Reflection

I crashed in on the world of blogging twenty-five days ago as a requirement of a composition class I am currently enrolled in through my college. I have always enjoyed writing, but I would not say that I felt confident in my abilities. I have always second-guessed just about every written word. In the end, I am generally pleased with my outcome even though it is a long, thorough, painstaking process. 

At the onset of this activity, I did not think that exposing my words, thoughts, and life experiences to the viral world could have a positive impact on my writing. I thought this requirement was unnecessary. I accepted the challenge because of my strong desire to do well in school. More importantly, I recognized that there have been times in my life where writing made the difference between my breaking down or finding the strength to push forward and survive my circumstances. I decided that in order to fully appreciate what this course has to offer, I needed to fully engulf myself in its processes. As my first blog stated, I proceeded with caution. 

This method of learning was not an easy undertaking for me. I would sit down at my desk, with three kids buzzing around  and providing welcomed distractions, and feel like I had nothing to say. The same questions, night after night, ran through my mind. What should I write about? How do I entertain my audience? Should I try to be funny or just let the words fill the space as they come to me? On several occasions, I turned to another social media outlet to provide me some inspiration. I needed something to spark. I needed words to burrow their way into my mind and marinate around, giving me a discussion-worthy topic. My wonderful friends were always willing to suggest subjects that would not have occurred to me on my own. I really appreciated their assistance and willingness to help. One of my favorite blogs, Phone Etiquette, stemmed from one of my old boss's suggestions. Other times, I became a Facebook stalker, inspecting post after post, and hoping that my eyes would focus on something, anything, that inspired me to write. My significant other was also a great source of untapped resources for me. He was great about offering up suggestions, even though I shot them down on occasion. 

Several discoveries came about throughout my blogging blunders. I started to realize that free writing really does improve fluency. I saw my productivity increasing and the amount of time spent typing decreasing. Words came easier and seemed to spill onto the screen with little effort. I also recognized that the intimidating three hundred word requirement was usually succeeded and sometimes doubled without watching my word count. I started to dismiss thoughts of quantity. This freed me up to really focus on the quality and content of my postings. 

I was no stranger to the challenges a project of this nature presented. I despised the public nature of this task. I hated not feeling free to fully express myself through my stories and situations because I was concerned with avoiding putting too much of my personal life "out there." I lathed the  daily requirement. I am a full-time employee and single mom of three wonderfully energetic children who have their own needs and wants that I am devoted to. It was frustrating to have to sit down, every night, taking time away from my family because I had to write a blog. Although I understood where my children's comments were coming from, I grew tired of hearing such things as: "Are you doing homework again?" and "Why can't you just take one night off?" as well as statements of "You are always doing homework" and "I can't hear the t.v." 

There were also many things I liked about my twenty-five days in a row blogging. I grew to appreciate having an avenue to express myself without fear of judgment. I had decided to share my blog I.D. with a couple of important people in my life that I admire, respect and who provide welcomed feedback on my writing. My significant other was wonderful with the feedback offered to me. He may not know it, but he inspires me every day with his enthusiasm. He looked forward to reading my blogs and would often ask me if I was done yet so that he could read it. He was always the first to tell me what he liked, what he didn't like, what he thought was funny, and which blogs were his favorite. My sister, a teacher, also pushed me forward with her positivity. She loved my blogs and offered advice where it was needed. Once, she told me I needed a refresher course in the use of semicolons. It made me laugh, because I had JUST had a refresher course in language and punctuation last semester. She was unaware of this. I appreciated her honest feedback because was constructive and given in a light-hearted way. It made me go back and review the things I had learned. I grasped that I had fallen back on sprinkling them around instead of paying attention to the small details of my writing's punctuation. I don't think I will ever forget again that a semi-colon requires a complete sentence on either side of it.

Reading other student's blogs inspired me to explore different types of writing. I tried descriptive writing and determined that I really enjoy it. One of my classmates is incredible at providing details of her story but also at setting the surroundings of the story, thus making placing her audience in the moment. I wanted to be able to paint a picture for my readers as she did for me. I think I accomplished that with my blog about wanting to be outside playing with my kids instead of stuck inside doing homework. I concentrated on the details of what I was seeing and feeling. It takes deeper thought and a real attention to detail, which takes more time initially, but once the words started to flow it became an easier process that flowed along nicely. 

In conclusion, I am glad that I embraced the idea of blogging and took full advantage of all it had to offer. It has allowed me to explore my writing voice, work on my attention to detail, and focus on what I want my writing to accomplish. I can't say that I will continue to blog, at least not every day, but I will try to write often because I can see how it has improved the speed in which words and thoughts come to me. I want to continue to grow as a writer. For me, writing is therapeutic and I enjoy the feeling I get when I immerse myself in its development.

I am a dolphin!

Tonight I took one of those little tests on Facebook; it was titled, 'What animal are you?" After answering the ten questions, I was told that I am a dolphin. Excellent! I love dolphins! They are adorable and entertaining, hmm...kind of like me except without the bottle nose and fins! It went into further personality traits by stating the following: 

"You are a lover of life and people. Your energy and appetite for learning plus intelligence and empathy make you successful at almost everything."

So, lets analyze the information for the sake of my blog post. I agree that I, in general, am a "people lover" as well as a "lover of life." I do try to see the good in people, despite my instincts built in from long ago that steer me in the opposite direction. I haven't always been a lover of life. I have mentioned the survival mode mindset that I was stuck in for a long time. There is no blame to be placed. I made decisions in my life that lead me to that state of being. The difference now is simply that I am making better choices. I consider what is best for myself as well as my family. 

Although I am still working on attaining the stability I desire and have yet to conquer the weight loss monster, I do absolutely love life. The love my children have for me is amazing and pure and can not be shaken, no matter how many mistakes I think I make as their mom. I can only pray that they feel the same thing from me, despite having the responsibility of disciplining them and providing structure that they aren't always excited to receive. I also know the love of an incredible man. He supports my dreams, stands beside me and helps me to see things from a perspective other than my own. He tells me every day that he loves me and that he misses me when we are not together, but more importantly, he shows me these things. 

Although I agree that I have an energy and appetite for learning and show empathy and even some intelligence, I don't know that I am successful at "almost everything." What I will say is that I am getting there! I am learning new things in school and in life that I know will be a tremendous help in my future successes. I suppose for now, I will enjoy the little accomplishments: the smiles of my children, the "A" papers and assignments, the positive and constructive feedback of my instructors, the bond of true friendships that I maintain, and the wonderful relationship I anticipate being made of the things that last a lifetime.

A desire for "Home"

Night after night, the disruptive alarm on my cell phone reminds me of something I am suppose to be doing. Sharply at 8:30pm, I am given a bold reminder with two simple words: "Write Blog"  Being a girl, you would think this would be a simple task. After all, girls love to talk and I am no exception to that stereotype. I often become a Facebook stalker, inspecting post after post, hoping that something will spark a train of thought in my head and inspire me to have something to say. 

Tonight I saw a post that read:
 
"There will be so many times you feel like you've failed. But in the eyes, heart, and mind of your child, you are supermom. 

What is on my mind tonight is the possibility of moving, again. I desperately want to have a place of our own that my kids can identify as "home." I hear stories all the time that start with, "The house I grew up in..." 

When I was a kid, we had a house my mom rented when I was younger that I don't remember a whole lot about. I think it was white and had a pretty big yard, or at least that is the image that comes to mind when I think about it. I very vividly remember the huge mulberry tree in the front yard, probably because of playing outside barefoot and constantly coming in with purple feet. I loved to pick the mulberries but I never ate them. I only have a few really happy memories in that house. I remember playing "Ghost in the Graveyard" and climbing up really high in a tree where no one could find me. I waited, watching everyone, for a long while before climbing down. I didn't want to give away such an awesome place to hide. I remember the hole in the floor where my mom's bed leg broke through. I remember my neighbor's house across the street. I loved to go there to play; their daughter had everything "Barbie" you could possibly imagine. I felt safe there. 

We then moved to a house that my grandfather, "Papa" built. Papa was the best grandfather a girl could hope for. I remember cuddling with him, hanging out with him. I remember the way he used his middle finger to point things out. I remember his garden in the back yard that he worked in all the time. I remember a basement full of collected rocks, and trees made out of copper wires adhered to smoothed out rocks that looked like they had crystals in them, animals glued to the bottom. I remember thin green carpeting that had no padding what so ever and yellow walls and an unfinished basement. I remember playing "500" and "Running Bases" in the yard and the insane flooding that would happen after every horrendous downpour. I remember, after Papa passed away, once again not feeling safe.

After my mom's last divorce, we moved from apartment, to house, to apartment and suddenly I was grown with little to no real sense of "home." As a young adult, I continued to move around -- relationships would end that were no longer working, friendships would break down where suddenly, time after time, I would find myself in search of a new place to live. There were times my only address was "staying with friends" where some nights, many nights, I really wasn't sure where I was going to sleep. I remember the sense of accomplishment I felt when I finally had my own apartment, in my name, and no one could take it away from me. It felt good to have a key to a door where my things and I resided without disruption. 

I see myself repeating some of the patterns I saw growing up and I know these are not the experiences I want to impress into my children's minds. We had a house for a while, I think for four or five years. It was a fixer upper that we grew out of once my first son started to get bigger. We moved into a much better house, but it was short lived. We weren't there more than a couple of years before I found myself getting a divorce and having no other choice but to move. The house was far too expensive for me to handle solo. 

I moved myself and my then two children five-hundred miles away from everything we knew. We moved from a big, beautiful, spacious house with an adorable fenced in back yard into an apartment away from everyone we knew. We stayed there for a couple of years, and then I made a hasty decision, and moved into an apartment that had an indoor pool and a little bit more square footage. I envisioned all the fun we would have being able to swim all year around, and the playground and picnic tables outside we would build memories around. Now the pool is gone along with the picnic tables and the playground. Reality wasn't even close to the picture that the previous manager of this property had painted for me before moving in. We have stuck it out for almost two years, and now I find myself thinking about moving...again. 

I don't want to be the mom that moves her kids every couple of years. I know what it felt like to switch schools, sometimes in the middle of a school year and I don't want to push those experiences onto my kids. What do I do. I want a home where my family can bond and grow and love. The rent has been increased and the perks have gone away. Do I move us again, perhaps BACK to where we used to live in an effort to be able to save more money and be able to purchase a home quicker? My oldest daughter is twelve-years-old, she only has so many years left with me at "home." She deserves stability, they all do. I feel an overwhelming need to provide this for them. Do the means of moving again justify the end result I am hoping for, preparing for? Or, is it just another move? 

I don't know what to do. 

Another Wintery Mix?

The last thing I wanted to hear in the weather forecast was to expect another wintery mix headed our way. One of the benefits I look forward to enjoying having moved from Illinois (close to the Wisconsin border) to Missouri is less severe winters, less snow accumulation. Granted, we definitely get less snow, but Missouri ice storms are no joke! It looks like starting in the wee hours of the morning we will bet getting just that. Perhaps someone needs to advise Mother Nature that we are two days away from the beginning of March! Please, no more snow, no more ice, and no more wintery mixes! 

I look forward to the things we can expect in the springtime. I want to hear birds chirping; I want to see flowers blooming and grass returning to its vibrant shades of green. I want to wear cute sandals and play outside with my kids. I want to surround my balcony with pretty flowers and a decorated set of table and chairs. I look forward to sitting outside soaking up the sun's rays while doing homework instead of being stuck inside under artificial lighting. I miss walking at the park, kicking a ball around outside, playing catch, and cooking out on the grill.

I want to pack away winter coats and hats, gloves and scarves, extra thick blankets and big wet boots. I don't want to have to dress in layers and wear thick, fat socks. I don't want to argue with my son about the fact that he wants to run outside in just a hoodie and shoes or have to remind my daughter, for the one-hundredth time to remember to bring her coat home and not leave it in her locker at school. 

I want Spring to arrive. 

The Alien

I have diastasis recti. If you have never heard of this, you are not alone. Join my club! I hadn't either until a surgeon identified it for me. This all started when I was pregnant with my two-year-old son. Basically, I have a really big lump in my stomach that has been there since I was pregnant. We have affectionately dubbed it "The Alien." I actually thought it was the fetus growing inside me, until after he was born and it was still there. I had never had a c-section before, so then I convinced myself that things were just out of place and needed time to go back to normal. When I tighten my abdominal area, this big lump rises to the surface. When I say big, I mean larger than a grapefruit but smaller than a watermelon. 

This disorder is defined as a separation of the rectus abdominis muscle into right and left halves. In terms that I can understand, my ab muscles are all stretched out and instead of being at the front of my abdomen, they have been pulled apart and are residing somewhere along the left and right outer sides of my abdomen area. Women are more susceptible to developing this condition when pregnant over the age of 35, high birth weight of child, multiple birth pregnancy, and multiple pregnancies. The only one of those that doesn't apply to me is the multiple birth pregnancy, only one at a time for me!

Supposedly, this is a "cosmetic" condition. Although there is no association with morbidity, I have to say, it is not just a cosmetic annoyance. I have some real symptoms that come along with having this condition. I have always had a sensitive stomach and that may perhaps have something do to with it. I experience everything from nausea, dizziness, abdominal pain (both moderate and extreme), among other things. It's not fun. 

Until recently, the only procedure they had for fixing this condition yielded less than stellar results and some patients were not very pleased with their outcome. Thankfully, there is a new procedure that is still fairly new that my surgeon learned about at a medical conference. It was actually developed as a better way to repair hernias, but it also just so happens to correct diastasis recti as well!

I look forward to one day not having to worry about the unfortunate symptoms that seem to constantly come up with this condition. I want a "normal" tummy free of lumps and aliens. For now I need to concentrate on not angering the alien and trying to lose weight so that recovery from the necessary surgery to fix it will be easier. That in itself is its own struggle but I am determined to figure it out.

Best "Valentine's Day" Date EVER

I don't remember if Daddy asked me what I wanted to do for Valentine's Day or if I just offered the information, but today was the day! My guy, as I have mentioned before, has a job that keeps him out of town a lot. Sometimes holidays and special events happen that we celebrate either early or late depending on when he is home.

For us, today was our Valentine's Day. As we walked to the car, I felt excited and nervous. As we drove we talked about little every day things and just enjoyed being together. The palms of my hands began to perspire before we reached our destination. My heart seemed to beat a little faster when he told me we were only a few miles away. As we pulled in and parked, I could feel my heart beating in my chest. We were at the shooting range. 

I have fired a gun one other time in my life. I was about twelve-years-old and I was standing in my backyard that bordered an empty field. My step-dad handed me his shotgun. I don't remember what it felt like to pull the trigger, but I do remember that I landed on my bottom and fashioned a bruise on my shoulder for a short time after that day. 

As we conversed with the friendly, helpful man behind the counter, I peered over his shoulder and through the windows behind him that provided a view of the shooting lanes. I was incredibly nervous and yet able to concentrate on his every word. I paid close attention to his explanation of their procedures. We were handed the weapon of our choosing, two boxes of ammo and silhouette targets, three for two dollars. As instructed, we walked over to the first set of doors that led to our destination. We fashioned our eye and ear protection before entering the first set of doors. Open the first doors and go in. Completely shut those doors before going through the second set of doors. Walk along the wall. With each step, we got closer to lane number nine.

My guy showed me how to load the clip of the 40-calibur handgun we were going to be working with. He was wonderfully patient with me and explained each step of what to do, how to do it, and what not to do. It was my turn to shoot. The excitement slightly overpowered my nerves. I loaded the clip and put the clip into the gun. As I cocked the gun, a sudden realization of the huge responsibility I am holding in my hand is very real. In my head I am reminding myself to always point the weapon down the lane. If I so much as wanted to turn around, I was to lay the gun on the counter in front of me. 

As I raised my arms to aim at the little red bulls eye that resided in the head of the silhouette target, my arms began to shake. I did my best to steady myself. I aimed with both eyes open, not having a clue of what to expect when I pulled the trigger. Would the weapon fly out of my hands? Was I holding it tight enough? Was I holding it too tight? What I should have asked myself, or perhaps my partner was: "What do I do with my left hand?"

BOOM!

I stood there for a second, then sat the gun down and looked at my left hand. My thumb was bleeding but just a little bit. I don't know what the different parts of the gun are called, but I think the top part that slides caught my thumb and caused some very superficial scratches. I then watched Daddy and he showed me how to wrap my left hand around the bottom of the gun. Over the next hour or so, we took turns filling the clip and taking aim. Before the end of our outing I had hit three bulls eyes; one was at ten feet and the other two at fifteen feet. I was able to hit the target at twenty feet and even forty feet. 

We plan to go back the range on a regular basis to allow me time to gain skill and confidence. I think Daddy was impressed. 
 

My Boy...Nice Try

Early this evening, I was sitting at my computer doing schoolwork, as I do most evenings. My daughter and son were sitting at the table doing homework, or so I thought. I was enjoying a rare occurrence; they were sitting, nicely conversing with one another. There was no arguing, just a pleasant conversation. Mother's intuition must have kicked in because I started to tune out of what I was doing and tune into what they were saying. It sounded like they were discussing a book they both had read. Then mommy radar went off. I knew my son had a book report to work on. Did my daughter read the same book? Is he asking her questions about it to get the answers he needs for his report? Is she unknowingly filling in the holes of his book report? So, I asked them what they were doing. As it sounded, they were talking about a book. 

Time to investigate.

I walked over to them and immediately recognized the look on my daughter's face. She was thinking one of two things. I just got caught doing something I shouldn't be doing or I have no clue what is going on. It's the same look so I have to dive in further to determine what is transpiring. My son's behavior also warned me that something was off. As I asked more questions to get to the truth of what was happening, the story got interesting and funny too.

My boy had been assigned a book report the beginning of February. I remembered advising him a week or so ago to ask his teacher if he could bring the book home to read because he was He decided that since he didn't finish reading the book, he would do the book report on another book that his sister was very familiar with. Why was his sister so familiar with this book? Because she wrote it! Yes, my son was asking his sister about a "book" she wrote under the pretenses of claiming he forgot what happened in her book. I have no doubt he never read her story, not that it matters.

For a boy who has gotten all A's and B's since the beginning of the school year, he made a pretty bone-headed choice. We talked about how his teacher would notice that the report was about a book that didn't exist in publication, nor was it the book he had chosen to do a report on. It looks like my boy has a lot of reading to do this week and will have to turn his report in late since he didn't bother to bring the book home today either.