Monday, June 18, 2012
Tuesday, January 10, 2012
I have recently mentioned to some of you about a blog that I follow. The writer calls herself The Bloggess and her name is Jenny Lawson. ( http://www.thebloggess.com or @TheBloggess on Twitter). She's the lady with the giant metal chicken named Beyonce. I absolutely love her sense of humor, although not all of you would probably find it as funny as I do. But the reason I am e-mailing you about her is because she is so very open and honest about her struggles with depression and anxiety. Hers is a little different than mine. She self-harms. My anxiety tends to be worse than my depression. But, she recently put into words how a lot of us who deal with regular depression feel:
When cancer sufferers fight, recover, and go into remission we laud their bravery. We call them survivors. Because they are.
When depression sufferers fight, recover and go into remission we seldom even know, simply because so many suffer in the dark…ashamed to admit something they see as a personal weakness…afraid that people will worry, and more afraid that they won’t. We find ourselves unable to do anything but cling to the couch and force ourselves to breathe.
She also writes: I’m lucky that I’ve learned that depression lies to you, and that you should never listen to it, in spite of how persuasive it is at the time. This is so important, because sometimes it is really hard to not listen.
This woman is such an inspiration to me. She started a social media movement called #TheTravelingRedDress. To summarize, she has always wanted a big, red, silky ball gown. She never allowed herself to buy one because she deemed it frivolous and wasteful. And that is when she realized that she needed it the most. "Because when you start to think that your dreams are wasteful that’s a sign that you need to go after them before they run away forever.”
So now this same dress has travelled to many people who need it for one reason or another. To use it to battle their own demons. There is an outpouring of love from Jenny's many followers and now there are dresses all over the country being shared by women and blogging about the dresses' journeys. I hope to buy my own dress to add to the mix soon (so far I haven't seen one out there in MY size). I hope to have my hair done and pictures taken, because feeling pretty, for me, is a huge part of feeling better. But the red dress is a metaphor for doing something you've always dreamed of doing. Skydiving or going back to school or....whatever.
And chances are that many of your friends, family and coworkers are dealing with things like this. Things that are killing them a little inside. And that is why I am writing. Hoping that you read this and know that whatever your struggle is, you're not alone. And you are welcome to forward this to someone else if you know they are struggling with something. I love the comments at the end of her posts. One might have become my new motto. "You're broken. That's okay. So am I."
The silver ribbon is to depression what the pink ribbon is to breast cancer. I'll probably be making mine soon. Or maybe I'll get a tattoo when I turn 35. Just kidding, Mom!!! Well, maybe I'm kidding... :-)
I love you all.
Thursday, September 15, 2011
You usually to get what you pay for. Every time I move my arms, the wire in the bra squeaks against the fabric. In the front and on the sides.
At first, I was really embarrassed by this. I mean, it pretty much draws attention to my chest, which doesn't need more attention. The embarrassment was soon taken over by hilarity. You see, I work with men. I'm the only girl in my office. And the squeak is not a quiet squeak. It's pretty obvious where the sound is coming from. So when it happens, whoever I am talking to at the moment averts his eyes. Usually there is some sort of stuttering involved. I might as well start talking about my period.
I think I'm going to have buy some more $8 bras. So worth the entertainment value.
Sunday, September 11, 2011
All of her friends were at this party. Most of her softball team and many of her school/cheerleading friends. When we had to pick her up and leave, she started asking, "How come the other girls get to stay the night?" And I had to tell her that "we" didn't get the invitation to stay.
She got over it rather quickly. I told her we had church in the morning, anyway. It pretty much just got dropped. But then today, the mom who was hosting the birthday party started posting pictures on Facebook of the slumber party and all the girls who were there and the t-shirts they had made for the party.
And I started feeling a sort of righteous indignation. I'm irritated, almost angry. How dare she have such blatant disregard for my daughter's feelings?
Then I realized: M doesn't Facebook. She'll never see these pictures. Maybe, just maybe, it's MY feelings that are hurt. You see, I thought that the mom of the birthday kid, as well as the other moms, was my friend. My husband even printed the invitations for this party at a pretty decent discount. The whole evening made me feel like that kid in middle school who is trying so hard to fit in and just doesn't. ever. quite. get there.
Wednesday, August 24, 2011
In an effort to save money and be a little bit healthier, we’ve decided to try our hand at growing okra. We built a little 3 1/2 x 7 raised garden and planted 3 plants of a variety that we bought at the local home and garden center. I also planted a handful of seeds of another variety that a friend had given me. This being our first venture at gardening, I didn’t have a lot of hope for the seeds even sprouting, much less growing big enough to produce actual fruit.
The summer drought and heat wave haven’t helped us much, but we have been able to cook and eat our own okra twice now and things are picking up with some much needed rain and slightly cooler temps. This is a pic of my two sweeties in front of the okra. The tall stuff is the Star of David variety from the seeds. The shorter plants to the left are from the home and garden center. I couldn’t begin to tell you what variety it is.
Next year, I think we will try expanding our little garden to include maybe some crooked-neck squash and purple hull peas. None of us are big fans of tomatoes, and I really don’t think we have the room for corn. I haven’t quite understood the process of growing potatoes, so that is left to be researched. I mean, if you plant a potato, how do more grow from the one potato? My grandparents are master gardeners, they come from farming families who lived through the depression, so I’ll have to ask them.
I have also started couponing. So far I kind of suck at it, but I have some great friends who are sharing their insight with me. I don’t want or expect to ever become an extreme couponer, but if it saves us some money… well, I’ll try nearly anything.
As for the cooking, I wish I could say we are gourmet chefs, but really, we just make whatever happens to be quick and easy at the moment. I use coupons for Hamburger Helper and roaster chickens, so I suppose we will be eating those things (separately, of course) quite a bit. And a huge credit to my wonderful hubby, because he does a lot of the cooking while I’m out at cheer practice. I suppose once I tackle the money-saving thing, I can tackle the learning-to-cook-healthier thing.
Monday, August 22, 2011
Monday, November 15, 2010
I want more kids. Seriously. Don't think I'm crazy. Well, okay, maybe I am crazy, but for completely different reasons. :-) I know I'm addicted to babies. Selective memory is wonderful. Sleepless nights and colic only last such a short time and yet the reward for paying those dues is amazing.
I love my kids. What's more, I LIKE my kids. I like every age and every discovery. And while I know that it will get increasingly harder as the girls get older and hormones start interfering, I also know that each age has it's milestones and I've been there and understand nearly every one of them.
I have great kids. I want more great kids. I need a new job and to get P on board with all this.