair and commented that she was due for a cut. I just happened to mention she had enough hair to donate, not really thinking anything of it, more reminding myself that I have to stop doing crazy colors in my own hair before I can donate again. She looks at me and asks, "What does donate mean?" I explained that (in this context) it meant to give your hair to someone who didn't have any. She immediately said, "Yes, I want to do that." </p>
<p dir="ltr">Having my own attachment issues to my hair (when I donated almost 4 years ago, my sister in law went with me, to watch the baby [and to make sure I didn't chicken out]), I took the next logical step. I got the ruler. I showed Miss Punky how much would need to be cut and how much would be left. "Yes," was again her answer. </p>
<p dir="ltr">I put her off a bit. "How about this time we just do a trim and then if you still want to cut it next time, we will." I figured she would change her mind within the hour. But she kept talking about it. I reminded her that once they started cutting her hair, she couldn't go back. And that if she didn't like it, it would grow back, but it would take a while. We couldn't reattach her hair once it was cut.</p>
<p dir="ltr">Still she seemed cool with the idea. I told her she needed to talk to her dad about it. The Huz generally prefers longer hair on females, so I wanted to make sure he was in on the discussion. He reviewed the idea that once it was cut, it was cut. Punky said she understood.</p>
<p dir="ltr">So I tried a different approach. "I'm getting my hair done soon, want to see if she can cut your hair when she does mine?" She hesitated. She likes playing at Cookie Cutters and sitting in a funny chair and watching cartoons. "You'll be going with me even if you don't get it cut." "Okay, I'll do it then."</p>
<p dir="ltr">Quick check with my hair person to make sure she could squeeze in Punky. She could.</p>
<p dir="ltr">Hair happened to come up in a conversation with the babysitter. She suggested finding a picture to help Punky understand. So after some Googling I showed Punky a picture of a young girl without any hair. I believe her name is Riley. At least that is what we are calling her. </p>
<p dir="ltr">After we picked out a recipient, I started showing Punky some options for shorter hair. Shoulder length. Chin length (or as Punky called it, cheek length). Pixie cuts. She made her choice with confidence.</p>
<p dir="ltr">Now, I know Riley already received a wig and that we have no idea who will actually get Punky's ponytail, but Riley is helping Punk to understand where her hair is going. I'm not one to lie to my kid. Or anyone. But a little truth stretching in this case, I'm okay with.</p>
<p dir="ltr">I am so proud that Punky committed to "Riley" and wanted to do something for another human being, and one she will never know! I want her to know the hard truths in life and that she can change the world. One little wig at a time if that's how she chooses to do it.</p>
<p dir="ltr">But I'm a little bit sad. My little girl is growing up. And looking grown up! I'll miss the daily torture sessions of brushing and styling. We pulled off some crazy hairdos! I am going to miss her hair as much as I missed my own the last time I chopped and donated. </p>
<p dir="ltr">One thing you can say about us Morris girls. We go big or go home when it comes to hair!</p>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="http://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-idRtxUK_9JI/VprWYxqB9EI/AAAAAAAAIes/TRp2l5NpMKc/s1600/20160116_101044.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> <img border="0" src="http://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-idRtxUK_9JI/VprWYxqB9EI/AAAAAAAAIes/TRp2l5NpMKc/s640/20160116_101044.jpg"> </a> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="http://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-YAJYhwceReM/VprWZhMoAQI/AAAAAAAAIew/8pPfGwhgouM/s1600/20160116_102139.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> <img border="0" src="http://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-YAJYhwceReM/VprWZhMoAQI/AAAAAAAAIew/8pPfGwhgouM/s640/20160116_102139.jpg"> </a> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="http://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-fegxXMK6gA4/VprWaffP6XI/AAAAAAAAIe8/DYqhPZNzecI/s1600/20160116_103756.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> <img border="0" src="http://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-fegxXMK6gA4/VprWaffP6XI/AAAAAAAAIe8/DYqhPZNzecI/s640/20160116_103756.jpg"> </a> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="http://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-r8KP4OXecB4/VprWbBmn2mI/AAAAAAAAIfE/VDzFZKP3UkY/s1600/20160116_104046.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> <img border="0" src="http://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-r8KP4OXecB4/VprWbBmn2mI/AAAAAAAAIfE/VDzFZKP3UkY/s640/20160116_104046.jpg"> </a> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="http://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-fnlF8zRISqk/VprWcKK8LMI/AAAAAAAAIfI/pSuC-S4RfIA/s1600/1452987982970.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> <img border="0" src="http://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-fnlF8zRISqk/VprWcKK8LMI/AAAAAAAAIfI/pSuC-S4RfIA/s640/1452987982970.jpg"> </a> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="http://lh3.googleusercontent.com/--Wqc3xeQGmc/VprYubjtg8I/AAAAAAAAIfg/qkuV2nbwZw4/s1600/1452988573666.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> <img border="0" src="http://lh3.googleusercontent.com/--Wqc3xeQGmc/VprYubjtg8I/AAAAAAAAIfg/qkuV2nbwZw4/s640/1452988573666.jpg"> </a> </div>Carlahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01645308475742783422noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2372208825684265422.post-76881476492627993532015-08-27T18:19:00.001-04:002015-09-25T12:47:08.735-04:00Life in a locked facility <p dir="ltr">For the last 13 years I have either 1) worked and gone to school or 2) worked two jobs. Thirteen years is a long time. I don't even like to admit I'm old enough to have been working for 13 years! But, well, I'm tired. Really tired. </p>
<p dir="ltr">My current full time job is as a clinician in a preschool partial hospitalization unit. That means little teeny kiddos who get kicked out of "regular" preschools and daycares. Typically for aggressive behavior. The kids who hit, kick, bite, throw things (like chairs and tables). The unit is locked. Non-staff must be accompanied by staff when they are visiting the unit. Parents don't get to meet other parents or get to know their child's classmate because of confidentiality. It can be intense. </p>
<p dir="ltr">It is pretty much a daily occurrence to hear crying, screaming, and swearing on the unit. Three year olds with quite the vocabulary of profanity. Chairs get thrown. Punches get thrown. Once even a window was broken. And a bus caught on fire. Because a kid got ahold of a flare. It can be intense.</p>
<p dir="ltr">I deal with parents on a daily basis. I have heard all sorts of explanations and excuses for their child's behavior or for not attending session. A parent once cancelled session because they had to do laundry. I kid you not. I meet with parents who want to medicate their kids into submission. I meet with parents who are in denial that their child truly needs medication. It can be intense.</p>
<p dir="ltr">I see poverty. I see abuse. I see severe mental health. In my face, up close and personal. I've been sworn at and hit. I've had things ripped off my walls. I've had lamps tossed. I've had milk poured onto my carpet. I see toddler tantrums and grown up hissy fits. I call Child Protective Services. It can be intense.</p>
<p dir="ltr">Sometimes staff makes inappropriate jokes after the kids leave. Because if we didn't laugh, we would cry. It can be THAT intense.</p>
<p dir="ltr">Then I go home and parent. And sometimes go to my second job. And try to maintain a healthy marriage. And some sort of a social life. It can be intense. And exhausting.</p>
<p dir="ltr">It isn't all bad. Just yesterday I went to a dance party for the kids who had been safe all week. A gym full of kids doing the Nae Nae together. I got hugs from two of my kiddos who moved up to the school age program. I hear from parents, grandparents, foster parents, and legal guardians who finally understand what is going on with their child and how to effectively help their child. Not every day do I see the good. Lately seems to be a particularly bad string of bad days. But there are good moments. Intense, exhausting moments. </p>
<p dir="ltr">Not everyone is cut out for this kind of work. Just like I am not cut out for anything the involves more blood than a paper cut produces. Most people realize pretty quickly they aren't right for the job,  but we have some martyrs. Those who complain about anything and everything and constantly try to get others to do their work. But we have some people very passionate about helping kids be the best possible version of themselves. People who can engage the tough kids, form relationships, and motivate kids to do better, try harder. People who can engage with parents who are victims of poverty, abuse, trauma, a failing system. Parents who are mentally ill and can barely care for themselves let alone their child or children.</p>
<p dir="ltr">I have thick files on kids who have been here six months, nine months, a year. Kids who will always need treatment and kids who should have never been in treatment.  I get buried under mountains of paperwork. I don't always return calls within 24 hours. I go home and can't always muster the energy to cook. I blast music in my car to erase the day before I put on my parent hat. But sometimes I still dream about the injustices of the world. I am rarely shocked by them, but I am still moved by them, the injustices of the world. And hopefully I always will be.</p>
Carlahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01645308475742783422noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2372208825684265422.post-68035658851800817912015-08-11T06:40:00.001-04:002015-08-11T09:05:49.195-04:00Daily wake up call<p dir="ltr">For at least the last two weeks someone or something has woken me between 4 and 5 am. Like clockwork. I think it has been 2 weeks, but my sleep deprived brain cannot remember. It has been long enough that my body almost anticipates the disturbance. Another few days of this and I will wake up without cause, just because it has become routine. </p>
<p dir="ltr">I am a terrible sleeper. Have been for as long as I can remember. Now, before you given me your sleep remedies- don't. Warm milk makes me want to throw up. Nyquil gives me scary weird lucid hallucination like dreams. Lavender? Melatonin? Tried them. No success. White noise. Check. Consistent bedtime. Cool, dark room. Done and done. As for other remedies, probably tried them. Or there is a valid reason why I haven't or can't. </p>
<p dir="ltr">Often I read until the words blur on the pages. Surprisingly, since Punky was born, I actually sleep better. Pure exhaustion. Until recently, I had significantly fewer nights when I couldn't fall asleep. And I could get back to sleep after waking. Now, as it grows much to close to the start of preschool, extra curricular activities,  and her 4th birthday, Punky needs me less and less at night. But there are weeks still that she wakes and needs the reassurance that I am just in the other room (no you cannot sleep in my bed), the shadows are nothing to be afraid of (you have a nightlight here, here, here, and here. Sigh, yes I will leave the hallway light on), you can get out of bed to go to the bathroom without me.</p>
<p dir="ltr">On the nights that she sleeps soundly, someone (the Huz, used to being up all night for work, laughing as he plays his game with some other nocturnal being, directly under our bedroom)  or something (train, cats, dog). Usually the cats. Well, Pete. He rarely wants attention, but when he does it is 4 am and he gets it by headbutting my jaw or laying across mu throat. Or wanting to play. With old man cat, Fritz, who wants no part of it and just wants to be curled up at my feet. So I have to corral a cat, which more often than not involves me sitting on the floor, coaxing said cat out from under the bed under the guise that I want to pet <u>him</u>, carrying him out of the bedroom, dashing back to close the bedroom door, wrangling the other cat, shoving him out the door while trying to keep the first cat from slipping back in. Hissing. Bloodshed. Tears. Why, you ask, do I let them in in the first place? Some nights I don't. I kick them out prior to settling in with my book. And then I get the 4 am meowing and Fritz throwing himself at the door trying to get it open. And if I forget to do the super secret lift the door when you shut it so it fully latches routine, he succeeds. He is a persistent old man cat. Nothing short of throwing at least 2 pillows at the door will get him to give up. Of course, if this whole process makes enough noise I risk waking the dog. Or the kid.</p>
<p dir="ltr">The joys of pet ownership.</p>
<p dir="ltr">The Huz, of course, is oblivious to all this. 5 nights a week he is off being a super hero of the cable television world, making sure insomniacs everywhere have their choice of infomercials. On his nights off he is either 1) engrossed in his game, headphones on, having a grand old time yucking it up with whomever it is he plays 2) asleep on the couch 3) turning in for the night (day) just after I've gotten settled back into bed and am almost ready to drift off, again oblivious to anything that has occurred in the previous half hour. This occurs precisely 15-30 minutes before my alarm is set to go off. </p>
<p dir="ltr">The Huz could sleep standing up in the middle of a hurricane (I exaggerate, but only slightly). He is snoring within seconds, while I resist the temptation to smother him and usually end up just getting up. I think it no small accomplishment that he has survived 8 years of sharing a bed with me. If I'm ever on trial for murder, you'll know the sleep deprivation got the best of me. </p>
<p dir="ltr">The Huz will be moving back to day shift soon, and while there are many positives to this, I was finally getting used to sleeping without him next to me. </p>
<p dir="ltr">Sleeping. The true test of relationships. </p>
<p dir="ltr">(King size bed, best decision ever.)</p>
<p dir="ltr">I admit that at least one morning a week I get to work and spend the first half hour staring at my computer screen not doing anything. And not for lack of work to do. Some mornings I contemplate a caffeinated beverage. My senses quickly return and remind me caffeine doesn't wake me up, it just makes me jittery enough to not sleep hours and hours after I have consumed it. Truly. I can't make this stuff up. I am much too tired.</p>
<p dir="ltr">But if you see me sitting somewhere, staring off at nothing, don't say hi. I might just be sleeping with my eyes open. And for your own safety, you shouldn't wake me. </p>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="http://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-c1cshvKECpY/VcnzDpZWzlI/AAAAAAAAD9I/C3hJ_Ec4Uio/s1600/Screenshot_2015-08-11-09-04-56.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> <img border="0" src="http://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-c1cshvKECpY/VcnzDpZWzlI/AAAAAAAAD9I/C3hJ_Ec4Uio/s640/Screenshot_2015-08-11-09-04-56.png"> </a> </div>Carlahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01645308475742783422noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2372208825684265422.post-87567708962787477412015-07-17T11:10:00.001-04:002015-07-17T14:24:17.547-04:00Go Set a Watchman<p dir="ltr">As excited as I was to read this, I opened the cover with much hesitation.  What was this going to be like? Would I like it? Would I hate it? Would it affect my relationship with <i>Mockingbird</i> and cause me to regret the name of my firstborn? </p>
<p dir="ltr">But I could not resist the siren's call of another book by Harper Lee, especially when that book was about the same characters I had grown to love. I will do my best to not give any spoilers as I attempt to share my thoughts on the book.</p>
<p dir="ltr">Now, I fully admit I almost put the book down and walked away when I learned about Jem on page 13.... But I knew there HAD to be an explanation and I NEEDED to hear it. So I continued. I will also announce here that I am Team Dill all the way. </p>
<p dir="ltr">It took me a few chapters to leave my hesitation behind and really get into the story. About halfway through I finally realized part of why I love <i>Mockingbird</i> so much. It isn't that I want to be like Scout (I do), but Harper Lee writes in such a way that I AM Scout. Watchman is no different. </p>
<p dir="ltr">I giggled when it was suggested that Jean Louise parade her dress through town on a pole. I smiled at Miss Muffet's character. I have no idea what half of what Uncle Jack said meant and feel I might need to brush up on my history. Jack's confession at the end- I did not see that coming. Tears pricked my eyes as Jean Louise's world turned upside down in a heartbeat, I felt her hurt and disappointment. And I am left with this feeling of heaviness. </p>
<p dir="ltr">For 45 minutes after reading the final words, I wrestled with my emotions. These are not merely characters in a story, words on a page. The Finches are as real as you and me. We know people like them. We are people like them. I missed Dill and was saddened about Calpurnia, such an important minor character. Atticus' words to Scout at the end are exactly what makes him Atticus: "'I said I'm proud of you.' 'I don't understand you.  I don't understand men at all and I never will. ' 'Well, I certainly hoped a daughter of mine'd....'" </p>
<p dir="ltr">I think I will likely need to read the last few chapters again and again before I can fully come to terms with all that it contained in these pages. I am certain that my reaction to this story would be very different had I not first read <i>Mockingbird</i>. I may not even have wanted to read it. But it is because Mocki<i>ngbird</i> came first that I am so struck by the power of these characters. I can't say that I loved it, not like <i>Mockingbird</i>, but it will find its place on my shelf and be reread over the years.  And I may come to love it.</p>
Carlahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01645308475742783422noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2372208825684265422.post-70937822161529837662015-06-12T09:54:00.001-04:002015-06-12T18:41:12.917-04:00A day in the life...<p dir="ltr">I have goals, ambitions. I really do. Things I want to do or accomplish. And some days feel really good and like I am making progress. Other days... well, let's just say other days are harder. </p>
<p dir="ltr">Often I preach self-care to the parents I work with. I use the imagery of a pitcher and a cup. The parent is the pitcher and the child is the cup. A cup full of holes. As parent, your job is to fill the cup. But if you never stop to refill (self care) you run dry and then the cup runs dry. You can't give what you don't have.</p>
<p dir="ltr">I try to practice what I preach. Especially in my current job. It's hard. It's draining. The paperwork is endless. </p>
<p dir="ltr">The last couple weeks have been tough ones. Both at work and home. The Huz is still adjusting to the night shift (meaning he sleeps. A lot. At weird times.) and, to be honest, I am still adjusting too.</p>
<p dir="ltr">I think you could probably count the number of waking hours we have been together in the last two weeks on both hands. And have fingers left over. We've been coming and going more than normal. My second job, helping friends, Vacation Bible School, golf outing, etc. </p>
<p dir="ltr">I think the last couple of days have been more survival mode than anything else. </p>
<p dir="ltr">It is my first spring into summer transition at this job. Kids coming and going at different times. I went to get a kid today and even though he has been in the program 9 months, he has been on my caseload 9 days and I had no idea what he looked like. Whoops. And of course the 2 hours I set aside this morning for paperwork was fruitless because of network problems. I couldn't even get logged into my computer! Bah! </p>
<p dir="ltr">My tickets to a game arrived in the mail before I even told the Huz I was going (oh, hey, Sister, our tickets arrived!). In some ways, it seems like the Huz never came home from vacation, except for the fact that there is more laundry. (Oh the laundry! How can three human beings produce SO much laundry?!) </p>
<p dir="ltr">I haven't run. I haven't gotten out my yoga mat. I haven't taken the dog for a walk. I haven't crocheted (and I probably won't for a while since Punky shoved my hook so far into the skein of yarn that I can't find it and I'm going to have to undo my work and unwind the whole skein. Honestly, I'm just not looking forward to that. Maybe I'll buy a new hook instead....</p>
<p dir="ltr">I have been reading. Which says something about the book I'm into. Typically during times of stress I can't sit still long enough to read. I manically start trying to accomplish as much as possible only to stress myself out more. Maybe this indicates growth on my part. Or a REALLY good book.</p>
<p dir="ltr">Sometimes I kill a few minutes between sessions on Pinterest. I shouldn't do that. All the super moms  (or should that be Super Moms? ) with all these amazing uses for toilet paper tubes who make their own side walk chalk and turn pillow cases into adorable dresses get me down. I call it a good day when dinner is something other than a grilled cheese before 7:30pm! </p>
<p dir="ltr">I want to make our own birdfeeders, I do. But half the time I can't remember to check if the store bought feeder has food in it!</p>
<p dir="ltr">So tonight, we aren't going to make birdfeeders, but we will have pizza and movie and popcorn night. And the Huz will snooze through the movie, but we will be together. No distractions, other than yelling at the dog to leave the kitten alone. A few hours, undisturbed. Finally.<br>
</p>
Carlahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01645308475742783422noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2372208825684265422.post-81414528639919948542015-03-24T06:37:00.001-04:002015-03-24T06:37:40.613-04:00Learn to let go<p dir="ltr">This is a time in your life when you must learn to let go: of loved ones, of possessions, of control. In order to let go of something that is precious to you, you need to rest in My Presence, where you are complete. Take time to bask in the Light of My Love. As you relax more and more, your grasping hand gradually opens up, releasing your prized possession into My care.</p>
<p dir="ltr">You can feel secure, even in the midst of cataclysmic changes, through awareness of My continual Presence. The One who never leaves you is the same One who never changes: <i>I</i><i> am the same yesterday, today, and forever</i>. As you release more and more things into My care, remember that I never let go of your hand. Herein lies your security, which no one and no circumstance can take from you.</p>
<p dir="ltr">Sarah Young, Jesus Calling, March <u>24</u></p>
Carlahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01645308475742783422noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2372208825684265422.post-81926701740755868652015-03-23T17:07:00.001-04:002015-03-23T17:48:40.316-04:00Toast for dinner<p dir="ltr">So I've been thinking lately, a lot, about motherhood. 4 years ago next week I found out I was going to be a mother. For years, though I had always worked with kids, I denied that I wanted any of my own, denied I had any motherly instincts. Then just over 3 years ago, I met Punky and nothing has been the same. I can barely remember life before Punky. Sure, I could sleep in later, when my insomnia let me. Sure, I could have a social life without making childcare arrangements or checking to see if it was a family friendly gathering. Sure, my house was not overrun with toys. Sure, I didn't have to clean out the tub before I took a bath. I admit I recently said I needed a vacation in this order: alone, with the Huz, then as a family. Being a mother is hard (I assume being a father is too, but as I am not one I cannot speak to that). Being a working mother is hard. Some days I get home just in time to put Punky to bed only to get up and leave again at dawn. I feed her boxed mac and cheese more than I should and vegetables less than I should. I don't clean frequently enough. We don't make cookies or crafts or practice our academics daily or even weekly. Some days I am not the mother I thought I would be. I yell more than I imagined, I lack patience,  I dread the teenage years.  But I think about that solo vacation and know I would hardly last a day before I was calling for the Huz and Punky to join me. I love stories and snuggles before bed. I love the giggles. I love the "look Mommy"s. My heart breaks when she asks all teary-eyed if I am mad at her (no, the answer is always no). I watch her hug her friends goodbye when I pick her up. I help her mail pictures to family. I listen to her play. She is a source of joy, pure joy. I worry about her health and well being. I worry about mean girls and bullies. In my line of work I've heard real horror stories. And I know there is only so much I can do to protect her. Some days I wish bedtime would come a little sooner, but mostly I wish for more hours in my day and more energy in my hours to spend with this amazing little creature. I am not a supermom and I don't have to be. I aspire to be more, but remind myself that good enough IS good enough. And that I am lucky to have a partner to share it with. After almost 8 years of marriage to the most infuriating man I've ever met, something still feels off when we are apart.  The man rarely sees me out of my pajamas (due to our schedules, not the fact that I never leave my pjs) and doesn't get mad when I forget his pizza rolls, there must be some kind of award for that, right? So while the adventure isn't what I thought it would be and I wouldn't have believed you if you'd tried to tell me how hard it is, I feel lucky to be on this journey.  And yes, we might be having toast for dinner. In our pajamas. At 5:30pm. On a Monday. Don't judge me. I won't judge you.</p>
Carlahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01645308475742783422noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2372208825684265422.post-717518751312062492015-01-01T09:26:00.001-05:002015-01-01T09:26:27.574-05:00New Year, New You?"Now is the accepted time to make your regular annual good resolutions. Next week you can begin paving hell with them as usual." - Mark Twain<br />
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It <i>is</i> that annual time to reflect back on the year that has come to a close and to resolve with all the good intentions of the world that the new year will be different.<br />
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"Ring out the old, ring in the new, Ring, happy bells, across the snow: The year is going, let him go; Ring out the false, ring in the true." -Alfred, Lord Tennyson<br />
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"Write it on your heart that every day is the best day in the year." - Ralph Waldo Emerson<br />
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"For last year's words belong to last year's language and next year's words await another voice. And to make an end is to make a beginning." - T.S. Eliot<br />
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"We spend January 1st walking through our lives, room by room, drawing up a list of work to be done, cracks to be patched. maybe this year, to balance the list, we ought to walk through the rooms of our lives... not looking for flaws, but for potential." -Ellen Goodman<br />
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Each year my thoughts, goals, dreams, plans are generally the same: Work less, play more. Read. Write. Get outside. Be healthy (in all domains).<br />
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What about you? What are your 2015 goals?<br />
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<br />Carlahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01645308475742783422noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2372208825684265422.post-59124172033028558962014-12-14T08:13:00.001-05:002014-12-14T08:40:32.153-05:00Rest in Me"Rest in Me, My child, forgetting about the worries of the world. Focus on Me- Emmanuel- and let My living Presence envelop you in Peace. Tune in to My eternal security, for <i>I am the same yesterday, today, and forever.</i> If you live on the surface of life by focusing on ever-changing phenomena, you will find yourself echoing the words of Soloman: '<i>Meaningless! Meaningless! Everything is meaningless!'</i><div><i><br></i></div><div>"Living in collaboration with Me is the way to instill meaning into your days. Begin each day alone with Me, so that you can experience the reality of My Presence. As you spend time with Me, the way before you opens up step by step. Arise from the stillness of our communion, and gradually begin your journey through the day. Hold My hand in deliberate dependence on Me, and I will smooth out the path before you."</div><div><br></div><div>December 14 </div><div>Jesus Calling</div><div>Sarah Young</div><div><br></div><div>"Sometimes we feel so beaten down by life, battered by outside circumstances over which we have no control. During these unwelcome storms, fear begins to permeate our inner being. Seeing no way out, we may fall into depression and enter into self-preservation mode by withdrawing into ourselves. But in doing so, we cut ourselves off from those who would give us aid and comfort. </div><div><br></div><div>"Fortunately, God has other plans. He knows what we need and lovingly provides it. He 'comforts the downcast' by sending earthly 'angels' to help us. These people of God, Tituses among us, give freely of God's love and fill us with the healing balm of His comfort.</div><div><br></div><div>"In the midst of distress, we are not to withdraw from God's helping hand but to immerse ourselves in His Word and reach out to others, allowing both to give us love and comfort in our time of need. And then, while once more, we in turn can be a Titus for another."</div><div><br></div><div>Day 10</div><div>3-Minute Devotions for Women</div><div>Daily Devotional Journal</div>Carlahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01645308475742783422noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2372208825684265422.post-29206743505705422092014-12-02T06:26:00.001-05:002014-12-02T06:26:45.588-05:00Prince of Peace"I am the Prince of Peace. As I said to My disciples, I say also to you: Peace be with you. Since I am your constant Companion, My Peace is steadfastly with you. When you keep your focus on Me, you experience both My Presence and My Peace. Worship Me as King of kings, Lord of lords, and Prince of Peace.<div>"You need My Peace each moment to accomplish My purposes in your life. Sometimes you are tempted to take shortcuts, in order to reach your goal as quickly as possible. But if the shortcut requires turning your back on My peaceful Presence, you must choose the longer route. Walk with Me along paths of Peace; enjoy the journey in My Presence."</div><div>Jesus Calling (December 2)- Sarah Young</div><div><br></div><div>Today's writing reminds me of this song:</div><div><a href="http://youtu.be/c_iP1QBsC98">http://youtu.be/c_iP1QBsC98</a></div><div><br></div>Carlahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01645308475742783422noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2372208825684265422.post-19815527450971342972014-12-01T10:37:00.001-05:002014-12-01T10:37:25.734-05:00Gray dayI called in sick today. Something I very rarely do. And I'm not even sick, well, not exactly. I've been doing this gluten free thing for almost a year now. And it helped- at first. But my symptoms have returned. Not quite as frequent as before, but still they have returned. And last night was a particularly bad episode that left me awake most of the night. So I called in sick to have a day to myself to recover. Wouldn't you know, now I feel guilty. That I'm laying in bed mid morning still in my pajamas not working. And my kid is at the babysitter's. I hacked and coughed and sneezed and sniffled for three weeks, and showed up to work every day. But today I wasn't sure I could handle running after or restraining a child. I wasn't sure I could help parents with their parenting of difficult children. Why should I feel guilty? I have PTO for a reason! But I do. Because I'm not really sick. And I just had a four day weekend. And I sent my kid away. And it is raining and I want the Huz to be here curled up playing hooky with me so we can spend a rainy day watching movies like we always said we would do and never have done. And I want to feel good enough to go pick up my kid early and do something fun together. But I'm not. And I did. And he's not. And I don't. <div><br></div><div>The cat is smiling that I'm home and in bed. (Literally, he is sprawled out of the bed next to me and looks like he is smiling.) The dog is whining in her crate (sorry pup, I can't trust you unsupervised yet). Time to put away the guilt, I can't un-take the sick day now. Maybe one day I will get answers or find the miracle cure for my ailments that all seem to contribute to one another. At least the weather suits my mood and I'm not missing out on a beautiful sunshiny day.</div>Carlahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01645308475742783422noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2372208825684265422.post-33222074109737860542014-11-06T19:04:00.001-05:002014-11-06T19:04:02.114-05:00Introvert dream or nightmare?I am coming up on the 90 day mark at my new job and am feeling like I kinda sorta almost know what all the job entails. I'm not completely overwhelmed anymore (just partially!), even though I still see at least one face a day that I do not recognize. It is weird working for a company that employs more than 20 people!<div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">I go through some sessions feeling like "I've got this!" But others leave me wondering when I will ever feel like I know what I am doing. I have to develop a new style, a new way of connecting, a new way of sharing what I do know. Not all the people I am working with WANT to be here or know WHY they have to be. My heart broke a little when one parent couldn't identify a single strength of their child or one thing they liked about their kid. It is exhausting on a different level than my previous positions. I am excited to be here and can see how much I am going to grow from this position. But in my little (and I do mean little- I have to move furniture to be able to open my file cabinet!) office at the end of the hall, it feels a little lonely in this big old place. Especially after the kids go home and there are no screams echoing through the halls. Still feeling like the new kid on the block, my introverted self wants to hide out in my cozy little space and lose myself in the mountain of paperwork. Perhaps it is time to bake my way into the hearts of my coworkers....</span></div>Carlahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01645308475742783422noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2372208825684265422.post-28724316612853771642014-08-26T21:06:00.001-04:002014-08-26T21:06:31.827-04:00Trust MeTrust Me in the midst of a messy day. Your inner calm- your Peace in My Presence- need not be shaken by what is going on around you. Though you live in this temporal world, your innermost being is rooted and grounded in eternity. When you start to feel stressed, detach yourself from the disturbances around you. Instead of desperately striving to maintain order snd control in your little world, relax and remember that circumstances cannot touch My Peace.<br />
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Seek My Face, and I will share My mind with you, opening your eyes to see things from My perspective. <i>Do not let your heart be troubled, and do not be afraid.</i> The Peace I give is sufficient for you.<br />
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Jesus Calling (Sarah Young) August 26<br />
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Peace I leave you; my peace I give to you. I do not give to you as the world gives. Do not let your hearts be troubled, and do not let them be afraid. John 14:27<br />
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I have said this to you, so that in me you may have peace. In the world you face persecution. But take courage; I have conquered the world! John 16:33<br />
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Seek the Lord and his strength; seek his presence continually. Psalm 105:4Carlahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01645308475742783422noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2372208825684265422.post-32219402051321138682014-07-28T13:28:00.001-04:002014-07-28T13:28:41.491-04:00When I Grow UpI have been neglecting my blog again. When I started it way back whenever I thought it would be a great way for me to start writing. Again. More. Whatever. Turns out there just aren't enough hours in the day and writing, blogging, takes a backseat. Sure, I have a book of poetry waiting to be published. Sure, I have the plot of a novella outlined. Sure, I have titles to the series of children's books I want to write. But the only writing I've dobe recently is a home study, which I did not really enjoy simply because it required a format that is poor writing. I don't want to use the words describes, reported, stated any time soon!<div><br></div><div>I think I had this idea that writing would be a fun way to use my creative juices and blow off steam- my own personal therapy. But in reality, if you want to be a writer it can't be a part time gig. There has to be time dedicated to it. Daily. And right now my life does not allow that. Maybe someday. When I grow up. </div><div><br></div><div>For now, I settle for the occasional blog post. The card mailed to a friend. My infrequent journaling when something is weighing on me. My trusty friend comes out when I feel that inner restlessness about something. Maybe that is why I am secretly obsessed with pens and notebooks, because I know I will always NEED to write from time to time. I love to lose myself in a good book, but writing does something for me that reading cant't. That talking can't. An utter rawness that is hard to achieve in conversation. </div><div><br></div><div>And someday, when I retire, I WILL become a real life writer.</div>Carlahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01645308475742783422noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2372208825684265422.post-83179388202638983082014-06-24T09:16:00.001-04:002014-06-24T09:16:48.206-04:00On a Roll, a Reading RollI love to read. Have for as long as I can remember. But sometimes I'm not in the mood to read (*gasp* I can't believe I just said that!) and other times there simply are not enough hours in the day to do all the reading I want to do.<div><br></div><div>Most of May was one of those time when I just couldn't get settled down to read. Maybe it was the 20-some episodes of Bones on the DVR. Maybe it was stress. Maybe I just wasn't interested in the books I had started. But whatever the reason, the reading drought ended. I got back in the swing of reading. In the last 10 days I have finished five books. Two of those five I also started in the last 10 days! That MIGHT be a new record for me. At least a new record while being a mother working two jobs!</div><div><br></div><div>So what did I read?</div><div>Clockwork Angel (of the YA fantasy- vampire- genre)</div><div>What to Expect the Toddler Years (very informative if you have a toddler or work with toddlers or might someday have a toddler)</div><div>Sharp Objects (dark and screwed up. I liked it!)</div><div>Dorothy and the Wizard in Oz (I am slowly working my way through the complete Wizard of Oz collection, did you know there was more than one story?)</div><div>The Perks of Being a Wallflower (yes, I saw the movie first. I still liked the book. And want to watch the movie again.)</div><div><br></div><div>So what's next? Well, I still have four in progress:</div><div>Queen Bees and Wannabes (the book that inspired the movie Mean Girls, I can only read a little at a time because I find it a little depressing how mean females can be to each other, lots of good info in it though)</div><div>James Potter and the Hall of Elders' Crossing (which disappeared from my GoodReads ebooks, so I guess I'm not really reading it right now)</div><div>Pride and Prejudice (I just cannot get into this one- and it is SO long!)</div><div>Ever Since I had my Baby (again, good info, but hard to read more than a little at a time. I think I might have been better off NOT knowing what childbirth could do to my body...)</div><div><br></div><div>So I think I'll start the next Clockwork book. And maybe the next Wizard of Oz book. Or maybe something entirely different... </div><div><br></div><div>Either way, I am on a reading roll right now and am halfway to my goal of completing 50 books this year!</div>Carlahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01645308475742783422noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2372208825684265422.post-73202209559578786482014-05-30T19:07:00.001-04:002014-05-30T19:07:15.230-04:00High quality H2OIt's been several weeks since I've joined in the Friday Fill-In over at www.feelingbeachie.com. Time to jump in again!<div><br></div><div><b>Statements:</b></div><div>1) I drink ____ in the AM.</div><div>2) I read _____.</div><div>3) Sometimes I wonder ___ but then ____.</div><div>4) Given the choice between ___ and ___ I'd pick ____.</div><div><br></div><div><b>Answers:</b></div><div>1) I drink <i>water</i> in the AM. And PM!</div><div>2) I read <i>books, lots of books!</i></div><div>3) Sometimes I wonder <i>if I will survive the terrible twos </i>but then <i>my two year old gives me a hug and says "I love you."</i></div><div>4) Given the choice between <i>a beach vacation </i>and <i>a mountain one</i> I'd pick <i>the beach, 9 times out of 10!</i></div>Carlahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01645308475742783422noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2372208825684265422.post-59918510745436688022014-05-26T08:56:00.001-04:002014-05-26T08:56:35.921-04:00Misadventures in Baking<div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">Little known fact (ha! As if there are any little known facts about me!) I'm thrifty. (Okay, cheap.) I love a good bargain. I'm about one step away from one of those ultimate couponers (granted it's a big step- I need time to learn how to do it and time to actually do it!). I hate to waste food. So when I was baking up a new recipe of cupcakes I decided I would use up the leftover icing from the last batch. But I didn't think green icing would be quite right for Coca cola cupcakes with a vanilla coke cream filling. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-3vs5EhSWOXY/U4M5_XXqcYI/AAAAAAAACCI/czYY8zzrd8Q/s640/blogger-image--336105019.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-3vs5EhSWOXY/U4M5_XXqcYI/AAAAAAAACCI/czYY8zzrd8Q/s640/blogger-image--336105019.jpg"></a><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-3vs5EhSWOXY/U4M5_XXqcYI/AAAAAAAACCI/czYY8zzrd8Q/s640/blogger-image--336105019.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><a href="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-o6FqTvvpPPo/U4M6AskLY1I/AAAAAAAACCQ/tLh79qiRB1A/s640/blogger-image-1222872390.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-o6FqTvvpPPo/U4M6AskLY1I/AAAAAAAACCQ/tLh79qiRB1A/s640/blogger-image-1222872390.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">But I had a plan! Throw in some cocoa powder, make it chocolatey and cover up the green color too. Well, let's just say this wasn't one of my more brilliant ideas. The transformation process wasn't pretty! The bright green morphed into a horrible brownish green and then a greenish brown before an acceptable brown color was achieved. Then it was time to put it on the cupcakes. I was out of pastry bags, so I used a ziplock. No fancy star tip this time. Mistake! I'm sure my child filling her diaper at the same time as I was piping the frosting didn't help, but these were cupcakes that were never going to look appetizing to me! <div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-diRHSVpArXI/U4M5-UNZQZI/AAAAAAAACCA/EarlNaOEtA8/s640/blogger-image--307561425.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-diRHSVpArXI/U4M5-UNZQZI/AAAAAAAACCA/EarlNaOEtA8/s640/blogger-image--307561425.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Wonder if there is a market for poocakes...</div></div></div>Carlahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01645308475742783422noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2372208825684265422.post-80775640804069713362014-05-02T18:17:00.001-04:002014-05-02T18:17:56.705-04:00So it has been a while since I have posted. Life just seems to keep me too busy. Time to jump back in with feelingbeachie.com's Friday Fill-In.<div><br></div><div>This week's statements:</div><div>1) I really ______ in the early a.m.</div><div>2) I wish the _____ would always stay _____.</div><div>3) _____ is my favorite place when I am _____.</div><div>4) If I hear _____ one more time, I will ____.</div><div><br></div><div>My answers:</div><div>1) I really <b>need to sleep better</b> in the early a.m.</div><div>2) I wish the <b>weather </b>would always stay <b>nice.</b></div><div>3) <b>Lakeside </b>is my favorite place when I am <b>feeling sentimental.</b></div><div>4) If I hear <b>Let it Go</b> one more time, I will <b>sing along.</b></div>Carlahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01645308475742783422noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2372208825684265422.post-78629104719411324352014-04-07T14:28:00.001-04:002014-04-07T14:28:05.932-04:00Hook, line, and sinkerI have to hand it to the marketing people at Barnes and Noble. They got me. I made a rare trip into the book store (rare because I do not trust myself alone in a bookstore to be responsible and not max out my credit cards). I had gift cards burning a hole in my wallet. I purchased a couple NOOK books and a real book for Punky. When I got home, I discovered a "Prepublication Excerpt" in my bag. I tossed it in my purse for when I was stuck in a waiting room somewhere or something. <div><br></div><div>So what happened when I finished the excerpt? I immediately logged onto bn.com and used up the last (sad!) of my gift card money to purchase the book. Congrats B&N, you got me with your clever marketing. Hook. Line. Sinker. <div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-dk_SMtBagjw/U0LuMOBBh0I/AAAAAAAACBQ/nR0NYYchF4I/s640/blogger-image-1875340866.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-dk_SMtBagjw/U0LuMOBBh0I/AAAAAAAACBQ/nR0NYYchF4I/s640/blogger-image-1875340866.jpg"></a></div></div><div><br></div><div>But I don't feel too bad. I actually finished two professional development type books in a row! No novel (or twelve) in between. I am on a roll! At this rate, I just might complete my Goodreads challenge of 50 books this year...</div><div><br></div><div>Especially since I've decided to pick up where I left off in this:<div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-1CniNJJSkZ0/U0LuM0yVxLI/AAAAAAAACBY/i84yE9SgJvI/s640/blogger-image--139528599.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-1CniNJJSkZ0/U0LuM0yVxLI/AAAAAAAACBY/i84yE9SgJvI/s640/blogger-image--139528599.jpg"></a></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Before I tackle killing off Dorothy. And of course, at some point I still need to read Wicked. If you need me, I'll be in Oz.</div>Carlahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01645308475742783422noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2372208825684265422.post-1763796737379425432014-04-01T10:43:00.001-04:002014-04-01T10:43:54.302-04:00Ambition<div><br></div>Ambition<div><br></div><div>An earnest desire for some type of achievement or distinction, as power, honor, fame, or wealth, and the willingness to strive for its attainment.</div><div><br></div><div>To seek after earnestly; aspire to.</div><div><br></div><div>(Definitions provided by dictionary.com.)</div><div><br></div><div>What a powerful word. Sometimes I think I want to be ambitious. Sometimes I think I am. Sometimes I think I have too much.</div><div><br></div><div>My stack of 29 unread books (plus 7-8 in progress) grew to 30 as someone recently gifted me a book. Then I pulled out two books loaned to me a good three years ago. Are they good books? Most likely. Should I read them? Probably. Will I? If I am honest, probably not. So I took them off the shelf to return to the lender who likely has forgotten I have them. And almost put them back. The lender wanted me to read them! This person thought there was something of value between the pages. </div><div><br></div><div>My ambition is to read. And write. I never seem to have enough time for either. I challenged myself to read 50 books this year. I have completed 15. I am 30% of the way to my goal. I also made a goal to read one professional development type book for every two novels I read. And another goal to finish all of the books currently in progress (except the daily devotional which I been reading off and on for about two years- even if I have read that day before, there is still good stuff in rereading it). </div><div><br></div><div>And write more. Maybe actually write a chapter in the novella I have had outlined for a few years. Or blog more. Or journal more. Something. Anything. </div><div><br></div><div>In theory, that seems reasonable. Then I look in my purse and see what my ambition had done.</div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-GySWFLMbpvg/UzrQpyYLL4I/AAAAAAAAB-o/FhdVPmqY5B0/s640/blogger-image-533601609.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-GySWFLMbpvg/UzrQpyYLL4I/AAAAAAAAB-o/FhdVPmqY5B0/s640/blogger-image-533601609.jpg"></a></div><br></div>Two devotionals. Two journals. One book. One "prepublication excerpt."</div><div><br></div><div>And this was to go to work! Where (unfortunately) I do not get paid to read (where can I find THAT job?!). (Side not: I do get paid to write- treatment plans and progres notes, but that's not FUN writing!)</div><div><br></div><div>Hmmm, maybe my ambition is a little too ambitious. And so the books will go back to the lender, unread, and not back to my shelf. </div><div><br></div><div>Let's not even start on how I keep saying I'm going to get up a half hour earlier three mornings a week to do yoga....</div><div><br></div><div><br></div>Carlahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01645308475742783422noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2372208825684265422.post-45671759376942092562014-03-14T15:46:00.001-04:002014-03-14T15:46:05.249-04:00Silence!It's Friday again so it must be time to navigate on over to www.feelingbeachie.com for the Friday Fill-In! Check it out. Send in suggestions and be a cohost!<div><br></div><div>This week's statements:</div><div>1. Saying ____ is ___ for me.</div><div>2. I am ____ by nature.</div><div>3. If I stay in a hotel it must have _____.</div><div>4. If someone gave me ____ I would ____. </div><div><br></div><div>My answers:</div><div>1. Saying <b>nothing</b> is <b>easy </b>for me.</div><div>2. I am <b>quiet</b> by nature.</div><div>3. If I stay in a hotel it must have <b>free wi-fi</b>? (I can't remember the last time I stayed in a hotel...)</div><div>4. If someone gave me <b>a book </b>I would <b>read it- eventually. My to be read stack is huge!</b></div>Carlahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01645308475742783422noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2372208825684265422.post-51407075062238128472014-03-12T19:47:00.001-04:002014-03-12T19:47:16.964-04:00Adventures in Parenting<div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">At two, Punky is firmly in the toddler years. It was tricky, at first, parenting a toddler. The toddling is a game changer. But you adapt, move all the breakable a to an even higher location, block off the stairs, put the child thingies (yes, that IS the technical name) on the doorknobs and so on. The toddler gets steadier and less toddly. Life is good. Life is fun. Life is an adventure.</span></div><div><br></div><div>Then you do something crazy. Like have another baby. Or in my case, adopt a puppy. And life as you know it is over. A puppy is like having an infant. Getting up in the middle of the night (to let the dog out instead of feeding a baby. But let's face it, getting up in the middle of the night for any reason isn't fun). Having a puppy is like a toddler- most of the time you can't reason with them. Puppies chew a lot- like teething babies. They sleep a lot too, just not when you want them to!</div><div><br></div><div>But it's fun too. Watching your pup follow around your kid. Hearing the kid ask about the puppy. Knowing they'll be best buds if only you survive the next year.</div><div><br></div><div>You never know what you are going to come home to find. Like the picture below of a naked Princess baby and a play spoon hanging with the pot holders... </div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-JBAkqH29tSI/UyDyAjKJQbI/AAAAAAAAB9I/ARXvRtr3zBE/s640/blogger-image--2036778867.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-JBAkqH29tSI/UyDyAjKJQbI/AAAAAAAAB9I/ARXvRtr3zBE/s640/blogger-image--2036778867.jpg"></a></div><br></div>Carlahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01645308475742783422noreply@blogger.com4