Confronting confrontation

I think there has to be middle ground between confrontational and non-confrontational. I dunno if it lies in politeness. I don't know how to get there either...or for that matter what it looks like.

I think people are one or the other generally. I've never really met someone in the middle. I've met people who think they are in the middle. They tend to talk about how horrible it is that someone's non-confrontational but when push comes to shove, they won't tell you what they think either. I think they are just more confrontational than the people they are talking about but still non when you get right down to it.

I've met confrontational people too. They scare me. They will say things for the sheer fun of starting an argument and watching it go. I don't know that that is productive at all but they have a sadistic good time. Mostly around those people I'm just thankful if they are going after someone besides me.

Mostly I'm non-confrontational...it's true. You have to really tick me off to get me confront you and it's usually in the heat of it and I regret it once the fire has died. Arguments make my belly hurt. If someone comes at me I tend to shut down and make an exit as quickly as possible from the situation. I don't like it.  I used to fire up and fire back but I think age has mellowed me. But I'm afraid it's allowed for being taken advantage of as well.

There's been some moments when I wanted to be confrontational, but manners or thinking of the consequences kept me nice. I wanted to hang up the phone on someone recently but I realized they'd either call me back or id hear about it later so I just gritted my teeth and hung on.

Most recently I've found myself wanting a mini-confrontation if you will. I want to know where I stand in certain situations but I have no idea how to read them, which is unusual. There are mixed signals everywhere and I'm trying to figure out how to proceed but since no one will just shoot straight, it's difficult terrain to navigate and as much as I hate it, I facilitate it by trying to mold myself to what the situation appears to be requiring and wondering if that was the correct move and never truly knowing.

I think what I've come down to is we don't need confrontation or lack of confrontation. We need honesty. If you want something from someone you have to tell them what you want. Not sit around and get angry because they aren't guessing correctly. Life is too short to be a guessing game. I think it may take some getting used to but if everyone would just say, "hey I like when you ___, but it drives me nuts when you ___" then we'd all be on the same page and even if it causes momentary tension it would be worth it in the end.

Maybe

You never know unless you try. But it's scary to try.

Curse learning to do things myself.

(Also known as I should have paid attention when people were showing me stuff.)

I pinned a pin to Pinterest. (Like picking a peck of...you know). Basically I got all the supplies to make this floor "pouf" cushion thing. I let the supplies marinate for about a week and then in true me style I decide to do it at 9pm tonight. I'm making this floor cushion. Watch out world!

Basically I shouldn't sew things this late at night because I'm pretty sure it sounds like a machine gun to my neighbors but I was inspired to do it.

This project involved some piping (that cord stuff that goes around stuff and makes it look all official). I officially hate it now. It's hard. I googled it during the week some time and got some pointers. So I pinned all that junk down (after I'd cut my circles and rectangles and all that jazz).

Oh ya buddy. This is an hour of my life ill never get back. Jk. Like 30 minutes but still.

So I remembered reading somewhere that a zipper foot is the way to go with those things. Well I'd accidentally somehow knocked my pedal off last week and figured out (googled) how to put it back so I knew I could get that off no problem. So I opened up my bag of miscellaneous things I don't know what they do and there were more than one pedal in there.  Well poo. I figured out (googled) which one was the zipper foot and changed them out. Now, we're cooking. I started sewing that stuff on. It was awful but I made it. I don't recommend a first piping experience to be round but I digress.

I'm basically at this point feeling super confident that I've got this. I proceed to pinning this straight piece onto the round piece. A little tricky but I still got this. I then put it up to sew it, get about half way around and BAM!!  I dunno who did it but that needle popped in half like it hit steel. 

And...Houston we have a problem. See that's happened before...once. At which point I swiftly got my mommy to fix it for me. Um...my mommy doesn't live here. Ok no biggie. I have google so I pull out my bag of miscellaneous objects again and there a needle with another needle attached to it. Super, a back up needle!  I tried to pull one out but it doesn't come. So I resort back to my advisor (google). Wait, there's a double needle thingy. It hurts my head to think about what that would be for but clearly it's not the two needles I thought I could use separately. 

So basically I have no needle. It's 11:30 at night and I still don't know how to fix it. I'm gonna have to go to the store and buy a needle and then go to google and figure this puppy out. Clearly, my method of fixing things (ie having someone do it for me) only is effective if that person is always here. Darn. I need my mommy!!!

Next on the list of things I need someone to show me is how to string my guitar. I'm ok with looking dumb until someone helps me if I have to change a tire. 

Disclaimer:  I am not a good sewing person. I took home ec once in jr high. I'm just figuring it out as I go so don't judge my stupidity. 

Decisions...decisions

It's that time of year again. If you live in an apartment, you can theoretically change your life every time your lease is up. My lease is up August 31.

So, what do I do?  I have several options. The part of town I live in is slowly becoming less desirable. But I live in a nice apartment. So, I could just stay put. Definitely the cheaper option. It's a nice place but only one bedroom. The people that run it are nice but I'd like to punch my neighbor in the face.

I could move to a new apartment in a better part of town. Of course I'd have to pay deposits and pack and move and blah blah. It might be better. It might not be. You never know really until you're there.

I could completely move. Like new city move. My life here has changed from what I enjoyed. I don't really feel like I'm needed here anymore when I'm not at work. That's one of the reasons the blogs slowed down; I don't have cute pictures anymore.  My fun buddy is busy doing fun things other places. So, its kind of an added loneliness and I like to be needed, and I'm not sure I am needed anymore. Which is fine but sad cuz I assumed I might be needed more. So if I'm not, why am I still here?  The thing is though I have a good job. I'm learning a lot and feel like I know what I'm doing lol. I feel like if I went back to where I came from my job life would be a demotion. However my personal life would definitely not suck as bad. So which is more important?  What I do to get paid or what I do for fun?  I could also move to somewhere completely new but then my personal life might not change either. So from that aspect I might as well stay here.

Basically, I can do anything I want to do, but I don't know what I want to do. I hate decisions. I wish I had a crystal ball to see the future. Will my life ever go back to being what it was?  Or am I just destined for loneliness here?  I would like to make a wise decision but realistically I'd like to just have someone tell me what to do lol. Clearly I might need a husband for that. Dear husband...just take me somewhere lol. Just kidding.

I'm basically leaning toward moving locations in town and staying put to wait it out. Honestly, I'm not sure I'm up for a complete life change again. But I have to make a decision soon. So, we'll have to see what the future holds.

(Disclaimer: I'm really just thinking out loud cuz that's what I do on my blog. Again it's not meant to offend anyone because there's nothing worth getting offended over lol. But I wanted to throw that out there too just in case)

Where'd you go?

I've had several people ask why I stopped blogging or when I was gonna do it again or various forms of this question. First, I'm flattered that you were looking for me. Second is the answer. It's marinating.

Basically my blog is, a lot of time, like leaving my diary open for y'all to read. I use it as a cathartic experience of working through stuff. Throwing my thoughts out and processing is for my benefit as well as your entertainment. Along the way I'm very cognizant of things that might be offensive to people in my real life. So some of it stays in my closed door journal. That way no one reads it, takes it wrong and hates me for life (Jk. Basically I don't need the extra drama of people being mad about a blog. Seriously.)

So, I'm still letting things marinate. I'm letting them boil down to the meaty goodness that might be fit for public consumption. When they are ready, I'll let them out for you...or not. I'll decide when that time comes. For now just know that I'm working through life and I'm not sure I like where it is and possibly where it's headed but I'm taking a wait-see approach.

I'm Trying to figure out what I really want out if life and if this is really all my life is going to boil down to, and if it is, how I feel about that. (Know that I don't hate my life; it's just very different from what I imagined it to be and even from what it used to be. I'm feeling perhaps a little useless and lost. But c'est la vie.). I'm working through stuff quietly. If I let it out now it would only be unnecessarily drama-laden, though no doubt entertaining, and I really would prefer everyone stay as happy as they are physically capable of being. I'll be back soon, if only for meaningless chatter and craft time. You never know.

Thanks for waiting on my 36-year crisis. I hope we all come out ok on the other side.

magic and innocence

I'm mulling over some deep, meaningful things right now and considered writing about them.  But, I think like a good stew, they need to marinate for a while before they can truly be savored, so I'm going to digress to a different topic all together while I let those soak and simmer a while longer.

So...for a fun topic.  FAIRY DOORS ;)

Remember when you were younger and everything seemed a little magical?  I think we tend to lose that as we age.  Maybe it's the fact that the only person I hang out with when I'm not at work is 2, or maybe I just have an inner child that I can't subdue, but I still find some of that magic fun and exciting.  I know it's not real, but I love playing it up for her and watching her eyes sparkle because she believes that they are. 

I was reading something...somewhere....I don't remember (I tend to read a lot of random things and pick up random facts but forget where I read them at.  Like once I read that employers that allow employees a 30 minute nap each day have more productive employees.  I've proposed that to a couple of different employers and no one is down...but anyway, I digress) I read about fairy doors popping up different places.  One article I read discusses how the fairies only come out at night and might leave gifts for children if they have been good or letters of reminder if they haven't. 

My little two year old BFF has a fascination with Tinkerbell so it kind of fit right in.  I constructed for her fairy doors.  Basically I went to Hobby Lobby and bought doors that were supposed to go on doll houses and painted them and put the handles on them and then put them on the wall with Command Strips.  My house contains two fairy doors.

The first time she was going to come over after I installed fairy doors, I was so excited.  It was like a kid at Christmas.  I told her on the ride over that fairies had put up a door in my house.  I don't know that she was really that impressed yet though or even grasped the concept at that point.  Then she saw it....

    "What's that?"  My fairy door.  (she bent down to examine).  "Are the fairies in there?"  I think so.  I haven't seen them though; they only come out at night.  (knocking on the door) "Oh fairies?  Fairies?" 

And then...she tried the handle.  It was locked.  (theoretically...it really is just fixed to the door and doesn't turn.)

I told her I think only the fairies could open the door and they were probably sleeping.  She smiled.  Then I told her we should check and see if there were any other fairy doors.  (I already knew there was another...obviously...but this would be more fun.)  So, we went running through the house and suddenly she found the fairy door!!

It really didn't take long to discover this one didn't open or have anyone answer it either, but she still checks them sometimes.

Once, I left a little plate outside the pink one because I was going to have the fairies leave her a present when she came over.  Well, I have a dog and I didn't want him to eat her present ('cause they were going to leave her a 'gum' [m&m] for tee-teeing on the potty) so I was going to put it out later.  Well...I forgot.  She looked at the door, tried the lock again and then turned to say something to Beau and I grabbed the "gum" I had placed on the shelf and put it on the plate while she wasn't looking. 

"Look the fairies left you a present!"  She was about the most excited person in life for that moment.

I love the fairy doors.  It brings imagination.  Maybe even a little faith...that something you can't see does exist.  It's a little magic that reminds me of innocence and the good in the world that still exists.  I want to grab that innocence and hang onto it.  I want to believe with the faith of a child that everything happens for a reason.

When things aren't going according to plan, there's someone looking out for you.  Not fairies of course, but God's got your back.  Unlike the fairies, He's not leaving you presents when you're good and letters of reprimand when you're bad.  He's around gently (or roughly when it's needed) guiding you on the path he has for you.  He didn't promise a bump-free ride, but he promised to ride it with you.

And unlike the fairies, He always answers the door ;)

The best laid plans....

It takes all kinds of people to make up the world.  Some people are organizers and planners.  I have a friend who I once agreed to go on a trip with, who proceeded to plan the whole trip minute by minute.  Seriously?  What if I have to go to the bathroom at a non-designated bathroom going time? LOL. 

I also know people that plan nothing and are so "fly by the seat of your pants" that they are undependable because they said they'd do something but never planned on it and found something more interesting to do at that moment. 

It takes all kinds.  The organizers help keep the non-planners in check, but they also drive each other crazy.  From the planners we learn the necessity of planning a few things.  And, from the non-planners, we learn to let some things go and wing it.

I think I fall somewhere in between but a little more leaning toward a fly by the seat of my pants girl.  I do plan things occasionally.  Generally though when someone asks me what my plans are for the day, I honestly have no idea.  Most days when I pick up El, I let her pick the plans right then.  Sometimes we don't do what she picks (like when it's 30 degrees or raining and she wants to go to the zoo or when we went to "the fishies" yesterday and she wants to go again today). 

A lot of days, I have a loose plan.  I know some time during that day I need to do laundry and vacuum.  And, some time during that day I need to do this, that, or the other thing.  But I don't plan it out...and if I get distracted and don't get it done, I just do it the next day.  Sometimes I procrastinate too, which is not good when you don't plan. 

The current place I work makes you kind of plan ahead.  They do their schedule a couple of months in advance.  I'm having trouble with this because we are scheduling for June right now and I have no idea what I want to do in June.  So, I just randomly schedule. 

Occasionally I attempt to plan that far in advance and usually it doesn't work out.  For example, Thanksgiving.  I thought everyone was going to be gone, so I scheduled for work all around that holiday and everyone descended on Tulsa to show me once again that planning doesn't work.  (As stated in a previous blog, I found a creative way to get off of work...I cut off my toe.  J/K I'd rather be at work.)

More recently I planned something that I thought would work out perfectly but was planned too far in advance and now it's not going to work out at all.  In fact I probably just scheduled myself right out of the activity that I was trying to schedule into.  But that's how it goes. 

Things like that make me want to not be a planner.  Because when I do plan and it doesn't work out, I tend to get upset with myself or the situation.  I am trying to let that go though as part of becoming a better person.  As a off the cuff person, why should I be bothered when something doesn't work out??  I'm working on that.  If I plan something, I tend to want everyone to stick to that plan.  Well, that doesn't always work out. Sometimes there's too many people to sync up and it was destined for failure.  Sometimes it was just out of our hands to begin with, so trying to plan the unplannable was stupid to begin with.

Who am I to say the plan that someone else (or God) has made is not better than mine?  Who's to say my way was best anyway.  Maybe the new way will work out better...maybe it won't.  But, it is what it is, so let's just fly with it and see what happens.  Who needs plans anyway? 

And now I will digress...because enough serious musing for one day.  Yesterday, we went to the "fishies" (the aquarium here in Tulsa).  E loves the fishies.  She gets genuinely excited every time.  "What is it?!"  She excitedly asks.  Her excitement is contagious, even if it is the same thing it was last time ;)  I like the fishies too, admittedly so I don't mind a trip to the fishies every now and then.  It's indoors so it's good for bad weather, but unfortunately it smells fishy.  If you come to Tulsa, check it out though...'cause it's fun.

Look I can touch the fishies...

A shark is going to eat you!

Petting the sting rays which actually petted her instead.

Divers in the coral reef...so exciting!  (I'd not seen that before actually)

I'm gonna kiss the alligator.  (it's a statue if you can't tell).



Well, that's it for now.  My work schedule for the next little bit is a bit of a nightmare, so don't expect excellence any time soon...though clearly you probably weren't expecting it anyway....until next time. 

Brusch--whatta?

I have nothing deeply meaningful to say...or I do and I haven't figured out how to nicely say it yet...and so I'm going to share my adventure with you.

This past weekend we celebrated the impending arrival of Miss Everleigh Grace (due next month).  I had volunteered to help with the "Sprinkle" (I'm guessing that's a small shower...idk new to me).  So I texted the person who was in charge and asked if I needed to do anything, contribute money, etc.  (I was expecting contribute money lol.)  The answer was we were going to bring appetizers while she was going to get cupcakes...and those appetizers were supposed to be vegetables for dipping and something called bruschetta.  I said OK because I figured veggies were easy and out of two people I would hopefully not have to figure out what the other thing was. 

Anyway...blah blah blah...fast forward...I needed to figure out what bruschetta was first and how to make it second fairly quickly.  YIKES.  I was feeling either low class or stupid that I'd never heard of this when I mentioned that I needed to make bruschetta to several people and their response was "I love bruschetta!"  Mmmk...no pressure there.  Apparently whatever this is is well loved.  (DOUBLE YIKES).  So I googled.  From the pictures I deduced tomatoes and something green and something about bread...or crackers...or something.  Being the procrastinator that I am (and still secretly hoping someone else is bringing this) I went to sleep secure in the knowledge of what it was.

The day before the shower, I realized I had not heard anything further and thus should probably figure out how to make this bruschetta business.  At a place that shall remain nameless, in a spare moment, I googled bruschetta recipes.  I first came across The Food Network ('cause I love them) and basically ol' Alton gave me a recipe for bread.  Clearly I can figure out how to toast bread, Alton...but thanks.

Next recipe I came across called for scary things, like boiling tomatoes for not very long and something about peeling skins off.  I don't know much but peeling tomatoes seemed a bit out of my league.  People tried to reassure me, but I thought for sure there should be a better way.  Afterall, I was going to have to undertake this after working 12 hours. 

Another person had a grand idea "buy it!"  They proceeded to list restaurants in the area with good bruschetta.  I googled...they all opened at 11...the shower started at 11...this would not work, sadly :(

Back to recipe googling. Oh, Pioneer Woman...she had a recipe that looked simple enough.  Not much cooking and little tomatoes cut up...surely I could handle that.  (And no cheese...and there's some vegetarian or vegan folk around I knew).

So...after work I went shopping.

Supplies acquired included tiny grape tomatoes in red and yellow, balsamic vinegar, olive oil, basil, and garlic...oh and bread.



I must say I chose my olive oil with great care...I picked the one with the cutest bottle (well not the very cutest, but within monetary reason).  With supplies firmly in hand (and Starbucks coffee...a required ingredient), I sat out for the homestead to make this bruschetta. 

First, I prepared for the part of chef by donning my blue apron (because everything works better if you are dressed for the part).  (PS ignore the weird expression...remember this is post-12 hour shift so clearely it was more exciting that it needed to be). 

After dressing for the part, I began preparing the ingredients.  The recipe said prep time was 10 minutes.  Clearly, they had minions.  About 45 minutes later (and various ideas such as sliced tomatoes in cans and using cutting tiny tomatoes as prison punishment), I was ready to actually make the stuff.  Seriously, who would have thought slicing tiny tomatoes to be such torture.  There are no pictures after this because it was no longer exciting lol. 

I followed the rest of the recipe (and turned my house into a garlic smelling wonderland) and mixed everything together and let it "procreate" in the refrigerator (seriously, the recipe calls for procreation).  I then made the dip for the veggies, washed and sliced veggies and made a list of the things I would probably forget to do tomorrow and went to bed.

Basically, it turned out ok I guess.  I dunno...I am not a fan of garlic.  Someone, who read my comments on facebook, asked me how it turned out, and I said "I dunno."  And, then they asked me if I tasted it, to which I replied, "yes, but I don't know what it's supposed to taste like."  Therefore I remain blissfully ignorant.  People ate it so it had to be okay or they humored me big time (which I doubt lol). 

It was a fun undertaking anyway...and now that I've purged my refrigerator of its garlic smell, it's only a fond memory.

(I forgot to take a picture, so this is a picture of the leftovers four days later before I threw them away lol).

If I like you, I'll make weird stuff for you.  It was a good time.  The restaurant was inside a store which was very interesting and cute.  The food was good (from the restaurant) and we had a good time.  I need to go back to that store sometime and look around. 

A picture of the card El and I made for Everleigh that I was excited about :)  (I kinda want to print this picture because it turned out so good).

Anyway....that's about all the excitement I have for now.  If you want to google the bruschetta recipe, it's the Pioneer Woman one.  If you want to google "cooking with morons", I haven't written that one yet.  Otherwise, catch ya next time we go on an adventure.

(P.S. - I was spell checking this blog just now and I discovered that blogger doesn't know what bruschetta is either.  I can sleep better in that knowledge.)

because of...or in spite of??

We as a culture like to try to figure out why people are the way they are.  I got into a discussion about why someone is the way they are just the other day.  There must be a reason someone did what they did or acts continuously the way they do.  Even more so when people do terrible things, we like to look for a cause, such as a large bombing that kills a lot of people.  We try to explain why that person felt compelled to kill people.  Maybe we're just looking for someone else to blame.  Maybe we think that if we know what caused it we can fix it or prevent it.  I don't know.

Is a person born the way they are or are they made?  It's the whole nature vs nurture thing that I find is a pointless argument.  I think it's a mixture.  You are who you are because of how you were made, because of how you were raised, because of what has happened to you.  But, you are who you are IN SPITE of how you were made, IN SPITE OF how you were raised, and IN SPITE OF what has happened to you.

From the moment children start getting personalities, you can start to see what kind of person nature made them to be.  There are strong-willed, charismatic children and there are meek, timid children and there are children that fall in the spectrum all over between.  They don't all necessarily grow up to exhibit those personality traits as adults; some of them do. 

That's where nurture starts shaping.  The lessons taught by your parents help shape who you become.  The examples shown by your parents also help shape who you become.

For example, I remember as the more reserved sister of a very ornery brother, I was expected to do what everyone expected of me.  I was supposed to be nice and quiet and tow the line.  I did that well....in public. What made my brother the maddest was that I didn't do that at home.  I was not a nice quiet person at home.  Unfortunately all the effort of fitting into that mold and holding things back boiled over into all out explosions and emotional boiling overs and all kinds of generally messiness.  But the thing is, and as I've grown older and more comfortable with myself I now know, that quiet, reserved person wasn't me.  Not to say that I'm a horrible person that wants to break all the rules, but I'm not a quiet person by any means.  When I first meet someone I tend to observe and sit back and contemplate.  You see I still don't like offending people...I still tend to conform to what people expect me to be at first...and when I first meet you, I'm trying to figure out who you expect me to be. 

When I get to know you, I start letting myself out a little more and am generally happier in my interactions with you.  I say what I think...to a point.  I still censor back what is most offensive, in my judgment (though the older I get the more some things sneak past the censor).  That's one of the things I like about this blog.  If you don't like what I say, don't read it.  If I offend you, I don't generally have to know about it.  There's safety behind the computer screen and I can say a lot of things that I wanted to say but didn't feel the freedom to say. 

You see, I give a lot of thought to interactions, and sometimes don't say much because I'm still analyzing the interaction.  I think this comes from the fact that I don't trust easily.  How do I know what you really think of me?  This stems from the fact that I was taught to be nice to everyone, so I am generally...to their face.  But, sometimes I really don't like someone.  I am always afraid I'm that person for someone else.  I'm trying to work on that...but you know...it's ingrained.  I think I also don't trust well because of what has happened to me.  Basically I was left at the age of 5 by my father...though not of his own desires, through his death. 

But before you feel real sorry...I can say I am who I am IN SPITE OF those things.  I grew up hearing statistics about single parent homes all the time.  Girls are going to be pregnant young or out of marriage; boys are going to be on drugs or in jail.  Those statistics used to make me really angry because those things happen because of choices the person makes.  They choose to have sex and got pregnant; whether or not they had a father doesn't matter at that point.  It was a choice.  Did their lack of fathering cause that decision?  Maybe...but only because they let that circumstance so affect their entire life that it led to their decision.  I came from a single parent family, I'm 36, I'm a virgin...yup I said it...there ya go.  (and before you think it, not for lack of opportunity).  I did not get pregnant early.  I made the choice to wait.

What has happened to you will always shape you.  ALWAYS.  It will shape you by the way you react to it and the way you let it shape you.  A negative experience can be something you learn and grow from or it can be something you let mire you down until you can no longer function.  The same can be said of a positive experience.  The way you CHOOSE to react to it is what makes you who you are.

I am my mother's child...I am not my mother. 

My mother has good characteristics that I wish I had.  Her faith in God in spite of everything is one of those.  Sometimes my faith gets shaken too easily.  But I tend to react to things more...something happens and I react...usually with my emotions taking the lead.  I am not patient at all generally and the idea of waiting to see or praying about something for a long time just scares me.  I mean God knows me...he should know I don't like to wait around for things.  But, I think he does know and that's why he makes me wait around for things. 

My mother also has some characteristics that I'm glad I don't have...or don't think I have.  I'm not delving into them out of the deep respect I have for her.  But know that I have characteristics that she's thanking God that she doesn't have too probably.  I'm sure I have more characteristics she's glad to not have than vice versa lol.

As parents, you probably sometimes wish your child was a little more like you in the good ways and a little less like you in the bad.  But, remember they are who they are.  Their good and bad characteristics shape them into the person they are.  Guide that person, but love that person.  Know that sometimes it can't be changed but it can be tweaked a little.  Let your little person be who they were meant to be because if they try to be who you want them to be, they will be way less happy.  Give them guidelines and rules, but set them free to learn what is truth and what the consequences of bad choices are. 

It was when I finally left home, left the town and church I grew up in, and figured out it was okay to climb out of the box that I started finding out who I was.  It was a rocky transition because I didn't know how to marry the two people and be who I was everywhere.  I enjoyed the freedom to be me outside of Guymon and hopped back into the box in my hometown because it was expected.  Now, I feel the freedom to be who I am generally in both places.  If the people who have known me my whole life don't like it, then I'm sorry for them because they are missing out on a better person today than I was back then.  If they want that person back, too bad.  You'll see glimpses and she's not completely gone, but I'm gonna be me.  I'm going to have opinions you may not like.  I'm going to do things you may not like.  And, I'm still gonna do some things you do like.  I'm a grown up now...at 36...finally.

JUST DANCE....

In my line of work...or at least on my floor...codes are called a lot.  Sometimes it's just a Rapid Response Code, which means that something doesn't look good and it gets all the big dogs into the yard before the poo really hits the fan.  Sometimes it is or becomes Code Blue...where the person turns that color and CPR commences and the poo is flinging.  Some people thrive on code situation...me not so much.  I'd rather everybody be happy (or as close to happy as they are capable of being) and sick but getting better.  I like those patients. 

There's other codes we don't like too.  Code Yellow...that's disaster code.  Someone sent out information about Code Yellow along with some weather forecasts and some people freaked out a little.  Being from the Oklahoma Panhandle, I freaked out about tornadoes for years with very few actually coming to fruition.  Heck if you panicked every time a tornado watch was called in Guymon, you might as well take up residence in your basement...I think I'm over it now.

Code Brown...that's an unofficial code that never gets called over the loudspeaker, but ask anyone in healthcare and they probably know what a code brown is.  Ask any mother and she probably knows what a code brown is too but maybe not that it's a code brown.  Heck, I had a code brown in my living room carpet today when someone's pull up did not contain all its goodness.  Ya, you know what it is now.  (PS there was a lot of carpet cleaner involved in that one.)

I read something today though about other codes.  Code Lavender intrigued me.  Some hospitals are having a code lavender team, like an RRT team, to minister to the soul and psyche when the problem arises.  Um, I can see where that would be very beneficial.  It seems like at least half of the people could benefit from that and probably more.  If a person's soul is ministered to while their body is healing, then it's a benefit all around.  I've seen people die just because they wanted to (and not through suicide really)...or more closely because they didn't want to live anymore.  Their soul died and their body followed suit.  The article said 40% on Code Lavenders are called on staff.  I could definitely use some soul time at work sometimes.  I know other people could as well.  Basically the team works with things like whole body healing, meditation, Reiki, psychiatry...the works.  It sounded like a good idea.

In the same magazine I saw something about a store called "Code Happy."  While I haven't checked that out yet, but I will, it got me thinking.  Why don't we call Code Happy sometimes??  We call codes when stuff is bad, but why not honor the good by calling it.  Everybody would just stop and celebrate as a Code Happy is called and "Just Dance" for a minute.  We used to have some random Code Happy moments at the nursing home.  My friend Britney and I had unofficial Code Happy sometimes changing wound dressings where we'd been known on occasion to dance and sing...(mostly when taking care of my granny who thought we were funny and ridiculous all at the same time.)  But, we had fun.  The task we had to do...not fun...not fun at all...not for us or the patient.  But it became fun when we started rocking out and enjoying life.  We got laughs, and we did a lot of laughing.

 
It kind of goes back to a toddler way of life.  If you've ever been around a toddler very long you know what I mean.  They can go from the biggest excitement they have ever known to the biggest tragedy ever and back in a few seconds.  It's scary...bipolar scary.  For example in the car today, there was singing...loud singing and a very happy conversation with a doll.  Then, the doll got dropped, hit the floor board, and you would have thought that a real human child flew out the window and was smashed on the pavement.  I picked it up, gave it back unscathed, and the happiness recommenced. 

Maybe we need to recapture some of that.  Not the scary mood changes, but the ability to bounce back.  To call a Code Happy and move on.  Celebrate life for what it is.  Don't get bogged down in the negatives.  I know I do it sometimes.  There's so much tragedy everywhere...OKC, Boston, New York, the Middle East...everywhere.  We need to remember that this world is not our home...and that alone is a reason for a Code Happy.  We're just a passin' through and someday we'll make it out on the other side.  But for now, enjoy what there is to enjoy. 

There's thunder right now here...we're under a tornado watch (hey and a severe thunderstorm watch for good measure)...the power has gone out and come back.  Code Yellow is knocking on the doorstep, but for now let's just enjoy the sound of thunder...cause I kind of like it.  I'm calling a Code Happy 'cause it's raining. 

Tomorrow as you go about your day, enjoy the small stuff.  Appreciate that the sun came up (or the clouds depending on where you are).  Some of you might appreciate the snow.  Appreciate the fact that you have somewhere to go...or don't have anywhere to go.  Appreciate the fact that you are not homeless and outside when the weather is rough.  Appreciate the fact that if you only have $2 to your name at least you aren't in the negative.  There's always something to appreciate.  Call a Code tomorrow...Call a Code Happy. 

I found this picture on my computer just now and it looks Code Happy to me.  I don't know where it came from but it made me laugh, so I included it.

They're just toes...

It's a whale of a tale I'll tell you lad...

[DISCLAIMER: If you are tired of hearing about my toe...then you're probably my friend.  And...if you're tired of hearing about my toe, then you probably should stop reading right now, go outside, and find something else to do.  (I don't care if it's midnight...scoot.)  This is my show, and I'm going to write about what I write about...today I'm going to have the cathartic experience of throwing out there my feelings about my toe, in an effort to continue letting go.  Call it therapy...]

2012 was a year of changes for me...it ended with a few major losses for me as well.  Well, let's face it, the darn thing started with a loss.  I had been working for a doctor I really enjoyed working for and learning a lot and then due to circumstances beyond my control, he left...moved away.  My job became one that was not fun at all...and I went to another clinic...which subsequently closed a few months later.  (perhaps I'm the killer of clinics...who knows?)  Then I went back to what I knew...the nursing home.  I like it there, but it wasn't the same.  Some of the residents were gone...the attitude and the vibe were different, and while it was okay for a while, there was an underlying current of stress that could be felt everywhere and it wasn't the same anymore.

All of this led me to take the biggest leap perhaps of my life, and pick up my stuff and move.  Ok, I wasn't moving to Australia or Siberia; I moved to Tulsa.  I decided to move where my brother and his family lived so that I could be around Ellarie and help out with her and get to know her better.  The thing is, without all these losses, I wouldn't have gone anywhere.  I HATE change!  I HATE the unknown.  I just stay in my comfort zone and that's that.  But I didn't this time.  I left everything...the theatre I loved more than anything (another loss)...and moved. 

It wasn't without challenges.  I was in a big hospital, on a busy floor, doing a new job.  Not the same job in a new location...NOPE...a completely different job basically.  I had soooo much to learn!  Thankfully I had an excellent teacher to help me along the way.  (Not that I don't still have sooo much to learn because I do!)  It was a good change though.  I was enjoying my job and definitely enjoying all the time with Ellarie.  But, the move wasn't without its challenges.  I missed my friends like crazy!  I missed the theatre even more!  Here I had my brother and his family and one other friend (and then a friend in OKC).  My other friend in Tulsa has a lot going on, so it's kinda hit or miss with him but it's fun when it's a hit :).  My friend in OKC also has a lot going on and a family, so it's again kinda hit or miss...plus a 90 minute drive.  I spent a lot of time at my brother's house, but then I started thinking what if they were just too nice to tell me to go away.  What if they were regretting me moving because I was there too much?  (I don't think that's necessarily the case but you know, when you're trying to acclimate those thoughts come up.)  So, I went through some rough lonely times.  Still really go through them sometimes because it's hard to make friends when you're a little fish in a big pond.

Anyway...the BIG loss happened the day before Thanksgiving 2012.  I was supposed to work the next day and subsequently the two days after that.  Family was coming into town, but they hadn't said anything enough in advance for me to make my schedule work, so I was kind of annoyed by missing out on the fun.  I had vetoed a house guest because I was going to have to get up early for work for three days and someone sleeping in the living room is not conducive to that.  So, I was kind of feeling guilty for that too.  I was trying to help with some last minute things at my brother's house...basically making Ellarie's bed when I did the stupidest thing I have ever done in my life.  Let me back up and say, I tried to figure out how to pull the toddler rails down or off first so that I would have more access, but I couldn't figure it out, so I crawled through the little space at the bottom.  When I went to step off, I stepped on the wooden plywood step stool my brother had fashioned and clearly not reinforced for the big folk.  I remember my brother saying, "I didn't build that for you" right before it folded over like a cardboard box with an elephant on it. 

I remember thinking I smashed my toe...like pinched it.  I looked down and it was bleeding so I tried to hurry off the white rug because clearly that's bad, and went into the kitchen.  I said joking, "someone needs to find my toe." I honestly thought it was just smashed.  And, then I looked down and was a little shocked.  I wasn't sure what I was looking at, and I started looking at it closer...I thought it was folded backwards somehow...but then reality hit....and I said, "No really, someone needs to find my toe 'cause it's not here." 

I remember my brother, slightly repulsed, bringing the whole stool in and saying "here's your toe"...'cause he wasn't gonna touch it.  I remember someone putting it in a baggie with ice.  And then there was a lot of stuff in urgent care and the hospital ER.  Seriously, I sat in ER for something like 6 hours before they decided what they were going to do.  No one did anything that entire time.  (They did tell me several times they probably would not reattach, at which I cried every time.)  I do remember the nurse practitioner when she first got there saying "it might grow back."  We all looked at her like she was crazy because contrary to popular belief I am not a lizard and body parts do not grow back (In her defense she thought we were only talking about a toenail...until I pointed out to her that it probably wouldn't grow back from the bag across the room to my toe.)  We did get an X-ray...and she laughed when she reported that they called to say my toe was broken (um that's an understatement).  She also kindly circled the offending digit in green highlighter and gave me a copy...in case I couldn't remember which one it was.  I actually kind of liked her despite it all.

Then, 6 hours and an iPhone picture later (from the nurse prac to a surgeon) I was being admitted to have surgery on Thanksgiving...not to reattach my toe, but to finish cutting off the exposed bone and closing the thing.  I don't really remember much of that...I know I watched Gone with the Wind most of the night and they kept offering me Ambien.  I kept refusing, thinking I'm not even bothering you so why are you trying to put me to sleep lol...I know they were trying to be helpful.  I'd probably be one of those crazy Ambien people though so I'd rather not do that where I work.  Someone from my floor came by to say hi...or probably really to see what happened...no matter the motive, it was nice.  I also remember signing a consent that included the word "amputation"...oh ya, more tears.  (PS the surgeon was cute!)

I had surgery and broke out of 10East and went to Thanksgiving celebrations not feeling like celebrating, not dressed for the occasion, and on drugs.  I don't really remember any of that. 

I happen to live in an upstairs apartment, so my brother's wife took me in and put me up on the couch and my mom took my dog to Guymon (who consequently probably had no idea what happened to me 'cause I said 'be right back' and never came back).  It hurt...it hurt a lot...the toe.  My emotions kinda hurt too 'cause I knew underneath that perfectly formed foot of coban was not so perfectly formed foot (not that it had ever been perfect).  But, while it was wrapped I could pretend it was still all good...except it hurt.  (By the way, my brother got a big screen while I was there...I pretended it was for me.)

When I left the hospital no one said anything about changing bandages, and I didn't want to anyway.  Under there was something horrible and with it covered it looked normal almost.  A few people kept asking me if I didn't think I should change it.  Finally under pressure, I called the dr's office who basically said I didn't have to but if I wanted to here's what I should do.  I procrastinated a little longer.  (this wasn't weeks and months by the way...even though it sounds like it).  Finally, I mustered up the courage to do it and the alone time to face it without an audience.  I pulled off the bandages...and sobbed...like cannot function anymore crying.  It was awful....It was a monster toe-let...and it looked hideous.  After I stared at it and cried for a long time, I covered it back up and then I laid around and thought about it for hours.  I had had one picture in my mind everytime I closed my eyes, the picture of my mangled toe right after the fact.  Now it had been replaced by a toe that in my mind looked more mangled. 

I have this thing about things matching.  I like even numbers.  I don't like to step on cracks.  I like symmetry in my world.  I might be kinda crazy, but it's who I am.  This is not symmetrical.  I was never going to wear flip flops again ( my staple footwear in the summers ).  I wasn't going swimming ever again.  I wasn't going barefoot ever again.  I wasn't getting pedicures ever again.  Pretty much no one was seeing my toe ever again.  I know that some of you don't have those thoughts...don't see anything wrong with a missing toe.  But, you are not me.  To you it's just a toe, but you can say that as you look down at your full set.  It is just a toe, but it's MY toe...well was.  It was depressing.  And, it still hurt...physically and emotionally.

Then I lost some more....

My dog never made it back to Tulsa.  She died in Guymon around Christmas.  She was 14.  I rescued her from the pound as a puppy and she'd been with me ever since.  She'd been there through the wilderness of Kansas and through nursing school and through everything. 

After all of this, I was kind of angry.  I was mad at my dog for dying, mad at my mom for letting her...mad at Tulsa for existing.  If I'd never moved to Tulsa, I'd still have so much.  I'd still have 10 toes, a dog, and the theatre and all my friends.  Instead I was in this town with no dog and 9 toes and no friends.  Those were my thoughts for a long time.  I still went through the motions of life, but I didn't like any of it.

Clearly there's nothing magical about Tulsa.  I could have just as easily cut off my toe in a freak accident in Guymon and realistically my dog was 14...she wasn't living forever.  I can't blame it on Tulsa, but I sure tried for a long time.  And blamed it on some other folk as well.  But life goes on.

I even got a new dog.  A rescue Yorkie that was found on the streets.  It was almost love at first sight.  I did love him, but the part of my heart reserved for loving dogs was not functional really.  And he was naughty a lot.  He barked at Ellarie at first and she wasn't nice to him either.  He pottied in my house.  He tore things up.  I considered letting him go live on the streets again.  But then he escaped out the door, and I half- heartedly went after him, basically said 'I'm not chasing you,' and figured if he keeps running that's God's way of saying he's not for me.  I went to the bottom of the stairs and said, "Beau, come here."...and he did.  Apparently he's for me afterall.

And we've grown to love each other...and he and Ellarie have grown to love each other too.  He still tears up things though.  I have several books without covers and a box that he's making his way through under the bed.  But...I still like him.  I still miss Princess....but I can't have her back....and I like Beau.  He's healing...and frustrating...all rolled into one.

Speaking of healing...my toe's healed.  It still hurts though sometimes.  The swelling finally went down a few weeks ago and it proceeded to get a blister on the end of it...seriously?  Anyway...that's healed now too.  It hurts before it rains...and when it's raining...Great, a weather-telling toe...like I didn't already have weather-telling knees.  Seriously?  It also hurts after 12 hours of work...but not as bad as it did.

But, perhaps I had an ah-ha moment...a moment where my vanity and OCD took a back seat to comfort because it was hot the other day...and I came to a realization.  It's not growing back...no matter how much I want it to.  It is what it is...I might as well own it.  So, I painted my toenails while Ellarie was watching Tinkerbell.  And then she wanted her toenails painted too of course.  And she declared us "pretty".  So I left the house in flip flops Monday because it is what it is.  I'm gonna spend the next however many years with 9.5 toes...I might as well just deal with it.  Not that I don't still miss it...and my old life.  But the new ones okay too. 

The first picture of all the toes since Thanksgiving.

And besides, who else can tell you, "I miss you more than I miss my toe..." and actually mean it.  Because, dearest friends...I really do miss you more than I miss my toe.

A little naughty in all of us

Mischievousness...that's the word that comes to mind recently.  To me, it has no negative connotation...not really.  It's what they said about Peter Pan...about so many of the slightly naughty characters from books.  Clearly there is a fine line, but if one can walk that line well, then what's the harm in being mischievous??

So, when did we lose mischievous?  I think it may come with being a responsible adult, but I don't think it always has to.  I have a brother who is every bit mischievous (generally within the confines of the law...generally).  It's what makes him who he is.  He's a lover of life.  I think it comes from a high degree of intelligence.  He's smart enough to test every boundary he can find and come out okay on the other side.  He doesn't just accept things to be so because someone says they are.  Sure, it gets him in trouble from time to time, but he knows how to get right back out too.  He's a fun guy and without his mischievous nature, he wouldn't be the same long haired, overgrown child that we know and love.  And, who is loved deeply by another mischievous soul who is just learning to test her wings.

It takes all kinds in life.  The responsible adults keep the mischievous ones from completely ruining order and common decency.  But, we all have a little mischief in us.  It's the balance between doing things that might be a little naughty and staying within the box of responsibility that keep us slightly naughty people out of trouble.  This week, we drew on the windows (ooo naughty)...with specially made window markers (back inside the lines of not so naughty).  It's the balance that makes mischief work.  It's the spirit with which it's done.  It's all done in fun.  We enjoyed life.  Today, we enjoyed a tea party on the back deck (nothing wrong with that).  Belle needed to go (oops dolly's outside...naughty)...but we kept her on the blanket and she never touched the ground and she's still clean...(I think that's okay...I hope). 

When we were little, God gave us parents to pull us back when we got to naughty.  Without them, our inner two year old would wreak havoc on the world and it would be utter chaos.  Now that we are older, some of us still have parents to try to pull us back.  (My mom got onto me in Facebook land for the markers on the window.)  It's harder to pull us back as adults though.  It's the lessons instilled in us when we were preschoolers and easily moldable that pull us back as adults.  There's also the guidebook (the Bible) that tells us when we're too naughty.

It all goes back to intent.  Is your intent to harm others?  to deceive others?  to make fun of others?  If yes, then your mischief is not ok.  If you're just getting in touch with your inner child and a little mischief aids in that, then it's okay. 

In this scary world, where terrible things happen all the time, you have to look for the little joys in life.  If you focus all your energy on the bad stuff, then life is no fun.  Of course you can't completely ignore that it happens, but it doesn't have to consume your life.  Enjoy your life.  Let go of what you can't control; work to change the things you can; and enjoy the rest....and take your dollies for a picnic every now and again. 



I woke up 36 today...with the realization that 40 is in 4 years and that still seems very old.  I think I was sad for a bit because I can't help but think of where I thought I'd be at this point.  For a while, I thought, "I have nothing to show for 36 years of life."  But that's not true.  Truth is found in perspective.  I'm single...true...but it's not all bad.  I pretty much do what I want within the confines of morality and common decency.  Besides, I haven't had a real argument with anyone in a while, so single is OK...maybe not perfect, but hey, what is?

I figured I'd have a dozen or so kids by now...but my only kid is pushing 8 pounds at 4 years old and sniffing the floor right now.  There's good in that too (not the sniffing the floor...that's tell-tale bad.)  For instance, when I work 12 hours a day, he gets shut behind a gate...at home...alone...for free.  Pretty sure that's illegal with tiny humans.

I think about the changes in my life since August of last year, and I'll admit, I recently went through a slump.  If I hadn't moved, I would have a different life....and 10 toes (but that's a story for another day).  I would still have the glory and spotlight that every true stage-whore needs...a place where I found I loved and almost needed to be.  But...how do I know this?  Could I not have just as easily freakishly chopped my own toe off in Guymon?  AND...not had access to orthopedic trauma (hottie) surgeons and decent insurance.  It could have been so worse.  I also could have worn out my welcome on the stage and not have been a part this year anyway and had the emotional trauma of not being cast...lol.  Life is life...it's shaped by decisions made.  God brought me here for a reason and so far so good.

My life is not how I envisioned it...but my life is good...it's how it's supposed to be.  I've got great stuff going on...

#1 - Ellarie Paige knows me and (most of the time) likes me.  She has her moments where she's just...two.  But what self respecting two year old doesn't?  And she's just two...I've been around two year olds where were TWO...as in "oh dear heavens...please put that child back in the cage for another year or two...it's not ready for socialization" (just kidding...kind of).  But, when she whispered in my ear, "I love you so much" and it was genuine...uncopied...and unsolicited...that's when it's all worth it.  She's a little piece of my heart.  I can't wait to see her and hear her excitement when she sees me.  She told me I was her very best friend the other day (of course she later said the same to some toys...but still.)  I hope she'll always see me as her friend and that probably wouldn't happen without this life.

#2 - My job.  There are days...boy are there days...when I want to fling my stethoscope across the room and scream...go apply at McD's...or welfare...and leave.  There are days when I want to pack up and retreat back to the job I knew well and forget learning new things and being constantly challenged.  But, I have friends who keep me thankful to have left and let me know the grass ain't so green there either anymore.  Plus, the people I work with are great and keep me coming back for more everyday.

#3 - Everleigh Grace...I don't know her yet and she kind of seems a little intangible right now, but she's coming soon.  I'm excited but apprehensive at how it might change things.  But, it'll be great and another person to love.  And...this time I'll be there instead of on the highway.  No one understands why that's important, but here it is--My aunt...who I rarely see...can tell me the story of the day I was born.  She was in the waiting room waiting for me.  Even if I never see her, I was important to her for at least one day and important enough to remember the story and important enough to retell the story.  I want them to know they are important to me...but I want to be there for all the other days too...not just one special day.

There is so much more that matters but will wait for another time.  I want to make my 36th year on the planet matter.  I want to be important...important to me...and to others.  I want to be able to grab each day and savor...spit out the bad ones and move on.  I want to be a little one's "very best friend"...even if I have to stand in line.  It's perspective.