This has been fun. I think. I am still not entirely convinced I "blog" right. Through this process I have had to edit myself, substantially. I started many a post, just to erase, delete. It's very hard to write what I am thinking without coming across jaded or judgmental, I and really have never viewed myself as either. That has been incredibly eye-opening, but therapeutic. For every time I erased a post because I deemed it inappropriate for this classroom experience, I felt better to have typed out my frustrations and thoughts, even though they never made the final cut. Be it the frustrating Wal-Mart parkers, AT&T customer service and the fact that I know your name is not John and you aren't local, or my transformation to "THAT" mom at the little league games, I typed away and felt better getting it out, just to take it all back.
I few moments have slipped, and made their way to published, so I can't really say if I am proud of my little blog or not. I go back through and read, see the errors, the babbling, the nonsense. I shake my head some, and sigh. I laugh, and hope and pray it makes sense to someone other that myself.
It has been a learning experience. I have learned to slow down my thoughts just enough to maybe make them look right on the screen. I wish there was more. More time, more words, more images. I wish I could have shared more, explained more, painted a grander, vivid picture. I cheated every reader. I hurried, and got it done. Checked it off. Sad. Because this is a beautiful thing, to share experiences, thoughts, ideas. To make someone else feel what you felt. Man, I want to write in a way that if I am bitter, they can taste it. If I am sad, they hear my tear drops. My little fingers ache because I know I could do better. I obviously avoided any deep emotions in any blog. I attempted humor, not sure I hit the mark.
Have I seen a change? I think so. My post go back and forth, some I am proud of, some post I want to yank back and destroy. The post I wish I could take back, I left where they are. Glaring back at me with all their ignorance and errors, as a reminder that I can do better and what not to do next. I learned how to spell words I have been apparently misspelling my whole life, so that's good.
Overall, I would love to keep my little blog life alive and well. Like I said, it is fun. I hope I can find the time. Life gets so busy. As I drive or listen to my kids play a thousand ideas come to mind. Ideas that I want to blog about, but the come and go so fast. All of this, what I have written, what I want to write, wanting to keep giving my blog life, is all for me. Sometimes I forget others can read this. Every blog comment is like Christmas morning. Am I going to be blissfully happy? Am I going to be ridiculously disappointed? I read them all, and want to write back, start up a conversation, just not sure on the proper blog etiquette. I blame these feelings on the fact most of my conversations are with a five year old, so any chance of adult interaction gets me excited. In public when I see someone I know, I have a huge smile plastered across my face and my eyes glaze over at the thought of an impending adult conversation.
What happens now? Is this it? I am done? No more opinions or words, because there is no more driving force demanding I blog? Who knows. Let's just see if I survive a research paper and a couple finals. Then, maybe.
Friday, July 17, 2015
Thursday, July 16, 2015
One Superpower
My five year old sons new blog prompt, "If you could have one superpower, what would it be?" This is really hard. So many options. My first instinct would be to go with flying. Not sure what good that would do me, other than avoiding traffic and seeing cool stuff. Right now, as I stare down finals week, I would like a photographic memory. Honestly, I could puke. All these words, FINALS, RESEARCH, PROCTOR. I am so nervous.
I am needing a superpower that will make this college stuff easier. Everyday I think, "why didn't I do this when I was 18?". At 18 I needed a lot less sleep, was probably more confident in my writing, and less distracted. All those things would have made this easier, but no way would I go back in time. As I sit here listening to my children argue over the last muffin, I can't say I would have done it differently. I can't imagine a world where they might not exist. Meeting my husband and leaving everything behind to hit the road and fall in love was not the most responsible decision, but it led me to here, and here is good.
So going back in time is off the table. The superpower to see germs would be great, to avoid them, but pretty sure I don't want to see that. I would never leave the house. Who am I kidding? I wouldn't want to be in my house. Read minds, maybe. That would be interesting, but I am afraid of what I would hear. Super speed, super strength? Nah, sounds exhausting. Being able to stop time would be fun. I am not convinced I would use it for good though, probably just practical jokes.
Healing. That would be it. I would want the power to heal. I hate cancer, so being able to kick cancers butt would be fabulous. Even when my kids get the sniffles, it is heartbreaking. So the power to heal it is. I could then, in turn, heal those with other superpowers. Wait, now I am thinking. What if there is someone who needs healing, but I don't want to. What if they are a horrible person? That would be like me murdering them. So now I am a killer. Yeah, I'm out. No healing powers please.
This is actually a lot harder than I thought. I guess I will stick with flying. I have about a million things I need to be doing, so the whole superpower thing can't take up anymore room in my head or time in my day. Sad.
I am needing a superpower that will make this college stuff easier. Everyday I think, "why didn't I do this when I was 18?". At 18 I needed a lot less sleep, was probably more confident in my writing, and less distracted. All those things would have made this easier, but no way would I go back in time. As I sit here listening to my children argue over the last muffin, I can't say I would have done it differently. I can't imagine a world where they might not exist. Meeting my husband and leaving everything behind to hit the road and fall in love was not the most responsible decision, but it led me to here, and here is good.
So going back in time is off the table. The superpower to see germs would be great, to avoid them, but pretty sure I don't want to see that. I would never leave the house. Who am I kidding? I wouldn't want to be in my house. Read minds, maybe. That would be interesting, but I am afraid of what I would hear. Super speed, super strength? Nah, sounds exhausting. Being able to stop time would be fun. I am not convinced I would use it for good though, probably just practical jokes.
Healing. That would be it. I would want the power to heal. I hate cancer, so being able to kick cancers butt would be fabulous. Even when my kids get the sniffles, it is heartbreaking. So the power to heal it is. I could then, in turn, heal those with other superpowers. Wait, now I am thinking. What if there is someone who needs healing, but I don't want to. What if they are a horrible person? That would be like me murdering them. So now I am a killer. Yeah, I'm out. No healing powers please.
This is actually a lot harder than I thought. I guess I will stick with flying. I have about a million things I need to be doing, so the whole superpower thing can't take up anymore room in my head or time in my day. Sad.
Tuesday, July 14, 2015
Research
I am finding these research databases both helpful and intimidating. Somehow, in my little world, I had no idea the scope of information out there. I am convinced you can find an article on absolutely everything. I assume this new information should make the process of finding a research question and a thesis statement easier, but my mind is a big puddle of mush now.
How did people research before the internet? I should be one of those people who had to, but it must have been such an unpleasant experience that I have totally blocked it out. Libraries were involved I am sure. I do remember having to make a presentation on Greece. Mostly used books for that, so I am sure there was a library involved. Poor Librarians. I bet there isn't quite the job market there once was.
So these endless databases are mind blowing in scope. I wonder if people submit to the databases, or do the databases constantly search out this information. Humor, is what I was searching, I typed humerus instead. Let say it was a typo and not my horrific spelling capabilities. The vast amount of essays, journals, reports, opinions, and other written and video information on this bone was insane. Is there really THAT much information pertaining to that one little bone? I decided my life would not be the same if I didn't find out. And YES! There is that much information. I was really expecting some repetitive cycle of facts, I was wrong. That bone and the people who write about it are intense. So, if that bone can be written about in such abundance, then about anything could. The world of research just began to get very big, and very intimidating. What if all original ideas have been used up? Seriously, what if there is nothing left to say that hasn't been said somewhere, at sometime. Maybe I should throw in towel.
How did people research before the internet? I should be one of those people who had to, but it must have been such an unpleasant experience that I have totally blocked it out. Libraries were involved I am sure. I do remember having to make a presentation on Greece. Mostly used books for that, so I am sure there was a library involved. Poor Librarians. I bet there isn't quite the job market there once was.
So these endless databases are mind blowing in scope. I wonder if people submit to the databases, or do the databases constantly search out this information. Humor, is what I was searching, I typed humerus instead. Let say it was a typo and not my horrific spelling capabilities. The vast amount of essays, journals, reports, opinions, and other written and video information on this bone was insane. Is there really THAT much information pertaining to that one little bone? I decided my life would not be the same if I didn't find out. And YES! There is that much information. I was really expecting some repetitive cycle of facts, I was wrong. That bone and the people who write about it are intense. So, if that bone can be written about in such abundance, then about anything could. The world of research just began to get very big, and very intimidating. What if all original ideas have been used up? Seriously, what if there is nothing left to say that hasn't been said somewhere, at sometime. Maybe I should throw in towel.
Monday, July 13, 2015
Sad Day, America
A day spent at a crowded public pool, is a day spent observing the downfall of society. Now, how I ever decided that a season pass to the public pool was a good idea, is beyond me. I can only assume I made the decision during a time of extreme mental stress or exhaustion. Not only are we season pass owners this year, but the kids know it. And they never let me forget it. Ever. Everyday, the children bargain and scheme. I am convinced that they set up elaborate plans to drive me to the brink of madness until I finally cave and wave the white flag of surrender. Off to the pool we go.
Some days it is not an awful experience. The days it is less crowded and calm, I could see how this could be enjoyable. Today was not that day. I turned towards the parking lot and my stomach sunk. People everywhere. You could barely see water. Just hot sweaty flesh, packed up against more flesh. I resisted the urge to google how communicable disease could spread in such an environment. But the kids were smiling and enthusiastic, I made the decision to give it my best shot, to try to muster up some enthusiasm of my very own.
After finding nowhere to sit, we sat our stuff down on some grass and claimed a little territory of our own. It was within 30 seconds that two wild, parent-less children trampled our stuff, with their soaking wet feet. Just breathe. Just breathe. We make our way to the pool, where I instantly lose sight of my precious angels in the melee of small children and a mix of tattoos and sunburns. Panic ensues, and after fighting my way through the crowd, cringing as my arms bump into others, praying the flesh I bumped into was simply wet from the water and not sweat, I find my angels swimming and giggling.
I am that parent at the pool who will turn full momma bear if your thoughtless, rude children get too close to mine. I went full momma bear several times today. What is wrong with these kids? Where are their parents? When did it become okay to raise little monsters who have no respect for others and no manners what so ever? It is easy to observe the blatant rudeness of these kids and glare with unmasked disdain, but if you would just ever so slightly glance over to the pool lounges, it is easy to see where to place the blame. These parents obviously think of the pool as a gigantic day care center, and the lifeguards as babysitters. It isn't. They aren't. In my opinion the lifeguards have to be grossly underpaid. They can only blow their whistle so many times to correct the uncontrollable children, bless their hearts, they are mostly kids themselves.
The only parent I actually witnessed doing any parenting was a burly tattooed fellow who actually disciplined his children. Bravo, Sir. The award for parenting at the pool goes to you. The other end of the bad parenting spectrum was there too. Overbearing Mothers everywhere, YOU are creating victims, and pansies. Find a happy medium people. There are bullies, so teach your kids how to stand up to bullies. News Flash, adults get bullied too.
So after this afternoon, I am convinced that my kids aren't angels, and boy, I am far from a perfect parent, but we have a lot going for us. Common sense and common manners are missing in a large portion of my generation, and they are breeding!
Some days it is not an awful experience. The days it is less crowded and calm, I could see how this could be enjoyable. Today was not that day. I turned towards the parking lot and my stomach sunk. People everywhere. You could barely see water. Just hot sweaty flesh, packed up against more flesh. I resisted the urge to google how communicable disease could spread in such an environment. But the kids were smiling and enthusiastic, I made the decision to give it my best shot, to try to muster up some enthusiasm of my very own.
After finding nowhere to sit, we sat our stuff down on some grass and claimed a little territory of our own. It was within 30 seconds that two wild, parent-less children trampled our stuff, with their soaking wet feet. Just breathe. Just breathe. We make our way to the pool, where I instantly lose sight of my precious angels in the melee of small children and a mix of tattoos and sunburns. Panic ensues, and after fighting my way through the crowd, cringing as my arms bump into others, praying the flesh I bumped into was simply wet from the water and not sweat, I find my angels swimming and giggling.
I am that parent at the pool who will turn full momma bear if your thoughtless, rude children get too close to mine. I went full momma bear several times today. What is wrong with these kids? Where are their parents? When did it become okay to raise little monsters who have no respect for others and no manners what so ever? It is easy to observe the blatant rudeness of these kids and glare with unmasked disdain, but if you would just ever so slightly glance over to the pool lounges, it is easy to see where to place the blame. These parents obviously think of the pool as a gigantic day care center, and the lifeguards as babysitters. It isn't. They aren't. In my opinion the lifeguards have to be grossly underpaid. They can only blow their whistle so many times to correct the uncontrollable children, bless their hearts, they are mostly kids themselves.
The only parent I actually witnessed doing any parenting was a burly tattooed fellow who actually disciplined his children. Bravo, Sir. The award for parenting at the pool goes to you. The other end of the bad parenting spectrum was there too. Overbearing Mothers everywhere, YOU are creating victims, and pansies. Find a happy medium people. There are bullies, so teach your kids how to stand up to bullies. News Flash, adults get bullied too.
So after this afternoon, I am convinced that my kids aren't angels, and boy, I am far from a perfect parent, but we have a lot going for us. Common sense and common manners are missing in a large portion of my generation, and they are breeding!
Thursday, July 9, 2015
Serious Stats
My husband won't go to Vegas. I am sad. Every year for the last few we have received an invitation to the PBR ( Professional Bull Riders ) Legends Reunion in Las Vegas during the World Finals. And every year, he says "No". I love Las Vegas. We have gone seven times. Six times because he was a world finals contestant. One time, just passing through. During the World Finals, we would be there for about two weeks. The hotel suites, at whatever casino was hosting us ( Usually Mandalay Bay ), were home sweet home for that time. I loved everything about it. The views of the strip or the mountains, the soft bed that someone else made, the room service, true love! I want to go back. Maybe not with all the press conferences, signings, meetings, drafts, and bull riding, but with all the other stuff.
This Legends Reunions thing is neat, I guess. Getting to see old friends would be nice. My husband has two very strong opinions about it. One, to be a legend you have to be old. Two, it isn't a very exclusive club. It is open to any former bull rider who has participated in a World Finals, or any elite tour event, ever. The first year, a lot of people went that had never actually made a World Finals, just a couple qualifications for a tour stop or two. And these individuals made quite a big deal out of themselves. I am all sorts of proud of my guy. I would love to list his winnings, event titles, qualifications, and his all time rank of money earners. It is some pretty impressive stuff. At the same time I see nothing wrong with those who are proud of their own accomplishments in the PBR, no matter the size. Let us all gather in Vegas a celebrate what use to be. But no. Hubs don't want to.
In my heart I know none of it matters. Most fans and young guns of today don't even remember the great and prolific bull riders from ten years ago. There is something to take away from that. The whole sport makes the young guys feel like rock stars. When in fact, no amount of titles or stats will ever really make you anything. They too, no matter how successful they become, will be forgotten. Replaced by the next big thing. What might matter is the legacy they might leave. Will they fall into the fold, disappear into the flashing lights, pretty girls, and booze? Or will they make a mark. Be an individual. Start building something that does matter. I do hope they love what they are doing. I hope most of all that although it is the dream of many young bull riders to see the bright lights of Vegas, and be called out into that arena under the fireworks and screaming fans, that they have other dreams too. That they build a life outside of the arena that means more than anything that happens inside it.
This Legends Reunions thing is neat, I guess. Getting to see old friends would be nice. My husband has two very strong opinions about it. One, to be a legend you have to be old. Two, it isn't a very exclusive club. It is open to any former bull rider who has participated in a World Finals, or any elite tour event, ever. The first year, a lot of people went that had never actually made a World Finals, just a couple qualifications for a tour stop or two. And these individuals made quite a big deal out of themselves. I am all sorts of proud of my guy. I would love to list his winnings, event titles, qualifications, and his all time rank of money earners. It is some pretty impressive stuff. At the same time I see nothing wrong with those who are proud of their own accomplishments in the PBR, no matter the size. Let us all gather in Vegas a celebrate what use to be. But no. Hubs don't want to.
In my heart I know none of it matters. Most fans and young guns of today don't even remember the great and prolific bull riders from ten years ago. There is something to take away from that. The whole sport makes the young guys feel like rock stars. When in fact, no amount of titles or stats will ever really make you anything. They too, no matter how successful they become, will be forgotten. Replaced by the next big thing. What might matter is the legacy they might leave. Will they fall into the fold, disappear into the flashing lights, pretty girls, and booze? Or will they make a mark. Be an individual. Start building something that does matter. I do hope they love what they are doing. I hope most of all that although it is the dream of many young bull riders to see the bright lights of Vegas, and be called out into that arena under the fireworks and screaming fans, that they have other dreams too. That they build a life outside of the arena that means more than anything that happens inside it.
Wednesday, July 8, 2015
Poor Baby Draft
In a previous post I mentioned how I was pretty sure I couldn't edit. That my drafts could never reach maturity and would be forced stay baby drafts forever. I was wrong. I killed my baby draft. Butchered it. This whole revision stuff is isn't as hard as I thought. In fact I am a revising son of a gun. My baby draft has been marked through, scratched out, and the one line I might actually keep is underlined.
The assignment to workshop the writing group was not helpful. My writing group is AWOL, and I only have one other member. It was hard to get much out of her response because she totally didn't follow directions. Nine questions ( I think ), with a response to each regarding the other person essay. I got a small paragraph, that was just saying that my essay was crap. I couldn't get passed her disregard for the instructions. It made all her critique and criticism void. I agree wholeheartedly, my essay is crap. A big part of me wants to change my creed and everything, start from scratch. That would be easier.
I had the words last night. I got up to pee ( well, it is true ) and I had what I wanted to say in my essay right there in my head. But I went back to bed, and the words are gone now. Somewhere I remember reading that it is a normal thing to kill your first draft. Literally, there will be no resemblance to the baby draft I once had, but it was crap after all.
The assignment to workshop the writing group was not helpful. My writing group is AWOL, and I only have one other member. It was hard to get much out of her response because she totally didn't follow directions. Nine questions ( I think ), with a response to each regarding the other person essay. I got a small paragraph, that was just saying that my essay was crap. I couldn't get passed her disregard for the instructions. It made all her critique and criticism void. I agree wholeheartedly, my essay is crap. A big part of me wants to change my creed and everything, start from scratch. That would be easier.
I had the words last night. I got up to pee ( well, it is true ) and I had what I wanted to say in my essay right there in my head. But I went back to bed, and the words are gone now. Somewhere I remember reading that it is a normal thing to kill your first draft. Literally, there will be no resemblance to the baby draft I once had, but it was crap after all.
Tuesday, July 7, 2015
Super Hero's and Their Lady Friends
This is an original blog prompt from my five year old son. It actually carries a lot of weight. I really had to think about it. Which Super Hero would make the best relationship material? Okay, that was paraphrased from the original five year old blog prompt Super Hero's Girlfriends and Which One is the Best Ever. But for the sake of actually making this into an attempt at something serious, I took liberties.
So we have Batman. He is a hot mess. I would say the guy can't keep a girl, and he is somewhat selfish. Always sulking it seems. He would be a bummer to be around. Then there is Ironman, and lets face it ladies, Tony Stark is exactly the kind of playboy, bad boy we go running too. We must thrive of broken hearts. Spiderman. Adorable. He is fantastic, but even I can't continue to write about him without feeling like a cougar. Other than the age thing, I would expect Peter Parker to grown into fine marriage material someday. Thor, yeah, no. Arrogance is so unattractive. We are thinking with our hearts, not our bodies here ladies. Captain America would be top of this class of man meat. I am all about old fashion ways. I am probably the exact opposite of a feminist. I should have been a wife in the fifties. Captain is a safe place for a ladies heart, I my opinion.
There are dozens more, I know. Does Jack from the 24 T.V. show count as a super hero? He should, just saying. My son has strong opinions. He wants to be just like Ironman, Lord help us. The poor little guy is surrounded by girls. Two sisters, and all their friends. Girls at all the neighbors, and all my friends have girls. Surely he will be raised to know how to deal with girls. He better make an excellent husband one day.
So we have Batman. He is a hot mess. I would say the guy can't keep a girl, and he is somewhat selfish. Always sulking it seems. He would be a bummer to be around. Then there is Ironman, and lets face it ladies, Tony Stark is exactly the kind of playboy, bad boy we go running too. We must thrive of broken hearts. Spiderman. Adorable. He is fantastic, but even I can't continue to write about him without feeling like a cougar. Other than the age thing, I would expect Peter Parker to grown into fine marriage material someday. Thor, yeah, no. Arrogance is so unattractive. We are thinking with our hearts, not our bodies here ladies. Captain America would be top of this class of man meat. I am all about old fashion ways. I am probably the exact opposite of a feminist. I should have been a wife in the fifties. Captain is a safe place for a ladies heart, I my opinion.
There are dozens more, I know. Does Jack from the 24 T.V. show count as a super hero? He should, just saying. My son has strong opinions. He wants to be just like Ironman, Lord help us. The poor little guy is surrounded by girls. Two sisters, and all their friends. Girls at all the neighbors, and all my friends have girls. Surely he will be raised to know how to deal with girls. He better make an excellent husband one day.
Monday, July 6, 2015
The Scary Monster Called MLA
I cried. The lesson said " Research Supported". I know what that means. And I cried. It means I will have to document MLA style. I will need stuff. Footnotes, Endnotes, Works Cited. It isn't like I haven't watched MLA youtube videos, read examples, and the handy little Prentice Hall Reference Guide. ( See, now do I have to cite that? ) It still scares me. Research Paper, not so scary. MLA? ?Scary.
If MLA were a disease, it would be one with festering boils and a slow painful death. What if it kills me? Well, not me, but my grade. Why can't I just pick a topic I am all sorts of educated on and cite "Me". That would be ideal, and it would be a failure. All the nifty things Word can do. I know there is even the possibility of special buttons and doodads to do foot and endnotes, which I am still not entirely convinced I understand what those are, you would think I wouldn't be so panicked. No lie, I had to ask my twelve year old for help with making a Header, after I tried for half an hour.
I googled "MLA for Dummies". All I found was more of the same information that was presented in a way that made my head spin. Why can I not get this?! Maybe it is just tedious. Or maybe it is just the horrible invention of smart people from long ago, for the sole purpose of weeding out scattered brained thirty-something year olds that have no business attempting to write a college level paper to highly educated individuals. MLA will be my demise.
It would be easier if I understood the why. Why does it have to be like this. Plagiarism is naughty, very bad. I get that. Is that why there is such strict rules about the documentation of sources? Is all this turmoil because long ago there were bad guys, stealing the words of others? And MLA is the Alcatraz of my soul now. There are others, APA, CMOS, more. It is a scary world we live in.
I have made a commitment to find a topic to research for my final essay, and not base it off how easy it will be to document and cite my sources. I really will try. What a tragedy, if my words and thoughts get muddled and stripped because I am unable to figure out how to cite or document. I am not just being lazy. And I am open for advise! Do I just write, type out all the goodies I learn, then go back and try to find out what came from where and when that was figured out by who? Or do I write and stop, add the stuff about the stuff, and then pray my train of thought didn't derail off a large embankment? Seriously, this could be the end.
If MLA were a disease, it would be one with festering boils and a slow painful death. What if it kills me? Well, not me, but my grade. Why can't I just pick a topic I am all sorts of educated on and cite "Me". That would be ideal, and it would be a failure. All the nifty things Word can do. I know there is even the possibility of special buttons and doodads to do foot and endnotes, which I am still not entirely convinced I understand what those are, you would think I wouldn't be so panicked. No lie, I had to ask my twelve year old for help with making a Header, after I tried for half an hour.
I googled "MLA for Dummies". All I found was more of the same information that was presented in a way that made my head spin. Why can I not get this?! Maybe it is just tedious. Or maybe it is just the horrible invention of smart people from long ago, for the sole purpose of weeding out scattered brained thirty-something year olds that have no business attempting to write a college level paper to highly educated individuals. MLA will be my demise.
It would be easier if I understood the why. Why does it have to be like this. Plagiarism is naughty, very bad. I get that. Is that why there is such strict rules about the documentation of sources? Is all this turmoil because long ago there were bad guys, stealing the words of others? And MLA is the Alcatraz of my soul now. There are others, APA, CMOS, more. It is a scary world we live in.
I have made a commitment to find a topic to research for my final essay, and not base it off how easy it will be to document and cite my sources. I really will try. What a tragedy, if my words and thoughts get muddled and stripped because I am unable to figure out how to cite or document. I am not just being lazy. And I am open for advise! Do I just write, type out all the goodies I learn, then go back and try to find out what came from where and when that was figured out by who? Or do I write and stop, add the stuff about the stuff, and then pray my train of thought didn't derail off a large embankment? Seriously, this could be the end.
Rodeo Hospitality
The fourth of July is a big deal to bull riders, and rodeo contestants in general. They call it Cowboy Christmas and if someone really wanted to, they could stay gone for a month and hit a rodeo or bull riding everyday, or even two a day. How do I know these juicy little details? I married a bull rider a long time ago. Momma, don't let your daughters grow up to marry bull riders. Well, I do love the guy, and it hasn't been all bad. One of the great benefits of being a bull riders wife is this handy little thing they call a companion pass. It is your ticket to another wonderful and hidden gem of rodeo life called the hospitality tent, or room, or building, you get the point.
We have traveled to more bull ridings and rodeos than I could ever count. Later in my husbands career, I admit with much shame, my support of his entering a particular rodeo had more to do with the food at the hospitality tent than anything else. It is safe to say I like food. There were other deciding factors, like Fort Worth for example. Horrible seats in the arena. With kids, and bags full of goodies to keep them entertained, it was hard to move, very cramped. But they have a hospitality room filled with food, drinks, and a kids play area with mostly clean toys. So it got my vote.
Springdale Arkansas serves the best garlic bread at their hospitality room. And they have air conditioned bathrooms, which you can never take for granted, ever. When you have traveled overnight from Arizona in a truck with two or more children and it is the middle of summer and ninety degrees, an clean and air conditioned, private bathroom, will make you feel like royalty. Upon entering you observe all the commoners outside the fenced in "special" area waiting in line for porta potties that have been used for three days now, by thousands of sweaty rodeo fans, you lift you chin slightly and enter the pristine restroom with full length mirrors and AC. Yep, royalty.
We have been everywhere. Hawaii, Madison Square Gardens, Anaheim. So many rodeos, good Lord, so many. The small ones in little towns that aren't easy to find often have the best hospitality. They are just glad you're there. After doing this for so long you learn how to deal with gate security who, although you have three kids in tow, still thinks you are lying, so you have to drop the hand held video games and diaper bag, dig through your purse for a tiny little companion pass to show that you are in fact suppose to be in there, and you are not some crazed buckle bunny fan looking for a cowboy to call her own. No, sorry dude, got one already, that is the only reason I am here. That said, I was never I buckle bunny! My man found me.
We have traveled to more bull ridings and rodeos than I could ever count. Later in my husbands career, I admit with much shame, my support of his entering a particular rodeo had more to do with the food at the hospitality tent than anything else. It is safe to say I like food. There were other deciding factors, like Fort Worth for example. Horrible seats in the arena. With kids, and bags full of goodies to keep them entertained, it was hard to move, very cramped. But they have a hospitality room filled with food, drinks, and a kids play area with mostly clean toys. So it got my vote.
Springdale Arkansas serves the best garlic bread at their hospitality room. And they have air conditioned bathrooms, which you can never take for granted, ever. When you have traveled overnight from Arizona in a truck with two or more children and it is the middle of summer and ninety degrees, an clean and air conditioned, private bathroom, will make you feel like royalty. Upon entering you observe all the commoners outside the fenced in "special" area waiting in line for porta potties that have been used for three days now, by thousands of sweaty rodeo fans, you lift you chin slightly and enter the pristine restroom with full length mirrors and AC. Yep, royalty.
We have been everywhere. Hawaii, Madison Square Gardens, Anaheim. So many rodeos, good Lord, so many. The small ones in little towns that aren't easy to find often have the best hospitality. They are just glad you're there. After doing this for so long you learn how to deal with gate security who, although you have three kids in tow, still thinks you are lying, so you have to drop the hand held video games and diaper bag, dig through your purse for a tiny little companion pass to show that you are in fact suppose to be in there, and you are not some crazed buckle bunny fan looking for a cowboy to call her own. No, sorry dude, got one already, that is the only reason I am here. That said, I was never I buckle bunny! My man found me.
Thursday, July 2, 2015
Jello Brain Freewriting
I got nothing. Although I have basically no thoughts this am, I see the importance of blogging daily so here it goes. This should be a disaster.
Why won't anyone in my reading group post their damn essays, it's Thursday and I refuse to go first. I could be way off base, so I want to see what these folks have going for them. Today I woke up pissed, I have no idea why. No reason, life is the same as the day before, just out of smiles? I don't know. I would like to have a good day. It's my birthday. But I am just grumpy. I hate that. I don't like being grumpy. I also don't like a messy house, and my kids have been little home destroying tornados for three days. That's probably why I am grumpy. Stepping on legos will do that to a person. There is literally legos, hotwheels, and crayons in every room of my house right now. No lie. Bathrooms and all. I found a water bottle filled with mud on my kitchen table. I about lost my crap. Why? It wasn't even 7 am yet. I wonder if they wake up and get together and say "what can we do today to make mom lose her ever loving mind and run her head through a wall? " There was a conversation yesterday weighing on my mind. It was a dumb one. Someone said something that left me biting through my tongue. I know my eyes must have been bugging out of my head. I head it together, maybe that's what's wrong with me, I didn't get to say what I was dying to say, and now the words have poisoned me because they needed to be said. I can't, it's along story and I am keeping quiet in the name of world peace. Maybe if I go take a nap, I can wake up in a better mood. A better mood sounds so good. Like a vacation, because being this pissy is soul crushing. I am not this way. This isn't me. So I have narrowed it down to Starbucks for a cake pop or a nap. One of those things has got to help pull me out of this bad mood. Lord, help anyone who crosses my path.
Why won't anyone in my reading group post their damn essays, it's Thursday and I refuse to go first. I could be way off base, so I want to see what these folks have going for them. Today I woke up pissed, I have no idea why. No reason, life is the same as the day before, just out of smiles? I don't know. I would like to have a good day. It's my birthday. But I am just grumpy. I hate that. I don't like being grumpy. I also don't like a messy house, and my kids have been little home destroying tornados for three days. That's probably why I am grumpy. Stepping on legos will do that to a person. There is literally legos, hotwheels, and crayons in every room of my house right now. No lie. Bathrooms and all. I found a water bottle filled with mud on my kitchen table. I about lost my crap. Why? It wasn't even 7 am yet. I wonder if they wake up and get together and say "what can we do today to make mom lose her ever loving mind and run her head through a wall? " There was a conversation yesterday weighing on my mind. It was a dumb one. Someone said something that left me biting through my tongue. I know my eyes must have been bugging out of my head. I head it together, maybe that's what's wrong with me, I didn't get to say what I was dying to say, and now the words have poisoned me because they needed to be said. I can't, it's along story and I am keeping quiet in the name of world peace. Maybe if I go take a nap, I can wake up in a better mood. A better mood sounds so good. Like a vacation, because being this pissy is soul crushing. I am not this way. This isn't me. So I have narrowed it down to Starbucks for a cake pop or a nap. One of those things has got to help pull me out of this bad mood. Lord, help anyone who crosses my path.
Tuesday, June 30, 2015
My New Biggest Fear
What if I can't revise? What if I am too simple minded? No, seriously, what if I just can't?
I just finished up my I believe essay. I typed what I thought. And I reread it and it sounded right. And, well, crap. What if it is crap? What if my thoughts are crap? My chest is tightening up, it might be a panic attack. It might not make sense to anyone but me. Like I speak my own language. As though I have been so isolated raising babies and living in southwest Missouri, I have no concept of the outside world. I know laundry, dishes, cooking and raising babies. That's it. If doubting yourself was a disease, I would be the carrier monkey.
Honestly, what if I don't know half the stuff I think I know. Oh God forbid, I am one of those people. The people who think they know stuff, and act like they know stuff, but don't. This weeks readings included "How to Say Nothing in 500 Words," by Paul Roberts. I might have said nothing. What if I think in fluff? My sentences are padded with unintentional fluff. I just might have said nothing in a page and a half. There is an inexcusable part of me that hopes for a writing group of morons. A step above primates. A bunch of uneducated, banjo wielding hillbillies who make moonshine and build booby-traps. Come to think of it though, it take some serious smarts to make moonshine, and build booby-traps. So I need the kind of hillbillies who do nothing but shoot at squirrels. Then maybe my essay won't be swallowed up by geniuses and their writings, making my essay look like chicken scratch. Plus I like banjo music, and bluegrass.
No such luck. I have high school AP English students, and probably future Rhodes Scholars. I should be thankful, I know. They will give me great feed back and help me improve my writing. After they all sit around with a bowl of flaxseed and organic raisins, drinking chi, reading my poor little essay and laughing. Excuse me while I go dig a hole in the dirt it wallow in and continue my pity party.
I just finished up my I believe essay. I typed what I thought. And I reread it and it sounded right. And, well, crap. What if it is crap? What if my thoughts are crap? My chest is tightening up, it might be a panic attack. It might not make sense to anyone but me. Like I speak my own language. As though I have been so isolated raising babies and living in southwest Missouri, I have no concept of the outside world. I know laundry, dishes, cooking and raising babies. That's it. If doubting yourself was a disease, I would be the carrier monkey.
Honestly, what if I don't know half the stuff I think I know. Oh God forbid, I am one of those people. The people who think they know stuff, and act like they know stuff, but don't. This weeks readings included "How to Say Nothing in 500 Words," by Paul Roberts. I might have said nothing. What if I think in fluff? My sentences are padded with unintentional fluff. I just might have said nothing in a page and a half. There is an inexcusable part of me that hopes for a writing group of morons. A step above primates. A bunch of uneducated, banjo wielding hillbillies who make moonshine and build booby-traps. Come to think of it though, it take some serious smarts to make moonshine, and build booby-traps. So I need the kind of hillbillies who do nothing but shoot at squirrels. Then maybe my essay won't be swallowed up by geniuses and their writings, making my essay look like chicken scratch. Plus I like banjo music, and bluegrass.
No such luck. I have high school AP English students, and probably future Rhodes Scholars. I should be thankful, I know. They will give me great feed back and help me improve my writing. After they all sit around with a bowl of flaxseed and organic raisins, drinking chi, reading my poor little essay and laughing. Excuse me while I go dig a hole in the dirt it wallow in and continue my pity party.
Dreaming is Exhausting
People don't believe me, but I dream every night. Only rarely do I wake up and not remember my dream. I can wake up and get up for a drink or bathroom break and then go back to dreaming. They say that's not possible, but I do. When people say they never dream, I wonder why. Is their brain full of important stuff, and mine has room for nonsense?
Last night's dream was a doozy. It involved a pool, and a broken down hotel that had many rabbits living in it. I kept losing my pants, and I don't know why because I was wearing a dress. I found a tube of medication used to treat hairloss and malaria. Long story short, it was weird. I must have ate something with preservatives last night. I swear, bacon makes my dreams weird. I blame preservatives.
I don't look for meaning in my dreams, well, because I just don't buy into all that. I can't even imagine what people would think if the judged me on my dreams. I would be locked away in mental hospital or prison. Some of the things my subconscious comes up with are just wacky. My least favorite are when I am trying to dial a phone number and keep hitting the wrong buttons. That happens a lot.
So I am tired from my crazy dreams, and have to get creative and continue the process of this essay business. I am pretty worked up over this whole thing. I keep checking my writing group to see if anyone else has posted theirs. How long will they be? MLA, huh? I don't have resources, I made this all up in my head. I got the margins and what not. I hope my head will get out of the scary hotel of rabbits induced fog and join the real world.
Monday, June 29, 2015
Why So Not Serious?
Reading some of the blogs of other class mates, past and present, I have found there are some deep individuals. Some of these blog post have very serious undertones. I began to wonder if I too should get serious. Maybe dive into the many hot topics of today. Be opinionated and persuasive. Am I doing this whole blog thing wrong?
But you know what, I have opinions. Opinions on many important topics and issues that adults and unfortunately children face today. I even have some non ignorant ones. Opinions I have developed after researching and educating myself. Some are very strong, profound. I have opinions about gay marriage, standardized testing, the environment. I have political thoughts and ideas. I watch the news, and then go "really?" and look stuff up. Google and I are pretty close.
As an adult I have dealt with customer service, warranty companies, and the IRS. I have had friendly but firm conversations with insurance companies, school principals ( even overly confident ones ) and reservation specialist. Having three children and an accident prone husband, I have had informative and educated discussions with doctors, surgeons, and all the staff that come along with them. So, yes, I feel I could write some meaningful blog post.
No thanks. I think there are plenty of opinions for others to digest right now. And I get very depressed with all the seriousness that comes with being a grownup. I understand some people thrive off of debate. Some could sit around all day reading the news, watching the news and talking about the downfall of America or the great direction it is headed in. All that debating and opinionated talking is something they really enjoy. I would think I was in purgatory.
I will, when required or feel morally obligated, share my deep thoughts. My smarts might show, as my Grandmother would put it. The same Grandmother would often say "Shit, piss and apple butter" and I have no idea what that means. But honestly, I like to smile, and keep things light. There is so much heavy in the world. Does that mean I have an inferior blog? I sure hope not. I am not an airhead, I just write like one sometimes.
But you know what, I have opinions. Opinions on many important topics and issues that adults and unfortunately children face today. I even have some non ignorant ones. Opinions I have developed after researching and educating myself. Some are very strong, profound. I have opinions about gay marriage, standardized testing, the environment. I have political thoughts and ideas. I watch the news, and then go "really?" and look stuff up. Google and I are pretty close.
As an adult I have dealt with customer service, warranty companies, and the IRS. I have had friendly but firm conversations with insurance companies, school principals ( even overly confident ones ) and reservation specialist. Having three children and an accident prone husband, I have had informative and educated discussions with doctors, surgeons, and all the staff that come along with them. So, yes, I feel I could write some meaningful blog post.
No thanks. I think there are plenty of opinions for others to digest right now. And I get very depressed with all the seriousness that comes with being a grownup. I understand some people thrive off of debate. Some could sit around all day reading the news, watching the news and talking about the downfall of America or the great direction it is headed in. All that debating and opinionated talking is something they really enjoy. I would think I was in purgatory.
I will, when required or feel morally obligated, share my deep thoughts. My smarts might show, as my Grandmother would put it. The same Grandmother would often say "Shit, piss and apple butter" and I have no idea what that means. But honestly, I like to smile, and keep things light. There is so much heavy in the world. Does that mean I have an inferior blog? I sure hope not. I am not an airhead, I just write like one sometimes.
Sunday, June 28, 2015
Friends Don't Let Friends Wear That
I am a slacker! My mind has been on a vacation. I probably couldn't have formed actual sentences for the last three days. We went on a small, down the road vacation. As a family we enjoyed good food, lots of fishing, and swimming, and my favorite part of vacation... wait for it... people watching.
I am more of a curious observer than a judgmental one. I often embarrass my husband by asking questions. "Wow, south Louisiana. Why don't you sound Cajun?" "Is the pick in your hair an accessory or functional?" "Did you really just fall out of a paddle boat trying to catch a duck?". All questions I really just want answers to. I am fairly sure I didn't offend anyone. I came across as humbly as I could. Just ignorant to certain "ways". Honestly, no judgment. These folks and I could be homies. I just like to know things.
All that being said. Sometimes you can't unsee things. And sometimes clothes can be as inappropriate as being full on naked. Now, I won't go into details and it needs to be clear I am not talking about someone who was seeking out comfort. Lord knows I have had my fair share of hideous apparel in public in the name of comfort. No, this was someone, in a group, who was oblivious to what they were wearing, or at least oblivious to how they looked in it. Jaw dropping, looking around for the hidden cameras, this can not be real kind of attire.
I am all about letting your freak flag fly people, but honestly this person needs a friend. Because friends don't let friends wear that! It's not about being mean, but being honest. Just say no, and all that. There have been plenty of times someone has looked at me and said "uh, no". And I listened and was thankful. I googled, this was not a cultural fashion thing. This was just for entertainment, because there is no way someone just looked like that. And they truly thought they were rocking it. Like a Kardashian. They weren't. God help them, they weren't.
I love all types. All shapes and sizes. Tattoos and piercings, colors and expression make the world go round, and other than asking the occasional "did that hurt?" "what does that mean?" "is that comfortable?" live and let live. But it is about being Authentic! (see what I did there) And sometimes folks just need to be told " No, don't wear that."
I am more of a curious observer than a judgmental one. I often embarrass my husband by asking questions. "Wow, south Louisiana. Why don't you sound Cajun?" "Is the pick in your hair an accessory or functional?" "Did you really just fall out of a paddle boat trying to catch a duck?". All questions I really just want answers to. I am fairly sure I didn't offend anyone. I came across as humbly as I could. Just ignorant to certain "ways". Honestly, no judgment. These folks and I could be homies. I just like to know things.
All that being said. Sometimes you can't unsee things. And sometimes clothes can be as inappropriate as being full on naked. Now, I won't go into details and it needs to be clear I am not talking about someone who was seeking out comfort. Lord knows I have had my fair share of hideous apparel in public in the name of comfort. No, this was someone, in a group, who was oblivious to what they were wearing, or at least oblivious to how they looked in it. Jaw dropping, looking around for the hidden cameras, this can not be real kind of attire.
I am all about letting your freak flag fly people, but honestly this person needs a friend. Because friends don't let friends wear that! It's not about being mean, but being honest. Just say no, and all that. There have been plenty of times someone has looked at me and said "uh, no". And I listened and was thankful. I googled, this was not a cultural fashion thing. This was just for entertainment, because there is no way someone just looked like that. And they truly thought they were rocking it. Like a Kardashian. They weren't. God help them, they weren't.
I love all types. All shapes and sizes. Tattoos and piercings, colors and expression make the world go round, and other than asking the occasional "did that hurt?" "what does that mean?" "is that comfortable?" live and let live. But it is about being Authentic! (see what I did there) And sometimes folks just need to be told " No, don't wear that."
Thursday, June 25, 2015
My Creed
- I believe in being Authentic.
- I believe authenticity is the greatest thing you can give to others.
- I believe one must be mature and have moral values to be genuinely authentic, or else you don't know yourself well enough to not be swayed back and forth between ideals.
- Authenticity is adaptable. We grow, we learn, we change. We just need to stay real.
- ( As a side note, I have always wanted to use the word dogma or dogmata in a sentence. I will do my best to find a way. Against all odds. And, no. That sentence doesn't count. )
Wednesday, June 24, 2015
Waking Up Is Exhausting
My mind is a hot mess. It feels similar to what a creek looks like after it floods, when all sorts of branches, leaves and trash float down on top of the water. I have about six, yes, six things to do today. My mind is thinking about 75 million things today. I bet there is medication for that.
The thing that has my head in the shape of a pretzel the most is trying to come up with a personal creed. I googled and binged away. I found out that there are a lot of hippies out there, and a lot of self love, new age stuff too. I found them all entertaining, some interesting, some frightening. One thing I did not find is any ideas. None. I stand for nothing.
Sure, I believe in lots of things. I could write down stuff I believe in all day. Some serious deep stuff too. Then I look at it and here comes the but. The exception. I am a push over I guess. Then WHAM! There it is. What am I not a push over about. Authenticity. I believe in being authentic.
I am going to run with that.
The thing that has my head in the shape of a pretzel the most is trying to come up with a personal creed. I googled and binged away. I found out that there are a lot of hippies out there, and a lot of self love, new age stuff too. I found them all entertaining, some interesting, some frightening. One thing I did not find is any ideas. None. I stand for nothing.
Sure, I believe in lots of things. I could write down stuff I believe in all day. Some serious deep stuff too. Then I look at it and here comes the but. The exception. I am a push over I guess. Then WHAM! There it is. What am I not a push over about. Authenticity. I believe in being authentic.
I am going to run with that.
Tuesday, June 23, 2015
A Baby Draft
I was going through this weeks reading assignments, and one stood out, "Shitty First Drafts" by Anne Lamott from Ms. A's Classroom eAnthology. It taught me I have a mind of a bratty child and I don't know how to edit it out of my writing. I want to write down my thoughts. Ok. I want them to make sense. Good. I want those who read what I write to get it, like really get it. I want them to sense my eye rolls and smirks. My humor is usually a complete bust through text messages, and so it is safe to say, that it won't work out as planned on a blog.
So, upon reading about "Shitty" drafts, I realize there is a lot more to editing and revising than what I thought. I need to figure out how to not sound..... well, I don't know? Not like me? But I want to sound like me. Even if later in this adventure as a college student I have some serious research paper to write, it would make me quite sad if I couldn't sound smart, educated, and familiar. In the things I have written so far in this class (ENG 101) I have caught myself trying to sound, well, pompous. Worst fear! Right? I want to write smart. I want to write well, but keep me in all of it. Sure, I read a lot, so I got all the fancy words I can bring out when I need the "big guns", but honestly, have I ever used the word pompous in normal conversation? But it help paint a picture right? Maybe if this was a face to face conversation I wouldn't need the "big guns" because I talk a lot with my hands, roll my eyes, and generally act overdramatic when describing things.
Now I feel like all my drafts are cursed to be "shitty". I want to build and develop my baby drafts into functioning well mannered adult drafts, but I don't know how! Maybe I will just go reread what Anne Lamott had to say.
So, upon reading about "Shitty" drafts, I realize there is a lot more to editing and revising than what I thought. I need to figure out how to not sound..... well, I don't know? Not like me? But I want to sound like me. Even if later in this adventure as a college student I have some serious research paper to write, it would make me quite sad if I couldn't sound smart, educated, and familiar. In the things I have written so far in this class (ENG 101) I have caught myself trying to sound, well, pompous. Worst fear! Right? I want to write smart. I want to write well, but keep me in all of it. Sure, I read a lot, so I got all the fancy words I can bring out when I need the "big guns", but honestly, have I ever used the word pompous in normal conversation? But it help paint a picture right? Maybe if this was a face to face conversation I wouldn't need the "big guns" because I talk a lot with my hands, roll my eyes, and generally act overdramatic when describing things.
Now I feel like all my drafts are cursed to be "shitty". I want to build and develop my baby drafts into functioning well mannered adult drafts, but I don't know how! Maybe I will just go reread what Anne Lamott had to say.
What I Now Know About My Audience
Good Grief! What a motley crowd we have here. First of all, this whole "know your audience" was a new concept. Kind of mind blowing. You mean I am not just writing to myself? I am not just writing this because it is what I WANT to write? I guess I need to remember I am not trying to change or improve my writing to fit into some tiny bubble that is my audience, but to write in a way that will grab and hold my audience by knowing them as individuals and improving my writing to get them involved emotionally. Ok, rereading that sentence it sounds fluffy, but it is what I want to say.
Looking at all the responses to the "Know Your Audience" questions, I am impressed with what a bunch of level headed individuals we seem to be. Many with strong family foundations and some without any it seems. Sometimes the answers left me all like "seriously?" "really?". Surprising. Come on Ms. A, I want to know your favorite jam. If I found out my instructor is rocking out to some eighties hair band on her way to work, I would feel better. Or even some Beach Boys, The Eagles, Pink Floyd. Humanize this woman who hold my first meaningful grade in over a decade in her hands. I see her sitting there, mad scientist hair, wild eyes, rubbing her hands together as she prepares to grade my papers, letting out an evil laughing cackle.
Over all learning more about this group of English 101 students and knowing them as my audience has been helpful. Mostly in knowing they are people, just like me, who like indulgent food, and have loved ones they miss, things they would change, places they would go. This exercise was indeed fun, and I do understand now why audience is important, why they matter. So, Mission Accomplished Ms. A!
Looking at all the responses to the "Know Your Audience" questions, I am impressed with what a bunch of level headed individuals we seem to be. Many with strong family foundations and some without any it seems. Sometimes the answers left me all like "seriously?" "really?". Surprising. Come on Ms. A, I want to know your favorite jam. If I found out my instructor is rocking out to some eighties hair band on her way to work, I would feel better. Or even some Beach Boys, The Eagles, Pink Floyd. Humanize this woman who hold my first meaningful grade in over a decade in her hands. I see her sitting there, mad scientist hair, wild eyes, rubbing her hands together as she prepares to grade my papers, letting out an evil laughing cackle.
Over all learning more about this group of English 101 students and knowing them as my audience has been helpful. Mostly in knowing they are people, just like me, who like indulgent food, and have loved ones they miss, things they would change, places they would go. This exercise was indeed fun, and I do understand now why audience is important, why they matter. So, Mission Accomplished Ms. A!
Thursday, June 18, 2015
" I Believe I Can't Grow Things" Freewriting
I believe I cannot grow things. I have no green thumb. I did sort of grow beautiful children though. Go me. They agree exceptional. Is it normal to be this wigged out over the fact this freewriting stuff will reveal my inability to spell. I mean I am total nervous about the condition of this little exercise. Exercise, man I need to work out. I like to. I don't like to run. I am not totally convinced that running is natural. Man I am spelling so bad that autocorrect doesn't even know what to do with my words. My words are many. It is scary to know I could do this all day. I just keep thinking about it. I have so much I want to write down, But I think there was a point to this, oh yeah, growing things or in my case not growing things. If I plant it, chances are it will die. Why does nature hate me? My Mom couldn't grow things, but she couldn't cook either. Oh my so many words with the horrible squiggly red line under it. Ah, I don't like this not going back to fix stuff rule. Maybe I read the article wrong. I can cook, so maybe the ability to do things isn't genetic. I am not so sure I have anything worth writing down officially. I mentioned I love Taco Bell, in that essay thing. Maybe that would have been better to freewrite about, because I am hungry. My lack of a green thumb is pretty cut and dry, I can't grow plants. Not much to continue to write about there. But I am digging this exercise, but I fear I might be coming across like I have ADHD. My thoughts are still on food. Why do I always want lunch by 9 am. Its sad to know that you can't get a burger when you want one. Oh, now my mind is back on exercising. I should consider a diet, just to feel better. Like eat healthier. I feed my family healthy, you can tell because when my kids get to eat sugar they transform into wild uncontrollable manic creatures with no restraint. I blame sugar, but maybe other kids just build up a tolerance, like alcoholics. Oh no, more red squiggly lines. I wonder if its normal to worry about what my carpets made of. I keep thinking it could be poisonous. I love the dollar tree store, but I am also convinced that everything is made in China and that means it is poisonous because the Chinese want us all to die off slowly in some sort of world power move. But then I realize I might just be over dramatic or crazy. And lazy I guess because I still get water guns and various other little treats from the dollar tree. LAzy, this morning I was. I have gotten use to 4 am and that's weird. I miss it when I wake up at 7 and have to get the kids ready and myself ready and everyone fed. Its like little indoor farm around here.
521 words
521 words
This I believe
I believe I need more patients
I believe I need to be better organized
I believe my puppy need obedience training
I believe I have a lot on my mind
I believe my oldest daughter is driving me nuts this morning
I believe ants are gross
I believe bugs serve a purpose
I believe in the God of the bible
I believe there is more to all this
I believe I can set goals and accomplish them
I believe I am better at Math than I originally thought
I believe I still struggle with Math
I believe my husband loves me
I believe some people make mistakes for attention
I believe in Aloe as treatment for almost everything
I believe I can't grow things
I believe I kill far to many plants
I believe my kids are awesome
I believe I need to think of better breakfast options for my family
I believe the FDA is evil
I believe Taco Bell is the greatest thing ever
I believe I am blessed
I believe in Angels, not deceased loved ones with wings
I believe in miracles
I believe I have a good mechanic
I believe I am falling behind in life
I believe I need to be better organized
I believe my puppy need obedience training
I believe I have a lot on my mind
I believe my oldest daughter is driving me nuts this morning
I believe ants are gross
I believe bugs serve a purpose
I believe in the God of the bible
I believe there is more to all this
I believe I can set goals and accomplish them
I believe I am better at Math than I originally thought
I believe I still struggle with Math
I believe my husband loves me
I believe some people make mistakes for attention
I believe in Aloe as treatment for almost everything
I believe I can't grow things
I believe I kill far to many plants
I believe my kids are awesome
I believe I need to think of better breakfast options for my family
I believe the FDA is evil
I believe Taco Bell is the greatest thing ever
I believe I am blessed
I believe in Angels, not deceased loved ones with wings
I believe in miracles
I believe I have a good mechanic
I believe I am falling behind in life
Wednesday, June 10, 2015
Jung Typology Indicators
ISFP, those are my letters. It says I am an introvert, sensing, feeling, and perceiving. I think it means I am no good at testing, any testing. Not only am I ISFP, but just barely. I squeaked into those categorizes at forty, fifty, and sixty percent. Now I feel wishy washy. Then I checked on my "career" recommendations, and was disappointed. I had somewhat hoped this test, this would be the one to answer the great question of my life. What should I be when I grow up? It didn't. I don't know the figuring that went into those recommendations, but it was a list of the top jobs I would never want to have. Not all of them, but most. Stay at home parent was on there. That's what I do, for now. But what comes next?
Introvert, huh. I guess I could see that. I don't like speaking up in front of people. My opinions are strong ones, but I keep those reserved for myself and those who have to love me no matter what, based on their moral code. So, I get introvert. Even here in my safe little blog, I want to write fearlessly, like a purge of my mind, but I won't. Then people could judge me, my thoughts. Maybe not my thoughts, maybe my ability to convey sarcasm and dark humor through a keyboard. I should have a disclaimer posted with the title, "Do Not Read if You Lack a Reasonable Sense of Humor".
I took the liberty to further research this ISFP. I am not alone. There are oodles of website to better explain these traits. It turns out, based on my interpretation of these other sources, that even though I got P for perceiving over judging, because of my F (feeling), its likely I judge and just keep it to myself. Maybe that why I look at people so often and say "Seriously?". I have judged their actions or words and are giving them the opportunity to rethink it.
Now, what kind of student does that make me? Feedback is always welcome. I want to do well, I want to write well, but I feel inadequate. My degree choice, for instance, its the one for me, right? I wish someone would tell me what to do. Make no mistake, I will finish what I start. I am not wishy washy, despite my middle ground percentages.
Could I have missed the point? The test is telling me about these attributes I have so I can use them to my advantage. Yes? No? Look, there I go again needing reinforcement. I wonder if indecisive is one of the traits of ISFP. Sensing may make me irrational.
Introvert, huh. I guess I could see that. I don't like speaking up in front of people. My opinions are strong ones, but I keep those reserved for myself and those who have to love me no matter what, based on their moral code. So, I get introvert. Even here in my safe little blog, I want to write fearlessly, like a purge of my mind, but I won't. Then people could judge me, my thoughts. Maybe not my thoughts, maybe my ability to convey sarcasm and dark humor through a keyboard. I should have a disclaimer posted with the title, "Do Not Read if You Lack a Reasonable Sense of Humor".
I took the liberty to further research this ISFP. I am not alone. There are oodles of website to better explain these traits. It turns out, based on my interpretation of these other sources, that even though I got P for perceiving over judging, because of my F (feeling), its likely I judge and just keep it to myself. Maybe that why I look at people so often and say "Seriously?". I have judged their actions or words and are giving them the opportunity to rethink it.
Now, what kind of student does that make me? Feedback is always welcome. I want to do well, I want to write well, but I feel inadequate. My degree choice, for instance, its the one for me, right? I wish someone would tell me what to do. Make no mistake, I will finish what I start. I am not wishy washy, despite my middle ground percentages.
Could I have missed the point? The test is telling me about these attributes I have so I can use them to my advantage. Yes? No? Look, there I go again needing reinforcement. I wonder if indecisive is one of the traits of ISFP. Sensing may make me irrational.
It's a BLOG
Oh My Gosh! It's a BLOG! I may be overly excited. Blog by definition is... never mind. Wikipedia is confusing. In my own definition Blog is a fun little place where all my thoughts can find a home. And, oh boy, do I have some thoughts. I may need to be sure to rethink how this goes down. Some of my thoughts should stay in my head. Like the lady in front of me in Mommy Drop Off Line Purgatory, and how I thought about how it wouldn't kill little Timmy to walk an extra ten feet to the front door so she should pull up and let, I don't know, one of the other eleven hundred cars up to a position to drop off their kids.
See, this is therapeutic. Everyone (as I talk to myself) be patient. Maybe I will get the hang of this blog stuff and it won't look like a hideous jumbled disaster.
See, this is therapeutic. Everyone (as I talk to myself) be patient. Maybe I will get the hang of this blog stuff and it won't look like a hideous jumbled disaster.
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