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Archive for the ‘Life’ Category

Days Like This

Posted in Blogging, Creative Writing, Inspiration, Life, Non-Fiction, Parenting, Saving Money, Uncategorized, Writers, Writing, tagged , , , on September 2, 2015| 6 Comments »

Because I know you were sad upon finishing my post yesterday—probably like a great book you didn’t want to end, right?—I’ve decided to write a little more about this laundry detergent.

 

If you’re anything like me, first of all, I’m sorry. Secondly, you will have laundry room cupboards filled with potions and elixirs, powders and pastes. You will have spent oodles of dough on this brand and that, in the hopes that the next one will fulfill all of its wickedly wondrous promises. You will have hoarded all of the failed jars and bottles, believing that one day…someday…you will put them to good use. And to think some have called me a pessimist! Tsk, tsk.

 

My point being, this sud-up makes sense. It took me 15 minutes to make, it’s great in hot, warm or cold water and works like a charm in regular and he machines, not to mention it will last anywhere from 6 months up to a year depending how many are in your household.

 

Pop it directly into your top or front-loading drum and prepare to inhale an angel-infused breeze and the fresh mountain air all in one sniff. It combines the many things we go out and buy individually, bringing them together in a fresh, fragrant, fusion of squeaky bubble goodness. I spent a total of approximately $30 on ingredients and splurged $20 for the jar.

 

Hey, the jar is not only reusable, forever and ever, but it had a lot to live up to. Remember the tea and red satin heels? I needed a nice jar!

 

It is also important to note that any storage container can be used and that those Downy Unstopables are solely for scent, thus, are also an optional spend. Feel free to leave them out if you hate angels and mountains. And, needless to say, if you don’t like pretty, stuff a sock in your crafty self’s glue gun and leave it all plain Jane.

 

So whether you want to save money or brag about your domestic superiority, this is worth a try. Heck, if you have doubts, I hazard to propose they will all be washed away.

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Not Old Enough

Posted in Blogging, Creative Writing, Inspiration, Life, Non-Fiction, Our Moments, Parenting, Saving Money, Uncategorized, Writers, Writing, tagged , on August 28, 2015| 10 Comments »

I turned 45 last Friday.

 

Funny thing just now—my fingers went mysteriously rogue and plunked in 24 the first time ‘round.

 

Strange.

 

It’s not a marker birthday or anything. It’s not like 21 or 40, but it is half way to 90 and I’ll admit that’s been slightly mind-boggling for me. Is that even a possibility? Can you be slightly mind-boggled or is the very word itself a full-on admission of a complete and utter flabbergast?

 

Technically, it’s middle-aged. I’m at mid-point. I’ve officially crossed the line between what was and what will be. This half versus that half. That is, assuming I make it to 90. There’s always a chance I may not. In which case, I am more than half way through my life. How in the world did I get here?

 

And, what happens now?

 

I can remember stretching out on the sun-warmed carpet in my family room sixteen years ago and promising myself I’d publish a book by the time I turned 30. (Who hasn’t promised themselves that? I can hear you asking) I was 29 then. I didn’t make it. But in the sixteen years since, I’ve raised a family, worked and written a book, albeit terrible and unpublishable, it is a book nonetheless.

 

Well, I’ve had a week to unboggle and now that my head is clear, I’ve come to a place where I realize I’m not only content with my age, but overjoyed to arrive at it. This year has taught me that. I am the fortunate one. I got here. I did make it. My goals are still on the table. I get the chance to keep going. I’m lucky to wake with hope beside me. I can continue my journey with possibility.

 

I get to live.

 

And, of course, make my own laundry soap. Because I hear that’s what 45 year-olds do…

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The World’s Worst Dog

Posted in Blogging, Creative Writing, Inspiration, Life, Non-Fiction, Our Moments, Parenting, Thoughts, Uncategorized, Writers, Writing, tagged , , on August 22, 2015| 2 Comments »

Two years ago today…

As all good things must come to an end, I thought life with Rowan would go on forever. No, you’re not confused. You needn’t read that sentence again. It’ll still say the same thing.

You see, I’ve been known to remark once or thrice that she really must be the World’s Worst Dog. I haven’t hidden my rants or rages. My sputterings and spews have been no secret. I have openly complained and cried in frustration. I’ve fallen and forgiven for all to see. I’ve been a martyr at best.

You understand, right? I mean, she filled my life with insane and unnatural amounts of hair and stained my carpets to the brink of despair. She chewed up precious belongings and sabotaged our prized Wisteria. Her incessant howls cost us neighbors and got her ixnayed from our camping roster. She dragged garbage out over the floors and snatched lavish steaks off the barbie. Walks were harrowing horrors as she pulled and strained with all her might. She vanished when unleashed and ignored our frantic pleas for her return. Yes, without a doubt, she was the world’s worst dog.

But this week, she lay at my feet, panting and whimpering, immobilized and pained. Helpless.

And all I could remember were her ears flapping in the wind, her saucer eyes and her soppy, sweet demeanor. As my family spread out to sleep on the couches and the floor because she could no longer make the trip up to our rooms, I thought of the way she once guarded our house and made us feel safe. While we set our alarm for her 3am meds, I envisioned the way her legs splayed out to the sides as she scrambled to meet us each time we came through the door. While we hand-fed her a homemade turkey and quinoa mix with little sips of water, I wished for the once annoying click of her nails on the wooden floor. And as we changed out the cool packs soothing her collapsing neck, I swore I heard all the laughter she’d brought into our home over the last seven and a half years.

This week, she could do none of that. She simply lay, gasping, blinking, scared and scarred and I realized what I must’ve known all along. She wasn’t the world’s worst dog. She’d be my family’s best memory.

Rowan aka: Ro, Rowey, Rosa and The Ro Show January 23, 2006 ~ August 22, 2013

Rowan aka: Ro, Rowey, Rosa and The Ro Show January 23, 2006 ~ August 22, 2013

Note: Rowan was taken from us by an inoperable case of Intervertebral Disc Disease

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Cleanse the Crazy

Posted in Blogging, Creative Writing, Fiction, Life, Non-Fiction, Thoughts, Uncategorized, Writers, Writing, tagged , , on June 18, 2015| 8 Comments »

You’ll notice this is not a morning post.

 

I am currently trying to drink a cup of boiled water mixed with half a lemon, a teaspoon of freshly grated ginger and a dash of Cayenne. This is supposed to cleanse my system, protect me against bacteria and boost my metabolism. It’s also supposed to taste so refreshingly healthy that I will soon crave this in replace of my morning coffee. While the first three points may happen, I can promise you that the fourth will not. I have in fact not had my morning coffee yet today, but only because I’ve been procrastinating about making and drinking this concoction since I woke up six hours ago.

Eush

Eush

It’s really tough going. I’m not even sure I can describe the taste, but being the stalwart scribe I tell myself I am, I will try.

 

It’s a bit like falling into a hot, dirty pond and trying desperately to get out before any of the sour, stagnant water makes its way into your mouth. But of course you can’t escape it in time and end up with a big gulp singeing your tongue and raking its way roughly down your gullet. And as it does, you feel like you might cease to exist if you have to experience that sickly, searing taste even just one more time.

 

Amazingly, there are people that live like this on a daily basis, people who don’t even think of living any other way, people who ingest only organic, (and I mean that in the rootiest sense of the word) made-from-scratch, sustenance. There are actually people who forgo a morning brew for this kind of torture. It boggles the mind. Well, my mind anyway. I am simply not wired that way. Oh, I believe in healthy choices, but sometimes I don’t…make them, that is. I like moderation. I like fruit…dipped in chocolate. I like my attainable to be sustainable. I like food that doesn’t hurt.

 

A lot.

 

Well, while writing this post has helped me get to the bottom of this pond, I mean mug, and I’m grateful, I do have to leave you. Now that my metabolism is buzzing and the bacteria in my body has most definitely been thwarted, it’s time to go rinse out this nastiness because my coffee pot is finally beeping.

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In Sickness and In Health

Posted in Blogging, Creative Writing, Life, Non-Fiction, Parenting, Thoughts, Uncategorized, Writers, Writing, tagged , , , on June 10, 2015| 7 Comments »

I’m not clinging to dear life by a fraying thread or anything, but I’m pretty sick right now. I have something akin to “Man Flu” and it turns out that that long mythicized illness can actually be a realistic kick in the teeth. I can’t sleep, my tongue is as hard (and I swear the same size) as a brick, my eyes won’t stop watering, my head, hammering and my sinuses think I bought stock in Kleenex tissues complete with lotion and aloe. Lotion and aloe. Really? But hey, my nose is appreciative.

 

So, upon the suggestion of my doting husband, I decided to take it easy yesterday. Get some rest, put my feet up and live the life of a well and truly undomesticated goddess.

 

My morning began at 7, when I got up (notice I didn’t say woke up) to make the kid’s lunches, but because my illness had started skulking its way in the previous night, there were dinner dishes and dirty counters to blast through before I could begin washing and chopping the veggies for my daughter’s daily (!) salad and hauling out the ingredients for my son’s Ciabatta bun, meat, cheese, lettuce, pickles, mustard, mayo Deluxe. (We didn’t have any tomatoes, darn it)

 

Lunches made and order restored, I drove the aforementioned kids to school. Yes, they are high maintenance. Definitely think twice before creating one. And while making the trek to the school, I noticed that that indicator that always seems to plummet much too quickly was below the red line and decided to drive on ahead to the gas station. Because we live ten minutes from the border, we go down to the States to get our gas. It saves us $20 to $25 a tank. When I got back home, I threw in a load of laundry because, why not, and ran the vacuum over the front rug because I’m insane its perpetual coating of pine needles and dirt balls messes with my brain.

 

Later, as he pulled out of our sunny driveway to head in for a hard day’s work, my hubby cheerily waved and told me to add Rice Krispies to the grocery list. You know, in case I was going grocery shopping later…because…you know, why wouldn’t I?

 

I went grocery shopping.

 

This means that by 10am, I had ‘cooked’, cleaned, scrubbed, laundered, taxi’d, shopped and traveled abroad.

 

I think tomorrow, I’ll just go to work.

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To Serve, Protect and Triumph

Posted in Blogging, Creative Writing, Fiction, Inspiration, Life, Non-Fiction, Parenting, Uncategorized, Writers, Writing, tagged , , on May 18, 2015| 8 Comments »

No surprise, but I’m a daydreamer. It’s not an easy thing to hide. My school reports often cited that I tended to wander off without actually leaving the classroom, and seeing as I’m confessing it all, I may as well admit that I probably still wander off about a hundred and sixteen times a day.

 

But there was a period of time in my life where I was able to focus. You see I used to be this really good housewife. I was even, in fact, once accused of mirroring the likes of June Cleaver from Leave It to Beaver. I admit I didn’t see the resemblance back then, but I will say that I took my daily chores very seriously. They were always completed in a timely, organized fashion and no cupboard or corner was ever left unturned. The kids smelled good, unmentionables were folded, floors gleamed, toilet rolls were always miraculously placed on the holder and there was something fairly edible to eat at all the right times. The least of which is not that I somehow managed to perform all of these things with barely an eyelash bat.

 

So, why not now?

 

Now everything is Everest, its trails littered with obstacles and me, always looking to tunnel through the middle rather than suffering the long way ‘round. You know the drill. The perfectionist holds out—Oh, if I just give this a swipe and that a wipe I can hold off another week until I can do it…properly. These are the tall tales I tell myself. They are the bungees that bounce me up just before hitting the hard bottom of that long dark rabbit hole—It looks fine. It’ll do for now. No one notices anyway. But I notice. And I’m held in a state of unrest.

 

So, why don’t I just buck up?

 

I’ve been thinking about that a lot lately. And, it’s starting to sink in. There are just too many balls to buck. I can’t focus because I don’t know what my focus is anymore. Now that the kids are older, my plate is piled even higher with outside responsibilities that go beyond vacuuming and changing the bed sheets. Back when I was a young housewife with three small children, my role wasn’t in question. It was simply to serve and protect. And although serving and protecting will always be my heart’s work, the kids are vying for independence and with me on the precipice of 45, it seems only natural that I start to question whether there might be more to the meaning of my existence.

 

So back to my daydream. I was imagining what it would be like to step off the front stoop every morning to follow my fiction. To have nothing on my mind for the first eight hours of every day but fostering what it is I want to achieve. To write without distraction. To have someone running my family and my home, allowing me to work on making a success of myself. To be one of the chosen few who gets to concentrate solely on my goals and aspirations.

 

But daydreams aren’t always realistic. To truly triumph I must achieve whatever it is I want while living the life I’ve already made.

 

That’s victory. That’s genuine success.

 

That’s being a mom.

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Of Sound Friendship

Posted in Blogging, Creative Writing, Heroes, Inspiration, Life, Non-Fiction, Parenting, Relationships, Uncategorized, Writers, Writing, tagged , , on April 20, 2015| 10 Comments »

Years ago, when my kids were just tiny specs of what they are now, a best friend of mine would drive from her house, nearly an hour away, just to cook dinner for me.

 

At least once a week.

 

She invited herself of course, as all good friends do. In my state, it never would have entered my mind to entice another person into my varying vortex. When it began, I had only a single child. The task was fairly uncomplicated at that point, but even when the total of tots quickly rose to three, she, somehow, was not deterred.

 

She would arrive to screaming babies, scattered Cheerios and mounds of laundry piled in the hallway. There would often be a sink full of dirty dishes, a forgotten diaper gracing the table or me, crying in a corner.

 

But, week after week, in the door she’d burst with an arm full of groceries and a funny story to tell. Out would come the pots and pans and commence would the chopping, slicing, stirring and simmering.

 

My husband was traveling a lot then and with three children under five, her visits meant the world to me. Raising kids—being housebound for long days on end—can be very isolating and as decadent smells, (these being anything non-urine or spit-up related) started to permeate the air, I’d often reflect on how having someone go to the magnitude of shopping, commuting and cooking for me was much like a good dose of vigorous CPR.

 

She didn’t have any children at that time and I wish I could say that now that she has had two of her own, I’ve been as worthy a friend as she. I’d always intended to return the favor, but as it turns out, tiny tots transform into taxing teens and there is somehow even less time now than there was all those years ago.

 

Over the days, weeks, months and years that this went on, we, okay she, concocted many recipes that the two of us shared a love for. One of these favorites was fresh Crab Cakes with, made from scratch, Chipotle Sauce.

 

And I’ll tell you, having it made for you when your children are five, three and zero is truly wonderful, but returning home to find a serving of it in your mailbox when they’re eighteen, fifteen and fourteen is a true lump-in-the-throat moment.

Because sauce is my favorite

Because sauce is my favorite

 

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Shoot

Posted in Beauty, Blogging, Fashion, Inspiration, Life, Non-Fiction, Photography, Thoughts, Uncategorized, Writers, Writing, tagged , on February 23, 2015| 8 Comments »

In between being me and struggling to become who I think I should be, I also get to be someone else.

 

At 25 I was thankful to finally discern I didn’t have to do things I didn’t want to do—things like work with numbers, play bitchy office games, scrub someone else’s toilets or eat my carrots cooked. I realized I could take something I’d loved to do as a child and turn it into a big girl career.

 

I trained to be an Aesthetician. I took an intensive, full-time course and for the duration of a year, I did nothing but homework and performed thousands of services on hundreds of clients and my fellow students. Contrary to my mindset prior to diving into the adventures of beauty school, it was a long and challenging haul.

 

Surprise, surprise, there was much to learn for the sake of vanity. I memorized the names of every bone, muscle, nerve, organ and system in the human body and their functions. I explored nucleic cells and biochem.

 

I studied.

 

Hard.

 

Every single night.

 

Never having had an affinity for school, I was pleased to graduate at the top of my class and more than proud to receive my 5 diplomas. But, after some time working in the industry and a stint of dabbling in my own endeavor, I realized I had managed to somehow still be doing something I didn’t want to do.

 

Shoot.

 

I hung on for as long as I could, but in the end, had to succumb to the fact that electrifying unwanted hair from areas I shouldn’t see unless I’d at least been bought a dinner made me cringe and scraping dead, flaky skin from the soles of needy feet was not, in fact, the glamorous profession I had dreamed it to be.

 

So, I sidestepped.

 

These days, and that encompasses the last nineteen years, I focus solely on the make-up aspect of the beauty industry. I get to float around on TV sets, wedding days, runways and photo shoots.

 

And, it is in fact, glamorous, and something I still want to do after all this time.

You can check out Jennifer’s many stunning shots over at COFFEE & COUCH

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Living the Dream

Posted in Blogging, Creative Writing, Fiction, Inspiration, Life, Non-Fiction, Parenting, Relationships, Thoughts, Uncategorized, Writers, Writing, tagged , on January 26, 2015| 12 Comments »

You will eventually have had enough of my grieving process I’m sure, but for the moment you may be finding comfort in walking alongside me. This is what keeps me going. Perhaps you’ve lost someone or perhaps that hasn’t happened for you yet and you’re trying to understand what to expect.

 

Expect nothing.

 

I can safely say that although the journey will hold similar jumps for all of us, the method and speed with which we get through (not over) them, will not be the same whatsoever. Emotions and reactions are dependent on so many things—age, proximity and support for example, come immediately to my mind.

 

I tried to tell you a story today, but couldn’t find the words. Everything else seems trivial right now and even though I know that’s far from the truth, I can’t seem to muster the creative backbone needed to spin a tale.

 

But I did visit my girlfriend this weekend. I’ve known her for twenty years and she moved to what I’d call far away a couple of years ago. I miss her terribly, but it’s also nice to be able to make an excursion out of seeing her now.

 

So off we went, my daughter and I, painlessly driving the three-hour jaunt, stopping only for cheap gas and cheerful wine. (The wine was for me. My daughter is not allowed to get cheerful just yet.) Once settled and after eating (a delicious Thai meal courtesy of Leslie’s hubby) we sat on the couch and the dreaded reared its inevitable head. We hadn’t, of course, seen each other since my Papa’s passing and she asked how things were going and how everyone was doing. We talked for some time…well into the night, and as we headed off to bed we were still pondering what happens on the other side.

 

I told her that as much as the idea of a guardian angel seems comforting, I don’t like the idea of them having to watch over us. After all, what kind of torture would it be to see our children but be unable to touch or talk to them?

 

“No,” I said. “I like to believe they take a version of us along for the ride and that way, for them, not a thing has changed.”

Cool-memes-living-life-in-the-clouds

 

 

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Don’t Let Go

Posted in Blogging, Creative Writing, Inspiration, Life, Non-Fiction, Relationships, Thoughts, Uncategorized, Writers, Writing, tagged , , on January 15, 2015| 4 Comments »

Bear with me.

 

It’s a long journey around so many messy things and I lack the stamina to run it in one tidy breath.

 

Opening your eyes to the realization that somehow you must lift your burdened self out of bed so the show can go on. Peeling potatoes and stirring gravy so your children won’t think of this as the year they lost a Grandpa and Christmas Day. Stoically wading through a sea of memories that now contain a foreign element of hurt, so others can remember him the way you do. Battling tears and the desert that has become your mouth in order to send him off with the dignity he very much deserves.

 

Worrying someone will bring him up and then hurting when they don’t, planning only outfits with pockets to hold your twists of unscheduled Kleenex. Finding a way to preserve voicemails you’re so thankful you never deleted, fighting the guilt that you have saved the last ten, subconsciously aware you would come to rely on them one day soon. Holding on to the last time you saw him healthy and ruthlessly reliving the last horrible day that he wasn’t.

 

I used to think death was this obscure thing—a convoluted end that was hard to understand—marred by emotion and murky in its meaning. I was so wrong. Death is concise. It’s clear. It’s forever. And it’s final.

 

So I fumble for a bright side.

 

Hazy always ends in a positive spin. And although I’m desperate not to let her down, I’m having a really hard time grasping a silver lining through all of these ominous clouds.

 

I wish you heartache such as this in your life. Because despite the crumbling cliff it leaves you dangling from, it’s a true blessing to have loved someone this way.

th

 

 

 

 

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