pledge

It's like almost 11pm on Friday and I'm sitting here, alone, listening to Billy Squier and hoping my heart doesn't burst and make a mess of my freshly cleaned house. today/tonight has been a pretty kick ass time for little ole me. I've been trying to figure out a super cool "dooce"-ish way to talk about how I've been feeling lately and, well, nothings come to me. Pretty much because I'm not heather Armstrong, and I won't ever be. Pretty much because, let's face it, I'm not her. I am me. Michelle. And, as much as I don't believe it. as much as I doubt myself, fact remains, I'm okay. maybe even, GASP, cool. . . . . . . . shut it!

Here's the thing. I believe in the idea that you can judge a person by the company they keep. There has been plenty people I've given the benefit of the doubt solely because they knew people I knew were okay. So you would think that I would apply that to my own life and believe in myself, right? But, here's the thing. I don't. I have to force myself to believe it. i have to REMIND myself that I have KICK ASS friends and, therefore, MUST be (semi) cool , by association. But did you see that? I did it just now. Those parenthesis. ^ up there. That's me talking myself out of what I'm trying to convince my brain of believing. that's me saying "i should believe I'm cool because I have cool friends" when in reality I'm a self doubting, insecure, mess.

and then I wonder, are we all a self-doubting, insecure, mess?

the more I listen to people, the harder I dig to get to the truth, the less I assume what others are thinking. Everyday I realize that we are all in the same, EXACT, boat. We all lay in bed at night thinking "why did I eat that?", "did I really say that!!?", "did I say something that made her not call", "have I worked hard enough to keep my job?", "am I good enough?" "am I good enough?"

How do we get past that? "Am I good enough?" I know you do it. I know you do because, well, you.... you are....human, and (I've decided/learned) that we all question ourselves. Like, endlessly.

In this year of change, in this time with Obama and shit, I'm played lemming and fallen for this "be change' campaign. Ya, whatever. I'm a skeptic (yeah, I said it) but in the spirit of change I've decided to reflect on myself. I can see that this is time to fix myself. I mean I might as well make some attempt at making a difference, right? So here's my Pledge. I pledge to believe in myself. I will believe that I ROCK. I will believe that because my parents rocked and that they taught me well. I will believe because all the people I know are NOT wrong about me. I will believe that even thought my children are little mini-me's, it's impossible for them to be any cooler! I will believe because my husband is the single coolest person on the planet, and he things the same of me. I believe because I am a child of God and He knows what He's doing.

I pledge to believe, IN ME. In that the possibilities are endless. I will love more. Trust more. Do more. Change more. Believe more. Gossip less. Hate less. Doubt less. Judge Less.

Love more. hate less.

that is my pledge. what's yours?

m

well it's not a post about grocery shopping

I've been meaning to blog...meaning to and meaning to and I just can't think of anything really blog worthy to talk about. Even the random crap that I usually like has left me bored. I just don't know what to do about it. So I'm just gonna sit here and try to remember some of the things that have flashed through my mind, or accomplished, or not accomplished over the past week.

I'm going to start with Facebook. I joined last weekend at the INSISTENCE of Beth and Kaelene. Thanks girls, it is pretty cool. You were right! Neat to see what everyone is up to in the world outside my current world (meaning High school). Been a little roller coaster for me though. On many levels it's just plain strange to me. Not strange/bad, strange/different.

The first thing I noticed was the intimacy of facebook over say, Twitter, or here even. I love twitter but didn't realize that when I said something there is was just kinda out there. Thrown aimlessly for the Internet to see, or not see. I've realized just how anonymous twitter is for me. Or really how much I liked that anonymity. Facebook isn't like that. These are people I know. Some I talk to every day, some sit next to me all day, some I grew up with and know all the shit I did as a kid. It's intimate, personal. And with that comes some additional responsibility and accountability.


Like sometimes I feel like I would be wasting their time if I write completely useless shit. That could be my own self doubt coming to the surface, or maybe I need to find a filter. who knows? I want to be me, and lord knows, useless dribble is pretty much me. But I also want to be considerate, semi-funny, and for sure not a complete bore. so there's a bit of a learning curve on what to say where, and to really feel comfortable to be myself.


Another thing I've realized is how much I left behind when I up and moved from my home town to come to school in AZ. When it was time for me to move here to Tempe, I just moved. I didn't look back. Not once. No forwarding address, few goodbyes, just a long drive with my dad to a brand new place. I didn't know a soul. Didn't have a job, or an apartment, or a clue. In three days I found a place to live, got a roommate, landed a job, had a new school, watched my Dad drive away, and was all alone. But I wasn't alone. Everyone else was in the same place, doing the same exact thing. And no one knew me. I could start over. And that's exactly what I did. I started over.

Thing is, those people I left. Those friends. They pretty much kicked ass. I'm not sure why I needed to start over, or what I was running from, but I do know it certainly wasn't those people. It was more the place, and what I felt that place held for me at that moment. So that's something I've missed out by leaving - those people. Facebook as allowed me to take a peek into their lives so far and - not surprisingly - be in awe at their accomplishments, their struggles, their energy, their overall coolness. It's been pretty kick ass, even if I haven't been a part of it.

Okay, wow. didn't mean to get all deep there. I thought this would flow into my first shopping experience at Sprouts. I'll have to save that for another day. Cuz that's kinda a funky place with a totally different mood/vibe than I'm (apparently) in right now.


m

talk of angels

Can y'all endure one more story of angels and dead people? No? well move along then. I'm telling this one! :)

My mom collected bears. Like me, she loved lots and lots of things. I definitely came by my love of collecting things honestly. Unlike me, she was able to restrict her collection to teddy bears. And not just any ole bear, she had rules. They had to be, FIRST AND FOREMOST, soft. Squishy soft and with soft fur. That was the first test. Then they had to have a tail. she never bought a bear that she didn't flip over and check its buttocks, taking off clothes in necessary. Finally, it had to have a cute little face. It was like they spoke to her, asking to be taken in to her loving home. She obliged hundreds upon hundreds of bears. Us kids did our fair share of 'saving' bears from cold and lonely store shelves. I don't remember a birthday, mother's day, or Christmas where I didn't give her at least one bear. Poor woman was never surprised.

Many times since her passing I've felt urged to purchase the random bear. Usually while Christmas or birthday shopping for the kids. It's a strange feeling, being nudged to pick up, inspect and purchase a stuffed animal for my kids that's always held such a special spot in my heart. I've never ignored this urge, however. I figure, if my mom wants to talk to me through bears, so be it. I'll listen.

A few years ago, while shopping at my church's Christmas boutique I was, once again, urged to buy something. This time an angel. I'd learned not to ignore being pushed toward something so I just went with it and bought the thing. I mean what could it hurt, she was cute after all. She's the one on the left.



The following year I was, again, urged to buy angels. This time it was Christmas ornaments. I bought like a dozen or so adorable angels and gave them to family and friends. A couple of you probably remember those.

This new tradition continued into the next year when I picked up, at the insistence of my mother, these three lovies.

Usually I scatter all my little painted angels throughout the house. This year I changed it up and put them all together in the family room. I pointed them out to Peter, who most certainly would not have noticed them sitting together in all their cuteness. He took a quick glance and responded with, "cool, my mom collected angels"

WHAT???!?!? How did I not know that? She loved hummingbirds and butterflies. angels? really?

It's Peter's mom. How freaking cool is that!?!?!

So Jeanne, I'm listening. Thanks for the angels - I love them! And yes, I'll go back and get this year's selection. The tree topper from Kirkland Home that I passed on the other day. I didn't realize I needed a new tree topper. :)

m

Anniversaries and Angels

I've been sitting here staring at a flashing cursor and mocking keyboard for nearly an hour. I don't know what to say about today, December 1st. I have these thoughts bouncing around my brain - wanting to come out, but, at best, colliding with each other and multiplying. Is that fusion? fission? either way, it's compli-freaking-cated up in there.

anyway. a year ago today my brother and I became orphans after our father passed away. It's been a year of firsts, that essentially ended last week with Thanksgiving dinner. Even though he died many days after last Thanksgiving, that day was pretty much the last day I remember thinking he was going to be okay. The next day everything changed and I knew he was going to die. It marked the beginning of the end.

It's been a crazy year. Mostly good. Some bad. A little bit very bad. But really, mostly good. And we've stuck it out. What doesn't kill you makes you stronger, right? I've found, though, that in my dad's passing, I've missed my mom more. He was my conduit to her. He was the only person who I talked to every day who really knew her. I took for grated that I could always ask him when I wondered what Mom might think.

I leaned on her a lot, more and more as I got older. She was an amazingly diverse person and I learned as a young adult to never assume what she was going to say or believe on any subject. She was full of surprises and always made me really think about things. We agreed on many things, which was always cool, but there were so many times she surprised me with a different point of view. Once she was gone I realized quickly how much I missed discovering her thoughts on any myriad of subjects. She was always educated, passionate, well spoken and sincere about everything, big or small.

You see now why I've been sitting here so long? These thoughts flood my mind. I start with my dad, and everything quickly swings to my mom. That's not because I wasn't close to him. Shit, I am him. We were super close. Everything I love, and hate, about myself I got from him. As soon as I was allowed to stay up late, you could find us in the living room well into the night, talking about life, and God, and nothing and everything. I knew him because I am him. So when I miss him a mirror isn't too far away, and there he is.

One of the cooler things that's happened this year is my mom started visiting me again. I thank my daddy for that. I'd told him the story of her (and my mother in law) visiting me right after Sarah was born. Neither of them were able to meet her, but I could feel them there, watching over her. Racing past my bedroom door. At first it scared me and I finally asked them to stop. And they did. He knew how much I regretted asking that. I believe he convinced them it was okay, that I wouldn't be afraid this time, and that they should come back to see the kids, because once again I can feel them here. And this time, I say HI.

He doesn't hang around much. Not the manly thing to do I suppose, be the lurking angel! HA! I like to think he still up there asking all these questions, getting all the answers, that we'd talked about all those late nights. And besides, he doesn't have to stop by. My house is covered in mirrors, so it's not hard to see him any time I want.

m

so let's talk

Most of you know how my brain flows freely between being sharp, on point, and focused to slow, muddled and just plain gone. As I get older I've notice that this swing happens more often, and which more severity. I have days where I'll not only be able to think of all I have to do, but I'll be able write it all down and systematically check off each item as it's completed. Then there other days, when I can't even spell the word "list" much less get off the couch to start one.

Last week I had two of these brain-dead days, and man they sucked. Because (and I guess this is symptom of the underlying issue) now, not only do I have these off days, but they make me feel like total dog crap. You wanna know how I feel when I'm off? Like I'm pregnant. AND NO - I AM NOT PREGNANT - but that's how I feel. And everyone knows how much I hated being pregnant! Love the first day, and the last day, but those 40 weeks in between suck in the most hard core sucky way!

so why the hell am I telling y'all all of this you ask? Well, because I thought of it at lunch when I got this fortune...

...and figured I would write about how it made me feel. You see, on any given day I might be any of those three people. I realized that it might not make sense, why sometimes I have big things going on, but can't seem to talk about them. Take the signing I had at About Memories and More last weekend. I knew about it, I wanted to talk about it, but I just couldn't. My brain couldn't come up with something worthy of how that event went. And it deserved more than, "had a signing, it went great"

If you've done the math you may have figured out that the off days were before the signing, so why couldn't I blog about it on Monday? Well, here's one of the great consequences of those off days. I don't do anything. I mean A.N.Y.T.H.I.N.G. so I end up playing catch-up. Which overwhelms me, leaving me teetering on having another set of bad days. make sense?? If you're crazy, it does. It's a vicious cycle I tell ya.

Yah, I won't be off my meds like, ever.

THAT brings me to the signing. MAN WHAT FUN! Super cool group of chickies up in Flag. although I can't I'm surprised, scrapbookers totally rock anyway! Kirsten, the owner, is super fun, and dang cute and WAY creative. She even has a little 8 year old admirer - and we all know 8 year old boys don't lie! So when one loves you, you must really ROCK! :) Thanks for having my Kirsten, you were a fantastic host!

It's always so cool to talk to people about the concept of the book and watch them get it. To watch their eyes light up as they figure out what I mean when I say "scraplifting: it's not a crime." To see them look down at the book and see it for what it is - a way to tap into your own personal creativity. A way to learn exactly how to lift someones page and really, TRULY end up with a page that's uniquely theirs. A huge perk to having taken this huge chance on the book are those experiences. They make it all worth it. Thank you girls! Y'all make it possible for me to keep going out there, pluggin' this little book of mine.

m

atop my tv

I used to have this big cursive, button embellished "M" on my TV, right below that clock. It had to find a new home when I got this fun vinyl phrase from Brenda over at Eye Candy. I don't think she has a site, contact Lisa for her phone number. anyway, I love it. Thanks Brenda! It's added a cool touch to my family room.

Since I put that up I've spent some time just looking at the collection of things that have found their home on my TV. I found myself surprised that's it's mostly stuff from my dad. The huge candlesticks were a Christmas present/housewarming gift from him years ago. I remember it was a combined gift because they were rather expensive and we've had a spending limit for adult gifts for years, and this far exceeded that limit. they mean a lot to me for some reason, although I've never really been able to vocalize why. It was such an indulgent purchase for our family. I mean they were a lot. I think Dad knew that I fell completely in love with them and that they would always have a honored place in our home. And they do. I still love them as much as that very first day.

Then there's the round slice of rock, bottom left of photo. I didn't fully know it at the time, but this would be the last thing he ever bought me. I'm fairly certain he knew it would be his last gift. Which makes it all the more important. We were strolling around downtown Auburn California at the local antique shops and locally owned boutiques during my super fast visit before my 20th high school reunion.

Our first stop was this rock store, common in northern cali, with all it's gold and other natural goodness. I'm not the type who buys these types of things. No real reason. I love to look at them but having rocks in my house, even as pretty as they can be, usually doesn't interest me. But this one caught my eye, and Dad noticed. We went back and forth about this silly rock, talking about what we 'saw' in it, toying with buying it, but where would it live, how it survive the trip home, much less the kids, when finally he just bought it for me. So him.

In it I saw a lake, a huge lake with almost no end. A lake that went past the out cluster of shore which separated the part you might swim in from the part that one might speed boat in - although this wasn't a boating type a lake, but still a fun lake, with no end.

He saw the ocean with its vast horizon line that, also, had no end.

He bought that rock for me in August, 2007, and died 5 months later. I've posted this poem before, but will again. It gave me so much conform those hard days of waiting at Hospice. Read it with the thought of this rock and tell me he didn't know something beyond the fact that he had cancer...

I am standing upon the seashore. A ship at my sidespreads her white sails to the morning breeze andstarts for the blue ocean. She is an object of beautyand strength. I stand and watch her until at lengthshe hangs like a speck of white cloud just wherethe sea and sky come to mingle with each other.

Then someone at my side says: "There, she is gone!"

"Gone where?"

Gone from my sight. That is all. She is just as large inmast and hull and spar as she was when she left my side andshe is just as able to bear her load of living freight to herdestined port.

Her diminished size is in me, not in her. And just at themoment when someone at my side says: "There, she is gone!"there are other eyes watching her coming, and other voicesready to take up the glad shout: "Here she comes!"

And that is dying.

I don't mean to be a big bummer. We all deal with dying in our own way, and today mine is to talk about this. I think that's why I'm so touched by Kimberly's loss. My dad had been diagnosed with cancer and knew his time was short. He was able to, knowingly or not, leave something significant for me. Something I could always know we, at some level, had the same thoughts about. I hope she finds that one thing he husband was able to leave for her and that maybe it's something that lives on her TV. Something to remind her that this is not the end. Something she can look at, and smile.

m