About 3% of the U.S. population has it and approximately 83,000 are women. Although there’s lots of guessing by the medical community, there’s no known cause, no known cure, and most people consider it a “catch-all” diagnosis. Even some doctors believe it’s a psychological condition. Hypochondria, anyone? Well, it isn’t in my head. Continue reading
A few months ago, my dad bought eleven chickens. He has since summed up the chicken caring experience like this, “Now I know when someone calls you a chicken, it’s really an insult.” Our little egg layers aren’t even laying eggs yet since they aren’t old enough to breed.
A few oddities:
One of our hens is a Silkie, given to my daughter by our neighbor who decided she needed a pet. J, who has unsuccessfully tried to name a series (and wide variety) of creatures Nala, now has a Nala of her very own. Apparently, Nala will be laying little eggs small enough that it’d take four or five to make a regular sized egg. I’ve never seen a chicken that looked like it had fur. Continue reading
I went and got my feelings hurt today because of a careless remark about a tattoo of mine. It’s the first time I’ve ever ended a conversation with my best friend feeling… well, less than beautiful. I wanted to cry. I wanted to smack them. Their words hurt, and it was about something I can’t change.
I’ve had this tattoo for over half my life – so long, in fact, that I barely notice it now. It’s just a part of me. And I think that’s what hurt. It felt, on some deep down level, that I had been rejected. This is someone who genuinely cares about me and is one of the most loving people I know. I knew better, and yet it still hurt.
As I’m dwelling on this, trying to swallow the hurt I know wasn’t intentionally inflicted, I got to thinking. This, as some of you know, is quite dangerous for me to do. And yet, sometimes, a little clarity and understanding comes out of it… Continue reading
I’m convinced pretty much anything can be a metaphor for life’s experiences. I’m also convinced pretty much anything can be positive or negative, depending on one’s outlook at the time. In fact, as I once wrote, I’m sure our reality changes depending on… well… us.
Take, for instance, a garden. If your life were a garden, what would you be growing? Weeds? Flowers? Vegetables? A haven for critters? Continue reading
It’s 8:48pm, Wednesday night, and once again, I’ve just now realized what this particular blog post is going to be about. Each post comes from deep down inside; they’re parts of me, dragged out to expose in their raw forms and shared as a questionable present with you, the reader. I’m not at all comfortable with some of them, but they’re all a part of who I am. They write themselves, but the stingy things often don’t want to come out until almost press time. Go figure; even my thoughts are stubborn. Continue reading
It’s only been over the past few years that I started seeing my parents as people – mostly out of self-defense, I think. I’m a 35-year-old daughter, living at home with my parents and trying to raise three kids. I’ve had to learn to bite my tongue where my parents and I disagree. In the process, I’ve also had to learn that… wow… my parents are people, too.
They have their own set of insecurities and fears, their own strengths and weaknesses. It’s amazing, really, that I never noticed these things before.
I talk about my dad a lot. I mean, anyone who walks into our house automatically knows who rules the roost. He is the ultimate king of the castle, without a doubt. I’ve looked up to my dad for years. He’s been my teacher through much of life’s difficulties; I’ve learned a lot from him, both good and bad. I think it’s natural, then, that when I started seeing my parents as people, my dad was the first one I learned more about.
Lately, however, I’ve been much more interested in my mother. We never talked much when I was younger, so learning about my mom has been a surprising experience. Looking into the past and “meeting” the person she is now, I’m realizing that much of what I learned about being a mom and a wife has come from her. I’m a lot more like my mother than I’ve ever admitted… and I’m okay with that. Continue reading
I’m nesting. There’s no other word for it. For years, I’ve swallowed my OCD (obsessive-compulsive disorder) tendencies in order to get along with my children (otherwise, I’d spend all day yelling at them for things being out of place). Now, I crave order. A place for everything and everything in its place.
I crave the smells of a clean home. I crave the ability to spend time with my children. For the first time in my adult life, I fight with trying not to throw work into the wind and play with the kids.
I love them, you see. They’re so very important to me, and I’m watching them grow from the sidelines. I want to spend my days nurturing, raising and teaching them. How frustrating. My life – the dreary, always busy, always working life that has been my comfort zone for so long – is changing, and I want to embrace those changes fully. – And I can’t. Continue reading