Wednesday, September 13, 2017

Hate

I am so very, very done with the overuse of the word. 

Every time I turn around, people are applying the term to other people, their actions, and beliefs in such a grand sweeping label  that it is now just pissing me off.

You believe something that I don't like or disagree with? Then you are "hateful." That idea is "hateful," that ideology is "hateful."

People seem to be using it when they mean "thoughtless" or "different priorities," or "paradigm I don't like."

At this point the word means "hateful,' about as much as "literally" actually means "literally" in the mouth of a Millenial. (hint: it now can just mean "very," or "really"....  it literally doesn't mean literally anymore)

Stop it. Stop using that word. The word HATE and HATEFUL. It no longer means ANYTHING.


Saturday, April 22, 2017

Failing Sucks

Well. 

Here I sit in the ruins of a Saturday. 

What a miserable, unfortunate day. 

I tried to rest up from my hectic week. I tried to be good wife. I tried to be a good mother. Tried to take care of a list of things that really needed to be done. 

Tried and failed. 

We talk about failure and failing a good bit as a family, or at least I talk to the kids about it. How it's a good thing. How that's the way we learn and grow. 

Seems to me that this was not one of those "good" fails. 

At least the only take-away i seem to come up with, alone at the laptop after a nice, ugly cry, is that next time I oughta just pick one thing and do it and to heck with the rest. 

My Pearl reminded me that we made it to her 8:30am soccer game, and that I was there to "support her" and that was a good thing.

... so I guess it should be said that I didn't screw absolutely EVERYTHING up.

Yay.

Thursday, April 20, 2017

What The Duck?

First thing this morning I see this. 

So. Apparently the duck is not narcoleptic. He just likes to kick it in the middle of the road. Is matter of preference. I guess.


Tuesday, April 18, 2017

Stupid Duck

   Once upon a time there was a duck who suffered from narcolepsy.

   What's that you say? You don't know what narcolepsy is?! Do you not know how to use a dictionary?
   Go right on ahead. I'll wait.
   Great! Now that you know that narcolepsy is a medical condition that causes the sufferer to fall asleep at just about any time, you will not be shocked at the beginning of my story.

   Once upon a time there was a duck who suffered from narcolepsy.

   What's that you say? You don't see how falling asleep all the time is a "medical condition?" Well, just imagine that nearly any time you sat down to relax, you may or may not just go to sleep. Imagine that you were headed out to take a lovely springtime walk and right outside your yard, in the middle of the road there was a duck taking a snooze. Iridescent green head tucked under wing, looking like a pillow on the asphalt.

   Can you see how the might not work out so well for the bird?

   Well. I can think of a few mishaps a duck like that might encounter after napping in the road. Like getting run over. By a car.

   No, it didn't get run over. But it could've! Like, if the car was really quiet, and the driver wasn't watching for ducks.

   Anyways.

   The kids ran out and woke up the duck, and it flew away.


Saturday, April 08, 2017

Ordinary

Gonna post. I swear Imma gonna post!

One of the blogs I have been following for, like, forever, has got the Patriarchy Blues and put out a call for blogs. Plain old, everyday type bloggery.

I want to oblige with a post. 

But I keep struggling with those same PBs. The regular everyday kind, plus the special brand of Patriarchy that comes with my religion. Sigh.

Technically I know I should go and have a chat with my Bishop, but that's a double whammy. Pretty sure there is nothing he can tell me that I haven't already found, or don't already know. Plus if he ends up saying something like, "well, women have the babies and men hold the Priesthood." That's just whammy numero uno. Whammy numero dos is when I become one of "those women."

I read this article the other day... and it starts to sound pretty good, till I realized that it's just a fancy version of the Babies/Priesthood explanation. With trees!

... and I want to be able to just put my concerns to bed, but those suckers are like four year olds on crack. The night before leaving for Disneyland. 

Perhaps I should blog about all the muck spinning around my head. Maybe it would help me work through it. But a few weeks ago I decided to just doubt my doubts for a while. So. Naptime, I guess? Y'all are spared a theological trip through the under brain of themama.

You're Welcome!

... and get this, I apparently can't type in my own blog addy correctly, so I just went on a random and nutsy side trip down Google-Yourself lane. Seriously? Someone posed as me to make a random comment on a random Tumblr.

Since I know ya don't want to go looking through the comment section... they posed as me to say:

"Hey, jsut wanted tosay my personal experience with Minecraft is that kids love it My daughter even had a minecraft birthday party: http://becauseiamthemama.blogspot.com/2011/02/minecraft-birthday.html
Thanks for keeping kids engaged and going the extra mile to make learning fun!"



What the heck?!? Bwahahahaaahaaaaa!

NEW TOPIC:
Experiencing relief on a visceral level that Pearls ball python actually ate for the first time in three months. He had gone from eating live kills once a week to zilch over the winter, and since we just got this guy last October, it was NERVEWRACKING. I he sick? Is this normal for him?  Finally he deigned to eat a warmed up pre-killed rat in the dark of the night. Just like a little, special snowflake, diva serpent. 

"I just need my space! Don't watch me eat! makes me uncomfortable! Does this rat make me look fat?"

Having pets sucks. 

Reading the Reckoners series by Brandon Sanderson. Just started the second book. So far, I highly recommend it. Pretty curious as to where it's headed. Is like a strange mashup of X-men and Marvel.... only there are no heroes. Anyone who gets the powers are turned evil. Yikes!

Thinking I might just start photoblogging to document the horrific amount of work I have put into, and continue to put into homeschooling and the stupid yard. 

There. Everyday and ordinary. Scattered, but ordinary life.

Sunday, April 17, 2016

Bah

That last post.

frickitty-frakkity.

Since I have last written, my Birdy and Pearl both have been diagnosed with the same thing I have. I just can't even. There is something heartbreaking in a 10 year old crying real tears over a toasted bagel that she can't have, because gluten.

Bagels and doughnuts... there really isn't any kind of decent GF substitute for those two items. I have decided that GF stands for GrieF.

Yeah... guess I'm not really ready to write about all of those changes and struggles just yet.

I am pondering lately about heartbreak, pain, and struggles. I mean, I have my fair share, but I know many people who have dealt with worse and ARE dealing with worse.  It isn't a competition, and I'm not interested in laying my heart out right this minute, but I tell you, my struggles are making me brittle where I had thought I would be strong.

Which makes me feel like the biggest weenie. Makes me think about the book A Town Like Alice. The start of the book chronicles a bunch of European women and children in a seven month long forced march from one part of Malaya to the other at the start of WW2. Along the road a goodly number of women die off from one thing or another... many just aren't hardy enough physically or mentally.

I used to think of myself as tough. Now, I am pretty sure I would be numbered among the women who just couldn't hack it.

Bah.


Friday, November 20, 2015

Sacrament

I have an auto-immune disease that was diagnosed when I was thirteen. Over the course of my life this disorder has caused me all sorts of grief, but as long as I keep up in treating it, it’s not likely to kill me directly. 
As one doctor who helped in diagnosing and treating a recent manifestation of the disease said, “it’s not life-threatening, but it’s certainly life-altering.” 
A little over four years ago I stopped eating gluten in an attempt to get some of the sideways mess of my health a little more under control.
And it has help exactly that much. A little.
But it has helped, and as far as I understand it, my situation will only get worse from here on in unless I stay off gluten… so, yeah. 
Yay.
It’s not like I have Celiacs, just to be clear. My body reacts to the gluten, but it does it over time with joint pain and rashes and a few other phantom-like symptoms, rather than a violent, instant sick. 
Unfortunately, even when I am eating like an OCD monk I still have eczema and arthritis, so I’m always on a spectrum of discomfort to one degree or another.
I could probably just eat the bit of bread that comes with the sacrament with little to no immediate health bomb, but I have always been in wards with at least two or three Celiacs, so it has been easy to skip the bread and have whatever substitute they are already using for them. I just mention I need to have whatever GF fare they are already bringing to the Celiacs, and the Deacons add me to their list of people to deliver a Rice Chex, from a separate tray.
At least, it seems simple until the sacramental prayer has been said over the bread that has been torn and blessed by a young man holding the office of Priest, along with the tray of GF cereal bits.  Then the twelve and thirteen year old boys come streaming down the aisles. A solemn procession to pass the Sacrament to the waiting congregation. 
That’s when I get a little anxious. If the boy who has the tray is new, or doesn’t know who I am, or simply doesn't see me, should I just take a bit of bread along with the rest of my family as the tray makes it’s silent way down the row I am sitting on? Should I wait and hope the kind of sacrament I should be partaking will make it’s way to me? Do I just trust that it will get figured out?
I’ll be honest, when I am visiting other wards on vacation I just take the bread. It makes me dizzy to even contemplate making a fuss or introducing myself before the start of the meeting to ask that they bless and serve me some gluten free item or other that I provide or see if they have something they are already passing for Celiacs.
I would rather suffer a little illness or increased pain than go there.
So every Sunday I wait, trying to catch the eye of whichever young man is holding two separate trays in my own home ward.
It has been years of increased anxiety every Sunday as I navigate this. No making it up. I get a little weepy. 
I don’t mind being the special snowflake that I am, but I do mind calling attention to myself and requiring special treatment. Especially at a time set aside for sacred reflection it bugs me to feel like my needs make passing the Sacrament logistically difficult.
The past few months have been this; the hyper-vigilance over the passing of the bread, the weepiness… but with a lessening of the anxiety.
Maybe because I have been in this ward for two and a half years now, and I have gotten comfortable with an increased trust in the boys who live here. Maybe it is just the fact that I have been making a conscious effort to increase my spiritual living.
There is now something sacred about scanning the procession for the bearer of my Sacrament, and he, upon catching my eye has a moment of recognition. He was looking for me, among just a few others. I, personally am one of a particular few that he has a special duty to take a sacrament to. Along with the regular bits of torn bread in the tray in his other hand, he is looking for me.

That He might feed me that which will nourish and strengthen me as I renew my covenants. 
The past few weeks this realization has had me bawling like a baby, because I see that it has always been thus. 
The Savior of the World has always been there to serve the congregations of this world, but with a personal Sacrament just for me. He ministers one by one.

By the time the the water is blessed, and I take a cup from the same tray as all those who sit on the row with me, and drink, I ponder on the things I have learned. 

I miss bread, I do, but I am grateful for the tender mercies held out to me by The Good Shepherd. I am grateful for this example of how the Atonement works one individual at a time. It is a good reminder. 

This lesson. It is not a trade, but it is a consolation.