Nick is talking with his lawyer as we speak.
His command finally “officially” sent up the assault charges for disciplinary action.
Things are stressful and worrisome.

As much as I don’t regret my part in what happened (his work has very subtly hinted around at my “wrong doing” by contacting police, and making this issue go outside the command … nice, right?), I am extremely anxious as to the outcome of this. Being *this* close (a matter of a couple months) to a medical retirement, and having the stress of a dishonorable discharge looming is just freaking me the fuck out.

Nick does have a very solid case, but it’s one that he’s struggling with. He doesn’t want to fight against actions taken against him, because he feels he deserves “what he gets” and more. He doesn’t want to defend himself against the horrible things he did to our family 4 months ago.

I’ve explained to him that by not fighting, by not defending his case; the kids, me, him… our entire family is going to get so completely screwed. He may feel he deserves all of it and more (I don’t!) … but he can’t argue with the fact that the kids and I surely don’t deserve this! We don’t deserve to be kicked out on our asses with nothing (him especially!).

This incident happened 4 months ago. In those four months, his command has already taking disciplinary action against him… “unofficially”. He’s been on barracks restriction for the entire 4 months. He’s been ordered to attend certain classes. Ordered to enroll in anger management type groups. Ordered to undergo therapy (more so then he already was … something he personally asked for many times, but was always told there wasn’t enough time, staff, slots, etc). Ordered to limitations on seeing/visiting his children. Without reading him his rights, he’s been questioned, put down, threatened, and counseled numerous times in the 4 months since the assault. He’s done everything ordered of him.

Earlier this week they finally sent up the paperwork for the art 15 (the “official” disciplinary action plan), he was finally read his rights and given the option to either speak or remain silent (as anything he said could and would be used against him), and he was made aware of the maximum disciplinary punishment they could take against him.

It just doesn’t seem right. Not kosher. They shouldn’t be allowed to question him for 4 months (which he had to answer, you can’t not answer direct questions from your command unless you want more charges against you) using all of that information to build their case, AND THEN read him his right and give him the option to remain silent. WTF kind of bs is that? They shouldn’t be allowed to have already been disciplining/punishing him for 4 months “off the record”, and then go ahead and punish him for the same charges a SECOND time.

I know the military is jacked up. I know civil liberties are stripped away from our soldiers (as much as the big wigs like to deny that fact). I know they can get away with pretty much anything damn thing they want, and be able to dig up some footnote in some dinosaur article to back them up … but that doesn’t make it right. The lawyer Nick spoke to earlier this week said he had a really good case, but was referring him to another guy in the unit who specializes in civil liberties, who will hopefully be able to better fight this.

Couple all of that with his medical turmoil … the combat related ptsd and tbi (results of which came in just a few weeks ago, and make it plain as day that he suffered a permanent traumatic brain injury … the test results were pretty severe). We have a soldier injured during a time of war. A soldier who actually has been asking for help, but has instead been ridiculed, put down, punished, put on the back burner, and given the run around in seeking that help. A soldier made to feel he’s not “up to par”, he’s weaker, unworthy, not intelligent, oh, and he dresses bad (yes, his 1st Sgt made it that personal). A soldier who has done everything that has been ordered of him these 4 months, trying to get back on his feet, doing the right thing, and hoping he has a chance at saving his family … only to be blindsided by this (1st Sgt actually ORDERED Nicks squad leader NOT to tell Nick what the “meeting” was about, just that he had to be there. He wanted him walking into the room not having a clue he was about to get an article 15. Not being prepared in the lest for the onslaught of attack). With all of that, is there any fucking wonder why so many of our soldiers crack/snap? Or why so many hide their mental injuries; ignore and deny until it’s too late? I mean, come the fuck on!

The military shouldn’t be able to break a man during their war, and then not be held responsible for helping that man regain some sense of a normal life with help and support for a lifetime. They shouldn’t be able to “get rid” of soldiers who display symptoms of mental injury simply because those symptoms are violent or criminal. A dishonorable discharge would mean they were washing their hands of him, of us, of any wrong doing. They’d be shoving Nick out of the military, and into the civilian world with nothing, essentially tossing their problems onto someone else to deal with.

It’s not right!

Cross your fingers, send light and love, good thoughts, prayers, whatever it is you do … please do it. We need it.
The kids don’t deserve this.
I don’t deserve this.
Nick doesn’t even deserve this.

Hope … it’s a powerful emotion that can bring about action.

We stopped by a rescue station while we were out today.

It’s near impossible to drive past a new one and not stop … the boys love touring the trucks.

We’ve been to dozens of stations over the years.

Learning about, and climbing through the trucks.

Touching, and learning uses for each and every piece of equipment.

Hearing protocol and routine both during an emergency as well as on down time at the station.

And it doesn’t seem to ever get old to the kids!

This particular visit took about an hour. The guy was really great; very thorough, and extremely engaging.

And the kids; they stood there with their eyes locked, their attentions full, and their ears perked … as if they’d never experienced a fire station tour before; Never heard such amazing facts and stories before.

It’s priceless how awestruck they become… every.single.time! lol.
I prize our unschooled life with the glory

Read a very touching blog post the other day, and I wanted to share it.

You can find the author over at his blog, RagamuffinSoul, or here is a direct link to the particular post that I’m talking about.

I feel the message in his post goes hand in hand with my previous post, I’m THAT Mom.

It’s a message that gave me goosebumps, put tears in my eyes, and a giant smile on my face.

It’s a message I hope we can all take to heart and incorporate into our lives … our children deserve it.

Here it is …

My 6 year old looked at me in the eye today and asked me if I would go out on a date with her.
I told her yes.

In the back of my head all I knew is that I have a flight to catch and 55 phone calls to make.
2 hours later there are 55 people mad at me for not calling them back and I am late to my flight…
But she…

…is in love with me and they never will be.

When you work for yourself, are behind on the mortgage, have sickness in the family, have a client waiting for something, are a lonely stay at home mom, or any other “grown up” problems…
Remember…
Your six year old will not remember those problems, just that her dad said “I’m busy”.
Los

If you appreciate that post as much as I do, hop on over to his site and let him know!

Joining in on an impromptu blog carnival

I’m that Mom … who wakes her kids up in the middle of the night to go splash in rain puddles or dance in the snow.

I’m that Mom … who leaves good morning love notes in the bathroom for her kids to see when they wake up.

I’m that Mom … who will start an impromptu water fight in the middle of the house, and not worry about the massive mess we’re making.

I’m that Mom … who, if you come over to visit, has a basket of laundry in the living room, books on the floor, dust on the furniture (since we moved in, ha), dinosaurs hiding around corners, toothpaste on the sink … and happy kids running around. I’m that Mom who realizes these precious years with my children will be gone in the blink of an eye; the cleaning can wait, the basket of laundry will be there tomorrow, and the dinosaurs, well, where else are they going to hide?!

I’m that Mom … who enjoys having “sleep overs” with each of her kids, separately. We stay up late eating snacks, watching movies, playing games, talking, painting toe nails (yes, I have all boys!). And when they fall asleep, I color a “thanks for the memories” message on them (instead of the funny mustache and pointy eyebrows, lol)!

I’m that Mom  … who encourages their clever creations in the kitchen. Some of their crazy concoctions really do taste amazing (some, not so much)!

I’m that Mom … who brings her children out in public wearing mismatched clothes that are inside out and upside down, one sock on one sock off, two different types of shoes on the wrong foot, etc … simply because they are free to express themselves through their style with no unsolicated advice from me.

I’m that Mom … who will quickly do her kids’ chores while they’re outside playing; just because.

I’m that Mom … who will already have all the blankets torn out of the closet, and the fort built, when her kids wake up.

I’m that Mom … who encourages jumping on the beds.

I’m that Mom … who gives back rubs and foot rubs to the boys simply because I know how good they feel!

I’m that Mom … who sees her child fall down, and instead of accessing the wound, and assuring the kid that “he’ll be ok” …  gives kisses, comforts, and listens to how they feel about their injury, big or small. I don’t speak for them.

I’m that Mom … who does still loose her shit all over her kids once in a while, but is always, always quick to apologize. I’m not perfect; I don’t try to be.

on the same token: I’m that Mom … who doesn’t expect her kids to be perfect. We all make mistakes, we learn, we move on. I don’t have any crazy ideas of my kids learning from my mistakes; they’re free to make and learn from their own… with the comfort of knowing that I’ll always love them and be there to help them through their difficult times.

We went for a walk in the woods tonight hoping to find some blackberries. (ch ch ch ch, ah ah ah ah)

The sun was setting, so even thought we hadn’t yet reached the berries, we decided to turn around and head back. Didn’t want to get lost out there in the dark! (insert climactic horror music here)

About half way back (now dark), Tatum veered ahead of us on the trail, and I think our eyes all saw it at the same time…
“Ummm… that’s not a twig” (ahem, about 500 yards back or so I had a little scare with a snake looking twig!).

A RATTLESNAKE!!! (though, Nick thought it was a type of cottonmouth at first)

Tatum was ON TOP of the snake. I mean, seriously, literally, standing RIGHT over the thing. The snake was frozen. Didn’t move an inch as Tatum backed over it and came back to us. Wow, right? She is one lucky pooch! If it were Morgan over there, I think we’d have one dead dog on our hands right now. Where Tatum is calm and peaceful … Morgan is spastic and “all up in yer business”.

We leashed up the dogs and got a closer look.
As soon as Nick got closer to the tail he realized it was a rattler (I thought rattler right away … perhaps that’s just due to my ignorance, because every snake that has that coloring is a rattler in my mind, lol). Once he saw the tail, he looked at the pattern again, and guessed it was a Timber Rattlesnake.

I was busy taking photos and talking about it with Owen.  He kept walking in front of me as we circled around with the camera, putting himself between me and the snake. I had to keep scooting him back. As scared as he was, and as much as he didn’t want to be standing there, he wanted me to be safe! Have I mentioned how much I LOVE that kid! Nick was checking out the snake as well… taking note of where his head was aimed. After a minute, Rylan wanted a quick closer look, so he went to stand by Dad. They talked about it for a minute, and after Rylan had enough and moved far back, Nick was stalking up behind it. Right as I was saying the words “You shouldn’t creep up behind it, it’s going to attack y…” the snake rattled it’s tail, took a strike at Nick (it was CLOSE), and slithered into the trees. We could hear the rattle for atleast the next 5 minutes!

When the thing coiled and struck, Owen took off running screaming at us to “get away, get away, get away”! As soon as he saw that his family was all safe, the fear of what happened really kicked in, and he started crying. Poor little sweetie.

Rylan really didn’t want much to do with it right from the get go. He got his little look, and he was ready to move on. “Come on guys, we should go. We should leave him alone. We should really really really just stop bothering him”.

Larson wasn’t able to get get too close a look. He was holding the dogs back while I took some photos, and then we were going to switch. We didn’t know Dad was going to scare the poor thing away, ha. Larson is a trooper though. He was only about 10 feet away from it, so he was able to see it pretty well anyway.

We got home and looked it up in our books and online. Turns out he was a Leaf Colored Timber Rattler (nick was right!) … very pretty!

I wasn’t able to get “THE photo” … you know… the one where you say “I got what I need, wrap it up”.  You might not know exactly what you’re looking for, but as soon as you see, you know you got what you want. I was working on it, but hadn’t yet gotten it. Bummer. I did get a few close ones, though …

I touched on some childhood stuff in my last post, and I wanted to elaborate a little bit on one particular part… My Mom.

It’s true, we didn’t have a very healthy relationship while I was growing up, but I have long since moved forward from that. The emotional issues still creep back when facing a similar situation, but I don’t associate/blame the experiences and feelings I am facing in my life right now to/on my childhood. I make a comparison in order to give a more complete picture of my life. I record the feelings I had back then because they are a part of me. I’m changed for life as a result of them… but they’re not the cause of the turmoil and struggles I face today. I am a lot more sensitive, my buttons a lot easier to find, but those old wounds are healed. As healed as they can be, anyway.

My Mom didn’t have the easiest of lives, either. She had me when she was really young. She was in a bad place in her life, and she made choices that weren’t good for either of us… but I don’t judge her for that. I used to. I used to harbor a lot of resentment, and judgement about the the life she had given me, given us. I used to feel robbed, jilted. I used to feel it was her fault I was as fucked up as I was (promiscuous, anorexic, bulimic, suicidal, etc, etc…), but I don’t anymore. I grew up. I took control of my life. I forgave.

And honestly, I wouldn’t change a thing. My strength grew unbreakable from my childhood experiences. My unyielding compassion and empathy for other people is as fierce as it is because of my childhood experiences. I have a level of understanding that runs so very, very deep because of my childhood experiences. My heart is so open and my forgiveness so wide because of my childhood experiences. I am the woman I am today because of the life I have lived, and I wouldn’t trade it for anything.

My Mother has taken control of her life as well. Moved forward from the past mistakes she made. Forgave herself. Apologized to me. And she’s doing good now. WE’RE doing good now. Not without struggles here and there, but please, who is?!

I love you, Mom!

photos, top to bottom, are from 1979, 1994, 1997, 2009, 1999

I was asked this question recently, and it kind of threw me.
How could I answer something that I don’t see myself capable of doing?

It’s no secret that I harbor a lot of insecurities; I have since childhood. My life has been a very constant test of strength and endurance, and my self talk very often consists of berating comments of being weak, incapable, useless. All the no good mumbo jumbo we tell ourselves when we lack a sense of reality and confidence. You see, I can look back at all the trials and tribulations that have been hammered at me since just a child… I can see my strength overcome all of it. I can see that I’m not weak. I’m not a quitter. I’m not useless. However, my heart has a hard time accepting that, and since I am so completely built to “live from the heart”, that negative view wins out… 10 fold.

On being hammered with harsh life lessons since a child. It was very early on in my life that I was put into a caregiving role. Really, it’s all I’ve ever known. When the most important person in my life then, my Mom, was not in a place in her life to really take care of me … I took care of her. Through drugs, and alcohol, and abuse … I was there to pick up her pieces each and every time. When I wanted to play a board game, or color, or go to the park, but she needed some cold water and a nap … I put the toys away, gathered her drink, and sat on the floor next to her while she slept on the couch. I would watch her while she slept, and silently pray that she would wake up (because I lived in fear that one day she wouldn’t). I would clean the house while she was at the bar, hoping that when she returned she would be happy. Happy that it was taken care of so she wouldn’t have to do it (I always wanted to do everything for her). And also happy with me. Maybe if she was happy with me she would want to play with me. She didn’t. She would come home too sick or too tired or too preoccupied with a friend. I would cry in my room, wishing for a different life, but the second she called to me, I would go running. So excited to see her. To be with her. To help her with whatever she needed. I loved her so much, and I wanted to do everything perfect so maybe she would love me just as much as I loved her. I was convinced that if I would have just cleaned a little better, or had her water ready a little sooner, or had brushed my hair a little neater, that maybe she would love me enough to want to be with me just as much as I wanted to be with her. Since she was always leaving me, rarely wanting to play with me, constantly telling me what I was doing wrong … I was convinced that I wasn’t trying hard enough. My efforts weren’t good enough. My love not strong enough. Determined to do better next time… determined to be perfect… if I could just give her everything she wanted, she would be happy, and that’s what I wanted. Her to be happy. On and on went the self talk cycle of “you didn’t do it good enough … do better”. No matter how low or worthless I was feeling … I kept working at it. Kept taking care of her. I couldn’t fail her, I loved her and she needed me.

Years and years of working through childhood issues (I gave you the tinest tip of the iceburg up there), and I was finally making progress. Through a lot of acceptance, forgiveness, and leaps of faith … I was seeing myself in a new light.

And then my husband returned home from war… forever changed.

In his ptsd, depression, and brain injuries … he has been lashing out at me. All of my insecurities resurfaced with a vegeance. He made a habit of blaming me for everything that was going wrong. Blaming me for all of his actions. Blaming me for all his careless words. He pushed every body out of his life. There was no one left for him to vent to but me … and that venting so often led to yelling at me, blaming me, and pushing the guilt onto me. I took it. In my efforts to help him, to not make things worse, to protect my kids… I took it. He needed a place to explode, and I was afraid (gravely so) what he might do if he didn’t have that outlet, so I let myself be the target. My head remained level. I could see the reality of the situation. I knew none of what he was speaking was true. I knew there wasn’t any validation to the blame and guilt shifting he was doing. However, my heart was taking a severe beating, and we’ve already discussed how my life is completely ruled by my heart. I again, just like when I was a little girl, started feeling that if I didn’t say this, or hadn’t done that, or worked harder on this, or tried more for that … maybe he wouldn’t have done or said xyz. Maybe he wouldn’t have gotten mad. Maybe he would have remained happy. My head knew better then to fall victim to an abusive situation My head knew not to let the words hit me on a personal level. There was no truth to them. But my heart, my sweet sensitive, ever emotional heart … it was tattered. I again didn’t feel good enough, capable enough, strong enough … I was broken again. But, no matter how broken I was, I kept trying. I couldn’t fail him, I loved him and he needed me.

It’s a struggle I work on on a daily basis. Sometimes I make great strides, and gain the self esteem and confidence that I deserve to see in myself … and sometimes I fall flat on my ass, and end up sliding down the hill several miles. Either way, I keep plugging along, hoping that one day it wont be such a struggle anymore, and instead I will naturally and instinctually see myself as the strong, capable person that I am.

So I guess that’s the most important thing I do to cope. Convincing my doubting self, on a daily basis, that I am strong and capable. That by having faith in myself, I can get through anything. I tell myself that quitting is not an option, if for no other reason then being a good example to the three most important people on this planet to me. My want for them to have a great positive role model in their life, one that feels both strong and determined in her body and mind to not only stand up to the obsticles in life, but to hurdle right on over them … my want for that far exceeds my feelings of wanting to crawl under a rock and quit. No matter how many times I fall down, quitting is not an option I am willing to accept. I might see myself as a quitter, as a failure, but more then that, I am a Mother … I don’t think anything can trump the feelings of Motherhood.

Had a late night picnic park date with my teensy 6yr old sweetie pea, Owen (he likes to call it our “privacy time”). What came of that privacy time are memories that will leave us in stitches for a life time!

We packed up some food from home, and then stopped off at EarthFare (health food store) for some special treats. As most of you know, we’re mostly raw vegans. (*mostly* means we’re probably about 95+% raw w/the occasional non raw (but always vegan) item thrown in here and there). We picked up a healthy baguette, and a small pack of vegan chocolate chip cookies.

Onward to the park!

The sun was all but set when we got there, and by the time we got everything out of the car it was dark. We layed out our spread and dug in! Midway through our meal Owen had to use the restroom. The park was empty, so after a quick stop at the car for the flashlight (no lights in the bathroom) we headed off to the potty. He finished his business, washed his hands, and we trekked back to our picnic. Thank the universe we were still holding the flashlight (no lights in the park, either … we were using the glow from the street lights waaaaaay over there to aid us in our picnic eating prior to the potty break) because the scene playing out ON our picnic was one we wouldn’t have seen without the extra light…

ROACHES! OMFG!!!

If you know me, you know my nemesis is the roach. I.CAN.NOT.STAND.THEM! Seriously, the little fucks cause such a hyperventilating, nauseating, dizzy, sick, panic that chills my spine kind of feeling in me … I HATE THEM! I wish them no ill will. Don’t want them wiped of the face of the planet or anything (I’m too buddha zen for that); if they would just stay the fuck out of my path, that would be super, thanks!

So, to see them all over our spread… again, OMFG!

The baguette was closest to me, with it’s end kind of hanging off the tables edge, and a roach sitting on the end of it. My gut reaction consisted of a simultaneous scream with fierce karate chop. The bread, roach and all, went flying. Another scream escaped as I ducked my head; afraid the airborne roach would fall into my hair!

Lots more screaming as I frantically ran around the table knocking each one (along with whatever food item it was sitting on) to the ground. Owen was standing on the picnic table bench, stunned at the pace in which I was moving, lol. It all happened so fast! As soon as we were pest free, Owen was still hungry, so we went through the food to see what hadn’t yet been opened… what was still edible. Not much, but we made do.

In my hyped up panic and super vigilance, I was extremely jumpy (it takes a lot to scare me, but when you do, forget about it … it’s over. my nerves become shot, and I’m an easy target). I was yipping and yelping at anything that moved (ie, the air). I was jumping and whacking my weapon (the flashlight) at anything that made noise (ie, the air). I was cussing at and cursing anything that seemed suspicious (ie, the air). You get the idea … I was paranoid! I was running flashlight patrols all over our area. Back and forth, back and forth, over and over. I spotted a GIGANTIC spider under the table next to us, and let out a GIGANTIC scream to match … Until I realized the spider was in the corner of her even bigger web, hunting, and I realized she was on my side … she was after the roaches!!! Ahhh, allied forces!

Owen finished eating what he could, so we cleaned our stuff and got up to leave. I saw something big, getting bigger, coming at us. The loudest, deepest, most horrifying blood curdling scream came out of me, and Owen let out a little squeak, grabbed my thigh, and jumped behind my leg. His movement around me made me realize that the big growing figure that was approaching us was MY SHADOW!

OMFG! Seriously, nerves shot. Shot all to hell!!!

We decided to get the heck out of the picnic area, and headed down to the playset to eat our cookies. Owen only had 1, me only 2. They were good, no doubt, but something about them didn’t sit very well in our bellies. The sugar? The cooked factor? The soy milk? Not sure. We played on the equipment a little bit, but Owens belly was hurting, so we decided to just head home and play a game of candyland. On the way to the car, I felt my stomach churn. Oh No! Here it comes!

I made it to the dark bathroom just in time for my projectile vomit fest to start. Between my shot nerves and that cookie … I barfed, and barfed, and barfed. I barely ate anything, I don’t know WHERE the hell it all came from. Being a recovering bulimic, my gag reflex is sooo sensitive. As soon as I start, my body doesn’t let up until every drop of anything is out of me. I was making some god awful sounds, and my throat felt like it was on fire. Owen was SO freaked, it took all I could to tell him, between heaves, that he could grab my phone to call Daddy if it would help him feel more safe. He did! I could hear him saying that Mom’s puking sounded like monster noises! lol. It was awful! Holy crap!

As soon as my stomach emptied itself of all it’s acid (yum), my body relaxed, and I felt better. Cleaned my face, hugged my sweet boy, and assured Nick that I was ok and we’d be home in 5. As I was buckling Owen into his seat, his poor little face was so tense. I smiled at him, and told him that I really enjoyed our privacy time. He grimaced at me. I told him that we would probably be laughing about this very soon … karate chopping cockroaches, screaming at shadows, projectile vomiting … it WAS pretty darn funny! He looked straight into my eyes, face as serious and still as a stone, and said “No, Mom, this ISN’T going to be funny to me, EVER. You were puking A LOT, and I care about you TOO much”.

Is he the sweetest thing or what???

By the time we got home (about a mile away, lol) … he was already cracking up, and I was laughing so hard tears were rolling down my face.

Hands down… the most memorable privacy time to date.

Nick is undergoing radiation today.
He’ll be quarantined in a room in the hospital for 3-4 days.

It’s a procedure that I (personally) feel is not worth the risk … but it’s not my body. My life isn’t the one at stake. I fully support his decision to go forward with it (though, I fear this entire decision, from surgery to radiation, was very heavily swayed by the military. He doesn’t have much control or many options in his health care. In working toward his medical retirement, anything that the military deems an “appropriate course of action” must be followed. If he refuses any of it (drs appts, meds, surgery, etc) it’s considered none compliance, and will screw him out of his earned retirement. They’ll go as far as handing down an order (much like they did with the surgery), leaving him with 2 “options” … either obey the order and have the surgery, or decide that he’s not ok with the procedure and opt out of it. The latter would be disobeying an order, and he’d get kicked out dishonorably. It’s a threat they have hung up over his head, and remind him of often. Makes me sick with rage!)

Buuut, I’m not here to talk (any more) about that today. While he’s being pumped full of toxic poison, I want to send my light and love to his speedy recovery by talking about something more uplifting … My Hoop’n Hunny!

I’ve been intrigued by hoop dancing for a couple of years, but it wasn’t until recently (ahem, sara talking about it endlessly on her blog … even setting up an entirely new blog dedicated JUST to hooping!) that I decided I was going to finally make my own hoop and give it a go.

I’ll talk all about our family hoop making day later … this one is just about the hubs.

He’s a great hooper! Really, he’s fantastic. He picks up the tricks so quickly, it’s amazing. I have such a difficult time learning new tricks by seeing them online. I’m a much more touchy feely kind of learner. I often need in person demonstrations before it will CLICK. Knowing not another hooping soul in this big ol city I live in had left me high and dry in the in person hooping help … so I recruited my hubs.

I’m good at breaking down the movements in order to show him how the trick works. He picks it up SO quickly, and then is there to teach it back to me in real time. We’re quite a team!

I love watching him. Hard to remember him ever appearing sexier to me

9 months seems like such a short amount of time, but I feel like you’ve been with me far longer then that number depicts.
You feel so much a part of me.
Like you’ve always been there.

You, dear dreads, have only been on my head for 9 months;
I’ve *technically* been a dread head for one year;
& I had had the dread dream for over a year before knotting up.

All of which means you’ve been a dream of mine for over 2 years, but I think you were born into me far before that. A seed planted inside of me long ago; you just took a while to fully form. Waited for me to be ready and accepting.

You picked the perfect time

What’s with all the smiles?

Daddy came home!

Well, technically, he’s not allowed to come home (thanks, army, for caring so much!) … but he was released from the hospital. The kids hadn’t seen him in over 2 weeks; they were thrilled! So good to see all 4 of my boys smiling again.

He’s doing better. There is more of a gentle understanding that he seems to possess now. It’s subtle, but I definitely notice it. He has more of an understanding about himself, his injuries, his changes, and most importantly, his limitations. Something that he had never quite grasped before. He assumed himself fully well and capable of pursuing a day to day life no different then it was before the injuries. When he would come up short, he internalized it as failing, and would berate himself into the ground with guilt and hatred. It would only be a matter of time before that negative energy spilled over, onto, and through those around him.

I see a shift in him that wasn’t there before. Someone who knows he isn’t capable of what he once was, and accepts that. Someone who doesn’t deem himself a failure for not living up to his self imposed high expectations; who instead knows his limits, and works fully within them. I am full of love and light that, with this new sense of self, he will break through to the other side of his anxiety and depression, finally.
He’s worth it.

Oh good lord … that is ANOTHER dog! We haven’t run into this many strays/rescues since living in Fayetteville (where, apparently, dumping your dog on the side of the road is considered sport!)

Ready for a story? lol

I found a great family so eager to give the puppy we picked up a loving home. I was so excited! They live outside of Asheville, NC which is about 2 1/2 hours from us. I wont hand a rescue pet over to a new family unless they are ok with me hand delivering the lil fur ball myself, so we loaded up the car, I printed off directions, and off we went. I also plugged the address into my cell phones GPS system … would be easier to listen to direction rather then having to read them, right? Haa!

Everything was going well. Open roads, rocking tunes, AIR CONDITIONING (after 2 hot and humid SC summers … our cars ac is FINALLY FIXED!) It had been about 2 1/2 hours, so I started wondering why we weren’t there yet, or why we weren’t even seeing signs for Asheville (hello, meli, could there be a bigger clue then that?!) Want to know what signs we were seeing? MORGANTON! Yep, I drove us to Morganton … if you remember from the last post, this puppy was found in a box on the side of the road not too far from Morganton. Pretty damn ironic if you ask me, lol! I blame the GPS!

So, I try to find an exit to pull off so we can all use the bathroom, and I ended up exiting/merging onto another hwy (one of those hwys that run through the city). I was getting ready to pull into a restaurant, and I spot this dog run across the hwy! You can see where this story is going, can’t ya? lol.

I pulled over, and she came right up to us. No collar. One of the workers at the restaurant said he sees her every day; darting through traffic. Brought her to a vet … no microchip. I called around to the local shelter, rescues, and a few vets to see if anyone had called in a missing dog matching her description. Nothing. She has NO manners whatsoever. All of that together leads me to believe that it’s not likely there is someone looking for her. Poor baby.

She’s young. I’d guess 5-8 months, maybe. As high energy as they come (even for an australian shepherd [that's what she is, btw, lol]).

Anyway, I couldn’t just leave her there, and since I was hitting dead ends in all my attempts to locate an owner, I just decided to load her into the car. We turned ourselves in the right direction, and headed on up to deliver the puppy.

They took one look at the pup, squealed, and called her Sunny (her eyes … bright like a sunny sky). It fit! Morgan didn’t stick … we took to calling her Sassy. Sassy McWhine A lot, actually! LOL. They were great, already had everything set up for her. She is going to have a wonderful life with them, I can feel it.

Sooo … here we are, with an extra dog, again. I’m not as optimistic about finding this one a great home. She’s older, for one. So many people want tiny little things. Also, honestly, NO MANNERS! She needs a great deal of training. She’s gorgeous! I actually have such a soft spot for this breed … ok, ok, I have a soft spot for most breeds, lol. It’s her color in particular that I’m drawn to. I love blue merles. I just don’t think that will offset the strikes against her to potential new families. Rescue groups are so full (people ditching their pets because of economical downfalls has caused such a crowded situation for so many rescue groups), and I wont turn her over to a shelter. So, as much as my cats hate me (poor babies) she’s here for now. Until I can think of something. She will be a wonderfully smart, loyal, beautiful dog with some extensive training. I just don’t know that I have it in me to do it. I’m stretched so thin already. Running on fumes. And also, if I put that much time and love into an animal, there is no way I would be able to give her to a new family. I become attached too quickly …

This is exactly how Tatum came into our lives. I spotted her running down the side of the interstate.

Getting lost. The name of the city. The similarity in her rescue with Tatum’s rescue…
Meant to be?

Since the name Morgan was back up for grabs … she nabbed it. And this time it is a perfect, sticking fit.

If she would just CLOSE HER EYES and SLEEP! I’m so tired!

I received a call today (you know you’re in for a story when it starts with “I received a call today”… lol). I almost didn’t answer because I didn’t recognize that number (take note … I rarely answer the phone if I don’t know your number). I was thinking it may be something regarding Nick, so I answered … oh was I way off!

It was a girl working at one of the shelters upstate. She said that a lady had just dropped off two puppies. Apparently she found a box of three puppies on the side of the road, decided to keep one of them, and turned the other two into the shelter. The particular shelter she brought them to was way over capacity. She said since they puppies wouldn’t be considered lost dogs or strays, they would instead be signed in as an “abandoned litter”, and they would be put down immediately because of the lack of holding room.

She was working the front desk, so she took the puppies to her car and called me (I’ve volunteered my photography services to some of the shelters around here … I’m assuming that’s where she got my number?). She told me she would be able to take one of them home, but that would max her out according to her lease agreement, so she needed to find someone to take the other puppy. She said she called everyone she could think of, and no one was in a position to take on another dog, even temporarily. She only had about 30 minutes left at work, and if she couldn’t make arrangements, she’d have to officially sign the puppy in and leave it (to be killed).

Totally not in the mood for puppy days, but what could I do, say no? Yea right!

Soooo… meet Morgan (I think that’s what I’ll name her anyway… she was found not too far from Morganton, NC. It fits! That’s how Tatum got her name, too. We picked her up right outside of Tatum, SC)… a cute lil girl with grayish blue eyes, quirky ears, and stinky puppy breath. lol.

We went out to the lake after picking her up so her and Tatum could get acquainted….
Morgan was content to lie under my leg much of the time (she was trying to get out of the sun) while Tatum prompty walked a few steps into the sludgey-est part of the lake, lied down, and rolled back and forth until she was completely covered in mud! OMG … such a mess!

I’ve been asked, on several occasions, why I am so openly candid about my families troubles. Why I feel the need to air our dirty laundry. Why I put it all out there for the world to read.

In short … because I want to. It’s therapy for me in more then one way.

It feels good to have a place to unload. It feels good to have a place to work through my thoughts. It feels good to have a place to drop as many F-bombs as it takes before my breathing returns to normal. Lets face it … it’s not good to bottle things up. This is my own personal dumping ground, and it serves me well.

Why not just journal privately, then? Why does the everyone and their mother need to have access to your dump?
That one is easy … because it’s nice feeling heard. It’s one things to “get it out”, it’s another to be heard, listened to, and understood. Who doesn’t want that? I mean, c’mon.

Therapy comes in other forms, too. Aside from the direct help that online blogging gives me, the indirect help is much more personal and meaningful to me. I express my heartache and I share my fears because I know that by opening my life up, others will see themselves reflected there. I tell my story, knowing that others will recognize, in many ways, that it is their story also. We’re together. Banded. Walking hand in hand through this journey. We are not alone. Those 4 little words are so extremely powerful … we are not alone. If I can help bring a little solace to someone who sees their struggles through my story, that is therapy for me. The ability to turn my pain into comfort for others trudging through the muck … wow, my own personal hell has not been in vain; could you ask for more?

I opened my book a long time ago, and I have no plans of closing it.

Went to visit Nick tonight. He seems to be doing better. He was talkative, so that’s progress over the past week. He has a positive attitude and optimistic outlook about the whole thing, so that’s also progress (he tends to dwell on the negative). He said his group appts over the past couple of days have been helpful, and he’s looking forward to more. He’s working on letting go of some past hurts, guilt, and regrets that he’s been holding onto for years … hoping to take steps to forgive and move into the future, instead of being tied to the past. He’s hopeful.

Also found out that he’ll only be there for 5-7 days (10 at most). Apparently this place is only a temporary inpatient facility with emphasis on an intensive outpatient program they put you on once you’re released. He should be out of there soon. Where he’ll go once he gets out is another obstacle needing to figured out. He’s been staying in the barracks with a roommate. Apparently they are moving some people around, both Nick and his roommate are being moved into separate, individual rooms. Can’t imagine that would be the best place for Nick … all alone in a tiny depressing barracks room. It’s what helped push him this close to the edge in the first place, only now he wont have a roommate there with him.

His command still has a limited no contact order in place which prevents him from coming to the house under any circumstances. There isn’t anywhere else for him to go. Worries me. We have a spare room, and I am more the willing and wanting him to be here while he heals … but I don’t see his command budging. They’ve demanded that both Nick and I attend marriage counseling, which will be monitored by the commander. Once they feel ample progress has been made in our relationship … they’ll remove the no contact order.

Who out there knows me? Even just slightly? Do you think I’m the type that is ok being ORDERED by the military to do ANYTHING?

OH HELL NO!!!!!! In the beginning, I tried to put my stubbornness aside. Took some deep breaths, bit my tongue, and tried to be a team player. I knew Nick and I wanted to try marriage counseling again anyway, so what was the big deal. The only thing I requested was that our sessions be with a civilian provider off post. Commander told me that was fine, they’d set it all up and get back to me. A couple of weeks later I was informed that off post was no longer an option, they’d be setting up the appts through a provider at the hospital on post, and our files would be assessed monthly to see how much progress was being made.

Nope … no longer playing. They can kiss my ass! I didn’t sign that damn enlistment contract, they can’t order me to do a damn thing, and I’m no longer going to roll over and let them think they can. No way will I let them have that amount of control over MY life. And there is NO WAY I’m ok going through with therapy sessions knowing damn well that everything I say is going to be open book for his command. Yea Fucking Right!!! Nick and I will get therapy … but we’ll do it our way, we’ll do it in an environment where we feel our thoughts and feelings are safe and protected, we’ll do it for US … not because some commander fuck head on a power trip thinks he can bulldoze over me with orders and intimidation. FUCK HIM!

Bitter much? YES! I am so goddam sick of the military. SO.SICK.OF.IT.

Nick has been asking for additional help for quite a long time now, but he keeps getting doors slammed in his face. Told they don’t have the resources. They don’t have the man power. They don’t have the time. It’s hard for him to ask for help, and being told no time and time again … it’s discouraging. Eventually you just stop trying. And then we all wonder why there are so many soldiers coming home committing suicide, or killing their families … Ummm, HELLO!!!

SICK.OF.IT!

Wow, so didn’t mean for this to turn into a vent. I hit a nerve … lots of rage inside regarding this subject there I guess, lol.

Back on point … Nick is doing better. He has a long, long way to go … and he finally acknowledges that. He knows there are no quick fixes or sure things. It’ll be a lot of work, over a long period of time … a one foot in front of the other, putting in the effort on a minute by minute basis. Lets all send some good thoughts and prayers out there for him.

My mind is racing … Where do I begin?

Nick has been admitted into an inpatient treatment facility for mental health. I don’t know how long he’ll be there.

Lets rewind a bit. Things had been going pretty good. Nick started a new medication, and things seemed to be going well. He seemed to have more understanding and compassion and a willingness to want to listen, he had more patience with the kids then he has had in a long long time, he had a positive attitude and a hopeful outlook for the future. Things were well, and I had hope that one day, after a lot of work, we’d be able to reconnect as a family and move forward, together. And then last wednesday came …

He went in to take care of some things at work, and I haven’t heard from him since. We had text back and forth several times during the day… we had plans to get together after he was done, hang at the park. He never showed up. No phone call. And he hasn’t returned a call or text since. The boys have called every day; several times a day. They told me they like to hear his voice on his voicemail. How heartbreaking is that?

I, on the other hand, haven’t called once since Wednesday night. We did stopped by his room the next day to see if he was there. The boys were worried. He didn’t answer. His roommate told us he hadn’t seen him. I didn’t want to stop, I expected exactly what we got, which was a big fat door in our face, but the kids wanted to check, so I took them. The next day, however, the pit in my stomach was growing. What if he wasn’t alright. I know he’s pulled this same crap on me a million times, and every time I’ve worried myself sick for nothing. He was always fine. Always out being selfish and not caring what he put us through. But what if this time he really was hurt or in trouble? Could I live with myself if I did nothing? So, I got in touch with his squad leader knowing that Nick has to check in atleast twice a day, so if something had happened … there would be no contact. Sure enough, Nick was making regular contact. So, there it was … he was alright, and I couldn’t let myself become consumed with the worry and the whys again. Life had to go on. I put down the phone, and went to make lunch for the kids.

Every other time he’s pulled his disappearing acts, I’ve been the one to make contact with him. I’ve been the one to extend the olive branch, to let him know that we don’t hate him, that we don’t wish him dead (he spins things so far out of control), that we love him, etc, etc, etc. I’m the one that makes it safe and easy for him to drag his guilt ridden self back into the picture.

I couldn’t make myself do it this time. I couldn’t and I wouldn’t. After what happened 2 months ago, I was already done. I was still holding onto hope for our future, one day … but I couldn’t extend myself anymore in this same destructive cycle we’ve been circling for years. Wasn’t going to do it. I have kids to think about. I have my own mental health to think about. I wasn’t going to make it ok for him this time. I still loved him, and still wanted him to get better, us to get better, our family to find stable ground again … but it was going to be up to him this time, and hopefully it wouldn’t be too late. I couldn’t keep chasing him down. It was time for him to show effort. Capable of it or not, I didn’t care, the gesture needed to come from him.

Nothing came… until yesterday morning. The phone rang, and my heart jumped … like it does every time. It wasn’t him, but it was his therapist. She told me that Nick had given her the ok to disclose as much or as little info about what’s been going on with him as I wanted to hear. She let me know that Nick was in a very bad place. Worse then she’s ever seen him. She told me that he walked into her office earlier in the morning and begged for help. He told her that he didn’t know what to do, he felt like he was losing his mind, he couldn’t hold it together, and he pleaded for help.

Apparently, according to the story she got from him, last Wednesday while waiting for his room to be inspected, he fell asleep. He just had surgery not even a week before, so he was on pain pills, and I imagine if he did fall asleep, he was probably out cold. He didn’t wake up until the next day, and he was mortified. Knowing that we had plans, and knowing our history with him disappearing with no contact, he was racked with guilt and couldn’t bring himself to deal with it. He spiraled out of control.

He already has PTSD coupled with the TBI … both of which cause a severe imbalance in his moods. His surgery was to remove his thyroid … another key component in maintaining mental alertness and balancing moods. He had his entire thyroid removed (in two separate surgeries), and has not yet been put on a thyroid hormone replacement meds. He has to undergo a round of radiation, and have his levels checked again. They wont start the hormone replacement therapy until his levels drop to zero (to make sure there are no cells floating around in there, so the cancer doesn’t grow back). It’ll be atleast 6-8 weeks before that happens! You can imagine how difficult, mentally, this is for him, with everything in his body working toward inbalance. He broke.

I’m working really hard not to feel guilt. Guilt for not being there for him. For not reaching out my hand to him. For not knowing. He was all alone and breaking. Ugh!

So, I still haven’t been able to talk to him. There are limited phone days and hours in which to contact him.

I haven’t been able to see him. There are limited days and times in which we can visit.

And to make matters worse … I was just informed that children are not allowed to visit. CHILDREN ARE NOT ALLOWED TO VISIT???? What kind of asinine rule is that? These boys are going through hell. They want to see Daddy, see that he’s ok. Hug Daddy, feel that he’s ok. They want to be there for him. And how is this supposed to be good on the patients in the facility? To not be able to see your kids? To know your kids are worried, and not be able to hug them? How is that good?!

So, with no child care, how am I supposed to go see him. To relay both to Nick that we all love him, and back to the kids that Dad is ok. How am I supposed to do that? The first visitation is tomorrow evening, and I can’t be there. He’s in the deepest hole he’s ever been in, and I’m just going to not show up tomorrow? What is that going to do to him? To me? To the kids?

The rope is getting shorter … and I’m slipping closer to the end of it.

I lied in bed last night, tossing and turning, not able to sleep.

I don’t know why it took so long, but it hit me like a ton of bricks. Took my breath away. Scared me to the point of non stop tears. It wasn’t true. That last blog post I wrote; it wasn’t true.  “I lost him once … I can do it again”. Lies. All lies. I didn’t lose him 7 years ago. Not in my mind, my heart, my soul anyway. I held onto him. Not daring let go. It was just the memories of him that I was holding onto, but I held on damn tight. I had the physical body standing there, and I had the emotional memories inside of me. I didn’t let him go. I wouldn’t. I couldn’t.

Partly because of reasons talked about in that last blog post. I wasn’t ever able to fully and completely grieve and move on with him. The little I was able to get out was quickly thrown back at me, so I learned to ignore my feelings. Not deal with them. Put them off. You can’t let go of something that you’re ignoring; not dealing with.

And also partly because I didn’t want it to be true. I didn’t want to let go. Letting go meant he was really gone. We were really over. I didn’t know how to do that. I DON’T know how to do that.  I don’t know how to endure that type of pain. What if I’m not strong enough? What if I can’t recover?

When I was finally able to cry myself to sleep last night, I had a dream. I haven’t seen the movie in forever, but the scene was one of the last from Titanic. Rose has to make the hard decision to release Jack… she has to let him go in order to save herself. Only in my dream, it was me, struggling with that very same decision. I could see my way out, my rescue, my help … but I first had to let go of the man I loved more then life itself. A man that wasn’t really even there anymore, he was already gone, but I was still holding onto the memory. I didn’t do it. I didn’t let go. Crippled by sadness, and heartbreak, and fear … I stayed still, unable to release myself from the past, and in the end that great big ocean swallowed me up. The end. Life over.

Begin (Nicky Mehta)

Hey, maybe the time
just wasn’t right to hang on
When are you gonna learn
Things sometimes turn instead of turn out

Hey, when are you gonna stand
Stop looking over your shoulder
See, there’s a sun in the sky
And a moon that will take us til morning
When are you gonna stand
Stop and begin this moment
Hey, let go
Let go

photo taken 13 years ago in june 1997 … newly dating & so much in love

I’ve already lost my husband once. 7 years ago. He went off to war and never came back. The shell of a man that took his place 7 years ago has tried to integrate into our family, but he doesn’t fit. How could he? He’s not him. He’s not my husband. He’s not the boys’ father. Not in ways that matter anyway.

I slowly came to understand that the man I once loved. The man who possessed some of the most beautiful and genuine qualities I had ever witnessed in another person was gone. This new man; he was … colder, darker, meaner. So difficult to grasp; the change. It was so drastic, so immediate, so complete. Changed as he was, he was still my husband (I double checked the legal documents just to be sure, haa), and I had made a commitment to myself, to him, to our children … I wasn’t going to give up on that. For better or worse. In sickness and in health. I meant those words when I said them … BOTH times.

I have worked hard to remain patient. To remain hopeful and optimistic. To dig deep for the amount of compassion and understanding it takes to keep us afloat with this broken person who returned home to us. The only thing wrong is that the broken person who returned home to us doesn’t give the same effort. He, infact, fights every step of the way. Could we make any progress? Yea right … only if you count moving backward progress.

He assured me time and time again that he wanted this family to work. That he didn’t want to lose us. That we meant the world to him. So, ok, I would dig even deeper, work even harder, pick up the slack that he was unable to carry. For better or worse. In sickness and in health. He was sick. Injured. Struggling to regain control of himself. I not only lost my husband. My kids not only lost their father. But he lost himself over there on the battlefield. Couldn’t be easy to wake up everyday hating the person you had become. I know it had to be hard… impossible at times, but I also know that he wasn’t the only one going through that level of pain. There were 4 other people going through it as well.

If we were able to grieve and move on as a family, we may have had a chance, may have had a leg to stand on. But we couldn’t do it together.  The kids and I weren’t able to really grieve our loss. We weren’t able to really feel it, communicate it, and find some peace and closure in dealing with it. We were instead overooked, pushed to the back, benched.  All of that compassion, patience, and understanding that we were giving to him … it wasn’t being reciprocated. Our feelings weren’t often able to be communicated without a fight. Without a guilt trip. Without things getting really bad really fast. We learned to hold back while with him. Danced around it. Stuffed it down.  Sure, there were times here and there where he’d calm down and really work at hearing us, at understanding our feelings. He would beg us to trust him with our grief … he would be there to listen, to comfort, to understand. It just never lasted … and in the end, anything and everything that was ever shared with him during those vulnerable moments were thrown back in our faces in an attempt to guilt us, to blame us, to attack us. He used our grief against us to better aid his self destructive defense.

For better or worse

In sickness and in health

I really did mean those words. With every fiber of my being I meant them!

Part of me feels like a quitter, like a failure, because he’s still sick, times are still “worse”, and I didn’t finish what I started. I didn’t see this thing through. I’m not 107 years old (yes, I plan to be 107!) holding the hand of the man I’ve called my husband for 89 years and counting … looking at him and smiling; knowing we overcame the worst of times together, and built a beautiful life out of the rubble.

I believed for so long that that would happen. That that would be our outcome. I just knew it. I felt it.

I have to come to terms with the fact that our outcome will most likely look very different then that. Very very different.

I have to come to terms and really believe that I did do everything I could. I stayed true to my vows. I followed my commitment through until the end. No, not the end I had envisioned, not the end I wanted, but still an end. It takes 2 people to make a marriage work. Sure, there are times when one person will be carrying the brunt of the load for whatever reason, but eventually that slack needs to be evened out (until the next bout of turbulence). Both parties need to be willing participants. I know I was, and I know he wasn’t … not 100%. His words were there, his actions weren’t, and his heart has bobbed in and out.  It wont ever work that way. It’s been 7 years of it not working. I need to accept that and truly let go. I felt it was over 2 months ago, but I still held out hope. Hope for our love, for our family, for our future. It’s time to take the fantasy blinders off.

I don’t know what the future holds for us, but I do know that I lost my husband once. The love of my life. The greatest man I’d ever known. I’ve already lost him once and I survived. I do love this changed man, too. Maybe more. Maybe less. I don’t really know. I do know that it’s different … but it’s there, and it’s strong. It’ll be heartbreaking to lose him (if I ever really had him to begin with) … but I’m a survivor, I think I can do it again.

i am beautiful

i am caring

i am smart

i am witty

i am warm, and compassionate, and joyful, and loyal, and spunky, and capable, and sincere, and romantic, and thoughtful, and determined, and trust-worthy, and kind-hearted.

i am.

The man I have loved for almost half of my life has taken such a toll on my sense of self. He took me for granted. He didn’t appreciate me. He tossed me aside. I began to feel unworthy. Unwanted. Undesirable. I lost my purpose, my goals, my head, my heart in a mad dash to help him save his. And he let me. He let me.

How could he let me?

He said he loved me, he’d protect me, he’d always be there for me, yet he was so quick to overlook me. To shove me to the side. To stomp right through me in order to keep pulling more for himself. He threw me to the ground time and time again just to soften the blow he felt when falling apart. And I let him. I let him.

How could I let him?

I am more then that. I mean more then that. I deserve more then that.

i am beautiful.

i am caring.

i am smart.

i am witty.

i am warm, and compassionate, and joyful, and loyal, and spunky, and capable, and sincere, and romantic, and thoughtful, and determined, and trust-worthy, and kind-hearted.

i am.

Wow, I can’t seem to get caught up.

I was 30 some days behind on my photolog last month before I caught up. I was so excited and proud when I finally caught up, yet here I am, almost 30 days behind … again! WTF, Charlie, Seriously!

Oye Vey.

On the surface, it’s not a big deal, I know, but when I am determined not to let the hurdles I’m leaping in my life right now affect a long term project that is so very important to me … well, it’s a personal battle that I feel I’m losing. That, to me, is a big deal.

I don’t want to see my Photo-A-Day, something I’ve spent the past year and a half working on, fall to the wayside. Another broken, tossed aside piece of my life. I don’t want that to happen. Yet, the farther behind I fall, the more overwhelming the task becomes, and the easier it is to put it off.  I fear, without a swift, self imposed kick in the arse, I’ll lose touch with this side of myself … the side that reminds me of who I am, why I’m here, and what I have to offer. The side that reminds me that I am not just a Mother, a Wife, a Daughter, a Friend … I am so much more. I can’t lose her. I wont.

So, here I  am, ready to inflict said arse kicking … and get it in gear.

I treated myself to a MacBook Pro last month (Happy Mother’s Day to me, thankyouverymuch) … and I have yet to transfer all of my data (namely photos) from my PC over here. THAT is the biggest part of the problem. Over complication is a big turn off for me. Having to dance between two computers proved too annoying for me … so I stopped bothering.My photos are over there, and I’m over here … makes it sort of hard to photo blog! ha!

I’m going to set aside some time this weekend to finally merge my files over here. That should help tremendously. Because even though I haven’t been blogging them, I HAVE still been photo taking every day. Good Job, Meli!

I’d also like to slowly pick up some of the other projects that I was working on before the new set of marrital woes bombarded me. I was working on opening my own Etsy store to sell some of my photographs. Although, I don’t know if I’d be able to stop at just photographs … I might go a little crazy and sell some of my other passions as well … as mismatched as they are. My store will be colorful and eclectic … just like me

I was also in the middle of setting up a photography site… to promote and sell my services. Nothing extrodinary to start off with, simple and affordable sessions, but the hope would be to build on it. I’m not super passionate about making a full time career out of portrait sessions, but I would get a lot of joy out of part time work … helping people preserve their memories.

I also came across a children’s story that I wrote several years ago. It’s a really rough 1st draft, but the concept is so cute. I had such a warm, cozy, fond feeling while re-reading it. I’d like to do something with it. Polish it up, illustrate it, work to have it published. Dream Big or Go Home, right?! lol.

Ooh, and blogging, of course. I often mention how much better and balanced I feel when I blog regularly, and I often vow to get back into it … yet it’s usually the first thing I let slip when things start flying.

I am months behind on my dread updates, tsk tsk tsk … lol!  Not to mention, our family has been through 3, yes THREE, surgeries since my last blog. We’ve had a birthday. A meeting (and hug!!!)with my favorite singer. No more training wheels vlog. Hooping vlog. And a little something called Mud Mania … Ooh, I am far far behind! Stay tuned …

(I may back date posts for archiving purposes. I’m crazy like that … I like my posts to be dated for the specific day that the event occured. So, you may have to search for em!  Or I may just throw it all into one giant mega “catchup” post, which will require you set aside a chunk of time to really soak it all in. Either way … it’s going to trouble! lol! ).