This won't be nearly as good as 300, with Gerard Butler and his computer enhanced abs.
This is my two hundreth blog. I reread a few and noticed a theme. I write about my dogs, my boy, my girls and my love. I write about ridiculous things and I tend to get off on crazy tangents.
You know, I wanted to write for a magazine. I didn't want to do fashion pieces or anything like that, I wanted to be the last page. The page you usually go to first if you are like me. I read the last page of magazines first. I have done it for years. I think it might be because the final thought is usually the best.
Well this isn't my final thought so don't expect great things. Who reads this anyway? Danny, obviously. I am Peggy to his Hank Hill- he must read my musings. My kids so they know who I love the most. My dear friend Carly, who usually is the first to like my link. Secretly, I have hoped that one would go a little further. One blog would sneak its way onto someone else's page and would spread its little written word wings and fly to a mind, a heart very far from mine.
Barron, he wouldn't read it, but he would listen as I read it aloud for him. Harlow listens until it is time to lay on the landing. Emmitt doesn't listen. He just yells over me. Sophie sleeps. Elsa sits about twenty feet away and stares at me.
I wish I would have known to do this when Danny was gone, when Mom was sick, when Ashlyn was skipping school. I think it would have been so good for me. Of course, I would have not had as many topics to write about now if I wrote then.
200. Two hundred times when I could say my piece and no one had to tell me to shut up. Two hundrend times when I found my peace in the written word.
Sunday, April 28, 2013
Friday, April 26, 2013
Seriously, it's been two years, Get over it already!
It floors me really, that after two years, I am still not over the death of Barron. I can break down with chest heaving sobs if I ever let myself really think about that dog. That wonderful, sneaky dog.
Since his death, I have done some spiritual activities. Not because of his death, this is just how it worked out. Anyway, in this spiritual endeavor, I really examined my relationship with God, where it was now and where it had been. It had been in a pretty bad place several years ago, like, God, you suck kind of bad. I really wanted nothing to do with Him. Time gave me some perspective and I came to see that in those dark days, I absolutely hated myself. It was easier to project that hate onto God. He has really big shoulders, I figure He could take it. And He did. He let me work it all out without any undue pressure from Him. Man, that God is a smart one. Took me a few years to figure it all out.
In the dark days of ought four, I probably, (not probably,) should have been seeking professional help. I was there, you know, that place that is so hard to come back from because one simple act of desperation makes it permanent. I wonder now, who knew. Who saw this little girl on the top of the slide? I think a few people knew, but no one knew how to catch me and even if they tried, they ran the risk of being kicked in the gut as a flew down.
Hate is such a horrible way to feel about oneself. But it happens, quite a lot. Hating God is a bi product of that feeling, I think. Or maybe it was the other way around. Either way...
But Barron, he didn't hate me. He couldn't. It wasn't in his bones. I can't think of too many things he did hate. Puppies laying on him. Us leaving him. Me, hating myself.
I think I miss him so much now for a number of reasons. Barron was a great dog that liked to swim and play fetch and chase bunnies. He would go on walks with me and hang out with me, putting his big head on my feet or in my lap. He would seek me out when I was so dark and he would let me know that I wasn't alone. It is hard to feel alone when the sheer weight of him pressed against me would nearly know me over.
I don't know if he saved my life that day. I will never know what was in the works because the Lord works in mysterious ways. Taking off the wings of an angel and putting on the most luscious vanilla coat to disguise His love for me. I would give my scarred right arm to have my dog back. Really I would. He was some of the best of me.
The moment that I realized, really truly realized that it was all God's doing that day- that Barron was an instrument of His peace- was so overwhelming. We Catholics, we like our saints and angels. I just didn't know that one could wear a fur coat.
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Since his death, I have done some spiritual activities. Not because of his death, this is just how it worked out. Anyway, in this spiritual endeavor, I really examined my relationship with God, where it was now and where it had been. It had been in a pretty bad place several years ago, like, God, you suck kind of bad. I really wanted nothing to do with Him. Time gave me some perspective and I came to see that in those dark days, I absolutely hated myself. It was easier to project that hate onto God. He has really big shoulders, I figure He could take it. And He did. He let me work it all out without any undue pressure from Him. Man, that God is a smart one. Took me a few years to figure it all out.
In the dark days of ought four, I probably, (not probably,) should have been seeking professional help. I was there, you know, that place that is so hard to come back from because one simple act of desperation makes it permanent. I wonder now, who knew. Who saw this little girl on the top of the slide? I think a few people knew, but no one knew how to catch me and even if they tried, they ran the risk of being kicked in the gut as a flew down.
Hate is such a horrible way to feel about oneself. But it happens, quite a lot. Hating God is a bi product of that feeling, I think. Or maybe it was the other way around. Either way...
But Barron, he didn't hate me. He couldn't. It wasn't in his bones. I can't think of too many things he did hate. Puppies laying on him. Us leaving him. Me, hating myself.
I think I miss him so much now for a number of reasons. Barron was a great dog that liked to swim and play fetch and chase bunnies. He would go on walks with me and hang out with me, putting his big head on my feet or in my lap. He would seek me out when I was so dark and he would let me know that I wasn't alone. It is hard to feel alone when the sheer weight of him pressed against me would nearly know me over.
I don't know if he saved my life that day. I will never know what was in the works because the Lord works in mysterious ways. Taking off the wings of an angel and putting on the most luscious vanilla coat to disguise His love for me. I would give my scarred right arm to have my dog back. Really I would. He was some of the best of me.
The moment that I realized, really truly realized that it was all God's doing that day- that Barron was an instrument of His peace- was so overwhelming. We Catholics, we like our saints and angels. I just didn't know that one could wear a fur coat.
.jpg)
Wednesday, April 24, 2013
What Grandma Snow Might Think
I have been going through photo albums a lot lately. Taking trips down memory lane get me all misty eyed and such. I recently posted a photo of many of the Snows in their denim shirts, Christmas 1991. My mom, not in denim, is healthy and of full mind in this photo. Seeing her in those days always gives me pause. We were robbed, you know, and so was she.
Anyway, today just happens to be Ashlyn's birthday. She is twenty two. I spent a little extra time looking at the photos of her early days, and just a second or two longer on those few blessed photos of my mom with my girl.
Ashlyn and I have had the discussion about my mom and what she would have thought about Ashlyn's adventures. Though Ashlyn was always Grandpa Snow's little buddy, I think she was a kindred spirit to Grandma Snow.
Let me begin with the fact that my mom had great concerns about me becoming a parent. I found out I was pregnant after Danny had left for Saudi Arabia. We did not know how long he was going to be gone and my mom had many fears about me being able to take good care of myself considering I was alone with a lot happening in my life at a very rapid rate. She also had concerns about me being a mom. Not one to enjoy the company of children, I was not the ideal person to carry one and then raise it. I can only imagine the conversations that were had with her nursing friends and her sisters. Much hand ringing took place, I am sure.
But it turned out alright. Mom and I bonded over this little girl I had. My parents came to visit shortly after Ashlyn was born, and I could see that Mom was pretty confident in my mom abilities. There were a few times in the next few years that Mom would let me know that the job I was doing was hard, single parenting half the time while we stayed in one bedroom. But she appreciated my efforts and knew that I was doing the best I could be doing.
I don't know when Ashlyn's memories of Grandma Snow became tainted with the disease of dementia. I don't know if she remembers a lot of the good, or if it is too much of the bad. Way too much of it was bad.
Mom died seven years ago this month but the disease took so much of her years before that. She never knew that Ashlyn was in colorguard. Or that she took up sewing. Or that she got terribly sick. She never saw her exceptionally good grades. Didn't know that Ashlyn had raided her fifties and sixties era closet. Missed out on seeing this incredible young woman.
So Ashlyn, I kinda think this is how it would have been...
Grandma Snow would have loved Colorguard, the music and movement. She would have been your biggest fan. She would have wanted you to teach her how to quilt. She would have been overwhelmed with joy when you wore her dress to homecoming. She would have driven you crazy, reading endless magazines in your hospital room. The two of you could have spent hours looking at the best dressed lists from awards season. Grandma would have looked at every photo, listened to every travel story, would have told the world of your adventures. I know she knew all that you did, all that you overcame. It just would have been nice to have her here, really here to share in it all.
But if she were here today, living and lucid, I would like to think that Grandma Snow would share with you a few things.
Watch Dr. Zhivago, it is right up your alley. (I don't know if Mom actually ever saw the entire movie, but she slept on the couch every time it was on).
Keep being green. It is in your blood. Everything can be reused (that is why everything was saved, so when she thought of a way to reuse it, she would have it to reuse).
Wear my old clothes. I was fashionable and classic. (and beautiful).
Travel. Well, you already know this one and are seeing so much.
Keep going to mass. Look at what faith can give you (and light a candle for Grandma in all the churches you stop in, she thought that was neat.)
Anyway, today just happens to be Ashlyn's birthday. She is twenty two. I spent a little extra time looking at the photos of her early days, and just a second or two longer on those few blessed photos of my mom with my girl.
Ashlyn and I have had the discussion about my mom and what she would have thought about Ashlyn's adventures. Though Ashlyn was always Grandpa Snow's little buddy, I think she was a kindred spirit to Grandma Snow.
Let me begin with the fact that my mom had great concerns about me becoming a parent. I found out I was pregnant after Danny had left for Saudi Arabia. We did not know how long he was going to be gone and my mom had many fears about me being able to take good care of myself considering I was alone with a lot happening in my life at a very rapid rate. She also had concerns about me being a mom. Not one to enjoy the company of children, I was not the ideal person to carry one and then raise it. I can only imagine the conversations that were had with her nursing friends and her sisters. Much hand ringing took place, I am sure.
But it turned out alright. Mom and I bonded over this little girl I had. My parents came to visit shortly after Ashlyn was born, and I could see that Mom was pretty confident in my mom abilities. There were a few times in the next few years that Mom would let me know that the job I was doing was hard, single parenting half the time while we stayed in one bedroom. But she appreciated my efforts and knew that I was doing the best I could be doing.
I don't know when Ashlyn's memories of Grandma Snow became tainted with the disease of dementia. I don't know if she remembers a lot of the good, or if it is too much of the bad. Way too much of it was bad.
Mom died seven years ago this month but the disease took so much of her years before that. She never knew that Ashlyn was in colorguard. Or that she took up sewing. Or that she got terribly sick. She never saw her exceptionally good grades. Didn't know that Ashlyn had raided her fifties and sixties era closet. Missed out on seeing this incredible young woman.
So Ashlyn, I kinda think this is how it would have been...
Grandma Snow would have loved Colorguard, the music and movement. She would have been your biggest fan. She would have wanted you to teach her how to quilt. She would have been overwhelmed with joy when you wore her dress to homecoming. She would have driven you crazy, reading endless magazines in your hospital room. The two of you could have spent hours looking at the best dressed lists from awards season. Grandma would have looked at every photo, listened to every travel story, would have told the world of your adventures. I know she knew all that you did, all that you overcame. It just would have been nice to have her here, really here to share in it all.
But if she were here today, living and lucid, I would like to think that Grandma Snow would share with you a few things.
Watch Dr. Zhivago, it is right up your alley. (I don't know if Mom actually ever saw the entire movie, but she slept on the couch every time it was on).
Keep being green. It is in your blood. Everything can be reused (that is why everything was saved, so when she thought of a way to reuse it, she would have it to reuse).
Wear my old clothes. I was fashionable and classic. (and beautiful).
Travel. Well, you already know this one and are seeing so much.
Keep going to mass. Look at what faith can give you (and light a candle for Grandma in all the churches you stop in, she thought that was neat.)
Monday, April 22, 2013
"Just doing his job"
Reese Witherspoon was arrested for disorderly conduct. What she did is what a lot of people did, she didn't think, she spoke like a privileged bitch and forgot that she had too much to drink. I can see that, who hasn't said something stupid in the heat of the bottle? What bothers me is the comment made later when she apologized. She said that he (the arresting officer) was "just doing his job."
Just doing his job. The job he Just does requires quite a bit more than you think Ms. Witherspoon. His job requires that he has to deal with assholes and drunks and those that would like to kill him and he must be able to distinguish between the three in a split second because he wants to go home alive every night. In just doing his job he must take into consideration that while he has you pulled over because you made to stupid decision to drive drunk when you clearly have the means to call a cab, he must also be aware of any car that may try to play a game of chicken with him on the side of the road. He must keep an eye on you because you want to get out of the car and create a distraction. Granted you are only an academy award winning actress, but you could have been a couple of druggies, armed and a little bit tweaked. He doesn't know for sure because when he is just doing his job anything can happen.
When you just do your job, Ms. Witherspoon, there is a very low chance that you will be hurt or killed. Thousands of dollars go into safety measures to prevent your injury. This man, he wears a vest. Oh he is armed with a gun and flashlight, maybe a taser and he will have backup, but in the first moments, he goes it alone. He has to approach every situation with a degree of caution. You have a team of people looking out for you. He has his intuition, his gut, maybe a partner. He has to go from zero to sixty in a split second. Imagine what that does to him- you get to read the script, you know when the fake gun is going to be shot, you know when the car is going to crash into the car you were pretending to be riding in- he gets none of these warnings. He has the tools of his job, what is on his belt and in his heart and mind. Imagine what that repeated race of heart and adrenaline rush does to his blood pressure and digestive tract.
There are a lot of people that are just doing their job. I am one of them. And in this week, we saw a whole lot of people that aren't just doing their jobs. Take a look at the video and photos of the police in Boston, the firemen in West, the soldiers everywhere. These people are not just doing their jobs. Oh, they may say that because for the most part, they are ordinary people with extraordinary senses of purpose and responsibility. Those people that rushed into a burning fertilizer plant knew full well that this wasn't a controlled explosion that was going to be added later by computer, they knew that there were people inside that needed help. Those officers in Boston didn't know where that kid was, but they knew he had nothing to lose and that is the worst kind of hunt to be on. The blood was real, Ms. Witherspoon, and it wasn't just blood, it was the blood of innocent people and it was the blood of two of their own. Even here in little ole Des Moines, for nearly thirty hours, ours were out there just doing their jobs. For me, my Saturday night date was cut short and my entire Sunday plans were put on the shelf because my husband just had to do his job. Oh, and he left at 1230 am to go just do his job again. That being said, most of those out there on this call had just been doing their jobs a lot longer than my own husband so what sounds like anger to you is actually appreciation that mine wasn't gone quite as long and was able to get some rest. And this weekend in Des Moines was nothing compared to the four days in Boston where those were just doing their jobs.
So your husband drove drunk and you were a bitch. We will all get past that, but you need to find a better way of expressing yourself. You need to check with a script writer to find the words that more adequately express what this officer was doing. Because I promise you that is just wasn't his job. It was his way of life, it was what he lives and breathes so that he can live and breathe.
Just doing his job. The job he Just does requires quite a bit more than you think Ms. Witherspoon. His job requires that he has to deal with assholes and drunks and those that would like to kill him and he must be able to distinguish between the three in a split second because he wants to go home alive every night. In just doing his job he must take into consideration that while he has you pulled over because you made to stupid decision to drive drunk when you clearly have the means to call a cab, he must also be aware of any car that may try to play a game of chicken with him on the side of the road. He must keep an eye on you because you want to get out of the car and create a distraction. Granted you are only an academy award winning actress, but you could have been a couple of druggies, armed and a little bit tweaked. He doesn't know for sure because when he is just doing his job anything can happen.
When you just do your job, Ms. Witherspoon, there is a very low chance that you will be hurt or killed. Thousands of dollars go into safety measures to prevent your injury. This man, he wears a vest. Oh he is armed with a gun and flashlight, maybe a taser and he will have backup, but in the first moments, he goes it alone. He has to approach every situation with a degree of caution. You have a team of people looking out for you. He has his intuition, his gut, maybe a partner. He has to go from zero to sixty in a split second. Imagine what that does to him- you get to read the script, you know when the fake gun is going to be shot, you know when the car is going to crash into the car you were pretending to be riding in- he gets none of these warnings. He has the tools of his job, what is on his belt and in his heart and mind. Imagine what that repeated race of heart and adrenaline rush does to his blood pressure and digestive tract.
There are a lot of people that are just doing their job. I am one of them. And in this week, we saw a whole lot of people that aren't just doing their jobs. Take a look at the video and photos of the police in Boston, the firemen in West, the soldiers everywhere. These people are not just doing their jobs. Oh, they may say that because for the most part, they are ordinary people with extraordinary senses of purpose and responsibility. Those people that rushed into a burning fertilizer plant knew full well that this wasn't a controlled explosion that was going to be added later by computer, they knew that there were people inside that needed help. Those officers in Boston didn't know where that kid was, but they knew he had nothing to lose and that is the worst kind of hunt to be on. The blood was real, Ms. Witherspoon, and it wasn't just blood, it was the blood of innocent people and it was the blood of two of their own. Even here in little ole Des Moines, for nearly thirty hours, ours were out there just doing their jobs. For me, my Saturday night date was cut short and my entire Sunday plans were put on the shelf because my husband just had to do his job. Oh, and he left at 1230 am to go just do his job again. That being said, most of those out there on this call had just been doing their jobs a lot longer than my own husband so what sounds like anger to you is actually appreciation that mine wasn't gone quite as long and was able to get some rest. And this weekend in Des Moines was nothing compared to the four days in Boston where those were just doing their jobs.
So your husband drove drunk and you were a bitch. We will all get past that, but you need to find a better way of expressing yourself. You need to check with a script writer to find the words that more adequately express what this officer was doing. Because I promise you that is just wasn't his job. It was his way of life, it was what he lives and breathes so that he can live and breathe.
Monday, April 15, 2013
A Come To Jesus
147.8 pounds. Even with a baby in my belly, I have never weighed that much. That is 45 pounds more than on my wedding day, 49 more than the day I found out I was pregnant with Hayley. 29 more than when Danny was in Iraq, but most importantly, 18 more pounds than when I was fit and healthy doing FXB. Today, the scale was the highest it had ever been. The fat around my belly was visible under any shirt I tried on, including a sweatshirt. My thighs don't just touch, they cling to each other to nearly my knees.
I stood in front of the mirror today for a long time. Just trying to determine how and why this happened. What shifted in me that made me stand here today and really dislike the image I see? And most importantly, what in the world am I going to do about it?
Well that's when I had a come to Jesus. You know, that moment that is the very bottom. There are a lot of come to Jesus's in one's life. I have had several. The biggest of course, was when I made the decision to stop cutting. But this come to Jesus is really just as important. I am still hurting myself. I am obviously hurting my health. Carrying around what is probably ten pounds of extra fat is not healthy. I have no upper body or core strength which creates this vicious cycle of back injury, rest, weight gain, back injury. How in the world will I play with grandbabies if I cannot get on the floor or get up off of it? At this rate, I won't even be able to pick them up.
How did this happen? Well it started when I stopped going to Farrells which meant I stopped exercising. Ashlyn got sick and I immediately assumed that my weight would be fine because I lost so much weight when Danny was away, I would be the same with this stress. Well, I was wrong. We ate good while Ashlyn was sick. There were so many incredible meals made for us and so many fast food meals when we were on the go that eating did not suffer. Exercise just didn't stay in my life. I ate more and exercised not at all. And that became the trend. Had I been smart, I would have taken advantage of the stress release that exercise is.
Oh there have been many, many, many returns to exercise. All that last a day or two or three, but nothing has made it to a week. It is embarrassing, it is shameful. I have a healthy body that can move and do and I choose to not move and do. I waste a God given gift every single day. I might as well put a knife to my arm for all the love I am showing myself now.
You see, I was not equating what I was doing now to what I was doing then. I would find ways to sneak in a slit of the skin so that no one would really notice. I would cut under my watch band or in the crease of my elbow. Now, I keep candy in my work bag or put soda in my water jug. Well, standing in front of that mirror today, really looking at myself, I paid attention to the changes in me. There is a web of spider veins on the back of one knee. I am sure it is partly from standing all day, but also from carrying extra weight and not getting the blood moving enough throughout the day. The innertube of goo around my midsection is awful. It cannot be hidden or disguised or ignored any longer. And the scars on my arm, well they are fading, quite a lot but they will never completely go away. The important thing about those scars is that I didn't add anymore. Now it is time to say that about the fat and the pain and the frustration.
So 147.8, you are not welcome here anymore. You are my bleeding arm, you are my bottom. Leaving you will be no easy feat though. I have tried to leave your friends before and it didn't work. But if I don't do it now, right now... If I let you stay one more day... If I don't look in the mirror one more time and make myself believe that I am truly worth being healthy, then I might as well resign myself to black, shapeless dresses and standing in the back of all photos.
I stood in front of the mirror today for a long time. Just trying to determine how and why this happened. What shifted in me that made me stand here today and really dislike the image I see? And most importantly, what in the world am I going to do about it?
Well that's when I had a come to Jesus. You know, that moment that is the very bottom. There are a lot of come to Jesus's in one's life. I have had several. The biggest of course, was when I made the decision to stop cutting. But this come to Jesus is really just as important. I am still hurting myself. I am obviously hurting my health. Carrying around what is probably ten pounds of extra fat is not healthy. I have no upper body or core strength which creates this vicious cycle of back injury, rest, weight gain, back injury. How in the world will I play with grandbabies if I cannot get on the floor or get up off of it? At this rate, I won't even be able to pick them up.
How did this happen? Well it started when I stopped going to Farrells which meant I stopped exercising. Ashlyn got sick and I immediately assumed that my weight would be fine because I lost so much weight when Danny was away, I would be the same with this stress. Well, I was wrong. We ate good while Ashlyn was sick. There were so many incredible meals made for us and so many fast food meals when we were on the go that eating did not suffer. Exercise just didn't stay in my life. I ate more and exercised not at all. And that became the trend. Had I been smart, I would have taken advantage of the stress release that exercise is.
Oh there have been many, many, many returns to exercise. All that last a day or two or three, but nothing has made it to a week. It is embarrassing, it is shameful. I have a healthy body that can move and do and I choose to not move and do. I waste a God given gift every single day. I might as well put a knife to my arm for all the love I am showing myself now.
You see, I was not equating what I was doing now to what I was doing then. I would find ways to sneak in a slit of the skin so that no one would really notice. I would cut under my watch band or in the crease of my elbow. Now, I keep candy in my work bag or put soda in my water jug. Well, standing in front of that mirror today, really looking at myself, I paid attention to the changes in me. There is a web of spider veins on the back of one knee. I am sure it is partly from standing all day, but also from carrying extra weight and not getting the blood moving enough throughout the day. The innertube of goo around my midsection is awful. It cannot be hidden or disguised or ignored any longer. And the scars on my arm, well they are fading, quite a lot but they will never completely go away. The important thing about those scars is that I didn't add anymore. Now it is time to say that about the fat and the pain and the frustration.
So 147.8, you are not welcome here anymore. You are my bleeding arm, you are my bottom. Leaving you will be no easy feat though. I have tried to leave your friends before and it didn't work. But if I don't do it now, right now... If I let you stay one more day... If I don't look in the mirror one more time and make myself believe that I am truly worth being healthy, then I might as well resign myself to black, shapeless dresses and standing in the back of all photos.
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