Time to write again ...

Hello :)

It's been so long, I had begun to figure I'd never come back. But a friend said "write some more!" and truth is, I need to write so ... here I am!

I'm writing here but I think it's to avoid doing the real writing that I need/want to be doing. I'm telling myself it's because this isn't my own laptop, and I'd be doing a lot more/better writing if I had my own laptop. rofl :)

So wanna know what I've been writing these days? I have my first picture book stalling in my computer while I "write" cover letters for it's circulation. I've got another picture book that's ready to go as soon as the first one is out and about. I've got a full on fantasy novel written that needs some TLC. I've got so many other story lines waiting in the wings, but I never take the time WRITE.

Why is that? On many of my Christmas cards this year I wrote, in summing up "me" as an update, I wrote "I busy doing lots of things that I have to do and not enough of what I WANT to do ... I need to change that!". My hubby works hard so that I can stay home with my boys who are in school all day long. So I'm "free" he tells me, to write ... yet what is it I'm spending my days doing? Certainly NOT what I love. NOT writing.

David tells me that I need to plan my day as if I'm a full time writer, just like full time REAL working moms do. Leave the housework, the chores, the errands and such for after work. So why am I telling you? Why am I psuedo-writing here, instead of for-real writing the stuff I need/want to be writing?

Why, indeed???!!!

So, thanks Kristi ... maybe this is the kick in the pants I needed to get my back to writing. If there are any of you out there with a dream sitting in the drawer, or wherever you keep it hiding, time to get it out, dust it off and see what you can make of it, okay? You and me both, we can work on our dreams together.

Tell me what your dream is and what you're going to do about it. We can cheer each other along!

Been gone too long ...

It's been far too long. So much has been going on that I have nothing to say!

Summertime ... when I cool the outdoors with my air conditioning flowing out the open doors at either end of my house as little boys run in and out and perpetually forget to close the darn doors. When my boys change their clothes from wet to bathing suits to regular to dry again more often then teenage girls finding the right outfit to suit their mood. When I'm forced to admire stinky, yucky, scary, ugly spiders and insects and allow them to live in various and sundry containers all over my back patio.

Summertime ... when my little boys grow right before my eyes and prepare for the world before them. When my heart aches for the babies they once were. When I look forward to the men they will be, too soon for my pleasure.

Summertime ... when time seems endless and yet there's never enough of it. When time is both fleeting and ponderous.

Summertime ... when memories are made in a moment and cherished forever while life zooms by.

~ ali

Avoiding the Mistakes of our Parents

We repeat it like a mantra; "I do not want to be like my Mother". And yet, try as we might, we often become just like her. For some, it's a simple matter of being a little anal about the cleanliness of our home. For others, it's much more serious, like avoiding alcoholism only to find we're addicted to pain killers.

I've been thinking about my family, my childhood's family, a lot lately. I woke up weighed down by thoughts of them on Sunday. Then at Church on Sunday, a lady gave a lesson to us women about families and part of her lesson involved having women from amongst the class randomly tell about their family growing up. We all had to be prepared in case she called upon us. At first I wanted her to pick me - I knew I'd have a unique perspective then most of the other women. But after the seventh woman shared her story I was crossing my fingers that I would not be called upon. Each woman shared a different story with a common thread: They had been loved.

My story, I'm sure, no matter how I sugar-coated it, would have been depressing, to say the least. I thought of coming on here and going down a list of the woes of my childhood, but suffice it to say that, by the time I was 19, when my Mom passed away from cancer, I had: been molested by a family member, experienced long-term sexual abuse at the hand of a man my Mom allowed to live with us, been raped, battered, and embarked on the unhappy road of self-inflicted abuse, and those are just the highlights. I honestly do not know how it is I am here, a relatively sane, happy and healthy person, given the path I spent most of my childhood on.

I love my Mom with a passion, though I can't figure out exactly why. My sister and I compare notes on this from time to time, though it depresses us immensely so we've come to avoid it. We were desperate for her love, yet we can barely name less than a handful of qualities or moments in which we felt our love was reciprocated, or even received, for that matter. My Mom outright abused my sister, verbally and otherwise. To me, she was probably just apathetic. But I LOVED her. Probably a sick kind of love.

As for me, I'm sure avoiding the mistakes of my own Mom figures largely into my own need to be a SAHM. I need for my children to know I am here, I am listening, I am theirs. Probably precisely because my Mom was not there for me, she was not listening and I always knew she did not belong to me. My children will probably never cherish me with that adoring sort of love that only the sick can engender. They will probably become apathetic to me, because I am TOO accessible.

Then they will avoid my mistakes and make their own, once they are parents. But I hope their mistakes are their own and not mine, not my Mom's. A new frontier for them to forge.

To Blog or Not To Blog?

What am I doing this for anyway? Who am I writing this for? These are the real questions if I want to answer the above question.

I thought a few people might read my blog. A few have, but not often, and perhaps my poetry has lost them to me afterall. I've wallowed in some self-pity over this fact: Why is it other blogs within my friend community are garnering more support then mine? Do people not like me? Not like my writing? Not like the things I talk about? Self-pity isn't pretty. I don't like living there.

When I started this blog, did I think other people would read it? Or was I writing for myself? If I'm writing for myself, for my own pleasure and entertainment, then it really doesn't matter if anyone else reads it, does it?

Problem is, you can tell yourself that, but it doesn't sit well. Kind of like telling your little child that their owie will feel better, it'll just take time - doesn't do much for the great pain they feel right then and there. Uh, oh, here comes the Self-Pity Train again!

So, my choices are: Stop writing because no one is reading. Keep writing and hope one day people will start reading. Keep writing and use it as an exercise to keep my brain thinking, creating, my fingers typing, my mind practiced at putting words to print.

I'll take Door Number Three, please Bob.

I just hope I can live with whatever I get.

A Dedicatory Poem for my Online Friends

A miracle is an event, unexpected and wonderful
That occurs outside our mortal understanding.
Within these walls, hope and acceptance can be found
And miracles are a way of life.

Hearts are healed, minds are opened
And lives are forever changed.
On this board are the faces of tiny miracles,
Hoped for, prayed for, hard fought for.

I am the mother of a miracle …
A miracle, plus one more!

Ode To An Ant

‘Twas a time when in a surly pant
I did see a cursed, vile ant

I would step and crush and grind to soot
The tiny body beneath my foot

But alas how time does change
For which my brother will surely hang

For as a gift my fair son did get
A farm of ants to keep as a pets

From that time on they did be
A member of our family

Where once I would shun and sweep away
These ants were surely meant to stay

Where once I would poison and gleefully kill
Now I must water and feed and still

I cannot say I liked the things
Creepy, crawly, and these ones sting

Until today, oh joy, oh bliss!
I would happily, happily blow them a kiss

As they cross the bridge from this life to death
The ants have thankfully sighed their last breath

I did not kill them, least not that I’ll say
Though I’m sure I did not stand in their way

I did nothing to save them, of that I’m at fault
Still I’ll throw them away and I will not balk

My young child just shrugged, I’m happy to say
There was no love lost on this un-tragic day.

Whose Opinion is this Anyway??

I have a confession to make. I'm not sure I know how to form my own opinion about current political topics. I listen to talk radio, read the paper/online news sources, and yet I feel myself buffetted by each wave of new or differing opinion.

How do I find my OWN, very own, opinion? How do I know what I believe? Is it okay to 100% feel one way today only to do a complete 180 tomorrow?

I consider myself a fairly intelligent person. No, I'm not SMART, but I do okay. I can read, grasp information, and in most things I can form my own opinion from the information I've taken in.

But when it comes to political stuff I'm hot and cold and just kind find my middle ground.

Perhaps it's information overload. Maybe in an attempt to get the whole story, I read and listen too much and then the whole thing gets jumbled together.

But I feel the need to listen and read to lots of different sources because I just don't think there is one news source I can trust these days. I think if I put them all together, then maybe I can find my own way. But so far, I'm only finding more confusion and disillusion.

Makes me want to make up my mind, put my hands over my ears and proceed with a litany of "Lalalala I can't hear you!".

Please tell me I'm not the only educated woman out there who has a hard time finding that nugget of truth to hang on to in today's news?

Check Yer Pockets!

Failing to do so could result in tragic consequences:

Gum sticks to clothing and lint screens. Yucky, sticky mess!

Chocolate will require you to wash everything twice over.

Bugs are just plain yucky (makes no difference if they are alive or dead they all come out the same after a good wash and dry!).

But the most tragic of all is the loss of Pokemon Cards.

Heaven forbid you should wash Pokemon Cards. Please, learn from my mistake and check those pockets! Pokemon Cards are not only expensive in terms of the dollars and cents we carefully mete out to our children, but they are extraordinarily valuable in the life of a five year old boy. They are personal friends, loyal friends, whose names and attributes are memorized, cherished and repeated often as a strange little mantra.

Pokemon Cards, despite their hefty life points or defense points, sadly cannot survive the attack of the Washer and Dryer. (must be a manufacturer exploit knowing full well parents WILL wash them!) They come out of the dryer hard and fragile, curled up, balled up, fraying and splitting. There is simply no hope for them but to receive a swift burial, preferably deep in the garbage can under other garbage so as to escape notice.

Yep, today Mom is a murderer and I truly hope to escape justice and pretend like it never happened (except for learning, finally, after all my previous lessons on the subject to CHECK THOSE POCKETS!!!).

Who needs the Birds and the Bees anyway?

I’ve often wondered how that talk about the Birds and the Bees would go. I mean, what do the birds and the bees have to do with procreation anyway? Is it something about the bee and his stinger? (Even though it doesn’t work that way) And the birds? I have no idea.

But Sea Monkeys, now that I can get my head around.

My boy is raising sea monkeys. In his tank there are monkeys of all varieties, including the boy and girl type. A few of them have gotten romantic and have decided to make babies.

When two amorous sea monkeys ‘get together’ the boy attaches himself to the girl, about mid-way down her body, and they stay together that way for days, sometimes even weeks. During that time, he never leaves her; they swim together constantly. Also during that time you can see that gradually the lower portion of her body grows more opaque, and takes on a yellowish tinge.

Eventually, however, they will part, but if they are successful the girl is left with a little package down low on her body in which she carries who new tiny eggs growing in their egg sac. Some day, she’ll drop her eggs and when they hatch is entirely up to them.

So a boy and a girl decide they like each other and want to make babies. The boy has to sacrifice his own independence in order to reach his goal, allowing himself to be taken wherever the girl wants to go and to do whatever she wants to do for the duration of the courtship. While the girl has to sacrifice her privacy and independence and has to work very very hard because she has to carry her partner around with her wherever she goes. Eventually he’ll leave her, but she won’t be as fancy-free as he, as she’ll still have her egg sac to carry around.

Thankfully my boys are really only interested in the fact that they will soon have more sea monkey babies; they haven’t focused on the callous nature of the whole business.

All right, so maybe sea monkeys don’t make for a good analogy for a healthy human relationship either, but I still don’t get the birds and the bees.

Our Education Philosophy

David and I have been coming to the conclusion that we need to have an 'Education Philosophy', or guiding principle to help our kids through school. In other words, we decided to define our education value for our children and which would allow us to determine the goals that will help them get there.

What we have decided is that we want our children to be achievers. We want them to excell. They can be whatever they want to be, but we want them to be their best at that thing. For instance, Xander wants to be an astronaut. That means MIT and a degree (likely) in aeronautics; that's a lot of focus on grades and extracurriculars to ensure entrance into that prestigious school. CJ on the other hand wants to be an 'army guy'. Do we just go "well, it's just a grunt so he doesn't need to go to university" but we've decided that's not the way to go. He should be the best he can be. Perhaps he should go to WestPoint or some other really good ROTC program. The point being, we will ensure rules and discipline are enforced and observed in their childhood allowing them the freedom to be their very best in adulthood.

David and I have struggled against our own mediocrity our whole lives. David, a shy boy, was early on labelled as a dumb kid and he believed it. He hated school and his label helped to define why he hated it. It was only as an adult when he struggled to achieve the things he desired that he learned he was in fact of genius IQ, subsequently became a Mensa member and began to join the ranks of the intellectual elite. However, he got a very late start in life and while there's no longer any doubt that he's brilliant, he lacks much of the work ethic and personal discipline that could truly make him great. As for me, I have no lofty ambitions of discovering I'm a secret savant, but I do think I could have achived much more in life had I learned the value of hard work and follow-through. I am a lazy, lazy girl. I've been a quitter my whole life. My Mom made it easy for me, saying "it's YOUR life!" ... problem is I truly don't think a 12, 14, 16 year old kid is capable of owning their own lives, what did I know of life?

So back to our kids and our new-found education philosophy. Our goal is to have children who are ACHIEVERS, who are SUCCESSFUL as children. The steps we plan to take to help them get there are as follows:
1. Friend time will be limited to the extracurricular activities they participate in and weekend playtime.
2. Tutors or supplemental education will be pursued according to the child's interest and need.
3. Extracurricular activities will be according to interest and talent and will be of value.
4. Homework and practice time will be observed every week day.
5. Emphasis will be on family fun together and the value of education.

Yes, I am aware that I will not be popular and that I will bear the brunt of their dislike and frustration. David will back me up. Our goals are not set in stone, either, we will flex and move according to our children's needs. But we will keep our eye on what is best for them (in our humble opinions) and guide them to it. It's partly why we feel family fun is as important as all the rest because bonding and family traditions are so important to shaping a child, a family, a heart.

The boys will still have a childhood. They just won't be running around and playing every day. And in the end, they will be FREE! Free to pursue whatever may interest them, with every door opened to them because they will be accomplished, educated and value-centered.

Bum Glue

Every time I visit the washroom for an (ahem) lengthier stay, I always like to read a little excerpt (or two!) from Chicken Soup for the Writers Soul. I just read a fun little article by Bryce Courteney, an Australian author, who touts BUM GLUE as the single most important factor in creating the Great Novel.

What's bum glue, you ask? The simple act of sticking your caboose to your desk chair (preferably with a computer in front of you) for a minimum of three hours every day. No, you're not supposed to stare out the window. No, high scores in Solitaire don't count either. WRITING ... that is the only thing that matters. At least for three hours every day, that's all that matters.

Apparently I have not been applying a liberal enough amount of bum glue to my rear end because I have been sadly lacking in the writing department lately. Look, the last time I posted here was the first of January!!! Shameful!

I have been working slowly and tediously at editing my first book, The Journey of Endings (I hate the title, but it's only a working title and it's better then calling it by, well, nothing). Editing is the worst writing job there is. At least when you're the author of the first draft, that is. Easy enough to go in there and tear up someone ELSE's writing, but darn near impossible to be critical with your own.

A lot of my problem is that I'm distracted by the other stories roaming around in my head. The ones I haven't been able to give voice to yet because I'm determined to finish The Journey first. And even worse still is the writhing green envy that lurks in my soul over my husband's newest book. Oooooh, I want a book like his!!!

And you want to know the even worst part still??!! I gave him the story. That's right. It's my story, only he's going to write it.

See, David and I have this weird symbiotic relationship thing going on in regard to our writing. With our first books, we each had the basic premise, but all the nifty details, the meat of the stories, came from our respective partner. I gave David all the great details for his first book Curiosity, and he in turn fed me the details for The Journey. And so it was with this newest book of his, only more so:

One Sunday morning David says "I'd sure like to write a book about pirates some day". Which I'm not surprised by because David has always loved pirates and in particular he's always been fascinated by Oak Island, a small island off the coast of Nova Scotia that legend says was used exclusively by pirates to hide their treasure. To which I responded "Hey, you know what would make a great story?" ... and proceeded to GIVE him said great story, and wow, it's a doozey!!! It is so good, I am just beyond myself with jealousy!

Poor David, I'm not being very gracious because a couple times he has said "You can write it, if you want!". But the truth is, I know it isn't my story. Yes, it came out of my mouth, but I swear it had not previously been in my head. I don't know I was channelling David's inner thoughts or if I am simply his Muse and this is how it works or if it was a gift from God. I don't know. All I know is, it's an amazing story that I SAID in about fifteen minutes that while I'm jealous of his opportunity to write it, I know is HIS story to tell. All I can say is, he'd better do a darn good job!!

In the meantime, I've applied some bum glue this morning and hope it is sufficient to keep me here for my allotted time. But I need a muse of my own so I think I'll visit here more often then once every six weeks to feed my own muse. Writing out my frustrations seems to be good for me because my book is calling me (finally!) so I must go. Thanks for the help!

What?? What?? You say.

Teach me not to write my blogs in Word or something before posting them ... I wrote this whole little epistle on my musings on the New Year and then bam, lost it. Darn thing! (have to admit some user error there). So I've just mumbled my thoughts and you're going "what? what did you say?", so I have to repeat myself. I'd accuse you of not listening carefully but I know the fault lies with me ;)

I said I LOVE NEW YEARS!!!! (can you hear me now?)

I said I've always loved Mondays, new day, new week, time to start fresh ... you know ... "Every morning is a fresh beginning. Every day is the world made new. Today is a new day. Today is my world made new. I have lived all my life up to this moment, to come to this day. This moment--this day--is as good as any moment in all eternity. I shall make of this day--each moment of this day--a heaven on earth. This is my day of opportunity." (Dan Custer) ... or something like that.

But the New Year, well, that's like a Monday only ten-fold!

And I'm not one to look behind me with regret for what might have been. Of course I'm perfectly aware that LAST year I said I'd lose those extra 25 lbs I've been carrying around and yep, I'm still packing them but I'm not going to beat myself up about it. You can bet, though, that I'll be adding it to my list of things "to do" in the New Year. (In fact, I went to the gym today, thank you very much!).

No, I look to the future with bright eyes and a heart full of hope. I believe in hope. I believe in all the possibilities that now lie behind me. Today I can be a totally new me. I don't have to be the same old me. The old year gets to be left behind, why not the old me? So today I am the 2006 model, brand spankin' new!

I sport all the features you came to love over the past 37 years but I've cleaned up the "buggy" issues making this years model much more reliable. I promise to be the best ME I've ever been!

So here's to HOPE, and BELIEVING in ONESELF and in the FUTURE.

Irish Blessing
May the road rise to meet you,
May the wind be always at your back.
May the sun shine warm upon your face,
The rains fall soft upon your fields.
And until we meet again,
May God hold you in the palm of his hand.
May God be with you and bless you:
May you see your children's children.
May you be poor in misfortune,
Rich in blessings.
May you know nothing but happiness
From this day forward.
May the road rise up to meet you
May the wind be always at your back
May the warm rays of sun fall upon your home
And may the hand of a friend always be near.
May green be the grass you walk on,
May blue be the skies above you,
May pure be the joys that surround you,
May true be the hearts that love you.

Sam

Sam was a beautiful boy who came to us when he was 3.5 years old.

By eleven months he'd already been seriously abused and neglected. He went to a "good" foster home, where he received numerous injuries including a few head injuries that required stitches. At 3.5 he sat on the toilet in my home, with an erection, while he slapped and screamed and cried "Bad penis!". Poor baby, there was no history of sexual abuse; the social worker said his foster home was "great".

We spent a fortune on treatments and therapy for Sam over the next five years. When our twins were born (IVF babies) we saw a change come over Sam. Not the change we expected - for we thought he might act out against them and resent them. We saw his heart melt, the sun shine in his eyes again. He would sit for ages with a small finger outstretched while a tiny fist gripped it. He would declare "they love me!" because he was the only one who could calm them when they cried. And they did. We all did.

But the love was maybe too little too late because when Sam started school we lost him to the anger and fear that reigned within his young heart. Three years later his violence was directed toward his younger brothers, who still idolized him, and his crimes against them were unforgiveable. Sam had to leave.

No parent cherishes the decision to say goodbye to their child, whether young or old, whether adopted or otherwise. We loved Sam, claimed him as our own, named him our own. But to protect him from the pain that was caused every time he hurt another, and to protect the younger ones from being hurt any more, he had to go.

We found a remarkable family for Sam who had experience raising difficult children, who could pull him into themselves and count him among their own. Sam has been with this family for almost three years now. His body hasn't grown a whole lot since then, but his heart has.

While I have a small stone heart hiding in a prayer box on my nightstand - my own intimate prayer that his heart of stone might one day be healed and can be released from that box a living thing, a beautiful, joyful thing - Sam's heart is stirring within his body and finally finding room within it for perhaps one or two other things. Maybe not people yet, but things. He loves a dog now, I'm told. Can care for his pet with love and concern where once he sought to kill such things. He can be trusted to keep himself and other safe, now. What a joy!

Sam is still young and still has a long way to go. But he is on the path that will take him there. He's picked himself up out of the dust, he's learning to hold his stoney heart out to others to see if they can crack the hard shell and find the joy within. I think they're making some progress, all of them together.

As for us, we are healing. We all remember Sam, but can remember him now with love and tenderness, with no more fear of the bad that was done, no more need to remember it. We all still love him, and can love him now with a pure love because there is no more hurt. We pray for Sam, we remember him - the shining boy.

The Stone Heart ~ a poem for Sam

Once there was a boy
of shining eyes and hair like the golden sun.
A treasure, a gift
he came endowed as one who has joy to bring.

But he was cut down
forced down, hewn down, down, down, down to the ground.

He couldn't look up
he could look down, and named himself there.

His eyes not shining, dead as a bone,
His heart not joyful, his heart turned to stone.

Then came on to lift him,
raise him high in the sky full of light.
A treasture, a gift
love came to renew the joyful spirit.

But it cut him down
forced down to the stoney heart within

He couldn't rise up
he could only lay low, low down, down on the ground.

And there his dead eyes found himself in the dust,
And with joy he raised it high ...
a heart made of stone his only reply.

A New Me

So, a little bird told me that she's been checking my blog and spank me but I haven't been writing anything! Who knew anyone was even reading this stuff! So just for her, and for my own sanity, here I sit with "pen to paper" ready to pour out my heart and soul to someone in particular.
I have entered the "working world". This is a very strange place to be. I feel like I've been divided up into too many ME's to properly manage.
There's the WIFE-me.The MOM-me.The PHOTOGRAPHER-me.The SINGER-me.The WRITER-me.and now (drum-roll please ....)The EMPLOYED-me.
How can I possibly wear all these hats?
I think I'm doing okay on the wife front. So check on that. But I know I have not been doing okay on the mommy front. I've been short with the boys, short fuse, no patience, not eager to spend much time with them. Poor babies. They need their mommy. I need to BE their Mommy. I miss it and I can't find the feelings.
I've been working like a crazy woman trying to update my photography site. A total revamp. It's not perfect, but it's ready to be published today but I'm moving it to a new url so it'll take a bit more time. I'm happy with it and while it's "fancier" than before, it will be easier to update I think. I have a couple jobs coming up but had to turn down a chance to shoot a wedding in Nauvoo which really bummed me out. The risk was terrifying (flying in the day before, scoping out photo-ops/vignettes, no assistant, few of my "tools of the trade" like lights and stuff), but the opportunity would have been amazing (rep in new place, this would have been a BIG wedding so lots of new connections for me, awesome for my portfolio to feature some "away" places). But alas I had to turn it down due to a family conflict (it was over the New Year holiday). Bummer :( At least I do have a few jobs coming down the pike to keep me busy and help me spread my wings more.
I am totally sucking at the WRITER job. I was feeling so excited and hopeful ... BEFORE. Before I got this new job, that is. I've finished the edits on my first draft so am ready to re-write/enter in the edits thereby making my SECOND draft. There were parts in the middle of my manuscript that I thougth "who wrote this crap? wow, I really do SUCK!!!", but then at the end of the book I was in tears and was just so touched and moved by what I'd written that I was thinking "holy cats this is GOOD! I wrote THIS??? yay for me!". But now I've done no writing whatsoever for a couple weeks. Sad. I have several other books waiting in the wings just waiting to be written ... I've GOT to get writing! But who can find the time!
And, and, and! I made some contacts in the music world last week! I was offered a chance to do a 45 minute recital next spring/summer up in Logan. And a chance to get connected with the opera people up in Logan and Ogden. Very cool. GOT to find the time for some practice and stuff though. Time? PAH!!!
I had envisioned back-to-school to be the mecca of personal expression. I would work on promoting my photography business. I would dedicate whole mornings to writing - I would BE a writer. I would practice my singing every day. I would be so personally fulfilled by the end of the morning I would have tons of love and attention to give to my sweet little boys when they got home from school.
But then nasty reality reared his ugly head and proved that I needed to go get a job. Thankfully an awesome job fell into my lap that will allow my to work from home, earn a decent pay, selling and servicing a product I can believe in and get behind. Only it means I have to throw all my balls into the air at once and see if I can snatch them all OUT of the air again, trying not to drop any. How can I do it? Somethings got to give but I'm not sure I can give up anything. How can I deny who I am? What IS me? I AM all these things. See, I didn't list scrapbooking or quilting or crocheting or whatever - all of which I love to do too - I only listed those things that are DEFINING. I AM ... things. I find I AM really fighting the WORKING definition.
I told David if I can't figure out a way to be a nice mom, then I'll be quitting this new job. Whatever else, the boys deserve a loving, good mom, not a stressed out mom. But I do hope I CAN make it work because money is stressful in a different sort of way. The lack of money makes me an unhappy girl which has it's only ripple effect. So, I do hope I can make it work.
Time to work on the second step in my Recovering Perfectionist program, which I think should be "SOMETHIN'S GOTTA GO". Trick is, what's gotta go? Thoughts to chew on till I can write again!

Twelve Step Program for Recovering Perfectionists

I just deleted a bunch of emails that have been sitting in my inbox for a while. They are all "welcome" emails for a yahoo group I belong to, or random group discussions. I like to add my voice to the welcoming group whenever new people join so I was saving up the emails so I could do it. But you know, I just couldn't do it. So I deleted them. All those perfectly nice women, new members to my group, have now all been "slighted" by me. I've neglected them, I've let them down. I've failed them!!!!
And they don't even know me!
This is where I want to grab myself by the hair, look myself in the eye and yell at myself, "Get over yourself girl! They don't even know you exist!! How could you have let them down!!??"
Still, while feeling mostly relieved at having my inbox now clean and manageable, I feel vaguely guilty.
So I'm thinking there needs to be a 12-step program for perfectionists. Especially perfectionists like me; for whom perfection isn't working. I AM a perfectionist (although it took my till only within the last year to really acknowlege that), however, I am an imperfect one, lol. I used to think being a perfectionist meant you always did everything ... well, perfectly, and so everyone else wanted to be you because you were ... well, so perfect. But now I realize that's probably more like obsessive compulsive or something. Being a perfectionist really (probably) means, desiring to do things perfect. Desiring everyone in your life to behave a certain way. Feeling let down when things don't go "right" (by your own definition, of course). And such things like that.
But what might our twelve steps be? Oprah talks about this one a lot - JUST SAY NO!!! So, okay, I did that tonight, basically, when I deleted all those emails saying "NO, I do not have the time or energy to happily welcome every single one of these strangers to the group". You might say NO to "shining your sink" tonight only because it feels good to rebel from something that's "expected" of you. (oh that's a whole different topic and I'm not sure but it might be connected to being a perfectionist or maybe it's what I am instead of a perfectionist? Whatever IT is. But IT is forever being concerned about what I'm supposed to do. What is expected of me. Though my DH would say no one expects anything except for me to be happy... yadda yadda yadda. Yeah right).
1) Just say No.
Steps 2-12 will take some thought though. I can't think what might be next. I'm being overcome by an overwhelming urge to make sure my dishes are put away and my sink is shined. Gotta go.

Who'd a Thunk it?

Sure as heck not me!
I've read some blogs and I always think "that's cool .... but I don't have enough to say". And maybe I don't; time will tell!
I guess I'll start out like all the others I've seen and introduce myself. Most of you who will come here will be my friends so I'm a little self-conscious about spilling the beans on how great I think I am, lol! No, really ... Anyway, here goes!
I'm Ali - a thirty-something Mom of two and wife to David. My two kids are CJ and Xander, twin boys who will turn five on September first! I can't believe they will be going off to Kindergarte; and at the same time, I can't believe they're not already going off to college! They seem both so grown up and still my little babies at the same time. David is a Software Development Manager for a small insurance claims processing company (try saying that ten times fast) out east, so he gets to work from home. I'm a Stay-at-Home Mom.
I'm not very good at my Mom-job. Well, let me amend that: I'm not a real hands-on mom. My boys are very independant and play with friends all day long. They are rarely home for me to "mother" them. I don't sit and read books with them for hours or play tons of games with them. When they ask me to, I try to accomodate them, but otherwise they entertain themselves. I have mixed feelings about this: On the one hand I think "I'm not their cruise director!" so I'm happy they can entertain themselves. While on the other hand I am fearful I really AM not a good mom, that I'm failing them somehow.
Then I think the 'proof is in the pudding', right? and I look at who these boys are. When I do that, I feel a lot better about myself. How can I be all wrong if they are turning out so well? They are happy, fun, imaginative. They are not afraid to talk to people or to try new things. We rarely have problems and when we do, I offer up a consequence and they take it and they try to do better next time. Life is good with these boys - THEY are good boys. So I can't be THAT bad as a mom, right? Right?????
But I don't see myself as "just a mom". I honestly don't see any woman as just a mom, but I know a LOT of us view ourselves that way. I think there is so much to me, so many facets, some even as yet undiscovered, that I could never be "just a mom". I encourage every woman who thinks that of herself to look deep within and discover her inner sanctum so to speak ... discover herself. (sounds like a load of psycho-babble, doesn't it?). I just truly believe that all of us are blessed with talents just waiting to be discovered if we'll only look.
I've discovered several talents, and many interests that I hope will become talents! I've been a professional opera singer, I am a professional photographer and I hope to be a professional writer too. Just don't judge my future books by my poor writing here. ;) I'll write more on my interests and my professional pursuits another time.
If I were to say what it is I think I'll be writing about here, it would probably be my thoughts and feelings of being a stay-at-home-mom whose kids are out at school. What do I do with myself now? What are my plans and how will I make with them? Will things turn out the way I hope? Or will life take me down a path as yet unanticipated?
I won't presume to ask you back again - I've probably bored you to tears - but just in case I haven't, feel free to leave me a note or just to come back again. I hope I'll inspire you to discover your own hidden talents, you're own reservoir of truth.

My Inaugural Post

I'm making the committment to official "bloghood" by joining this community. Plan is, I'll post more regularly here, hopefully meet some new people and start join in some interesting discussions.

I've had a blog elsewhere for a little while now and got my feet wet a bit. Time to be a bit more serious, I think.

So, please stay tuned for some thoughts I want to share: My Twelve-Step program for Recovering Perfectionists; my Philosophies on Life, and just general snapshots of what makes a mom like me tick.

Hope to see you again!