tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20018498860369766552024-03-13T15:38:40.849-07:00Sit Down! I'm Telling a Story!I need you to sit down and read something for just one moment. I want to tell you a story. I tell some about myself. I tell some stories about people I know. I even tell stories about fictional scenarios. All you need to do is sit down and let me tell it. I tell a good story.Mavourneenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00396098443870547637noreply@blogger.comBlogger32125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2001849886036976655.post-6571967403869032452017-01-01T04:04:00.000-08:002017-01-01T04:04:44.295-08:00The Story of the Role of my Role ModelI have been blessed with many women and men I can look up to in life. I would like to express my thanks to three of them.<br />
Sister Clark (now passed)<br />
My Daddy<br />
and my sister-in-law Ria.<br />
<br />
Sister Clark was the first women that I had to stop and realize I wanted to model my life after. No offense to my own mother intended. We simply have different wants in life. Sister Clark seemed to me the kind of woman I would love to emulate, and also had a chance of actually becoming.<br />
Sister Clark was the mother of many boys. And I mean a lot - we are LDS, after all. Most of them were around my age, so the activities we went on was the reason I was able to learn a bit more about their mother. They were all very nice boys, (I was the weird kid, so there was no chance of romance with them, just to get that out of your heads right now.) so it stood to reason they had strong examples. Their father was strong and moral and a hard worker. Their mother was a stay-at-home-mom that while helping her family in every way she could and dedicating an amazing amount of time to each and every one of them, never lost herself and her inner strength.<br />
I have always wanted to be a mother and wife. But I was terrified of becoming less of myself and losing my own strength in the face of those roles. I grew up in an age of girl-power. I remember vividly my peers at rather young ages tell anyone who would listen that they didn't want to have kids because they wanted to work, not be "just a mom". I'm pretty sure, looking back, they just didn't want to be like their mothers. Which is a very common fear among teenage girls that feel misunderstood by parents. But there was also a drive that we could all feel to be just as good as men, just as strong, and never give up anything to be put into a box. The awakening of feminism in my peer group, you could say. I listened to this. I didn't add much to those conversations (okay, I wasn't invited into them. I eavesdropped like the creepy little child I was) but I took in a lot of what they were saying.<br />
I didn't want to lose myself. I didn't want to be "just a" anything. I didn't have any particular dreams to strive for yet, but I was under the impression I could be anything I wanted to be, and the idea that being a wife and mother would take that away from me was terrifying.<br />
And it didn't look to me like Moms had very much fun.<br />
Then I noticed Sister Clark. She loved all her boys and her husband and was dedicated to them. I saw and respected that. But I also saw that she didn't give up any of her interests. She learned to enjoy a lot of what her sons did. Then she also went and did the things she loved.<br />
In particular, there was one day I remember very well that I understood how good of a woman Sister Clark was. We all had gone for a hike. (It was a church activity. I hated exercise and tried to get out of it, to be clear.) I was dreading the day. While it was everyone my age and the adult leaders, I was very aware that I would have no friends there. I was the weird one that the kids my age didn't like as I made them uncomfortable. And the leaders were going to push about Personal Progress goals (A whole other story) and/or lecture me about fitting in and trying harder. I was prepared for an unfortunate day.<br />
The hike was much more difficult that anticipated by anyone. Which is what you get when you ask a man-child newly returned from boot camp to pick an easy hike. It was longer and much steeper than nearly anyone was used to hiking. Many people, young and old alike, started to get fatigued quickly.<br />
I was not in shape by any regard. I was about 110 lbs at the time, awkward, and didn't even like climbing the staircase in my own home because I got winded so easily.<br />
I started to lag behind the others. My sibling was on the hike as well, and he had a backpack with our water bottles in it to stay hydrated. A great idea. Except for the fact that when around other young men he became very competitive. He was at the head of the pack with the most fit of the young men, striving to be the first to the lookout point. (They argued about it, but I'm telling you this was a freaking mountain. The made me climb a small ish mountain!) So I didn't have water, couldn't catch my breath, and was overheating quickly.<br />
Sister Clark didn't know me in particular. She was not a leader for the young women. She was just a mom that was helping out with an activity and saw that I was not doing well.<br />
Sister Clark was used to hiking. All her boys liked that sort of outdoor shenanigans. In fact, that man-child I mentioned that picked the hiking trail of torture was one of her older boys. She was up to the task. But she noticed a skinny unhappy girl falling behind and about to cry. Sister Clark immediately slowed her pace and started to walk beside me. This is a kindness that still gets me.<br />
She started to talk to me as a friend would. She wanted to know my interests and goals. She shared funny stories of her life that made her more approachable. When I asked how it was to have a house of all boys, she was very frank. She had had to keep up with young energetic boys. She had to be willing to do strenuous things that they wanted to do. She had had to learn a lot of different sports in order to cheer them on in what they were doing. None of which were things she had known before. And she was clearly happy she had learned. Sister Clark told me she had at first appreciated those kind of things. Then she came to enjoy them herself. But she also said that she hadn't given up her own things she liked to do for fun.<br />
I honestly can't remember what all of her hobbies were. She had a lot. And this was nearly two decades ago. What I do remember is thinking that she hadn't given up anything at all to be a wife and mom. She kept herself. She was herself all the way, but she added new things on top of that. She didn't let some of her drop to pick up "guy things". She did those things happily as well as what she wanted to do. She made time for her boys and husband, but also herself.<br />
And she was nice.<br />
A child of any age can easily tell when an adult is humoring them. It is painfully obvious when someone doesn't want to be hanging out with you, but it doing it because they think it is the right thing to do. Or they pity you.<br />
Sister Clark didn't have to walk with me. She didn't have to make me laugh. She didn't have to try to relate to grumpy little me. But she did, and she seemed honestly interested in me as a person.<br />
When I got too tired to continue, she stopped with me to take a break, though it meant she was going to miss seeing her boys reach the lookout point and take pictures. She pulled out her water and offered me some.<br />
I refused. Because I had some, just not with me, and she should have her own water. She was the one who had prepared.<br />
In total mom fashion, she didn't let me get away with that.<br />
"Open up!" She said, and tipped the bottle over me. I had to open my mouth or waste the water for both of us. I appreciated this kindness bullying.<br />
When we finally got to the top and I hobbled my way to the lookout point, she not only took pictures of her boys, who were refreshed, having resting while waiting for the rest of us and now goofing off way too close to the edge of the drop off, but made sure to take pictures of me and my brother too. She included us.<br />
I have never seen those photos. I don't even know if they turned out. But I like to think she kept them and remembered me and that day.<br />
Sadly, Sister Clark is no longer on this earth. She has passed into the eternities after a long battle with cancer.<br />
Even after the hike, she took notice of me at church. She spoke to me in the hallways, which seems like a little thing but made all the difference to me.<br />
During her battle with cancer, she was always kind and cheerful. Even when she knew for a fact that she was going to die. She sent a son on a mission while knowing there was a good likelihood she would never see him again. She came to church every week, even when she needed help walking and standing. She took the sacrament every week until the end. I always admired the strength of character and love for the gospel that kept her coming. Though she was for sure hurting, she never let it make her mean or preoccupied.<br />
Hers was the first funeral I ever remember attending. I didn't go look at her in the casket. I refused to remember her as anything but living and vibrant.<br />
She is still a standard for me to live up to.<br />
<br />
My Daddy and I didn't always get along.<br />
I was a difficult and unhappy child and teenager. Daddy is a hard man to understand.<br />
I'm aware that he did his very best. Now. At the time I took things personally and wasn't willing to put aside my hurting to see things from his side.<br />
It wasn't until I had the realization that Daddy prioritizes actions considerably more than words that I began to understand him.<br />
My Daddy doesn't say "I love you" unless you push for it. He doesn't give a lot of hugs and isn't going to read anyone a bedtime story or tuck them into bed.<br />
I had a long time of disliking my father before I understood how he said I love you.<br />
He was always willing to give us a ride or pick us up if we really needed it.<br />
He taught us how to do simple things with less effort.<br />
He never yelled except in jest.<br />
He tried to get us in on his (really strange) jokes.<br />
He was always willing to be the bad guy if we needed a way out of something.<br />
He never gave up on us, even when we were being awful to him (and we were, all of us)<br />
He showed us respect for women by the example he set for always putting our mother in his highest regards.<br />
He taught us respect by never allowing us to disrespect our mother.<br />
He was willing to take any question by any of his kids seriously. Even the hypothetical silliness that sometimes arose at the dinner table.<br />
He made sure there was always enough food for us and Momma, even if that meant he would leave the table not quiet full.<br />
He started traditions with us.<br />
He taught us how to use tools correctly so we could always get a quick fix done.<br />
He never lectured about feminism - but showed my sisters and I we were capable of things even we didn't think we were.<br />
He let us make mistakes and then helped us learn from them.<br />
He took an interest in our lives and goals, even if they weren't what he wanted for us.<br />
He respected our choices even if they hurt him.<br />
He would praise us on those hard decisions we had to make.<br />
He would make us talk our way through our own problems to come up with a solution.<br />
He could get everyone to giggling about nothing.<br />
He had a tendency to show us good food when we didn't want to forgive him yet.<br />
He let us find our own wants and passions and how we would fight for them.<br />
He waited to lecture until he wasn't angry anymore.<br />
He understood when he was wrong and tried his best to not make the same mistakes twice.<br />
He made sure Santa on the fire truck knew our names.<br />
He never ruined the imaginings of any child.<br />
He controlled his fear of stickiness to hold a grandchild in order to give relief to one of his children.<br />
He sits with his children when they are sick and just spends time with them doing what they are doing.<br />
He is willing to watch a chick flick to make someone happy.<br />
He does things that make him uncomfortable or feel ridiculous for someone else to feel good.<br />
He takes my mom to stores he absolutely hates because he knows she likes them.<br />
He doesn't allow any of us to stop learning new things every day.<br />
That was a list. And those are only the things I can think of from the top of my head.<br />
I realized my Daddy was there for me and showing his love when I clicked what was happening with the dinner dates.<br />
I had to go to a chiropractor. I had and still suffer from a bad back. It causes a lot of pain, and during that time it was getting difficult to move around and do my job. So Daddy took my to one of his friends who was a chiropractor, and started me on a treatment plan.<br />
Past the fact that he footed the bill for the treatment, he made a deal with me.<br />
The chiropractor was on the farthest possible side of town away from where we lived. It was quite a drive there and back, and took a lot of time Daddy could be spending elsewhere. So Daddy made me the offer of taking me to the chiropractor twice or three times a week, as needed, if I would treat him to dinner every Monday at a place of his choosing.<br />
I accepted, because I'm no dummy.<br />
First of all, I think the best part of these dinners for Daddy was when they would hand him the check and he would hand it right to me. The faces of the wait staff when I happily paid every time was priceless. Daddy really likes letting people come to their own conclusions about things, even if they are showing by their shock they have reached the wrong one. He likes a silent joke.<br />
During the dinners, however, we usually talked about the same sort of things. What my plans were. My plans for university. My goals for my life in general. He wanted to know how I planned to save and use money. He let me gush on about writing and my stories. What my plans were to use my writing and get published.<br />
Daddy wanted to know where I was going in life.<br />
At first, in the mind of a grumpy teen, it felt like he was grilling me. I thought he wanted me to somehow prove myself and show I had a brain and wasn't going to be a burden to the family. The first few dinners I took offense and was hurt by his seeming distrust that I could figure my life out.<br />
Then I realized that he was telling me he loved me every week. He was helping me solidify a detailed plan of what I wanted and how I was going to get it. He was supporting my ideas. He accepted what I wanted to do though he wanted so much more for me. He was trying to show an interest in my life.<br />
Daddy was trying to help me reach all my dreams in the only way he knew how.<br />
That was when I really got it.<br />
Daddy doesn't say I love you all the time, because he wants people to feel it from what he does instead of just hear it over and over. When I asked him about it directly one day he told me that if he has to say it for his family to know he loves them, it means he failed in showing it.<br />
So I thought back to all the times he was silently showing his love instead of saying it.<br />
Daddy likes to buy shoes or purses for me that he think I will like. And he pays attention, because everything he has bought me I have loved. He gets me.<br />
My Daddy has shown he is proud of me when I had to make hard choices to miss out of fun and family in order to be responsible.<br />
He made great efforts to understand and like the man I chose to marry.<br />
The moment I realized he approved of My Lovely I felt like I had finally lived up to his high standards for me.<br />
My Daddy, and yes, I still call him Daddy. I never did stop, even when we weren't on the best of terms. I don't care how old I get. He is my Daddy. My Daddy is all the above. He is a solid intelligent man that wants the best for his family and shows his love through little constant things.<br />
He is my role model in that. And also because he became my standard of a man.<br />
Daddy wasn't always strong in the Church. He had his trials just like anyone else.<br />
While I don't necessarily like the way he worked through some of his trials or agree with how he thinks other things should be handled, I can see how he overcame them. He had to struggle and come to some hard decisions.<br />
Then he decided for himself and on his own what he wanted out of life. He came back to the Church and the countless meetings and activities that comes along with that. He changed what he had to to become a better man. My Daddy became so strong in the Gospel that many people would never believe he ever had a single struggle with it.<br />
I don't think he ever lost his testimony of the Gospel. But there is a serious difference between the doctrine of the church and the people that make up the congregation. People are difficult to always get along with. Socializing is hard.<br />
Daddy took all of that and decided to take the bad with the good in order to become the man he needed to be.<br />
I watched as he turned it all around. (Yes, even eavesdropping. Leave me alone) He started cutting out sleeping time to read the scriptures on his own. He started trying to get the family to read together in the mornings. He bore his testimony in little ways. He shared fun little tidbits of Gospel facts during family meals. He was just around more for us to get to know.<br />
Daddy became the standard of what a priesthood holder should be. He became strong in the Gospel on his own and helped others get there too. He has always been a great teacher and I watched as he took joy is explaining things to anyone, young or old, who had a question. He was very patient with those that were a bit more irksome.<br />
My Daddy went from a man I was fighting, as only a teenager can, to a man I measured my potential dates against. If someone I was interested wouldn't be as spiritual, respectful, and kind as my Daddy, it wasn't going to happen. If my Daddy can bare his testimony with simple clarity, so can any guy that wants my attention. If my Daddy goes to all his meetings and fulfills his callings happily and completely, then you know I expect that from any man I would consider.<br />
My Daddy is my role model of what a man should be.<br />
<br />
If you are still reading, I am kind of impressed. Thank you.<br />
<br />
The last person I will gush about on this post is my sister-in-law.<br />
Ria does everything that can be taken out of context as that put-upon "just-a-mom" worry, but she does them in the absolute perfect fashion.<br />
I want to be her when I grow up.<br />
Ria has multiple children. She is a stay-at-home-mom. She home schools those kiddos. She makes bread from scratch. She sews clothing for her children and for fun gifts. She makes cards for each person to make them feel special on birthdays and anniversaries. She always has kind things to say about anyone. She makes healthy meals for her family (that are delicious, I'll have you know) nearly every meal. She maintains her weight. She works out every day, and goes on jogs by herself every morning. She makes time to chat with anyone. She is there for anyone in need. She always remembers to thank people.<br />
Ria is just amazing.<br />
Lots of those things, out of context, could make people become worried.<br />
A lot of women try to get back to a certain weight for vain reasons or because of fear or pressure. Ria doesn't. She wants to be a healthy size for herself. She wants to feel good about herself and feel strong and healthy. She isn't doing all the fitness work to be a certain look or fit an expectation. She wants to get back to the place she felt the best, both physically and emotionally. She doesn't get pushed into it, but she wants to do it for herself.<br />
As a result of her doing those good things for the right reasons, she is therefore being a perfect example to her children. Their Momma is doing hard things to be her best self.<br />
She feeds her kids and husband good meals. They get to understand a have an appreciation for foods. They aren't getting all the junk that is in so many foods. And she does so not only for health, but because she genuinely enjoys cooking and providing meals for her loved ones.<br />
Ria is kind. She rarely ever has anything negative to say about anyone. If anything, she takes too much on her own shoulders for others unkindness. She is very considerate and respectful of others choices and opinions. If she is aware someone else has a different preference for something, she does all she can to please them.<br />
She is fun to be around. She wants to learn something from everyone. She listens amazingly well. She is happy to join a joke and give someone a laugh.<br />
Ria has been in cahoots with me on several things because it made me happy. She was always very generous in having me over when we lived close and spending time with me. Ria gives the best, level headed advice.<br />
She helped me greatly in polishing my novel in order to get it published.<br />
My sister-in-law Ria always makes time to be kind.<br />
I love her.<br />
She is my role model because she is living the life I want to emulate, and she is doing it happily, of her own choosing, and for all the right reasons. She is incredible and sincere and loving.<br />
She is my sister through marriage, but I consider her my sister in heart. I know I can always go to her, and I want to always be there for her if she needs the same.<br />
<br />
<br />
I have been blessed with many role models.<br />
Thank you for letting my gush about these three. They are huge influences for good in my life and give me a little hope each day.<br />
I try to be an equally good person, for myself, and hoping I can some day be a kind of role model to someone else, even if I'm not aware of it.<br />
<br />
Who are your role models in life and how have they impacted you?Mavourneenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00396098443870547637noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2001849886036976655.post-77855122214794489332016-10-15T08:01:00.001-07:002016-10-15T08:01:19.215-07:00Writer's Word AnxietyHere is a short and sweet post for you.<br />
Letting in you in on a little piece of my stressed out mind.<br />
<br />
I love words. I love reading and writing, and listening to a really elegant speech. I just love how words can make an image and invoke a feeling and create a world. I love words to an incredible degree.<br />
They also cause me some of the most anxiety ridden moments of my life.<br />
I can be talking away with a friend, coworker, church friend. I will be blabbing on, so pleased I am finally making a connection with another person - because socializing is hard and scary - when they stop me mid sentence asking "What does that word mean?"<br />
Don't get me wrong, I'm glad they ask. I'm glad they don't just smile and nod and have no idea what I am talking about, which means all of my efforts trying to make a personal connection are lost.<br />
But this question is the bane of my social life.<br />
Usually it is because I was not trying to talk at a 'high level'. I do know a lot of words. That comes from reading thousands upon thousands of books over the years. I know lots of strange, big, unusual, or just out of their time words. But I try really <u>really</u> hard NOT to use those weird ones in public when talking to others. I was not trying to speak over their head. I'm not trying to make anyone think I am smarter than I am.<br />
When people ask this I feel like I have been doing really well communicating in what could be considered a second language to me. The language of to-other-people. I am in my own head a lot, and then maybe on paper, that communicating to another is difficult and stressful and, I feel, full of all sorts of unexplained rules that I don't understand or get the context for. So I have been doing so well, speaking this language. And suddenly I am thinking that I have messed it all up. That I slipped in a word that isn't part of their paradigm.<br />
I struggle at this point. Hesitate and looked pained. I know this because people tell me. I am not pulling a face. I am internally panicking and trying desperately to translate a word.<br />
Going from a 'big' word to a 'little' or 'normal' word is not dumbing it down. People need to stop thinking that, because it doesn't do justice to anyone. It is translating the word.<br />
So I stand there, frozen in fear trying to translate a word that I thought WAS in their language. And often I can't come up with the translation, because the word just IS.<br />
While I am trying to translate I am also stressing. Because that is what I do.<br />
I am thinking that I have come off like a total snob. That I look like I was using a big word to make them feel less, which is certainly not the case. That I was talking like I am intelligent, when we all know that is not something I self profess. I am so worried that I have been sounding like a pretentious know-it-all when I was just trying to express a passing thought. This makes translating that word hard. Because I am sorting through where I know the word from and how it is usually used in context to see if that is why the word seems foreign. My brain demands to know if I used that word correctly, and if in my blathering I just misused a word and it is all my fault. I try to remember what decade that word is from. Often I am a generation out. Or more - as I have a serious love for Victorian, Edwardian, and Elizabethan time period writing.<br />
This is all happening in my mind as I struggle to also come up with a more common, but just as poignant, of a word. Something that will convey the exact same message, but that the person I am talking with has most likely heard before. This is usually the most difficult part. So I usually just give a brief definition and worry that I sound like a dictionary recording.<br />
<br />
I don't write this to get people to stop asking me what words mean. I want clarity, and if you don't know what in the world I just said, I need you to tell me so I can be aware of what I am doing, and also to explain myself so if I blunder again you will have some sort of idea what I just said. And I prefer people to be honest with me.<br />
I am relating this part of my anxiety to reason away the stupid look on my face when I do this panic translation. I am aware some people misconstrue this expression to be distaste, dislike, annoyance, or like I think they are the most annoying scum of the earth I just found on the bottom of my shoe. I apologize, I have natural stank-face. When I am not paying attention to my expression it often reverts to a look of disgust and hatred. I don't know why.<br />
It drove my mother crazy as I was growing up, as when she would say something that I had to think about she thought I was pulling a face at her when I was just computing the information. I thought hard, which made me look like I hated her and thought she was an idiot. Not a great face to revert to in front of my mother. Don't do that.<br />
So if you ask that question, "What does that mean?", and I suddenly look like a woman that can't stand you, I'm sorry. I don't mean it. I am going through mental files and concentration makes me look like a jerk.<br />
Please keep asking what words mean. I love words and want to share them all with you. Please don't pretend you understand what I'm saying if you don't. We both deserve better than that.<br />
Just know that my social anxiety often looks like I hate you. Oops.<br />
<br />
I hope that clears something up for a few of you, and gives most of you a laugh. If it does not now, just imagine every time I pull that face that there is actually the sounds of stressed-out-whale in sound rehearsal that I am internalizing being vocalized. It will most likely make the situation more bearable for both of us.<br />
<br />
Smile Always.Mavourneenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00396098443870547637noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2001849886036976655.post-81215259732418165582016-10-07T10:30:00.000-07:002016-10-07T10:30:30.294-07:00The Story of the Speaking Walls.Have you ever wondered what your home would say if it could speak?<br />
Maybe it is the writer's brain in me, but I think of this often. So I decided to write a story about a sentient wall in my home with a lot of attitude and a mouth to match. Enjoy. And feel free to give a reaction in the comments below.<br />
<br />
"Okay, but you have been saying that for three months."<br />
Her husband gestured to the wall as if that answered all of the questions to the world and solved a few equations while at it.<br />
Mavourneen held up a finger to the wall in a symbol to wait. It was a very motherly gesture. One she would really have to break before her child came into the world or she would become a stereotype.<br />
"I just want to make a plan for it. And I want your help." She told her Lovely. "I have no talent at decorating."<br />
"Or organizing, or de-cluttering. Or most cooking."<br />
"Hey!" Mavourneen turned to the wall and glared. "I am a great cook."<br />
"My smoke inhalation begs to differ." Snarked the wall of her home. "You set off the smoke alarm every time you cook past 8PM, then I have to choke on that and freeze my paint off because you open all the doors and windows in the middle of the night."<br />
Mavourneen had no response to that. Often her neighbors only heard from her when the alarm went off at 3AM because that is when bacon must to done.<br />
"But I'm putting up the pictures." She offered instead.<br />
"The ones leaning against me in the closet? The ones that have been there since the first week you moved in and have moved only twice to make room for the shoes you don't wear? Those pictures? Or the ones in a box in the corner of the room you never go into? The ones that are going to corrode from being cuddled next to unused computer parts?"<br />
Now it was Lovely's turn to glare. Though his glares always came off as manly pouts. "There is no need for that."<br />
"I'm just saying that the plan of hanging pictures has been restated for three months, if not more, and I see no evidence of progress."<br />
Mavourneen turned back to her husband, who the conversation really should be directed towards. "If we can just get some command hooks so we don't kill the walls, we can hang them this weekend and it will look like a real room."<br />
"A really cluttered room." Came from the wall.<br />
They both did their best to ignore that. "Why can't we use the ones we already have?" Lovely requested.<br />
"Because they are tiny. I thought they had some hold, but they are for less than half a pound of weight each, not the three pounds I thought. They don't even hold up the aprons." Mavourneen explained. She didn't mention the pans. They both remembered the pans incident perfectly well. She no longer worked in the kitchen when Lovely napped for a reason.<br />
"Don't we have photo gripper ones?"<br />
"We can use those on some of them. But I want your help deciding where to put them. You don't want your rug above your computer."<br />
"Because hanging rugs on my isn't offensive." The drywall complained.<br />
"Decorative rug." Mavourneen shot at the wall and then turned back. "I just want the room to look lived in."<br />
"Oh it does, that."<br />
Mavourneen turned to the wall again, pointing at it as if that would change anything. "I've been busy. And you are supposed to only care about spider infiltration and if a mouse comes looking to set up shop. Not critique my homemaking skills. I will design on you any way I please."<br />
"That's what she said."<br />
Mavourneen turned a blank stare to her husband. "Screw it, lets use nails. I'm up for the damage bill."<br />
Before her husband could come into the conversation with her and the supposed-to-be-inanimate object, and most likely regret become referee, the wall was willing to enter into that argument.<br />
"Also what she said. And if you even think of taking nails and a hammer to me I'll drop those pictures so fast the flooring and I will have a blood feud." No paint rippled or texture changed. The wall just had a voice. But Mavourneen could tell it was gearing up for a fight.<br />
While she had no way of knowing if the sentient wall could in fact push nails from itself, she was at the end of her patients. "Then keep your opinions to yourself. Or I will leave crayons out for the kids across the way and let you feel a little art culture. This is our apartment and we can decorate or not how we please. We keep this place clean, if cluttered, and you should just appreciate what you get." She gestured to the largest wall. "This will be a display, and you will like it. Because you are a happy home that is going to reflect a happy family and productive wife, even if it ends you."<br />
Her eyes narrowed. "Or do I have to call the maintenance man about the curving bathroom wall again. I think it looks like mold."<br />
"I was put in that way." Came the now tight voice. "It is not my fault my pipes come out that far. I'm perfectly sanitary, and I don't need people pressing on me like I'm damaged goods."<br />
"A likely story." She pointed again. "But I think some pictures are going up. The closet and the spare room ones. And I think you are going to cooperate to show them off to best advantage. Advantage to me. Or I think that wave might be getting suspicious again."<br />
As she turned away the petulant little voice had to put it one more word, so it could have the last.<br />
"Fine, but don't think I have forgotten about the piece of tank threatening to gouge my perfect finish in the Spare Closet."Mavourneenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00396098443870547637noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2001849886036976655.post-7076367921090321742016-10-04T20:44:00.000-07:002016-10-04T20:44:58.225-07:00Public Service Announcement: Tricking Treats<h2>
Public Service Announcement</h2>
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Please distribute among all Cackling Community Members, Black Cat Patrol Officers, and Humans Handling Magic Act enforcers.</span></div>
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The Cackling Community would like to congratulate you on another year of service and training. We are pleased to announce it has now been 17 years since a death-resulting-incident related to broom traffic. Please remain vigilant to continue this trend and avoid all planes, fireworks, rockets, kites, and the ever more present drones.</div>
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We at the Cackling Community would like to remind you that it is again the time of year that the human Rituals of Candy Accumulation and Consumption. RCAC, also know as Halloween, is understandably a time of year with raised pressure and frustrations, but we would like to keep clear some regulations as you enter this season.</div>
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-Poisoned Apples are only meant to be made in small batches for intended 'participants'. Poisoning apples in bulk quantities not only makes them less effective, but it has come to our attention that human children are completely immune to their effects in the weeks surrounding RCAC. This could be due to the side effects of high fructose corn syrup that is nearly half of their blood volume at this time of year, or, as it has been suggested at our last Cackling Cauldron cook-off, children completely reject all produce based products for the entire month of October. Please refrain from giving out any form of apples or pears.</div>
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-Sleeping Spells only last a total of 336 hours. Any doctoring of recipes to increase this time frame is strictly prohibited. January is when our community's Spells Potency Competition is held. We congratulate Farrell B., our last year's winner, and her impressive record of 893 snowmen moved/altered in a single spell. We at the Cackling Community ask that you do not test any altered Sleeping Spells on the young children coming to your door. Standard 336 hour spells are of course approved, but any alteration of the spells will be met with ineligibility in the Spells Competition of January.</div>
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-Witch's Brew is a highly intoxicating beverage and should not be added to non-Member function punches or eggnogs. Brew is untested in the human society and we ask that you leave all experiments of this nature to specialists and professionals. We assure you that there are studies underway in health offices across the nation. Adding Brew into punches and nogs can lead to serious medical complications to humans that include frog-in-throat voice alterations, and spinning heads that can lead to death.</div>
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The Cackling Community would also like to make it clear that razor blades in any kind of treats is a criminal offense. The Cackling Community does not take this offense lightly, as it reflects badly on the community and magic users in general. Any cuts to the fingers or mouths of children will lead, but is not limited, to an immediate Broom Ban for one life sentence and/or the complete revoking of Membership which would include the removal of your Pointed Black Hat and Black Cat Patrol security/surveillance.</div>
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It is also to be noted, that while the use of illegal human based drugs is not monitored or enforced by the Cackling Community or their affiliates, any altering drugs used on human children is not only needlessly expensive, but will not reach the desired effect with children. Human children on altering drugs are more unpredictable, loud, and demanding, not less. <span style="font-size: xx-small;">High Fructose Corn Syrup is not considered an altering drug, though the effects are somewhat similar.</span></div>
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Please refer back to this as needed during this trying time of year and remember that your local Cackling Mentor is always available to help.</div>
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Thank you and have a magical day.</div>
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<i>Mary Weathers.</i></div>
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P.S. We have been made aware that any potions smelling or tasting like pumpkins or related spices are remarkably effective among adults during RCAC months.</div>
Mavourneenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00396098443870547637noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2001849886036976655.post-28616410171324716782016-09-30T10:22:00.000-07:002016-09-30T10:22:05.897-07:00Lovely Quotes.Lovely Quotes. And by that, I don't mean they are particularly nice. I mean that my Lovely, my husband, said them. Then I collected them to share.<br />
<br />
<br />
<ul>
<li>"Hey, Pig Man! This is what you get for coming out of Hell!" Chopping murder sounds from computer.</li>
<li>"If a Hell Salesmen knocks on the door, I'm not here."</li>
<li>"I am the Pig Lord. Sshhh, tell no one."</li>
<li>Smacks a fly out of the air. Turns to see that I noticed. "Mighty Hunter!"</li>
<li>Comes in while I am trying to make the bed. "Sleep time! Not project time!"</li>
<li>Him: "Don't bend down anymore. Have me fetch things for you." Me: "You aren't a dog!" Him: "Well, it works."</li>
<li>Holds up quart of eggnog. "This IS my serving size!" Proceeds to offer me some.</li>
<li>Referring to game he had me 'watch' while he went to the other room. "I see he is still alive. Well done, wife."</li>
<li>"Our baby can't be a vegetarian! He already doesn't like chocolate! No Hippies in this house!!!"</li>
<li>Speaking of his Mother. "Oh, she is the perfect person to babysit. She is kind and loving and willing to hit you over the head with a pole if you need it. She's great."</li>
<li>"You have to keep that in the living room. The Bedroom can't be your creative space. Books are already a problem, if you bring in a laptop or craft things you may never sleep again." And in a quieter voice. "And pins!"</li>
<li>Pokes my pregnant belly. "Be nice to your Mother. She has the power!"</li>
<li>In a very dramatic old-man southern accent. "I'll take ya behind the barn and beat ya. I wonder if an 'organic' celery stick will hold up better than them those GMO celeries!" (We pretend to be characters having conversations. It is a creative thing.)</li>
<li>Me: "I really want to start-" Him: "You have to finish the book series I got you first! We need to talk about them!"</li>
</ul>
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These are just some of the ones I have thought to save. There are many more. My Lovely is very good about making me feel amazing and getting me to laugh on even the worst of days. I am sure I will have to have a second post on his quotes at least.</div>
Mavourneenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00396098443870547637noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2001849886036976655.post-64000234743001364892016-09-27T16:57:00.000-07:002016-09-27T16:57:58.961-07:00The Story of the Peanut Butter Cookie Gifts<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I am a compulsive gifter.<br />
More so when I am nervous about meeting people, have to teach someone, or really want them to be my friend.<br />
Recently, I was in a situation where I needed to do all three. So I baked.<br />
I know that peanut butter based things are not the very best for a first gift. You have to worry about allergies, if they are on a diet that you didn't know about, or are just one of those contrary people that like the crunch instead of the creamy peanut butter, or vice versa.<br />
Sadly, I didn't have much choice in my gifts. I am broke (or very near like it, as I am saving every penny and pail for baby coming soon), have no space in my tiny kitchen to make something too elaborate, and I am also the laziest person I have ever met and didn't want to go out to get extra ingredients. So I looked up things based on the things I already had and, wham, I am making peanut butter cookies.<br />
<br />
I have trouble with baking where I live now. I used to be at sea level, and know all about how to cook and bake back home. But I moved from water level baking to my home here that is high elevation. I know there are charts and tricks and your momma's favorite hack to change a recipe from sea level to high elevation to make it a taste just the same and all this. I have tried everything in my know-how to get baking to do what I want here. I have been to multiple cooking classes and used all of the methods taught. My baking here just always fails. I can barely get bread to work.<br />
So, I was nervous about these cookies. I wanted to make a good impression, but it was a gamble.<br />
Following the recipe I will include at the bottom of the page (just scroll down to it if that is all you are here for. I'm not offended) I was pleasantly surprised to find the consistency exactly as described. So I went ahead and made about 50 of them.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4ma3yv57yQXghR1maVNnYUpPVrF7rvMo0SbXbCvD9DPRfgzGetOfl7kBr1hkXfvusudOzzsGK1XvRVt_6PSfcxhOZ0kujp0PHfM65-bwciiIi9Y4LcCctcpES4fh2q9e_gNGd-FVWZBE/s1600/Unload+phone+144.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4ma3yv57yQXghR1maVNnYUpPVrF7rvMo0SbXbCvD9DPRfgzGetOfl7kBr1hkXfvusudOzzsGK1XvRVt_6PSfcxhOZ0kujp0PHfM65-bwciiIi9Y4LcCctcpES4fh2q9e_gNGd-FVWZBE/s320/Unload+phone+144.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
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Before you get too impressed with that nice big number, I made 50 cookies that were each the size of a medium sized button.<br />
I did them this size because I don't have full sized cookie sheets and wanted to get them done and ready in the shortest amount of time. So I made about 50 very small ones so they would cook fast and the batter would never get suspicious on me while I was waiting for the first ones to bake.<br />
I also don't own cooling racks.<br />
I know, and I call myself domestic? I'm working on it, promise!<br />
So I used paper lined foil on my tiny little cookie sheets so when they were half cooled and not going to break when moved, I could slide them over to my tiny little work space and let them finish cooling while I got the next batch in.<br />
You will notice a cookie or two is missing from the picture above. I had to taste test. To be sure they were moist enough and all that. And because button sized cookies seem to make us all feel as if they are guilt free. Warning - you might just inhale the first five cough-ten-cough before you realize you should control yourself. They be good.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgw13kJrvnjNIul_hJy6PEY22cIA7k44lhtp8Rrod7XOQInlM1P8wY6Ev060PajJIEdP5FtaOpQv4yqVq67R-B_CHCeyT4KP55Bcyuml1B4sXXwlQGnDkgjSFDExh41YZj4dv6OsR1ZZWc/s1600/Unload+phone+147.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgw13kJrvnjNIul_hJy6PEY22cIA7k44lhtp8Rrod7XOQInlM1P8wY6Ev060PajJIEdP5FtaOpQv4yqVq67R-B_CHCeyT4KP55Bcyuml1B4sXXwlQGnDkgjSFDExh41YZj4dv6OsR1ZZWc/s320/Unload+phone+147.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
Well, as I said, I am a gifter. I didn't want to just hand over a plate of cookies that were smaller than they should be. And my paper plates are in low supply - real plates in low number and cannot be spared. I also consider myself very crafty and domestic. So I had to prove myself.<br />
Peanut butter cookies have this habit of that cross hatching on the top, made by pressing them down with a fork before baking. I don't do that. One, I like to be different. Secondly, I didn't want crumbly bits to make them even smaller before I could get them to the ladies they were going to. So I smashed with a spoon instead of the fork. I know, breaking boundaries here. Cutting edge baking here.<br />
These un-crumble cookies also made them perfect for stacking.<br />
I will admit, this idea of gifting came from my husband. My Lovely is just as crafty as me, and gives me so many ideas of how to improve my crafting.<br />
He thought I should use those mason jars that everyone is head of heels about, and fill them up with thumb sized snack like cookies or home made cheese crackers or chocolate dipped pretzels. Then decorate the mason jar. His thoughts were that every woman he has ever met thinks miniature anything is adorable and wonderful. (You know he is right. How do you think mini M&Ms became a thing? It isn't because you get more chocolate)<br />
I wasn't going to make thumb sized peanut butter cookies. I am just NOT that patient. So these button sized ones were a great midway. And I had some empty peanut butter jars. I get the smaller jars through WIC, and when we empty one I clean it out and keep it. Because you never know when you are going to need a small plastic jar.<br />
And luck would just have it that these button cookies fit the jars perfectly without hitting the sides. I was able to stack 8 cookies on top of one another, put the jar over them, and turn to make a cute little car of cookies.<br />
I have no idea why I had saved the labels of the peanut butter jar lids. Crafting has a tendency to borderline on hoarding. Just don't tell My Lovely that I admitted that.<br />
But I am so glad I had them, because re-wrapping them on the jars was just adorable, and told them it was creamy peanut butter to boot. (Judge me, crunchy lovers, if you dare!)<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZ5tJ7fMSkeR0-8V-fvjAVndg_Q0HVzhmT0EfjxJ7VZBWfFEVqav0uzz3joTVhhc9IFzvkieqqAci_ETN3hz0YuBlsv14uWVcO0-vX57bUNeyxp4vZ2yaKK35lIKB9ktws_ygn34HqAZM/s1600/Unload+phone+148.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZ5tJ7fMSkeR0-8V-fvjAVndg_Q0HVzhmT0EfjxJ7VZBWfFEVqav0uzz3joTVhhc9IFzvkieqqAci_ETN3hz0YuBlsv14uWVcO0-vX57bUNeyxp4vZ2yaKK35lIKB9ktws_ygn34HqAZM/s320/Unload+phone+148.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
I didn't have twine on hand and my ribbons were all in the bottom of a bin somewhere. I also didn't want a ribbon to soak up the bit of oil peanut butter anything will always have. So I grabbed some brown paper I use to make my own patterns, and put it between the lid and jar.<br />
The lids are not air tight. I am well aware of that. And the paper is not protection. But it is a little extra step that I thought was cute.<br />
I also wrote on the paper, so when they opened the lid they would get a cute little note before cookies. See, domestic craftiness re initiated. I got this.<br />
I wrote "Peanut Butter Makes Love Stick to Your Heart!" on the papers. (Because it is not only cute, but true) I was running out of time and so apparently forgot to take a picture of that step. Oops. How will you ever forgive me?<br />
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I made three of these small jars as gifts. Because I had three jars. And I had to get more cookies out of the house because apparently I still have not developed any impulse control. They were really good.<br />
When I delivered the first of the jars the lady it was meant for was not home. Her husband was happy to take it for her, though his confusion at being handed a jar of peanut butter was pretty priceless until he got a better look. The children all around his knees know the ways, though, and immediately knew there were treats to be had.<br />
I left him there to control the suddenly ravenous kiddos, pleased.<br />
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The quality of the pictures is not great, and I'm no professional anything, but I thought you would like to see the project and how I put it together.<br />
It makes an easy gift at the last minute, or just because you think someone needs more Love stuck to their heart.<br />
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Recipe (format from Pepperplate.com. Great website/app that you can grab recipes from almost any site on and access from anywhere. I may do a post on it later. Not a sponser, I just love them.) :<br />
<h2 style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman"; font-size: 30px; font-stretch: normal; font-style: italic; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 4px 0px;">
<span class="text" id="cphMiddle_cphMain_lblTitle">Peanut Butter Cookies</span></h2>
<div class="desc" style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-family: Georgia; font-size: 16px; font-style: italic; line-height: 20px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span class="text" id="cphMiddle_cphMain_lblDescription"></span></div>
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YIELD</h5>
<span class="text" id="cphMiddle_cphMain_lblYield">30</span></div>
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ACTIVE TIME</h5>
<span class="text" id="cphMiddle_cphMain_lblActiveTime">10</span></div>
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TOTAL TIME</h5>
<span class="text" id="cphMiddle_cphMain_lblTotalTime">20</span></div>
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CATEGORIES</h5>
<span class="text">cookies, dessert, peanut butter</span></div>
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INGREDIENTS</h3>
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<li id="19769649" style="margin: 4px 0px;"><ul class="inggroupitems" id="19769649" style="list-style: none; margin: 0px; padding: 0px 0px 10px;">
<li class="item" id="169622469" style="margin: 4px 0px;"><span class="content"><span class="ingquantity" style="font-weight: bold;">1 1/2</span> cups flour</span></li>
<li class="item" id="169622470" style="margin: 4px 0px;"><span class="content"><span class="ingquantity" style="font-weight: bold;">1/2</span> cup butter (113g)</span></li>
<li class="item" id="169622471" style="margin: 4px 0px;"><span class="content"><span class="ingquantity" style="font-weight: bold;">1/2</span> cup brown sugar</span></li>
<li class="item" id="169622472" style="margin: 4px 0px;"><span class="content"><span class="ingquantity" style="font-weight: bold;">1/2</span> cup white sugar</span></li>
<li class="item" id="169622473" style="margin: 4px 0px;"><span class="content"><span class="ingquantity" style="font-weight: bold;">1</span> egg</span></li>
<li class="item" id="169622474" style="margin: 4px 0px;"><span class="content"><span class="ingquantity" style="font-weight: bold;">1/2</span> tsp baking soda</span></li>
<li class="item" id="169622475" style="margin: 4px 0px;"><span class="content"><span class="ingquantity" style="font-weight: bold;">1/2</span> tsp salt</span></li>
<li class="item" id="169622476" style="margin: 4px 0px;"><span class="content"><span class="ingquantity" style="font-weight: bold;">1</span> cup peanut butter (crunchy or smooth)</span></li>
<li class="item" id="169622477" style="margin: 4px 0px;"><span class="content"><span class="ingquantity" style="font-weight: bold;">1/2</span> tsp vanilla extract</span></li>
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INSTRUCTIONS</h3>
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<li id="78005935" style="margin: 8px 20px 0px;"><span class="text" style="font-weight: normal;">pre heat the oven to 180 C (375 F)</span></li>
<li id="78005936" style="margin: 8px 20px 0px;"><span class="text" style="font-weight: normal;">beat the butter and sugar together until creamy</span></li>
<li id="78005937" style="margin: 8px 20px 0px;"><span class="text" style="font-weight: normal;">add the egg and beat some more</span></li>
<li id="78005938" style="margin: 8px 20px 0px;"><span class="text" style="font-weight: normal;">add the peanut butter and vanilla extract and beat</span></li>
<li id="78005939" style="margin: 8px 20px 0px;"><span class="text" style="font-weight: normal;">sift the flour, baking soda and salt and add to the batter</span></li>
<li id="78005940" style="margin: 8px 20px 0px;"><span class="text" style="font-weight: normal;">mix briefly until the dough comes together</span></li>
<li id="78005941" style="margin: 8px 20px 0px;"><span class="text" style="font-weight: normal;">roll the dough into small balls about 1 inch (3 cm’s), place on a lined baking sheet and press down with a fork</span></li>
<li id="78005942" style="margin: 8px 20px 0px;"><span class="text" style="font-weight: normal;">bake for about 10 to 15 minutes until a light golden brown</span></li>
<li id="78005943" style="margin: 8px 20px 0px;"><span class="text" style="font-weight: normal;">remove and allow to cool on a cooling rack</span></li>
</ol>
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</ul>
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Mavourneenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00396098443870547637noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2001849886036976655.post-4664939185080059972016-09-16T22:13:00.000-07:002016-09-16T22:13:05.391-07:00The Story of Uncomfortable Questions.What is Forgive and Forget?<br />
We hear it all the time. We are told to do so. But what does it actually mean? The flippant response of a person "It's fine, forget about it." doesn't really seem appropriate.<br />
If you need to forgive someone, and say the words "I forgive you", does that really lend to thoughts of a little offense? If you have to forgive someone, doesn't that at some level equate work?<br />
We are told to draw on the Atonement for the strength to get through something and truly forgive someone. The Atonement is not only to wash away sin, but also pain. True pain. If Jesus had to bleed for that pain in the Garden, is it really something that could be considered small? Or is it more than just not being mad at a friend anymore?<br />
If someone has hurt you, enough that they need to be forgiven, would you put them back in that position to do it again? If you have to call upon Heavenly Father, through His Son that died for you, in order to work through that pain of how you were hurt, should you put yourself right back in that logistical place?<br />
What about the Forget part? I personally believe that in today's language we have a different meaning for the word than was intended. Does Heaven Father truly expect you to never think of the instance ever again? Is that even how people are created? Is that how we learn for next time we are put in a dangerous position? Or could, possibly, that second part mean something slightly different than just not ever thinking about it again?<br />
Could the Forget of Forgive and Forget, simply mean that we allow ourselves to heal? To let ourselves not be consumed by the thoughts, perhaps? We are told so many times that holding on to anger, hate, and grudges does ourselves more harm than the person we are thinking so unkindly of. Wouldn't this lead to forgiveness as well? What if instead of never allowing ourselves to think of the thing again, which that forcing usually means we are only bottling it up for later, the Forget means that we don't hold on to the thoughts? We don't let that thing, person, or thoughts be our only waking thoughts. We don't live in those thoughts. Wouldn't our minds heal so much faster, and more permanently, if we allowed a passing thought, but then allowed it to move along? To allow ourselves to forget. A process of forgetting. Is forgetting a process of allowing ourselves to heal? Wouldn't that be a kind of freedom? To give yourself a freedom, over and over, wouldn't that be wonderful?<br />
Wouldn't it be easier to Forgive someone if you are not thinking about them at every moment and that hurt they caused you? Could you truly Forgive someone when you are reminded of them and or what they did over and over?<br />
Heavenly Father created the world, and us to live in it. He knows how we all work and react. He has inspired men in so many ways, including science.<br />
Health science is a thing. Heavenly Father, in my mind, wouldn't expect you to ignore a resource of a mental health, and the professionals that practice it. So, wouldn't listening, with discernment, to the truth of your doctors also be part of the Atonement? Wouldn't Heavenly Father want you to use all your resources that he has provided for you?<br />
Doesn't mental health, under that thought, have some basic suggestions of how to deal with the person that hurt you? Even if that mental health professional is not of a faith, wouldn't they have some basic idea of what is healthy for you in that regard?<br />
Would Heavenly Father, or that doctor, expect you to socialize and be on good, friendly terms with that person that hurt you? A person that hurt you so much that you needed to seek help from the Lord and medical personal alike?<br />
Remember, we are not talking a "It's fine, nevermind" situation here. We are talking someone that caused you harm enough that you fell into the arms of your Savior, and are willing to pay hundreds of dollars an appointment for a doctor to boot.<br />
Perhaps the health professional would suggest that you meet with that person that hurt you. Would it be every day? Every other day? Every week?<br />
Or would it be once, to find closure?<br />
Could you ever really find closure, which is a CLOSEing, if you put yourself in a place where you are constantly reminded of what sent you desperately needing the Atonement and other help? Can you allow yourself to Forget if you are constantly speaking with, preparing to socialize with, or being influenced by that person that hurt you so badly?<br />
We know that the people you are around are the people that influence your life the most, yes? Isn't that the reason that we sing Love at Home, so the people that we are around the most, our family, are full of love instead of hostility? Isn't that the reason for Family Home Evenings, and Family Prayer? Even those not of the LDS faith know the importance of the family eating dinner together around the table, yes?<br />
We want to create bonds with the people that will love us, and therefore influence us to do the most good, right?<br />
So if you are in the process, or already been through the process, of Forgiving some person that put you in a place where you needed the Atonement to Forgive, why would you be asked to never be able to Forget?<br />
If you are asked to be near that person, over and over and over and over again, wouldn't that person now be an influence on your life, wanted or not?<br />
Would it ever be acceptable that a doctor, who is seeing you for mental health, ask you to allow that source of anguish to have an influence on your life?<br />
Would your Father in Heaven ask that of you?<br />
Would you ever be able to actually Forget?<br />
If you can't Forget, can you actually be well enough to Forgive that person?<br />
The Forgiving isn't for them, though it is surely a possible help. It is for you. You need to Forgive in order to move on, and not hold the anger and grudge that we know are so bad for us.<br />
So, would it be appropriate for anyone to ask you to, or expect you to, Forgive without being able to ever Forget?<br />
There is a reason certain people leave our lives. Some are just along with the passage of time. Other we let or make leave.<br />
Is it okay to have the person who hurt you leave your life, even if other's weren't comfortable with it? Wouldn't Heavenly Father want you to be healthy and happy rather than popular?<br />
That isn't to say you can make it so that you never see that person again. Depending on the situation, you may need to be in their association again, however shortly. You may have to do so sometimes. It wouldn't even be bad to paste on a smile and be civil, helpful, and even kind.<br />
But, wouldn't it be easier if you knew that once the instance was over, no matter how needed or worthwhile or kind it was to everyone involved, that you knew that you can allow yourself to Forget again?<br />
Forgive and Forget. Those words aren't together because it is catchier and easier to remember.<br />
Don't you want both?<br />
<br />
Smile Always.<br />
(I know that was a little darker, but try to.)Mavourneenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00396098443870547637noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2001849886036976655.post-88313697154563601542016-08-15T10:11:00.000-07:002016-08-15T10:11:00.952-07:00Story of the Psychedelic CrittersOnce Upon A Time I found an old box of art supplies.<br />
I am talking about from high school art supplies.<br />
I have no idea how they lasted this long or through so many moves. I really don't know why I decided to keep them.<br />
But I am so glad I did because they inspired a new art project that I can do while the sewing machine is unavailable to me.<br />
I decided to use the brightest bits of art things I could find for this project. Brightest ended up being some very old, half demolished, oil pastels that I had attacked with no amount of skill back in Freshman year of high school.<br />
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I hadn't touched these in years and knew I had to do some serious experimenting in order to figure out how to use them again. But the challenge of only have about ten colors to work with, and their very temperamental way of adding those colors, was an adventure I couldn't pass up.<br />
It should also be noted that my laptop was down and I didn't have access to a lot of my usual distractions. I blame that for this wild tangent.<br />
I had used these before and remembered vaguely being frustrated that I hadn't created the kind of image I had mentally planned. This was most likely due to the fact that in high school I wasn't amazingly concerned about planning things out before I did them. That went for art, social interactions, presentations, and writing assignments.<br />
I don't really feel like revisiting my teenager frustrations as well as art material, so I decided to plan out something somewhat simple.<br />
My Lovely and I had been talking about barn owls a lot, so I decided to just mess about with doing a barn owl pastel work.<br />
Using all my new grown up planning skills, I drew out the most basic idea of a barn owl. I tried to keep it rough so I wouldn't get distracted by the drawing the therefore not want to add colors. A constant struggle of mine.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggqwmqdgWOYqu98Ue-4WWOw9KOfbwmUWxDJie8RZkn5Hl8GWoqkGZm-KlFb7QdA0FT4ZEYX9A2mEK8P-zQ7AgdreWPSW2zH1nIyVrfu3FjaTr6ANPgrHeDUmhpuxW4MFhg5lb9CkuVU7E/s1600/13724849_10209763511949004_4664315049918389119_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggqwmqdgWOYqu98Ue-4WWOw9KOfbwmUWxDJie8RZkn5Hl8GWoqkGZm-KlFb7QdA0FT4ZEYX9A2mEK8P-zQ7AgdreWPSW2zH1nIyVrfu3FjaTr6ANPgrHeDUmhpuxW4MFhg5lb9CkuVU7E/s320/13724849_10209763511949004_4664315049918389119_o.jpg" width="256" /></a></div>
I used many reference pictures and kind of mashed them up into my own design for the idea to work. I didn't just want to copy another person's picture.<br />
We are expecting a little one soon, so I decided to make it simple and colorful in order to become a nursery art piece. Because even if it turns out terribly, the Spawn won't know the difference. Hopefully. I really don't know if I can raise an art critic. He will be disillusioned with me so fast. Let's keep him thinking Mommy is cool for as long as possible.<br />
I knew that I wouldn't get a lot of detail work out of the pastels, so I kept myself thinking this was more of an abstract owl. And adding lots of colors that were not natural for barn owl, or any owls, helped with that. I just kept thinking, "This is ART" to myself when I felt I had gone too far with the crazy colors.<br />
I liked the result.<br />
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Okay, more than liked. I was pretty darn impressed with myself. It is better in person, I promise. I just have a horrible phone camera and half lighting in my apartment to work with.<br />
My Lovely walked by this piece multiple times. "I like that owl."<br />
So I knew it was good. And he really likes barn owls.<br />
<br />
Well, I can't leave a good thing well enough alone. So I decided to try my hand at it again.<br />
This time I would go with something a little more naturally colorful. So the crazy colors would make more sense in the nursery. And I don't want the art in our little Spawn's room to be too grown up. Or all predatory animals.<br />
So I picked an octopus next.<br />
I will freely admit a lot of that decision was because I have a friend that is amazingly obsessed with octopus of any kind, and I knew if I could get her approval on it, I was golden.<br />
So I sketched out an octopus using multiple reference pictures again.<br />
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I think it is safe to say I don't really understand how octopus are put together or their natural colors. I knew octo- meant eight, so I made eight tentacles. I saw a lot of big eyes so I got some of those in there.<br />
But the real octopus pictures I was looking at had some amazingly creepy eyes. Rectangular pupils. I was a little worried that it would take away from the fun nature I was trying to create. And I don't want our baby terrified of his own nursery's art work.<br />
So I colored everything as brightly as possible. I used every single one of the ten colors available and did a lot of finger smudging. I save the eyes for last.<br />
Finally, at the very last moment, I decided I would make the eyes a solid black to look almost like doll eyes I would use for my other crafts. But I would stay true to the rectangular of the pupils by adding the shine to the eyes with a white pastel on top of the black that would mimic how it would hit a rectangular pupil, while still being cute. "It is ART!"<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAshBEiVy1FM1iRQh4s3CVV0CMQa6bmjV1mtz6tvWlWBAZMtDJMToNtK1h_nToIS7tyj9rYqVtGwsOatHFhryoRz3HzP5jiKtgTnnuG0305IPTlfgBD8hzjRGeIK5NasCGGWuOCinZ5OA/s1600/13925820_10209768500233708_7441036342770098002_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAshBEiVy1FM1iRQh4s3CVV0CMQa6bmjV1mtz6tvWlWBAZMtDJMToNtK1h_nToIS7tyj9rYqVtGwsOatHFhryoRz3HzP5jiKtgTnnuG0305IPTlfgBD8hzjRGeIK5NasCGGWuOCinZ5OA/s320/13925820_10209768500233708_7441036342770098002_o.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
I tried. I think it is cute. Very appropriate for a child's room.<br />
My goal is to get enough material that I can open up an Etsy store. I would love to add things like this octopus. So I was pleased that it turned out.<br />
I got a lot of good reviews by friends and family that I spammed the social media feeds of with these pictures.<br />
And that friend I mentioned that has a love affair with all things octo? She thinks he is amazing and decided that he looked like an Alphonse. So this is Alphonse, the psychedelic octopus. He is happy to meet you. He likes bubble baths and face hugs. Careful, he is not good at knowing when there has been too much affection.<br />
<br />
I continued the experiment with a mouse. Because mice are supposed to be cute, right? Something like that?<br />
And I figured big ears are good.<br />
I attempted the same basic idea of the previous two. I wanted to bring in somewhat normal colors for a mouse, and also a few others to keep with the psychedelic theme.<br />
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Here is the result. I sketched him out first and colored him in a near panic, thinking it was wrong the entire time.<br />
Can I tell you a secret? The mouse got away from me a little bit. I am not pleased with every aspect of him.<br />
But the two year old I asked to review all three animals liked the mouse the best, so he gets to stay. Two-year-olds know their stuff, and who better to approve a nursery series than someone just able to communicate the sensibilities of children?<br />
So there.<br />
<br />
I plan to continue the series. I will frame the ones I like best for my personal nursery, and hopefully put the others away to sell on Etsy. I am thinking I can recreate a lot of the same animal. I will use the same positions of the animals, and sell them as they are made, as originals.<br />
Because there is no possible way I would be able to recreate the exact same color patterns. I will sell them each as is, and take orders of certain animals, as long as people are aware they will turn out slightly different each time.<br />
I suppose I could also get into prints if there were enough interest. But I try to not think that far ahead.<br />
<br />
My Lovely has requested a cow next in the Psychedelic Critter series. I'm not sure why, but I think it has something to do with a multi colored spotted cow being hilarious to him.<br />
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I have no idea how this is going to go.<br />
I will keep you all updated.<br />
Let me know what else you would like to see in the color storm that is this project.<br />
What art supplies do you still have in a box that you would like to pull out and make a mess with?<br />
Let me know.<br />
<br />
Smile Always.Mavourneenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00396098443870547637noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2001849886036976655.post-20796588551807724622016-08-12T10:04:00.000-07:002016-10-01T18:52:14.359-07:00The Bucket List StoryI have had many bucket lists over the years. Most of them have been thrown away or forgotten, or dismissed as impossible.<br />
Here I will attempt to collect all of them together from over the years.<br />
Not all of these items on the bucket list are still things I would like to do. I simply thought it would be amusing to compile them all together and see what they all looked like as one.<br />
Wish Lists over the years coming soon.<br />
<br />
<br />
<h4>
Bucket List</h4>
[X] Get Published<br />
[X] First Kiss<br />
[] Drive a Tank<br />
[] Dance in the Dark<br />
[X] Kiss in the Rain<br />
[] Sign a Book<br />
[X] Shoot a Gun<br />
[] Shoot every type of gun<br />
[X] Learn to Sew<br />
[X] Make a dress<br />
[] Learn to Swim<br />
[X] Start a blog<br />
[X] Reread the entire Harry Potter series<br />
[X] Read Jane Austen's classics<br />
[X] Own the book The 10th Kingdom/Read The 10th Kingdom<br />
[x] Learn to Paint<br />
[X] Make my own Bridal Bouquet<br />
[X] Get Married<br />
[In Progress] Have a baby<br />
[X] Answer why the Chicken crossed the road<br />
[X] Write a short story<br />
[X] Have a budget<br />
[X] Learn to fold a fitted sheet<br />
[] Make Soft Pretzels<br />
[] Make Homemade Lasagna<br />
[X] Draw/Paint Nursery Themes<br />
[] Start TinkerSmith Etsy page<br />
[] Sew [My Lovely] a formal vest<br />
[] Make a door wreath<br />
[...] Sew Monsters<br />
[] Learn to Braid Hair<br />
[X] Get a massage<br />
[] Own a Home<br />
[] Own a gun<br />
[X] Learn Calligraphy<br />
[X] Fill a Journal<br />
[X] Save the day<br />
[X] Get off all medications<br />
[] Go to Yellowstone<br />
[] Go to Ireland<br />
[X] Unplug for a weekend<br />
[] Unplug for a week<br />
[X] Have one year of perfect Tithing<br />
[X] Make Sidewalk street art<br />
[] Have a living room picnic date<br />
[] Have a Random Acts of Kindness Day<br />
[] Ride a Tandem Bike with My Lovely<br />
[X] Grow out my hair<br />
[x] Find my drawing style<br />
[X] Stay up all night, on accident, talking with My Lovely<br />
[X] Take a midnight/earlybird impulse food run<br />
[X] Have dinner ready when Lovely gets home<br />
[] Send a child on a mission<br />
[] send a child to college<br />
[] See all my children married in the Temple<br />
[] See my grandchildren<br />
<br />
More to come, I'm sure. I'll add to this as I find more lists.<br />
I got way more completed than I thought I would have.<br />
Such a good life I have.<br />
<br />
Smile AlwaysMavourneenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00396098443870547637noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2001849886036976655.post-69299823452770477842016-08-10T06:08:00.001-07:002016-08-10T06:08:10.770-07:00The Story of Hungry and FullI am aware that the idea of reading a story of someone getting hungry and full probably sounds like the world's most boring topic. You may be scoffing before you even began "That is boring. What is the big deal? You are hungry, you eat, and you get full. Everyone does this daily."<br />
The thing is, for most of my life, I didn't.<br />
I would tell people that I don't get hungry or full and they wouldn't believe me. The idea that a person just didn't do that was impossible to them. I have been asked hundreds of times how it works for me, and when I tried to explain, I didn't have the words to describe the difference, and was told that actually was hungry and full, and I was being dramatic.<br />
I'll try again. Because I now know the difference.<br />
<br />
I used to be thin. Very thin. Try 116 lbs at 5'10.5" thin. Looking back on pictures of those times I am only now aware of how skeletal I was. It was normal for me. The skinny shaming I got really didn't help my understanding - just made me think people had a right to judge somehow.<br />
If I wasn't reminded to eat, I would never even think about it. I would smell breakfast and want some, or have a craving for an omelette and make one. I would refer to my cravings or remembering to eat as hungry, because that is the word that was used. I knew something was different about my 'hunger' that other's, but how do you explain something against what you have never felt?<br />
I often would only remember that food was a thing when I got dizzy or started getting a headache. It wasn't that I was making a point or skipping meals or being dramatic. I just forgot.<br />
I would literally be confused why I was nearly falling over and then realize "Oh, crap. I haven't eaten in almost two days. I should really do that."<br />
I would also get wicked cranky. Oops.<br />
It was a chore to eat at most times. I liked the taste, don't get me wrong. I really enjoyed the process of eating. I just often forgot because I didn't have that little thing in my head that told me I was ready to eat. Chewing became an exercise of the jaw.<br />
<br />
Probably more problematic for me was the flip side was also true. I didn't get full.<br />
This was even harder for people to comprehend than the fact I didn't get hungry. That I could eat a meal and not get full didn't make any sense to almost anyone I told about it. Including family.<br />
Here is how it usually went. I remembered that food was a thing. Either by smell, craving a certain taste, or accidentally making myself sick in some way because I hadn't fed my body. So I would go find myself some food. A lot of food!<br />
I can't tell you how many times the word bulimic came up. It was actually how I learned of the condition, was people assuming I already had it. (Also, really easy to live up to expectations of a food disorder. Just stop mocking people, no matter the body type.) This was because when I remembered I had to eat, I would sit down to a lot of food, because I knew I wouldn't remember for another while.<br />
So I would eat like 6 full burritos, an entire pizza, or half a box of spaghetti by myself.<br />
Because I would only know when I was done eating if the flavors I were craving were satisfied/got boring, I lost interest in the meal, or more often I felt my stomach getting so stretched out that it started to be uncomfortable. I would eat until it hurt.<br />
And that hurt in the belly because I just stuffed it with a family meal's worth of food? I called that full because I didn't have any other reference. How many times I had heard it said that full was when your body just told you to stop? Well, stomach threatening to unload or rip open because I ate so much seemed a pretty clear signal that I should stop eating. So that was what I called full.<br />
And that is how you see a rail thin teenage/young adult girl down an entire large pizza by herself without an eating disorder ever coming into play.<br />
I hadn't been hungry before, sat down to eat, and ate until I physically had to stop.<br />
<br />
I honestly don't know if not getting hungry or full is a condition. I don't know if it is a certain kind of symptom or an uncontrollable disorder. I could never find any information about it because if I searched for any of those signs, all I would get were anorexia/bulimia results.<br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">(Pro Ana websites are terrifying, by the way. And disturbing. And sick. And feed directly into the angst and insecurities and need to be unique but belong that resides in teenagers. Male and female. The fact that they often take an artistic viewpoint didn't help things. If we can't take them off the internet, we need to make it clear to youth that they are manipulation shrouded in poison and glamour before they ever come across one and find themselves intrigued. And don't do so by showing the pictures on those websites. What is shocking and horrifying to the healthy is often artistic and interesting to those triggered. But I won't make this post about that.)</span><br />
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I don't know if others are suffering what I did for years. Because while I felt I was not having hunger and fullness like others, there was no way to really know, as I couldn't compare it with what everyone else was doing.<br />
Until now.<br />
I have gone through a lot of changes in my life. One of which was getting off all medications for the purpose of being ready to conceive a child.<br />
I want to make it clear that I am now talking about the time between getting off medications that altered my chemistry (needfully!) and when pregnancy cravings and aversions kicked in. They are very different and I am now very glad it took us a few months to get pregnant so I could understand the difference.<br />
When I got off the medications, I started losing crazy amounts of weight.<br />
Before I had been on them I was around 116 lbs. When I got on them, I would eat in the same fashion I always had, but I then started to gain weight rapidly. I got up to 220 lbs by the time I got off them. Slightly more at my wedding. Most of that weight had come on in under a year. The medications helped with my unhealthy thoughts. But it completely ballooned me out. It was worth the trade off for me because my depression had been so bad, but be aware before you get on any medication what the side effects can be and be sure you are willing to have them.<br />
When I started to lose weight so fast, I was pleased and took note of my numbers on the scale.<br />
But something more drastic started happening to my eating habits.<br />
I now remember with some amusement talking to my husband and sister in complete confusion.<br />
"I just don't understand. I don't want anything in particular, I'm not craving anything. I just really need to eat!" "I'm not dizzy or anything, I just really feel better when I eat." "I just really want food and I don't know why."<br />
Yeah, that is hunger. I would wake up needing energy and just really want to eat. I didn't feel like a bagel or an omelette or anything in mind. It wasn't about the flavor that would be best. It was that I needed some type of food in me to function. Weird. So I would eat more regularly.<br />
I'm still kind of laughing at how I freaked out to Fullness, though. I was so confused.<br />
"I'm not bored, and I still like the taste. My stomach feels fine. I'm just ... done."<br />
My Sissy-poo's blank stare was perfect as she tried to explain that 'done' was what most people felt. They stopped eating when they were done. I was just so confused that I didn't need to eat until my stomach threatened rebellion. I wouldn't get sick of a taste in order to stop. I just got 'done' eating. I got full. And I didn't really know how to handle it.<br />
I kind of felt like it was anti-climatic. There was no dire warning to end a meal. And at the same time it was so nice to be truly satisfied with a meal without having to hate the flavor or feel so over-logged with food that a nap was the only option. I could get up and move and continue my day and have plenty of energy until that really strange feeling of needing it came back.<br />
I also found very quickly that I couldn't order as much as I usually did. When I fixed myself something or ordered something I had understood how much to put on a plate in order to get what I had considered full. Turns out I knew how much the entire capacity of my stomach was.<br />
It took me weeks to remember to only serve up or order about a quarter or less of the amount I usually ate. You know, a normal American serving. I admit it probably took longer than it should have for me to understand I couldn't eat as much. It was so much a habit at that point to overload plates.<br />
<br />
I can't express how enjoyable it is to get full. Hunger can sometimes be annoying. Because I see it as inconvenient to stop what I am doing because I really need to eat. But my energy is so much more consistent and there is something to be said for being healthy. And normal.<br />
Fullness is such a blessing that I hadn't even realized I was missing out on. I can have just the right amount of food and suddenly feel great. Mentally fresh, body ready to do whatever I want it to. There is a huge satisfaction to a good meal. And I will try so many more foods.<br />
<br />
Again, I have no idea of not getting hungry or full is a condition. I had many other things going on as well that were more pressing than the fact I wouldn't think of food for days on end. It wasn't because of the medications, I had that problem well before I started on them. I had it for as long as I can remember. It was just when I got off them and was otherwise in great health that I found the change.<br />
I am also happy that as Hunger and Fullness came into my life, I have been able to avoid my Depression, most of my Anxiety, and many other of my issues since getting off the medications.<br />
I am doing better than I ever thought I would.<br />
<br />
Smile Always.<br />
<br />
P.S. If you have any information about the inability to get hungry and full, and if it is actually a medical condition, I would absolutely love to know. I don't know if this is something I could pass down to my children or could come back to me later. I am enjoying health while it lasts, but would love to get more knowledge on what I have never even heard of another person experiencing.Mavourneenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00396098443870547637noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2001849886036976655.post-47107492300150784442016-08-09T06:22:00.000-07:002016-08-09T10:10:10.485-07:00Public Service Announcement: Witches<br />
<b>Public Service Announcement: Witches</b><br />
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The Cackling Community wishes to express their wishes that the term "Witch" only be used when speaking of a certified Cackling Member. Witch is an occupation very important to the community. Please refrain from using the term "Witch" when referring to a female of unfortunate personality. Using the term "Witch" without proper context has started a negative image of the Cackling Community and it's magic using Members.<br />
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A woman that turns a man down for a date or makes cubicle life unbearable is not a Witch, but an unhappy human being that you should probably ply with chocolate. We ask that you do not associate her with the occupation of Witch.<br />
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The public is also asked to stop depicting Witches as green complexioned with warts. That was an unforeseen side affect of the Cackling Community's Program of Immunization of the 1800's that has been discontinued. Depiction of green and wart ridden Witches harms the image of innocent Toad Coma patients and impedes the process of a magic-medical cure of this very serious condition.<br />
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The Cackling Community has been a beneficial contributor to society since the Pagan Corporation. Some of their greatest achievements have been the Black Cat Safety Patrol and the sensitive monitoring of fruit additives. We ask that simple steps be taken regarding the reference and depiction of Witches:<br />
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Black Brim Hats to be only used in official Cackling Community authorized advertisements<br />
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Complexions depicted to be correct as Chalk White or Ozone Blue<br />
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The term "Witch" to refer to only Cackling certified members<br />
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Thank you and have a magical day.<br />
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<b><i>Mary Weathers</i></b><br />
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P.S: The pointed hat is a serious signal of position that we ask society to not imitate or desecrate. Black Brim Hats, our main supplier of aerodynamic hats, perfect for broom riders, has asked that the public does not misuse their product for human ceremonial candy accumulation. High Fructose Corn Syrup interferes with magic sensitivity and sticky fingers damage the carefully magic woven fibers of the hats. Lollipops adorned on hats like feathers cause unpredictable swerving and over-correcting on brooms and is a violation of the Humans Handling Magic Act.<br />
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<b> Author's Note:</b><br />
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I wrote this PSA about t<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;">his same time last year. I thought it would be fun to bring around again, as Halloween is coming up fast.</span><br />
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I have always been tempted to print off a few of these and pin them up in public places, just to see reactions.</div>
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Where do you think would be a fun place for people to find this PSA come October, and what other PSA themes would you like me to write?</div>
Mavourneenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00396098443870547637noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2001849886036976655.post-84157273899638572022016-07-13T08:00:00.002-07:002016-07-13T08:00:47.751-07:00Free Review! Paragon Cafe Story.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguTgxZ7PIBdyVYnE2vmpkHebrUeu35iU4UzofAbX8GnjUuW9wYkjlntbqjpOHsjIXdfSdz84dWutd1vgpnVWuMOWCObp2W6p0aRMrh0FMx9WQNNaydKb0PIfJVgeTpXZ5tqeEiYmnuDwE/s1600/2016-07-09+16.09.43.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguTgxZ7PIBdyVYnE2vmpkHebrUeu35iU4UzofAbX8GnjUuW9wYkjlntbqjpOHsjIXdfSdz84dWutd1vgpnVWuMOWCObp2W6p0aRMrh0FMx9WQNNaydKb0PIfJVgeTpXZ5tqeEiYmnuDwE/s320/2016-07-09+16.09.43.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
Now that I have your attention.<br />
Free review time!<br />
<br />
As many of you know, or should, if you are following this blog, I'm pregnant.<br />
Along with pregnancy comes some interesting new relationships with food. I used to be a huge carnivore. Meat and potatoes kind of girl. It worked well, as my husband is also a carnivore. (Though he will undoubtedly point out that we are omnivores and have a wide range of likes about food and la dee da - Science.) I used to say, and often, that if the plate didn't have meat on it then it was a snack and not a meal.<br />
Oh, how times have changed. Along with some very interesting food cravings (see Cravings - A Fruity Story post, coming soon) I got some interesting food aversions to go along with them. The worst aversion to food that I got because of pregnancy is the aversion to meat.<br />
Anything meat bothers me now. I miss it. But the thought of meat makes me mentally see oil and fat and just gross. I can't take it. If I could, I would cut meat out of my diet completely for the next 20 weeks or so. But I'm low on that iron, so I need it more than ever.<br />
Wailing on about my food woes is not the point of this post. The point is that I found a place where the meat is just as wonderful as I remember.<br />
On a bad day where I was not going to cook (bad Domestic Goddess!) and knew I really needed meat, Lovely reminded me that I hadn't had any all week, we decided to try a new-for-us place in town. It had great, if not numerous reviews. I hadn't had a single friend I knew personally that had eaten there.<br />
It was a mystery. A food mystery. We had to go to that side of town for reasons that day anyway, so we decided to give it a try.<br />
The Paragon Cafe is in a hospital. It is the hospital's food source. Many of you are probably already leaning back away from your screens at just the thought. Hospital food creates images of separated gelatinous fear and unidentifiable solids. Bare with me.<br />
The hospital in this town is geared almost entirely on the Maternity Ward. Yes, they have emergency care and ICU and all sorts of things, but this is Baby Central. We live in a high concentration of LDS and university students. And the only thing the LDS community are better at than making internet memes is making babies. So the Maternity Ward is the nicest thing you have ever seen. Think first class for hospitals.<br />
Well, with a nice Maternity Ward comes a freak-ton of hungry postnatal Mommas. You would be hungry too after the work out of an all-nighter labor and delivery. So, the hospital determined that feeding these postnatal bellies should be a high priority. And I'm so glad they did. (Not only because we are having our baby here.)<br />
The Hospital has hallways that don't feel creepy and medical. While we were walking towards the Cafe, following very well placed and easy to read signs, Lovely and I both commented that this didn't feel like a hospital. Yes, everything was cleaned within an inch of it's life, but it didn't have that sterile to the point of dead feeling. It felt and looked like we were in a nice hotel. Which is a much better association than hospitals, if you ask me.<br />
We made it to the Paragon Cafe, and I was a bit shocked. I was expecting a hole in the wall vending machine and paltry grill type of situation. There were not very many reviews that I could find on the place. That usually means word hasn't gotten out, either because it was bad food, service, or just inconvenient to eat there. Paragon was none of those things.<br />
The tables were very clean, well placed, and each had a small vase of fresh flowers on them. We felt them. They were real, and not even starting to wilt. There was plenty of light, both artificial, and coming from windows all along the room. It felt like a nice sit down place that we currently can't afford.<br />
Surprised, but willing to at least look at the options, we went through to the food area.<br />
(We have been known to go into places, and even sit down, but leave if the prices are too high. We are foodies, but we are frugal.)<br />
The food area is unique. It is set up so all the seating is surrounding the area on three sides, separated by walls. There was not a lot of space dedicated to the food area, but they used their square footage well. There is a full salad bar. And I mean full. Anything you could want on a salad, and all items not touching. I inspected, not a single green was browning or wilted. All fresh.<br />
There was a fountain drink machine, of course. Also a smaller version for what I like to call funny-water. Those energy/nutrient induced waters. There was a coffee machine, with hot cocoa packets next to it if people would prefer hot chocolate to coffee. (Which, in this town, is a pretty good bet.)<br />
There was even an ice cream soft serve machine. With cup or cone options.<br />
We were interested in meat, though. I needs it, and I needed to find a place it town that I could eat it. Anything greasy was out for sure, so I haven't wanted much of any fast food options, but as it was in a hospital I figured they would at least not deep fat fry style the food.<br />
The Grill options were amazing. Not only did they have daily specials, but the prices are just beautiful. We are nearing broke, so are being careful. They had a chicken wrap that I was at once wanting. It was only 3.99. I ordered that, and Lovely grabbed a chicken sandwich. (In his usual style he asked the person working what their favorite things was and ordered that. It worked out this time.) He also grabbed a Guava drink, and I grabbed a candy bar to share for dessert.<br />
The whole side wall was just bottled drinks, by the way. Everything from milk, chocolate milk, guava, to ginger beer. With all the normal sodas in between. It was a cooled fridge wall, and they even had muffins and cheese sticks in there. Cool.<br />
The center area in the middle of all this had desserts. From pie, to cheesecakes, to fruit bowls, to I don't know what it was but it looked delicious. (You have come across those desserts before, don't kid yourself) It was very exciting, but I stuck with my little candy bar.<br />
The system the Paragon Cafe used was a little different. The Grill master, as I will now deem him, printed off a tiny reciept of what we ordered at the grill. As he made it fresh, as is their way, we grabbed what ever else we wanted and headed to the little register at the corner wall divider from the seating. A very cheerful woman then scanned the receipt and our drink and candy, then said that any of the tables would hear our number being called very clearly, so we were welcome to sit down and be comfortable.<br />
Oh, and that chicken wrap, sandwich, guava soda, and candy bar. It all came to about 11 dollars. I was giddy.<br />
We sat down by a window. The wait wasn't long, but enough time to know the food was being made, not reheated. Then our number was called on the oversound.<br />
Because the bill was so small, and they didn't have any pictures to illustrate the foods, we were expecting the portions to be fair if not small. 3.99 for a chicken wrap that includes chicken, bacon, cheese, lettuce, and ranch is a fantastic price, but usually means it might be the size of my handspan. Which isn't all bad, as I can't eat as much anymore with baby taking up all the tummy real estate.<br />
The portions were huge. The wrap was as tall as my face. I needed two hands just to lift it. Very pleased. So pleased. And it was hot enough that even I had to wait before digging in. Lovely's sandwich was equally as huge. Fresh bun with chicken bigger than bun. He was chuckling with glee.<br />
And they didn't skimp on any ingredients. You know those places that make big burritos but it is really all just filler? Not the deal here. The wrap was mostly chicken and bacon. Cheese plentiful. Good amount of lettuce without being a salad wrap. And you could taste the ranch in every bite without having to slurp.<br />
I was so pleased. But then it was the test. Would I be able to eat the meats? Oily is my enemy, and bacon has a bad habit.<br />
It was perfect. It wasn't greasy at all. Moist and hot and fresh, but I didn't feel like I was eating meat flavored oil bites, which had been what my mind thought with all food lately.<br />
The wrap was huge. And I hadn't been able to eat more than about a yogurt cup lately before having to stop.<br />
I nearly finished that wrap. While nearly doesn't seem that impressive, it was a huge achievement for me. Lovely polished off his sandwich with only a slight pause to let me try a bite (true love) and was happy to finish off my wrap for me as well. So yummy.<br />
By the time we were done with those, we were almost too full to eat the candy bar for dessert.<br />
It was a Carmello. Four tiny squares of chocolate and caramel. But we would have saved it for later, except it is blistering hot and wouldn't have even made it to the car without turning into a puddle of sticky at the bottom of my purse. So we each had two squares.<br />
And we were content, satisfied, and full for the rest of the day.<br />
I five starred Paragon Cafe at every place I could think to review when I got home.<br />
<br />
You might have notice the picture at the top of this post is of neither a chicken wrap or a chicken sandwich. Well, it is because we were so excited about the place and the food and the yumminess, that I forgot to take a picture. Yes, I'm that person that Instagrams her food.<br />
So I arm twisted (More like hand-held) My Lovely into going back to Paragon Cafe again. Because I needed more meat in my diet, and it had been the only place we found that didn't turn my stomach. And I was sure to order a burger, something I haven't been able to touch since pregnancy hit, and actually snap a picture this time.<br />
That above is a simple bacon cheeseburger there. 4.95 after tax - I checked the receipt. And I was half way through it before realizing I had forgotten to put any sauces on it. No mayo, ketchup, or mustard. And I hadn't even noticed because it was so juicy. They didn't skimp on pickles (five circle slices) or tomatoes (Two thick slices) which is my usual frustration. Plenty of fresh lettuce as well, to the point that I didn't put it all on. And they give it to you open faced, so you can put on the toppings, or not, as you please.<br />
That time Lovely had grabbed the chicken wrap because he liked the taste of mine he got from last visit. I couldn't get a picture because he isn't the Instagram kind and was too busy actually eating his food. (I know - weird. ;) right?)<br />
We are very pleased. And I'm already wanting to go back.<br />
<br />
I was not asked to give this review. I was not paid anything for the review (who is gonna pay this little blog for my rambling sassy thoughts?). But I love this place, and you should go and eat there.<br />
And I'm suddenly craving Paragon Cafe so hard.<br />
<br />
Smile Always.Mavourneenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00396098443870547637noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2001849886036976655.post-45470393233517066722016-07-12T08:34:00.002-07:002016-07-12T08:34:24.983-07:00Story of the Gender Reveal!Story of the Ultrasound and Gender Reveal.<br />
I knew we were going to have to do the Gender Reveal as soon as possible after the Level 2 Ultrasound that would tell us girl or boy.<br />
One, because finals are here and we have a lot on our plates.<br />
Second, because I can't keep good news a secret to save my life, and if we didn't have a reveal soon I would just end up blurting it out to everyone and the reveal wouldn't be a surprise to anyone.<br />
So, to start things off:<br />
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It's a BOY!!!<br />
<br />
So, if you didn't know, I was more than excited for this ultrasound. Not only because it would tell us the gender, but also to show us that Spawn was healthy and growing properly. I had been losing weight during this pregnancy.<br />
While people seem to think this is amazing and convenient that I can lose weight, that baby is taking it, and it is just all good, I didn't feel this way. I in no way wanted to pack on the pounds, but a slow and steady weight gain is one of the first signs that baby is growing and healthy before you can feel any kicks. I had lost 12 pounds, and I was worried that Spawn wasn't getting the nutrients he needs.<br />
I felt like a failure already whenever someone would say I'm so tiny, or that I couldn't possibly be half way along. I felt like they were saying I was starving my baby or something. I know they didn't mean it that way, but I was so worried already that baby wasn't big enough.<br />
The ultrasound was my dear hope that I would be proved wrong and Spawn was fine and happy and growing.<br />
It did that. Not only is our boy (which he was more than happy to show us in the second shot) right where he should be weight wise, but he is a mover.<br />
I hadn't felt anything I could identify as kicks yet. Because I didn't know what they felt like. There were moments in my worst state of worrying that I thought baby must be too small or too weak to move. I was 19 weeks with nothing I could identify as baby and not gas.<br />
Turns out, the placenta is anterior, between baby and belly, so that is why I couldn't feel him whirling around. The ultrasound showed us that moving is really not his issue.<br />
We were late getting in to see the ultrasound. Half an hour in the waiting room became me as a ball of nerves, and my Lovely being able to identify every fish in the tank next to us, and how it ate. (He always goes to 'say hi' to the fish when we see the doctor.)<br />
When we were allowed in and the pictures turned on, we could see the baby immediately. Compared to the first ultrasound where he looked more like a gummy bear or some type of tiny sea creature, now he seemed huge in comparison. And while he is only the size of certain fruits for now and weeks to come, he certainly has all the proportions of human. Except for still being skinny, he looked like a normal baby to me. I was/am thrilled.<br />
With gender out of the way almost at once, we then got to take all the cute pictures while the Ultrasound Tech tried to get the pictures of all his bones, organs, and such that she needed.<br />
He decided to be contrary.<br />
We were in the room for well over an hour. Because no matter which angle the Tech tried, or how she had me toss and turn, even her shaking my belly quite hard to encourage the little guy to get to a position she needed, our baby boy was determined to only show her his feet and or rump. With some really nice profiles thrown in.<br />
She would find a good angle, and then he would immediately roll, twist, or somersault away.<br />
After an hour prodding and pushing on my belly, having me change positions every which way, and serious shaking, my belly was sore from the abuse and the Tech was about to throw in the towel and have us come back another day for the last few things.<br />
It was then, of course, that the Womb Nugget got tired of the game and got with the program. We finished up, and headed into another room to get poked for blood tests, and talk with the Doctor.<br />
The Nurse Practitioner that drew my blood is amazing. Or, as my Lovely said, a ninja. I didn't feel the needle go in at all, and she was finished and left the room before we knew it. Lovely didn't even see her go. Ninja.<br />
The Doctor was pleased with the progress. I had gained two pounds since the last visit over and month before. It wasn't leaps and bounds, but it was on the right track (nevermind the huge breakfast I had that morning or that I was on my fifth liter-sized water bottle for the day. Meh. I'll take the praise). Baby is in the 43rd percentile, he told us. Which is right on the bell of the curve that he likes to see. He assured us that they would call if the blood tests showed anything unusual, but no news was good news. Then we just clarified some things and were on our way.<br />
Because I was so mentally involved with everything, I hadn't realized that it had been much longer than we had been expecting to take. And we had to prep for a photo shoot with Sissy Poo. And I was Hungry!<br />
So we flew through the store to grab the right paint color and supplies we needed for the reveal, grabbed some fruit for me to devoer, and a parfeit for the Lovely, and rushed home to meet Sissy Poo and get the picture.<br />
Of course, I was so frazzled at that point, and very distracted with joy of healthy baby, that I made some mistakes.<br />
We weren't prepared all the way when Sissy Poo came over. I wanted to surprise her with the gender reveal, because she was going to be the only one there. We were still in set up. So I showed her the ultrasound photos while we got things ready.<br />
Then, in my brain fog (pregnancy brain is a real thing, people) I sprayed a sealant over the canvas we were going to use. So it was sealed. And defeated the purpose of canvas, which is to soak up paint. Silly me. Luckily I had a back up.<br />
We were going to do dart painting. And did so, but the sealed canvas just washed it all off, so we were not dart painting at that point, and grabbed a squirt bottle for the paint and had Lovely just attack the second canvas. Because we needed a picture, and Sissy Poo had a paper to write.<br />
So, we ended with the above. Me without makeup and frazzled. Lovely half asleep after the long day I put him through. And yet Sissy Poo is that good that I think that may be the best picture of me since my wedding. We just look happy. And her skills somehow hid the crazy of the day. Love her.<br />
Then, of course, I contacted the family and told them the good news as I uploaded the photo. (When Sissy Poo was done editing, of course)<br />
Then we were so tired that we ordered a pizza and Lovely fell asleep with I social media'd my way through another hour before falling asleep as well.<br />
So, there you have it. Healthy baby. My fears abated. And a rather nice photo to show the interwebs.<br />
And here is a bonus of our little guy.<br />
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Smile Always.Mavourneenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00396098443870547637noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2001849886036976655.post-28878534672762718362016-07-07T01:12:00.000-07:002016-07-07T01:12:40.102-07:00Story of the Final Trick<div class="MsoNormal">
“As you can see, there is nothing up my sleeves!” The loud
man barely plucked at his sleeves, showing a scant amount of wrist. The
beautiful assistant felt his arms, somewhat too adoringly, and nodded to the
packed seats.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Florence didn’t particularly like that. Sitting to the side
of the stage where it would be hard for her little sister to see her, what with
those bright lights pointed right at her cleavage for viewer’s pleasure,
Florence picked up her drink. In the guise of taking a sip, she instead blew
softly on the liquid.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The oils that had been added to the alcohol moved just
slightly. As they did, the tall man on stage spread his arms wide to show the
rapt audience the card he had summoned.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
As his arms dropped, nearly a pound of cards fell from his
sleeves. All of them that summoned card’s same designation. They sprayed all
over the stage, making guests chuckled nervously as they tried to understand if
it was a joke or not.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The beautiful assistant started squinting past the lights at
the crowd. As her boyfriend looked about in a panic, the back of his badly made
top hat had more of those cards tucked in the hem. The crowd of fancy guests
were now more focused on the show than the dinner in front of them. They
laughed loudly at what must now surely be a joke.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Apologies!” He tried to recover. “Sometimes my magic is a
little more potent than expected!” He sounded slightly nervous to Florence.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
At his gesture, his assistant walked towards the front of
the stage, arms wide to garner all the attention, as he brushed off all the
cards he could find and mentally tried to focus on the next trick. Coming to
join her at the front of the stage while his back stage crew tried to sweep the
offending cards from behind them, the magician pulled off his top hat and
showed the empty interior to the crowd of now very interested patrons.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He then reached in to pull out the expected rabbit.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Florence delicately swirled her drink.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
His hand came back with a white, fluffy, cat. The feline was
beautiful and about the right size, but as it let out a very loud meow,
certainly not a rabbit. The dinner guests laughed and cheered the magician,
none of them seeing the concerned look he passed his assistant. She returned
the look, somewhat sheepishly.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Then the large white cat gave a mighty sneeze, and became a
snowy owl in an explosion of feathers and fur. The audience was loud in its
applause.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Stage hands were already rushing forward to take the owl.
All of them looked a little pale. They certainly weren’t expected the change in
the program, and all of them knew that they hadn’t set up the changes in the
tricks.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
As one took the owl, another handed the magician a very
large cape of bright fabric the size of a man. Florence could see that he gave
a very curt command and perhaps threat to the poor helper.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“For my last trick!” He attempted to guide the audience
again as a visible sweat started down his face. “I will now make my lovely
assistant disappear!”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Florence noticed that his voice cracked just slightly on
that last word. Understandably. He had no way of knowing what would change on
this last stunt.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The magician took his assistant’s hand and motioned for her
to turn. It was as if to show the guests that she didn’t have anything on her
she was hiding to aid the trick. Really, it showed all the angles of her very
scantily clad form. Some men whistled.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Then she gave a pose as the magician covered her from view
to the audience. He said some very fancy words of nonsense as he shook the red
fabric dramatically.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Florence took a sip of her altered drink.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
When the red fabric fell, Florence blinked out past the
lights of the stage that were brighter than she had expected. The rush from the
drink and magic made it very believable that she was confused, a subject of the
audience, still on her dining chair with her drink in hand, now suddenly on the
stage and the center of focus.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The dinner guests roared with approval. They thumped the
tables and raised their glasses and spoke among themselves so loudly that it
was certain that the story of the magician’s incredible show would be the story
in all the papers by morning.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Florence stood up, trying to look embarrassed and pleased.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
With little else he could do than pretend it was all
intended, the magician stood next to her and tried contain his shaking. As was
custom with assistants and female guests, he went to kiss her cheek.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
She made careful that her face was on the opposite side of
the cheering guests.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
She spoke clearly in his ear as he leaned in close.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“You sneak about behind my sister’s back again, it is you
that is going to be disappearing. Permanently.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
When he pulled away, the now famous magician looked pale as
a death bed and smelled of a nervous sweat. She could tell from the look in his
eyes that he now understood his position perfectly.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Florence!” Came the barely contained hiss from across the
room.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Stage lights turned to show the lovely assistant standing on
one of the few tables unoccupied at the back of the room. The room was then so
loud and breathless with their approval at her return that Florence couldn’t
possibly hear whatever would have been said next. She left the stage confident
that her message was received in all clarity.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
*</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I hope you liked the story.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I also write under the name Katty Jay, in case any of you would be interested in finding any more of my work.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Smile Always.</div>
Mavourneenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00396098443870547637noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2001849886036976655.post-89743378538890136252016-06-10T11:30:00.000-07:002016-06-10T11:30:19.419-07:00Story of my Dog PhobiaFor most of my life I have been phobic of dogs. And I don't mean 'scared' of dogs or something stemming from an allergy or disliking their smell, It isn't that I am more of a cat person, so dogs are therefore bad. I mean that I had a phobia.<br />
When I was very young I was bitten by a pit bull on my way home. Old enough to remember the experience in detail, but young enough that it left a profound impression on my that lasted much longer than that single event.<br />
I had already been nervous of dogs. They would bark loudly on the other side of fences and no one seemed able to really control their dog, even with a leash on. I wasn't so scared, as just incredibly wary. I was told by my father that dogs only get mad when you are on their territory, so I was careful to avoid lawns that weren't ours or anything else that I thought a dog could see as theirs. I didn't blame the dogs. They are being protective, and they didn't know me. But they were much bigger and faster than me, so I kept my distance.<br />
On the day I was bitten I was walking home with my younger sisters. They had lots of excitement and energy, so ran ahead. I followed more slowly behind, because even then I wasn't into running needlessly.<br />
As I passed a house I noticed that there were two large black dogs laying on the front lawn, watching us. I didn't like that, and because of the street there was no way to walk around them. So I tried to get out of their territory by walking in the middle of the street. (Not a lot of traffic, to be clear) The middle of the street can't be theirs. I also didn't look them in the eyes, because I had been told that is a challenge.<br />
I walked past the house, and one of the dogs got up and followed me slightly. I didn't freak out, and I tried to stay calm.<br />
The pit bull bit me in the calf.<br />
I freaked out then. I screamed as loud as I could and took off running. The dog let me go and headed back to the front yard, but I ran all the way home without stopping, terrified and sobbing.<br />
Sisters safe, my mother let me tell her what happened. And then proceeded to do the thing that I considered the worst thing we could do. She made me walk her back to the dogs so she could find the owners and complain.<br />
Me still crying hysterically because my then worst fear had just been realized, we walked back to the house where the dogs were.<br />
The dog was more than happy to repeat the incident. I wasn't bitten again, but I did stand there and cry loudly as the dog came right up to my mother and started barking, growling, and snarling at her. It most likely would have bitten her, except she started screaming at it, and not even an aggressive pit bull would cross my mother if it had half a brain.<br />
Though it may not have had the chance to get up the nerve. My howling in terror, my mother screaming, and the dog barking and snarling, were apparently enough to get the dog owner's attention. Luckily, as the second dog was now coming off the front lawn.<br />
The family, shouting and calling the dog away, came out of their home at a run. The home across the street from where the dogs were hanging out.<br />
They got their dogs inside. Kind of. One came back through the side yard where they hadn't closed the fence. Seeing that dog coming didn't help much of my fear.<br />
The family asked me questions after my mother made it clear what had happened. They asked which dog had bitten me. I told them. And they were surprised because it was the other dog that had a history of biting people, and I was the first person the other, younger dog had ever bitten. They said this as if my being the only person the dog had ever singled out should make me feel better. It didn't.<br />
They explained that they were living on one side of the street, but had just bought the house on the opposite side and were moving in. So they had put their dogs at the new place while they moved everything over. They had been having dinner when I had been bitten and screamed, so they hadn't heard me.<br />
Because the skin on my calf was torn, but I wasn't bleeding, my mother told them she wasn't going to call the police or file a complaint, because she wouldn't take me to get a rabies shot as the dog hadn't made me bleed. The family tried to laugh it off and say the dog was just playing or giving me a warning. Mom just told them to keep their dogs locked up, and we went home.<br />
I really didn't get over it. My phobia started with just being hyper aware of all dogs barking from then on. In case they were mad at me. That street where the dogs were I had to pass a lot, so I was always so scared having to pass where I knew they were.<br />
Then, not long after that, on my way to the bus one morning, another dog, black but not a pit bull, ran up to me. I was in hysterics in a second, and couldn't bring myself to run past the dog it case it would chase me and or bite me. I just stood there crying as the dog tried to jump on me (Playing, I now know) and I pushed it away. The bus driver thought I was petting it, got mad and drove away. So I was in the street with a big black dog, crying, and the bus drove away and my house too far to be in sight. Someone in a nearby house heard me crying and called out a window. The dog ran away, unconcerned, and that person asked if the dog had bitten me. I called back no, so the person closed their window and I had to walk back home, alone and crying. Mom was mad that I missed the bus.<br />
So from then on, I couldn't get the fear out of my head. I was always listening to know if a dog was coming. The sound of a dog collar was my biggest fear, or a sound like a dog's paws on the street behind me. I very quickly learned where all the dogs in my area lived, and avoided them at all costs. If I saw a dog up the road, no matter how far away, I refused to walk that road. I soon started taking other routes to places I wanted to go in order to avoid places I knew dogs were, or where I had once seen a dog.<br />
It lasted for years. And didn't get better. If I would see a dog, no matter how nice and calm or cute, I would immediately feel my heart drop, my stomach want to throw up from the fear. I would get a shock through my body like cold electricity. I would either freeze completely, or flee without thinking. The thought of a dog would start me crying, no matter how safe I was.<br />
It lasted all throughout school, and when I came to university, it hadn't changed. Though I knew there were much less dogs in a college town, it didn't help my fear. A dog barking made me want to be sick, and nearly panic. If I heard a dog barking anywhere near while I was preparing to leave for class, I wouldn't go that day. It wasn't worth the risk for me.<br />
Dogs, in my mind, meant death. It went from they are scary and might bite me, to my mind telling me in no uncertain terms that if a dog wanted to, it would attack and kill me. Dogs were bad, then evil.<br />
I had nightmares for YEARS about dogs that were smart enough to hate me personally and try to kill me, but not smart enough that I could reason with them and get them to stop. In my dreams people would know that I was in danger and going to die, and just not care.<br />
The sounds of dog collars and dog's short claws on pavement quickly morphed. The zipper tags on back packs sounded like dog collars to me. I can't tell you how many time I would hear that and be near panic when I turned to just see a student with a big backpack. Purses did that too. Decorative chains, that were on bags, boots, and so many other things, sounded like the chains that kept dogs on their lawn. It got to the point that dried leaves on pavement sounded like dogs coming, and every single time a breeze came in the fall, I would jump in fright.<br />
And because it was years in the making, that is just how I lived. I would often go more than half an hour out of my way getting to places to avoid places that my mind linked with dogs. I wouldn't even consider visiting a complex that was dog friendly. Dog parks looked like a literal Hell to me.<br />
If a friend had a dog, they would either put it away, I would refuse to visit, or if they refused to leash their dog but visiting was impossible to avoid, I sat there in a sweat, near tears and not moving or speaking in case the dog took too much notice of me.<br />
If I were walking alone, I was never even concerned of a bad person grabbing me or getting kidnapped. Because it was dogs that were going to kill me.<br />
It didn't matter what kind of dog, big or small, mellow or active. It was a dog, so I was beyond terrified. Walking down the street if I saw a shape that could have been a dog on further inspection, I just turned around and refused to go. If I saw a paw print in the mud or snow that was a dog size, I was sick as I waited for it to attack me from any direction.<br />
Most of my skipped classes in school had nothing to do with needing to sleep in or not liking the class or not having the homework ready. It was because of dogs.<br />
But no one took me seriously.<br />
When you tell people you have a dog phobia they usually think you are being dramatic or a hypochondriac. Or that you are more of a cat person and just don't prefer dogs. I was once told it was because I didn't like the smell of dogs that I was acting that way. (Really?)<br />
Every time I attempted to explain the level of fear that surrounded dogs for me, they either thought I was exaggerating, or that I was mentally disturbed.<br />
Many people tried to get me over it by just bringing around more dogs. They just couldn't understand why I never warmed up to their dog who was so nice.<br />
I am turning 26 soon.<br />
Only within the last six months have I been slowly getting past my phobia.<br />
And I can tell you exactly why.<br />
Because my husband is willing to protect me.<br />
I told him very early on in our relationship about my phobia of dogs. He believed me. He said he hoped to own a pet dog one day, but he never pushed me about it, and understood that it was most likely never going to happen. And he was okay with that.<br />
On a walk with him one day, My Lovely and I were walking hand in hand, talking about nothing much, when I heard a dog nearby.<br />
I tensed up at once . Like I always do. But I was willing to just deal with it and walk just a little faster away.<br />
That was when I noticed that My Lovely had tensed up too. Not in fear.<br />
I commented on it and he said that he knew I was afraid, and because I was he was always ready to protect me. That his body just got ready to protect me now when he heard a dog.<br />
He wasn't afraid or even notice dogs most of the time. But he was just ready.<br />
That struck me hard. I walked a good way in silence as my mind reeled from that.<br />
Usually, if someone even recognized my phobia of dogs, they either tried to talk me out of my fear, or just ignore it and hope it went away. My Lovely didn't do that.<br />
He wasn't afraid of dogs. He knew there was nothing to worry about. But he is there for me.<br />
He never once made me feel silly for my feelings. He didn't try to force me to make friends with dogs. He didn't even analyze why.<br />
My Lovely was just there for me. If I needed to be protected, he was ready. He was there for me, no questions asked. He didn't wait to see the dog and decide if it was worth a fear response. He knew I had it, and he was on my side.<br />
There is an amazing feeling when you realize someone is there for you no matter what. No ifs, ands, or maybes. My Lovely is on my side.<br />
If I am silly, over dramatic, mistaken, or weak. It doesn't matter. He is with me.<br />
My Lovely acted in the exact opposite of the nightmares I had been having for years. Where people that were supposed to understand and love me saw that I was in danger and just didn't care. My Lovely knew that I wasn't, but because I thought I was, he cared and was ready.<br />
He is on my side. He cares about me. He is willing to protect me from anything, without question.<br />
I know this is a normal thing, and I should have kind of expected my husband to be on my side and take my seriously.<br />
But no one ever had before. I hadn't even realized that was actually the problem. I had never felt that from anyone before.<br />
It was earth shattering to me.<br />
And I didn't even realize at the time that it was that exact instant that my phobia of dogs started to slowly, almost imperceptibly, start to lessen.<br />
I started noticing those sounds that I considered warnings of death less and less. Leaves were leaves.<br />
Then I wasn't on the lookout for dogs at every breath.<br />
I could hear and dog bark in the distance and not go into a sweat and panic.<br />
I started walking on more direct routes. I was still aware if there was a dog, but I wasn't at a near panic level waiting for one to just come at me.<br />
I didn't even notice what was happening until one night I was walking home from work late, and a dog crossed the street ahead of me. Usually, at that point, I would have turned around, gotten to somewhere I felt safer, and called My Lovely to come get me because I refuse to walk that direction again.<br />
It was dark, it was a black dog. And while I stopped, I didn't panic. I watched the dog go past. I waited until he was far enough away that I felt comfortable, then kept going. I crossed where the dog had been, his paw prints still visible in the snow, and just kept going in my direction. I was very aware of him, but it was more of a caution than a terror. I made sure he wasn't following me, he didn't seem interested in me, and I just kept going.<br />
When I got home and in the door, I felt the shock. It wasn't shock of the dog and my, what I would have earlier believed to be a near death experience. It was shock that I wasn't all that concerned.<br />
I had faced a fear, in the worst lighting, not knowing where the dog came from, and on my usual route. A large black dog, unleashed and roaming. My literal worst fear possible. And I still walked home. No tears, no calling for help, not even breaking a sweat. I had just watched the dog in case it was mean, and walked home.<br />
I had to sit there and think for a while about when it had changed. When had a phobia so bad, that had haunted me for years, and caused so many panic attacks, just start to not be the first thing on my mind?<br />
That was when I realized it was because of My Lovely and that day I noticed he was willing to protect me. I was able to start getting past a lifelong fear because someone was willing to protect me from it.<br />
I am still cautious of dogs. A lifelong phobia doesn't disappear overnight. But I can see a dog as more than something going to kill me. I can decide if it is calm enough to approach, with permission from the owner, service vest or not.<br />
I have pet a few dogs lately. I have even *gasp* found a couple to be cute and wanted to play with them.<br />
I am probably still a ways off from wanting to own one. I still don't completely trust dogs, and wouldn't trust one around my kids unsupervised, as of yet. But I am slowly getting there.<br />
I just realized what was happening. Give me some time before you surprise me with a pack of dogs at my door.<br />
But I can see that I am getting better.<br />
As I get healthier in other ways, it is great to see myself recognizing things for what they are and being able to get through my problems.<br />
The dog phobia is just the most story-worthy of my changes as I get healthy, inside and out.<br />
Husband; I love you for this eternity, the previous, and the next.<br />
<br />
Smile Always.Mavourneenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00396098443870547637noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2001849886036976655.post-13810414506924283862016-05-30T11:09:00.000-07:002016-05-30T11:09:03.723-07:00Daily Meltdown StoriesI have decided to start a new project. It will be a log of sorts that I can look back on after this is all over. I will probably get a great kick out of it. I hope all of you will think it is as funny as I do.<br />
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<br />
<br />
<br />
The project is called My Daily Meltdown.<br />
I keep crying about silly things. It seems every day I have a really hard cry about something or other. So I thought it would be really funny to start writing them all down. I post a few on Instagram and Facebook, when I remember to snap a picture of my crying face as proof. I have a terrible cry face, so that makes it even more fun.<br />
Here, I thought I was make a master list of all the things I have had a meltdown about to date.<br />
Please, feel free to laugh with me.<br />
<br />
<br />
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<ul>
<li>The Hamburger meat was still frozen.</li>
<li>My Lovely ate some leftover sausage that was still cold.</li>
<li>A child at DQ was nice. He smiled and waved at us.</li>
<li>Watching a reality cooking show and a lady says something nice about her sibling.</li>
<li>Someone said, half joking, that if Trump became president and built his wall we would lose all of our Mexican food. I started crying about not being able to have tacos ever again. (We would of course have tacos - I just had a meltdown before logic could register.)</li>
<li>I tried to make a dessert and everything went wrong, and it ended up too rich for Lovely and I to eat in one sitting.</li>
<li>Watching a documentary and a coach made time to give an 8 year old girl positive affirmations because her Dad was being really awful.</li>
<li>I have lost weight while pregnant instead of gaining some. I lost my 'bat wings' on my arms. It was very emotional.</li>
<li>Pregnancy brain kicked in and I forgot my purse at the grocery store. Instant panic meltdown.</li>
<li>I forgot to take a picture of the meatloaf I made. Lovely liked it so much it was all eaten before I remembered to document it for a recipe.</li>
<li>I keep forgetting to take baby bump photos and so now there is a few weeks gap.</li>
<li>I said something awkward while helping my sister study at her apartment and I couldn't handle how awkward and weird I was.</li>
<li>Lovely and I are having a hard time getting on the same sleep schedule.</li>
<li>I was reading reviews on local business and people were saying nice things.</li>
<li>Adorable commercial being shared online about Moms.</li>
<li>Lovely and I talked about my phobia of dogs and how he protects me, even if the dog is nice.</li>
</ul>
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These are all the strange meltdowns. Not to add the crying because I didn't feel good or was frustrated with something. This list is funny, and even more so because before I got pregnant I NEVER cried, even when actually sad. So this Daily Meltdown is my log for the pregnancy.</div>
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I will be sure to share it with Spawn when old enough and share a laugh.</div>
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Smile Always.</div>
Mavourneenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00396098443870547637noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2001849886036976655.post-38307772373837907562016-05-25T10:15:00.000-07:002016-05-26T10:13:47.171-07:00Story of Doritos Chicken Nachos!I don't often share recipes. I love to cook, but I'm pretty sure that there are enough recipe websites and blogs around.<br />
I am sharing one now, though. Because it took me way too long to find it, and I am so excited to make it.<br />
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Many people call this Doritos Chicken Casserole, or some variation of that. I call it Doritos Chicken Nachos, and you will soon see why.<br />
I first found this recipe when I was taking a cooking class at BYUI. They have since discontinued the class, and I can't find the recipes of anything we made on the inter-webs. It is awful. So many yummy things that I have to scour the internet to find something similar.<br />
But back to Doritos.<br />
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I can go into details of the cooking class and all that. I can tell you all the reasons I love this recipe and la dee da. But you most likely don't care and want me to get to the actual recipe part. I can do that!<br />
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Bonus: When you tell your spouse/kids/guests that you are making something with Doritos in the name, they most likely will already be fully supportive of the meal.<br />
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<span data-offset-key="al4qv-0-0"><b>Ingredients:</b></span></div>
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<span data-offset-key="5gfhf-0-0"><u>Bag of Doritos</u> - different recipes tell you to get different sizes and that flavored tortilla chips work fine and all that. Let's be honest. Doritos is what everyone wants and is addicted to. Just get as big of bag as you think is priced fairly and that your store offers. When it says Family Size, just think that it is the feeling of family meals that is going into the food. Not that you actually have to share this with more than two other people.</span></div>
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<span data-offset-key="5gfhf-0-0"><u>Cooked Chicken </u>- most recipes call for three-ish cups. But who cuts of shreds their chicken to put it into a measuring cup? If you do, good on you. You care more than me. I say grab four or five normal sized chicken breasts. Think a breast size of chicken for each person the recipe is (supposed) to serve. Chicken can be cooked any way you want. Boiling is fast. You can also grill, bake, or even steam the chicken. OR, amazing idea, grab a precooked rotisserie chicken from the market. So you don't have to spend twice the prep time on just bird meat. Lots of delis even have half portions of them, which is perfect for this recipe.</span></div>
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<span data-offset-key="5gfhf-0-0"><u>Cheese and more cheese</u> - go for fun here. Mexican blend bags of shredded cheese are fine. If you don't like the taste of preservatives, the cheese you have on hand will most likely be fine. Cheddar, pepper jack, some of everything. I don't suggest Swiss cheese, but then again I just don't like Swiss unless there is fancy bread involved. Just grate, crumble, shred, or karate chop whatever cheese you have on hand. About a half cup per person. 2 cups average. But most people like cheese, so just let your growling empty stomach decide when you have enough. It's not like you won't snack on it while you're waiting.</span></div>
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<span data-offset-key="5gfhf-0-0"><u>1.5 cups salsa</u> - I use salsa because it has bits of chilies, peppers, and onions in there. So I can pretend it brings something healthy. Something to offset the mountain of chips and cheese I am unabashedly dumping into this recipe. If salsa isn't your thing, you can use canned tomatoes, tomato and chili, tomato sauce and or paste. Just get something zingy in there. No ketchup. Don't be that person.</span></div>
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<span data-offset-key="5gfhf-0-0"><u>2 cans cream of chicken</u> - I suggest adding one can, mixing, then adding the other only if needed. We are making the base more of a casserole, not a soup. You need to get a just-under-sore arm when you are mixing, not splashing that always aims for your eyes. But that second can is great if you need to stretch the recipe further.</span></div>
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<span data-offset-key="5gfhf-0-0"><u>6-8 ounces of sour cream</u> - Important. Do NOT use whipping cream. Do not use milk, no matter how old. Just get some sour cream and don't tempt fate with substitutions. Depending on the store, you can find the smallest size being a 6 or an 8 ounce container. Either works. If your store has both, you are too lucky of a person, and just go with what your hungry tummy suggests. </span></div>
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<span data-offset-key="5gfhf-0-0"><u>Taco seasoning is optional.</u> - I only use maybe half a packet of seasoning, if they come in those little envelopes. They say it is equal to a pound of meat, but that has always been overpowering to me. I suppose I could have just said 'to taste', but I always wonder if that means 'enough where you can just barely taste it' which I don't find to be very exciting.</span></div>
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<span data-offset-key="5gfhf-0-0">(Did I mention that I am pregnant? That is why letting your belly decide is such an important step in most of these. #ObeyTheBelly )</span></div>
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<span data-offset-key="2gqer-0-0"><b>Instructions:</b></span></div>
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<span data-offset-key="83co6-0-0">Preheat the oven to 350*F. If you use Celsius, look up a converter on the inter-webs. I can't help you.</span></div>
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<span data-offset-key="83co6-0-0">Attack casserole dish with cooking spray. This is very important, as we all know that baked on cheese may as well be cement. Get all the sides. You do not want to be chiseling cheese off later. Completely ruins the mood of the dinner.</span></div>
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<span data-offset-key="83co6-0-0">Make a small layer on the bottom of the casserole dish with Doritos. Just a layer. Some people don't like doing this, as they feel the chips get soggy by the end. Your choice. But do it.</span></div>
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<span data-offset-key="83co6-0-0">Grab out a mixing bowl and dump everything that is not Doritos in the bowl. You can save some of the cheese for the top if you like, but who has the self control? Mix well - or until your arm gets tired.</span></div>
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<span data-offset-key="83co6-0-0">Now, spread that mixture of goodness over that layer of chips. It probably looks terrible at this point. That means you did it right. Got to love casseroles, right?</span></div>
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<span data-offset-key="83co6-0-0">Some people now say to add another layer of Doritos over the top. Only do this if you like that charred taste that people seem to think means the food is fancy. Otherwise, hold the rest of the Doritos in a safe place and try not to eat them all before the rest is done cooking. Keep out of reach of children.</span></div>
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<span data-offset-key="83co6-0-0">If you forgot to preheat the oven, like I always do, turn that on now.</span></div>
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<span data-offset-key="83co6-0-0">Bake in preheated oven for 20 ish minutes. I should be more exact, but we all know that every oven is different, and with altitudes and all that silliness; I just don't want you to get mad at me. This is now the time to pull the food out (With oven mitts, you monster!) and add that extra cheese on top, if you had the self discipline. Cook that for 5 ish minutes more, aka cheese is bubbling and volcano hot.</span></div>
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<span data-offset-key="83co6-0-0">Now, this is where it becomes nachos to me. Most recipes are saying this is a casserole, so you would now pull it out and serve warm. I say you take it out, and serve over the rest of those Doritos like it is a nacho party! This means you don't need to use spoons or forks that you have to wash later, and who doesn't want to use Doritos as nachos? This is why we didn't cook them all. They either become soggy under the casserole, or too brittle if cooked on top. But as little fake-cheese-flavored shovels, they are perfect!</span></div>
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<span data-offset-key="83co6-0-0">I hope you liked this recipe. It wasn't very formal, but I'm not a very formal writer.</span></div>
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<span data-offset-key="83co6-0-0">Share the pictures and reactions to your Doritos nachos creations!</span></div>
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<span data-offset-key="83co6-0-0">Should I share more recipes?</span></div>
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<span data-offset-key="83co6-0-0">Smile Always.</span></div>
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Mavourneenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00396098443870547637noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2001849886036976655.post-3853352705270492732016-05-23T10:48:00.000-07:002016-05-25T10:44:59.443-07:00Story of the First UltrasoundIn honor of my leaving the First Trimester this week, I thought I would share the story of our first ultrasound.<br />
I found out about the pregnancy at four weeks (though the nurse estimated at three weeks).<br />
I was over the moon excited. I wanted to tell everyone in a second, but more than that I wanted to meet our baby.<br />
While knowing I was pregnant, and feeling the morning sickness and exhaustion, I really wanted to have some sort of proof. Yes, the nice nurse lady have me a little slip of paper as 'proof of pregnancy' to give to doctors, it didn't feel real. The symptoms could be a really terrible flu bug or stomach virus. I didn't look any different. It was all just something we knew, but didn't feel real most of the time. Unless I was curled up next to the puke bowl.<br />
So when we went in for the first ultrasound I was SO excited. I made My Lovely get out of class early and refused to plan anything for the rest of the day, because I knew I was just going to be a mess and not be able to handle it.<br />
We had the ultrasound on the same day we were moving across town. I thought for sure in my planning that we would be done days earlier and by the day of the ultrasound it would all have been taken care of. Things didn't go that way. (Another story on that later)<br />
So we finished the last moving out right before the appointment. With the last of the moving boxes in the back of our teeny tiny car, which we call the Barbie Jeep, we showed up for the appointment barely on time, and I went in while Lovely parked.<br />
By the time Lovely came up, I had already been shown into the room after fixing a few paperwork errors in our records. I was asked to give a sample, and when I came back to the exam room Lovely was waiting there and we just had a quiet moment to prepare to see our baby for the first time.<br />
After donning the amazingly attractive paper not-even-a-dress and sheet, the ultrasound tech came in and we did our attempt at small talk while everything got ready.<br />
I had felt sick and excited. I knew I was pregnant. I was tracking symptoms and everything.<br />
But when we got that first image of baby it was still a shock to see.<br />
The pictures from ultrasound that people pass about are not really justice to seeing in person. It was all black and white. But because of the movement and real time, we could actually see our little Spawn wiggling around in there.<br />
When the nurse found out we referred to our baby as Spawn she nearly swallowed her tongue in laughter and surprise. And when I compared our precious little baby to a deformed gummy bear I don't think she knew how to handle us.<br />
All jokes aside, it was amazing. The little thing was wiggling around more than I had ever thought, though of course I couldn't feel anything. Spawn was waving around little stubby limbs.<br />
I admit that I may have coughed once or twice to make sure it was actually my innards we were getting video of.<br />
We found out baby was a week older than we had been told. Heart rate was nice a high, but a healthy number for a goober so young.<br />
We got four pictures on leaving. None of them even touch on how amazing it was to see Spawn in real time moving about and to realize it was real, and inside me.<br />
To wrap my brain around the fact that it is real, our baby, and to see Spawn inside me was just amazing.<br />
The next baby appointment is in just a few days. While we won't be getting any more pictures, it will be so nice to check up and make sure Spawn is still doing well.<br />
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I do promise not every post on this blog will be about Spawn. Right now it is the biggest thing in my life, but I will go on more about other topics and rants, writings and opinions.<br />
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Smile Always.Mavourneenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00396098443870547637noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2001849886036976655.post-64430079005147280012016-05-02T11:00:00.000-07:002016-05-02T11:00:07.830-07:00The Drawing StoryI can't draw.<br />
I really don't know why I even try.<br />
Wait, yes I do.<br />
<br />
When I was a child, I had no interest in being a writer. I loved to read, but it never came into my head that I could write my own books.<br />
No, when I was a child, I wanted to be an artist. I wanted to draw the best pictures. A picture was worth a thousand words, and all that.<br />
So, I would color, and draw, and make a picture of a tree into something that stood for the whole story involving a tree.<br />
When I would finish a picture I would take it to my Mother. I would show her the picture. She would say it is nice, and continue with what she was doing.<br />
But, it being nice wasn't good enough for me. I wanted her to understand all about the picture. That the tree had been there for how many years, and the branches bent this certain way because someone sat on them and tied things to them, or broke them, and the squirrel that I drew on the branch had an entire life story that I was certain my mother needed to hear all about.<br />
My mother tried to be kind. She really did. But a little girl bringing your multiple pictures a day, then demanding to tell you every imagined detail about them would be tiring for anyone.<br />
I would ask my sister what I should draw, and she would suggest something, but warn me not to draw people, because I couldn't draw people well. (I only drew humans for like three months after that comment.)<br />
Finally, after a particularly long story explaining a drawing, one day, Mother turned to me and said that instead of drawing a picture to tell her a story, I should just write the story down, with all the information.<br />
This was more than I could handle. That a picture wasn't good enough was awful, but the idea that I could write down whatever I wanted, and get all the important parts down without having to draw things I didn't know what looked like, was amazing. And that Mother said she would read my stories sparked something in me.<br />
She wouldn't just glance at a picture and tell me it was nice, then listen to me (even at that age I knew her listening wasn't fully attentive) tell her all about it. She would have to stop what she was doing and read my story.<br />
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That was the turning point from artist to writer.<br />
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The writing part of this story I will save for another time.<br />
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Though I started writing stories immediately, I never fully fell away from drawing.<br />
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But I let that talent slide. At once point as a young teenager I remember some women looking at my art and saying that I was really good and should go to school for it and get more training. But at that time I was angry, because I had also put some short stories on that table with my art, and no one was reading them. I knew that art was an easily presented talent, and my writing would never get the same attention unless I could convince them to take some time a read it. This incident was at a sort of talent show, though.<br />
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I still like to dabble in art, though I have certainly focused my creativity at writing.<br />
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I sew, and cook, and paint (usually rocks) too. But writing will always be my passion.<br />
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I usually draw when I am supposed to be focusing and have to keep that side of my brain busy. I will draw people at church and in meetings, just to exercise that talent so it doesn't completely fall away.<br />
Usually, my drawing will be for practice that no one sees, to show someone that they are beautiful, or just to illustrate a joke that doesn't translate well to the written word.<br />
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You know how when any writer doesn't have an answer to a plot hole or inconsistency, they will just wave a hand and say 'magic!'? Well, this happens a lot in any writing group I have ever had where I mention a problem. The other day I was hanging out with my science minded husband and some friends, and it got onto the topic of how space and other things work. The friend said it was probably radiation. This strikes me as the science version of "Magic!", where if someone can't explain how something changed or was created, they just blame it on radiation. We then made it our joke, so I later created the little Radiation Scientist above and sent it to our friend in order for him to be able to explain away any incongruity in the data later in his degree. He loved it. I made it in Paint program, and oldie but a goody, and I am very proud of it.<br />
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I understand that this drawing is bad.<br />
Most of my art these days are bad.<br />
But I love my bad art.<br />
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I am not an artist, I am a Writer.<br />
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I can tell you a story.<br />
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Smile Always.Mavourneenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00396098443870547637noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2001849886036976655.post-54414635685978161832016-04-25T11:00:00.000-07:002016-04-25T11:00:15.259-07:00My Perfect DayI made up my perfect day years ago.<br />
I made it up before I met my husband.<br />
I made it up before I knew what I would go to University for.<br />
I made it up on a whim for something to talk about.<br />
And My Perfect Day still stands today.<br />
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My perfect day would start with baby cries. Not a usual model of perfection.<br />
I imagine I will get up, still too tired to really think, and go in to feed my infant child. By the time the baby was fed and back to sleep, it would be time to get the older children up for school.<br />
While the kids are getting up and brushing teeth, getting more spit on the floor and each other than down the drain, I will make oatmeal or cold cereal while yelling at them to hurry up and not wake the baby.<br />
While they are sitting down for breakfast and fighting over who has more milk in their cereal, my husband would be getting ready for work and wondering where he put his keys (which this part is already a truth for My Lovely). He will come in to gulp down some oatmeal and kiss the kids, and then kiss me goodbye and have to get to work. He would be out the door as I give up on the kids finishing their entire breakfast. While they are putting shoes on the wrong feet, I will go in to the baby and pick him/her up so I can walk all the kids to the bus stop in my husbands slippers. (Bus stop nearness depending, of course, but this is a day of perfection remember) The kids will get on the bus while the driver gives my slippers a look, then I will walk back home.<br />
After breakfast is cleaned up, I have a set amount of time. Errands have to be done, and I need to get in a certain amount of writing or crafting. I have goals, people. Even if I don't reach them, every bit of progress is a win for me.<br />
After baby is sleeping and I have done as little house work as I can get away with while remaining tidy, the kids will be headed home. No doubt I will have an alarm set, because if I don't meet them or at least ready for them when they get home, mud pies will be the first order of their agenda.<br />
Kids can come home either in a buddy system, or myself or another Mom friend (In my dreams of the future I am much better at making friends) going to get them.<br />
Once home, shoes come off and the kids get a (healthy?) snack before anything else. Then, they have a chore list to do before they can play. I am not against video games, as long as screen time and other play time are balanced.<br />
I will have another alarm to start dinner for it to be ready (around) the time husband gets home. It was be on a slightly healthier side, but still comforting food. Home cooked meals unless in celebration of something. Limiting take aways as a rule.<br />
When husband gets home he has time to play with the kids a bit before dinner is on the table.<br />
Dinner as a family, at the table.<br />
Then husband gets to help kids with homework, and hold the baby while I have a minute of me-time. (I am aware this will usually just be a shower or a quick self-pedicure.) Then, kids are to bed with a story that isn't about coloring on walls or breaking into bear's houses. While they are asleep, and between bathroom breaks and glasses of water that will demand another bathroom break, husband and I will have time to catch up and be together.<br />
Then off to bed, to wake up early for a crying baby in a few more hours.<br />
<br />
That is my perfect day. You will notice it is a specific day. Most days aren't going to be this good, and I am very aware of that. But that is why this is my perfect day. When I have a day like this, I will be truly content that night, knowing I have reached my goal.<br />
I don't want perfect kids or a perfect house. I really don't want to be a perfect Mom. Where is the fun in that? But I want a good, normal, day that I can be happy with.<br />
<br />
I told my Mother about this perfect day in my head. She acted like I was weird, but hoped I got it at least once.<br />
I asked her what her Perfect Day would be. If she had an image of one in her head, even just to think about, or if she had already had that perfect that.<br />
She told me that her perfect day would be the day that the last of her kids got married in the Temple. That all of her children were worthy and married in the covenant, and her work would be done. Because it would mean she had done her job and raised her children to be righteous and good. And that meant we would all be married - and therefore off her plate.<br />
My Daddy is waiting for the day all of his children write him a check each month, and he doesn't have to work anymore. (Inside joke. At least, I think it is a joke.)<br />
<br />
What is your Perfect Day? Is it simple or grand? Is it an event or goal reached, or just a happy day that works out among all the others? Let me know below. I will read them, I promise.<br />
<br />
Smile Always.Mavourneenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00396098443870547637noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2001849886036976655.post-16382885380329296022016-04-18T11:00:00.000-07:002016-04-18T11:00:00.233-07:00The Story of My Ta-Duh DaySomeone asked me once what was my most embarrassing moment. I didn't have an answer. I honestly couldn't think of one. Either I don't get embarrassed all that much, block it out, or make it a joke so it isn't embarrassing anymore.<div>
And then I had my Ta-Duh Day.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Let's rewind the clock a bit. (As if that actually reversed time - but I like the phrase.)</div>
<div>
I was a Senior in High School.</div>
<div>
I didn't like High School. I didn't like school in general, really. I never got along with my peers until I came to University, and even then most of them annoyed me. In High School my issue was that if I was going to be there, I had better get something out of it. Which, as I am sure you are all more than aware, is nigh impossible. With classrooms crammed with a bunch of teenagers that don't want to be there, and don't respect authority, while most of them were on some type of dependency chemical (there is a reason Washington state was the first to legalize Pot) it was impossible for the instructor to teach a valuable lesson start to finish.</div>
<div>
I had been taking community college classes instead of high school classes for over a year by then. It is amazing the difference it makes when the classroom is filled with students that want to learn. From classes where the students have to be there in order to not get in trouble, verses classes where the students paid for those classes and demand their money's worth, you can imagine the one I preferred.</div>
<div>
But there are all sorts of rules to jump around when going to community college instead of High School. The system didn't want to going to college, as it reduced the money they were getting from the government, or some such thing. Either way, they made it very difficult for me to finish high school through college. In the end, on my block before graduation, they demanded that I come back to High School, though I only had two two classes left on the docket, which I could have taken in college classes. But because of details and loopholes, I was forced to take these last two at the physical High School.</div>
<div>
Enough of set up, back to the day in question.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I had an early morning Seminary Class. I went every morning before the first bell, at a near-ish church building. My Daddy was kind enough to take me and some other Seminary students from the church building and to the High School.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
That morning I had been late for Seminary. Or as my Daddy likes to call it, Cemetery. (because of the hours and brain dead students. Dad jokes.) Being late this early was nothing new. I didn't bother brushing my hair that morning, it being so short at the time, and my not caring about boys of that age anyway. I muddled through, and then we headed to High School.</div>
<div>
When I got out of the car to cross the street, I nearly got ran over. Not uncommon, and I wasn't concerned.</div>
<div>
My class was up the main stairway and in a computer lab. While I headed towards the stairway, I noticed that many students were already there, having breakfast in the cafeteria. The cafeteria is in plain view of all students coming into the building, and all students climbing the stairs. You see where I am going with this.</div>
<div>
Not even half way up the main staircase, I trip over my own tired feet, and go sprawling all over the stairs. I always keep the top zipper pocket of my backpack open to easily grab pens and things. Because it was open, when I fell pens and pencils and two tampons fell out and scattered everywhere.</div>
<div>
I rubbed my tired eyes and started picking things up when I noticed the laughter. I turned, and the entire cafeteria had seen me fall and were laughing at me. Nearest the stairs was a table full of the loudest and most popular guys. They were of course laughing the loudest and pointing.</div>
<div>
With my hands full, and not knowing what to do, I thought fast.</div>
<div>
I didn't care if I ever saw any of these people ever again. Most of them were annoying and just interested in social groups and making crude jokes.</div>
<div>
But I didn't like the precedent that if I backed down or was embarrassed, it would just encourage them to continue the behavior.</div>
<div>
So, trying to think through my tired brain, I turned to the group of guys that were supposed to be attractive (pull your pants up, gentlemen) and popular. I raised my full hands in an 'oh well' gesture, and clearly said "Ta-Duh!"</div>
<div>
I continued on to class while they kept laughing.</div>
<div>
I had all my things back in my bag before I got to class.</div>
<div>
A few people were already in class, mostly in the back of the room and whispering about something or other. I headed to my usual seat that was neither in the back or front, and the seat all the way to the side against the wall. I like defensible positions.</div>
<div>
As I went to sit down, I'm not exactly sure how I misjudged myself, but I ended up losing my balance and sitting hard in the seat, falling nearly out of the seat, and body slamming the wall. The impact was rather loud.</div>
<div>
I looked behind me in the sudden silence of the classroom. Two girls that had been talking were sitting there staring at me.</div>
<div>
I straightened in my seat, gave them a tired smile, and said "Ta-Duh?!"</div>
<div>
When done with High School classes, I always had to immediately catch the bus in order to get to college. The bus ride was over an hour most days.</div>
<div>
While I was walking to the bus stop closest to the High School, I was reading while walking. I did that a lot. (Still do, who am I kidding)</div>
<div>
I noticed before reaching the bus stop that it was a bright and sunny day, strange for Washington. I looked up and around, and at my bus stop, that was usually empty, there was an older guy sitting there.</div>
<div>
I had already had a morning of it. I was more awake now. I wasn't going to be weird in front of a guy that was actually okay looking. So I lowered my book, while not putting it away, and kept my head up while I headed towards the bus stop and this looker.</div>
<div>
Turns out, not looking at the ground like I usually do, was actually a mistake. I forgot a slight unevenness where some of the pavement met. My foot hit it.</div>
<div>
I went down.</div>
<div>
I was holding a book, so I hit my knees hard, which gave out, and I fell forward.</div>
<div>
Pens scattered again.</div>
<div>
I got back to my knees and looked up. The guy was just staring at me, obviously not sure if he should help or laugh.</div>
<div>
I had had enough. This day was out to get me. But I wasn't in the mood to give in to the horribleness presented. So, I knelt there and swept my arms wide, and looking this guy in the eye, declared "Ta-Duh!" loudly.</div>
<div>
He thought it was funny, but did not help me pick of pens.</div>
<div>
I read my book until the bus came, not really liking the sun hitting the pages and hurting my eyes.</div>
<div>
When the bus came, the guy got in first, and went directly to the back of the bus. I decided to not tempt fate any more, and went to sit in one of the bench seats at the front of the bus that no one ever sits in, so I would be safe.</div>
<div>
I was moving to sit, and was halfway sat, when the driver decided to launch the bus forward. I sprawled instead of sat. My bag was now in the swing of things, and pens went flying again.</div>
<div>
I ended up sitting on the floor of the bus, back sore from it's attempts to catch the less than cushioned bench seat. The driver slammed on the breaks when he saw that I had fallen.</div>
<div>
"Are you okay?" He yelled, squinting at my from the rear view mirror.</div>
<div>
I had to laugh. Some days are just going to be those kind of days.</div>
<div>
"Ta-Duh!!!"</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
And that was my Ta-Duh day. My family loves to hear me tell that story. Keeps people laughing. Other things happened that day as well, but I don't remember the details. The important part is that some days are going to be awful. Most of my teenage years were awful. But when all of it happens in a row like that, sometimes it is better to just yell Ta-Duh! and own it to make it your own.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Smile Always.</div>
Mavourneenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00396098443870547637noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2001849886036976655.post-24685875357258419902016-04-12T22:25:00.002-07:002016-04-12T22:25:40.837-07:00The Story of the SpawnPlot Twist!<br />
I'm Pregnant!<br />
<br />
I first knew, because I wasn't having any symptoms.<br />
Perhaps I should start earlier.<br />
My Lovely and I were trying for a child since December. I then had just finished the long process of getting off of my medications in order to safely have and carry a baby.<br />
I wasn't on anything crazy intense, just certain medications that I personally didn't want to be on with a baby growing. While the brands I was on rarely affected the child, and then usually only in the third trimester, I really didn't want to risk it, and I was on such low doses at the time, that I really felt it a good decision.<br />
So, off the meds and being watched carefully by both Doctors and My Lovely, I was doing well. While I of course had certain things to deal with and changes had to be made, I was making it through.<br />
Every time I was due for Shark Week (aka aunt Flo, aka moon sickness, aka menstruating monster, aka cycle sickness - you get the idea) I would get symptoms that I was always sure were signs of pregnancy. Turns out, off my meds that I had been on for years, my signs of Shark Week exactly modeled what early signs of pregnancy looked like. Bad body. I didn't need that.<br />
Then, one month I didn't have any of the symptoms. I was relieved, but didn't think much of it. That month was crazy. We had relatives visiting from out of town, Family drama was escalating (helped by Spawn), and we just found out that we were moving. I wasn't thinking of counting days and stressing about what kept not happening.<br />
I wasn't showing symptoms. At least not the ones I was looking for.<br />
I started sleeping a lot. And I mean A LOT. I could only be awake for a handful of hours before I was nodding off again. It didn't matter what I was doing. I was suddenly unable to think or function until I took a nap. Then I was sleeping even longer each nap. My Lovely was getting worried.<br />
Looking back, I was also very emotional. But because of the stress and drama that was happening at the time, it all seemed very reasonable while I was feeling it.<br />
Said every hormonal train wreck of emotion that ever emoted.<br />
Finally, I realized that I was near Shark Week. I told myself I wasn't going to test until I was at least a week late.<br />
But, lets be honest, I have absolutely no self control. I tested early.<br />
And it was a strong positive.<br />
I screamed and cheered and went in and woke Lovely to tell him. He was happy, if half asleep.<br />
I wanted to call everyone and share in my freak out.<br />
But Lovely is more rational than I am, even while he was half asleep, and made me promise to go get a Doctor's confirmation test before I told anyone. So I did.<br />
Because Lovely has to sleep days because he works graves, I walked myself down to the Doctor's office, and got the confirmation. I was ecstatic. I called, but he was asleep, so I left a text that we were in fact With Spawn.<br />
I knew I wasn't going to be able to sit at home while he slept and stay quite and calm in order to let Lovely sleep. So I went over to some friends of ours. I only told them and one sister, while we made plans of how we were to announce.<br />
Now, I know there is a lot of controversy about when to announce a pregnancy. It is either immediately, or waiting until the end of the first Trimester. Those who wait do so mainly because the risk of miscarriage is very high so early, and they feel it is safer to wait. Those who do not wait do so because happy news is happy news, and if a loss does happen, if people know they can mourn with them.<br />
I decided to announce 'early'. Because if a loss does happen, I am going to be a mess, I know I will, and I don't want people impatient and wondering why I am so upset and angry all the time, and thinking it is just because I went off medication. Really, it is so people will understand and be sensitive, and not give me attitude about my attitude while I am heartbroken.<br />
Also, I can't keep my own happy news to myself. I'm so excited, and I want to share the experiences I have.<br />
<br />
We announced by having my Sissy-Poo, who is a photographer, take a photo of Lovely unwrapping a gift that is a mug saying "Best DAD Ever" on it. I love the photo, and I put it all over the inter-webs.<br />
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*Edited to protect the innocent*<br />
Some people understood at once. Others didn't get it, even after all the comments of "congrats" started coming in. When I go subtle, sometimes it is too subtle, and no one even sees what I'm doing. I need to work on that.<br />
<br />
My first ultrasound is in just under two weeks. Between then and now, Lovely is starting a new semester at university, we are moving across town, trying to get on WIC and Medicaid, and I need to pack and clean our apartment top to bottom. While I am so tired, and starting to feel the queasy and cravings. There is a lot going on. But I am very excited for this journey.<br />
<br />
More updates will come as we know them.<br />
<br />
P.S. Some people are upset that we are referring to our unborn child as Spawn. We think it is funny. And, if you think about it, accurate. We are in fact Spawning another life. Also, we need something to called it before we know the gender. Some people call the baby Bean or Blueberry or Nugget, or all sorts of other things. I think calling a baby an edible is far stranger than Spawn. So, on this blog the baby will most likely be called Spawn, or 4.1 after a sort of joke my Daddy has running. Don't take offense. We just think we are clever.<br />
<br />
<br />
Smile Always.Mavourneenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00396098443870547637noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2001849886036976655.post-87039250823393267292016-04-01T00:26:00.001-07:002016-04-01T00:31:47.412-07:00The Story of How I'm a JerkI'm a jerk.<br />
When I find people annoying, I have a tendency to attack - with sass.<br />
I am trying to sell some things on a Facebook Garage sale board. My latest thing is Pet rocks. I painted them all cute with little monster faces, took pictures, and put them up asking if anyone in the area would have interest in buying one of these pet rocks, and what they think would be a reasonable price for them, as they are hand painted, yada yada yada.<br />
On one of the posts, a man replied. I got the notice, and was excited that someone was interested.<br />
His comment was "wtf". That is it.<br />
That is all I got. For those of you that don't know, wtf means What The F**k.<br />
Okay, but I don't know what he is referring to. My first feeling is that he is commenting on the pet rocks themselves. I think they are adorable, but perhaps he thinks they look weird. I don't know. Maybe he is wtf'ing that anyone would want a painted rock.<br />
I just don't know.<br />
So after exclaiming about it to My Lovely for a little bit, in which Lovely believes this man is just being a jerk, I decide to reply to his comment.<br />
After all, I don't want the next person that sees the page to be influenced by his wtf, and it would be professional to acknowledge whatever his concern is.<br />
But I'm not very professional. I'm a jerk.<br />
So I replied with a heavy layer of sass.<br />
"<span style="background-color: #f6f7f8; color: #141823; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 16.08px;">Why wtf? It is a question if people would be interested in these rocks, and what they would pay for them. I am not sure what is confusing. Is it because they are pet rocks?</span><br />
<span style="background-color: #f6f7f8; color: #141823; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 16.08px;">Pet rocks are an exotic species only found in select parts of the world. Captur</span><span style="background-color: #f6f7f8; color: #141823; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 16.08px;">ing them is very time consuming, as they don't move very quickly, so avoid traps amazingly well. Once caught, though, you will be pleased to know they live surprisingly long lives in captivity. They even rival the life span of Parrots and Roman Architecture. Feeding is a simple process, as they live off the excess of your emotions. Namely amusement and disbelief. They are versatile that way. For a special snack they do love dust. You will often find them covered in it, if you do not watch them carefully.<br />I offer my services to capture these amazing pets, sprouse them up with a little color, and adopt them to the general public.<br />I am simply wondering if there is any interest in this area of Idaho."</span><br />
I wrote that, and then posted that as the response, on the page for everyone to see.<br />
Now we wait.<br />
<br />
Because I'm hilarious, and kind of a jerk.<br />
<br />
Smile Always.<br />
<br />
P.S. The pet rocks look like this.<br />
<br />
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<br />Mavourneenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00396098443870547637noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2001849886036976655.post-74485785644626991222016-03-08T06:42:00.001-08:002016-03-08T06:42:27.451-08:00Valentine's StoryWe didn't celebrate Valentine's Day this year. And we won't be celebrating Saint Patrick's Day, or Easter, or Leap Year either. We will only be celebrating our Birthdays, Thanksgiving, and Christmas.<br />
We made this decision right after we got married in 2014.<br />
Newly married, we had little money, and after that Thanksgiving and Christmas, we had nothing to prepare for New Years.<br />
I was worrying about February, because both my husband's Birthday and Valentine's Day falls very close together. I wanted to do something special for my husband's Birthday, but the excitement of having a Valentine was also not lost on me. I was trying to figure out how we could stretch every penny so that I could do both.<br />
My Lovely sat me down and suggested something to me.<br />
We just won't celebrate them. New Years, Valentines, and any other Holiday that didn't involve our families. We would celebrate Thanksgiving, as it is huge in my family and they would want us to come. We would celebrate Christmas, because both of our families brought us up to love and appreciate it. And we would celebrate each others birthdays as a special day for each of us. But all other things could fall away.<br />
We don't need heart shaped boxes and streamers. I'm allergic to flowers anyway.<br />
My Lovely said he would much rather go to a nice dinner, just me and him. If that night the food places around town are charging more or are very full - we would just make a nice meal at home and cuddle.<br />
It was hard for me at first. We are both gift-givers. We love the whole process of giving. I really wanted to do something nice for both My Lovely's Birthday, and Valentines. But he was right. And I'm so glad he said it.<br />
This Valentine's Day, we made a crock pot meal that he loves, and cuddled while watching a silly movie on the couch. It cost us near to nothing, but setting aside the time just for us, and both of us being very aware of one another; it was a perfect Valentine's Day.<br />
It was also a huge stress off both of us, as the advertisements that came barreling from all directions didn't phase us at in the weeks coming up to Valentine's Day. All the flower 'sales' and chocolate 'deals' and gift ideas didn't tempt us in the slightest, as we already knew we weren't going to do any of it.<br />
I know me. I am anxious and a planner. I would have tried to plan the whole day to be perfect and wonderful, and it would have not gone according to plan and I would have been upset that I ruined the special day for him.<br />
But we took a relaxed day and made good food and refused to stress about any of it.<br />
So that is the reason you won't see any of the other Holidays decorated for at our place. We will just do a nice dinner on Birthdays, and find out what we can do for Thanksgiving and Christmas. (This year it was pretty much nothing.) We are okay with that. Being broke when you are first married is the whole point, right?<br />
The gifts that are unexpected, 'just because', are more fun anyway.Mavourneenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00396098443870547637noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2001849886036976655.post-28736145221585740042016-02-18T19:01:00.001-08:002016-02-18T19:01:57.613-08:00Back to Front StoryI made a goal with myself that I will not say something behind anyone's back that I would not be willing to say to their face.<br />
Mind you, willing and purposefully attacking them with it are two different things.<br />
I don't like people to lie to me. I don't like people talking behind my back about how horrible I am, and then being friendly to my face.<br />
<br />
When I was in University I had many, many roommates. Some were very kind. Most were not. Turns out, while I thought I could get along with most people; I tend to put people off. Well, I put off roommates that don't like me pointing out logic, critical thinking, and that they are disobeying rules they signed a contract to obey. (That last part is a completely different story.)<br />
Yet they acted like my friends to my face. I was informed of their dislike one morning when they forgot that the walls were paper thin.<br />
I lay in bed after working an early morning custodial shift. I had just woken up from my 'nap' (That was honestly more like my second part of nights sleep that was always bisected) and was trying to convince myself to get ready for the rest of my day.<br />
I heard voices from the kitchen. In our teeny apartment, that would be like four steps from my bedroom door. Usually, when I hear voices my Paranoia goes full force and tells me that no matter who the voices are that they are talking about me, hate me, and so on.<br />
Logic tells me this is not the case, so on that morning I tried to block out the voices and get back to psyching myself up to leave the pillow habitat.<br />
Then I heard my name.<br />
It really doesn't help my anxiety and paranoia to know that I'm right.<br />
My roommates, who I could tell person from person by their rather loud voices, were talking about me. I listened carefully to get an accurate idea of what they were saying.<br />
They were complaining about me. That I was lazy and slept all day. That I was on my computer too much. That I brought my brother around too much. That I never got out of the house. That the FHE brothers didn't like me. On and on. Some very rude words were tossed around. Fat, lazy, gross, boring, you get the idea.<br />
<br />
Now, there are a few different ways you can deal with someone, or someones, that are going on like that. I thought about yelling from my room, where they could hear me just as well as I could hear them, that "I can hear you!" and imagine their faces of shock and hopefully guilt. I thought of coming out and explaining myself, that I had a second job and homework and long distance friends on that computer for the reason I was on so much, that I was teaching my brother how to cook, that I worked at 4 in the morning so I needed day time sleep. (As for the guys not liking me, I had no excuse.)<br />
I could have come out and drop that all on them in a nice long rant. But as I got up I felt like that would almost be begging them to understand and like me. I wasn't too for that.<br />
I could, of course, come barreling out of the room and scream and call them much worse names than they called me and drop all of their sins on them.<br />
But in the end I decided to wait for a calmer head and tell them later, as calmly as I could, that they had hurt my feelings and talking about someone like that behind their back is horribly disrespectful (not that I held out much hope that they respected me, after what I had heard) and against our shared religious beliefs of conduct.<br />
So I got dressed, still hearing this. I got my feelings in check and put on a good face. Then I calmly walked out of my room.<br />
They immediately shut up and scattered. Cause that wouldn't have clued me in had I not already known.<br />
I didn't say anything and made breakfast.<br />
Later that day, I took one of the girls aside whom was easier to approach, and told her boldly that I had heard the entire conversation. Her face was mortified.<br />
I asked her to not do this again, and to think about how much it hurt me before she ever went into a gossip session. I told her that I was very upset, as I now knew my <i>entire</i> apartment's feelings about me. This is five roommates, mind you.<br />
She said sorry a bunch and would talk to the other girls.<br />
No one else ever apologized. They were sickly sweet to me for a good week, then everything went back to how it was. With a lot of scattering when I came into a room. I tried to broach the subject with some of the other girls, but they just brushed it off and assured me that they loved me and we were all friends.<br />
That wasn't even the worst of the roommates I have had.<br />
<br />
To make it clear, that kind of thing really hurts. I felt literally sick knowing that the five girls that lived with me outright hated me. What was worse was that I was never able to get down to the core of the issue about what I had actually done wrong. I can't fix what I don't know I did wrong. So it continued like that, with my knowing very well the opinions and thoughts, and them all assuring me (badly) that we were all friends and everything was fine.<br />
From that point on I made the deal with myself that I would never say behind someone's back what I would not be willing to say to their face. I may not volunteer the information, but if the topic came up, I would always be honest but kind about my opinions and feelings. If I was angry with a person, I would tell them, so they would have a chance to repair the damage, if they so desired.<br />
It has served me well. I sure have a lot of opinions, but all of my few friends know how I feel about things.<br />
When I am concerned about something, I tell the person that is concerning me. When I am upset, I tell them.<br />
When I particularly don't like someone, I may not come out and shame them, but I don't go around pretending that we are buddy buddy. That is dishonest. That is like literally lying to their face when you gossip behind their back.<br />
Also, I'm really awful at lying (when not a wonderful surprise in the works) and controlling my facial expressions, so this way just seems like less agony on both sides.<br />
<br />
Please, ladies. And gents. Please stop the gossiping. If the person that you are going on about was sitting in the next room hearing every thing you said, would you say those things? Because sometimes they can. And it hurts. It still upsets me to this day, years later, to think of what was said and the way they were talking about me. And it hurts worse when they act like we are friends and make me out to be rude when I refuse to play that game. Stop gossiping.<br />
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And if that isn't enough reason to stop; think of this. When you start bad mouthing people behind their back, the person you are trash talking with is going to be wondering what you say about them behind their back. Because chances are that you don't limit yourself to one target. When people are wondering what you say about them when they aren't there, they will be a lot less likely to really let you in on their lives. You are hurting your own relationships by doing this.<br />
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Smile Always.Mavourneenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00396098443870547637noreply@blogger.com0