Feels A Little Like High School...

I have to confess: having this blog feels a little like high school all over again.

I'm excited to read new blogs and make new blog friends. I'm amazed that I have a new community of people that I am now in contact with. I love checking out new blogs and seeing the unique, creative designs that bloggers come up with. That gets me giddy because I love good design. I am constantly showing different blogs to my Design Director hubby and pointing out what I like in each (it's a very cool perk to have a graphic designer as a husband).

And yet, there are moments, where like back in high school, I feel left out. On the fringe. I've made some wonderful blog friends, but I still feel like the girl who wants to be a part of the "accepted" cool group but can't find a way to get in. I'm not cool enough to have people read my blog or if they read, comment. I'm not important enough.

I find myself dealing with the temptation of trying to make my blog cooler and more like everyone else's. I find myself wondering if there are some hidden blog rules that I don't know about that I'm breaking - could that be the reason why I'm on the fringes? At least this is the thought that runs through my mind in moments.

I find myself wondering if I should change my blog and essentially and aspects of myself (since my blog reflects my personality) in order to be read more/accepted more/important enough to warrant a comment. Maybe I'm too personal - not universal, enough? (Feel free to add your 2 cents, on this one). Should I focus more on being cooler and more appealing - writing on more popular, provocative topics? Hmmm...maybe. Is that the answer?

Even as I write this, I can think of a couple blog friends who I wish would comment on my blog more often or if at all. When they don't I can't help but wonder if I'm just not important or "cool" enough for them to spend the minute or two to read or even comment. Especially when I see their comments on other people's blogs - you know, the ones that have the over 400+ followers.

Hubby reminds me from time to time why I started this blog in the first place: as a place to share my thoughts, to chronicle my life, to keep my writing consistent so that my writing can get better. Most importantly, so that I can stay in my element, as a writer, because honestly writing is so much a part of me, like (this is slightly corny) breathing. But really, like breathing. I need to blog or journal of some sort, so that I remain in that element. I need something like this to ground me since the days can be a whirlwind of busyness and distraction with things that are so far from writing.

So why then do I at times find myself getting caught up in wanting to be a part of the blog "in-crowd" if there is such a thing. I wouldn't know. I feel so out of it sometimes - totally naive of the blog world -that I have moments where I think I'm missing something. I mean, I still don't even know how to put links in my posts. Like I would love to give big love with links to their blogs to the blog friends that have been amazing and encouraging to me like Cheryl at Mommypants and Mrs. M. at Mothering Mayhem, Alexandra at Good Day, Regular People, and Lady Jennie at A Lady in France to name a few but I still don't know how to put links in my entries. How do I do that, by the way? What is this girl missing?

So are these the insecurities that come with being a new blogger or is there some truth to the idea of a blog "in-crowd"? Is this part of the reality as I navigate through these blog waters or is this all in my mind? (Feel free to answer, you more experienced bloggers).

In the meantime, like in high school, I'll just keep moving along, interacting and making new friends where I can and spending time with current ones as I battle my insecurities. Letting the excitement of visiting blogs - current and new ones - and checking out their unique designs and wonderful posts be my motivation as well as the satisfaction and fulfillment I get when I write and share one of my own posts.

Because you know, that makes me giddy. And "giddy" trumps "insecurity" any day.

Has anyone felt like this when it comes to blogging? Is there a blog "in-crowd"? How do you cope with the insecurities? Definitely share, this new blogger would love to know...

What Kind Of Plane Does A Rabbit Fly?

“Mommy, what kind of plane does a rabbit fly?” 5 year old Nate asks. He wiggles excitedly.


Dana smiles wearily as she watches him. He couldn’t wait to tell her. It was obvious. She looks over at 3 year old, Reese, sitting across from Nate, rolling his tanker truck around in a circle. The very opposite of his brother, Reese is quietly engrossed in his own game.


Dana sighs and shifts ten-month old, Ian, from her left hip to her right. She dips her head out of the way of her baby’s chubby, wet-from-drool fingers as he tries to reach for her long braid.


“What?” she asks as she reaches up into the kitchen cabinet and pulls out the blue box of pasta off the shelf.


“A hare plane!” Nate shouts, cracking himself up. His laughter echoes throughout the room as he spins in a circle. “A hare plane!” He then starts jumping up and down.


“Ahhh…” Dana says, sighs again and turns back to the stove.


Of course - she thinks. She smiles as she moves the pot of water she filled five minutes ago onto the stove. She then turns around again and faces her excited son.


“Very funny joke,” she says, trying to be encouraging as she dips her head, yet again away from her baby’s fingers. If only she could put him down for a few minutes without him fussing – she thinks.


She watches as Nate continues jumping up and down all over the family room like a deranged monkey. He begins traveling the length of the small family room. He stops abruptly and screams “Whoa!” as he steps on a small red fire truck toy. The truck pops up from under his foot, sails across the space and hits Reese in the forehead, bouncing off and finally landing on the floor next to him.


Reese freezes, then grabs his forehead with both hands. His eyes scrunch close as his mouth goes wide.


Dana sighs inwardly. No.


“Aaaah….” Reese begins to wail. “Aaah!”


“Ugh,” Dana groans.


She walks away from the stove and out of the kitchen as Ian yanks her braid.


“Ow!” she shouts.


“Get it, Mommy, get it? A hare plane.” Nate starts spinning around in a circle again.


Dana places the baby in his playpen, delicately untangling his fingers from her hair.


She walks over to the wailing Reese and pulls him into her arms. She starts rocking him gently.

“It’s okay, sweetie. It’s okay.” She gently moves his hands away and rubs the injured spot. She then leans forward and kisses it.


“Mommy? A hare plane! Isn’t that funny?” Nate asks. “Isn’t it?”


“Yes!” Dana says, impatiently. “I get it. I get it. Nate, you just hit Reese in the forehead with the fire truck. Can you say ‘sorry’?”


“Sorry, Reese! A hare plane, Mommy. A hare plane!” He cracks up again, his laughter filling the room as Reese’s wails grow louder, competing with the laughter as if in a dueling sound war.


The wall of sound surrounding her, Dana sighs again and shakes her head, as she continues to rock the wailing Reese. She looks towards the clock on the microwave oven.

Only two hours to bedtime – she thinks. Two hours – please come quick!

This post is in response to a writing prompt over at Red Writing Hood.



Just A Little Personal...

I've decided to embark on another 365 project: a personal journal. I have been journaling for years and have somewhat been on hiatus for the last 6 months - writing down entries here and there on my home computer. I have a file for just such entries. But today, on February 1st, I've decided to recommit myself to keeping a daily journal once again - one that I will write in every day. One that will reflect my daily life - the ups and downs; the blessings, the storms (hopefully not too many of those); the little moments which I believe I can only preserve if I write them down every day. The difference with this new journal is that I'm putting it in a blog which means my eyes won't be the only ones seeing it from time to time. Somehow I believe it will help me stay consistent keeping my journal in this format. I also believe that what is the point of living life, if you can't share it.

So a warning: I may do just that - from time to time, share some of those personal journal entries here, on my main blog.

Below is the first entry: Day 1 of my 365 personal journal:

Day 1 February 1, 2011: 3 Degrees Below Zero

We’re below zero here today. It’s so cold that school districts around Colorado have closed their schools. Ours - the Boulder Valley School District - has followed suit so both my 5 year old and my 3 year old are home from school. It’s kind of like a snow day but moe because it’s a cold day.

Of course while I was in the midst of writing this, my 3 year old who is supposed to be napping, runs out of his room and to the table where my 5 year old is playing games on the computer. I’m in my bedroom wondering why he is out of his. He can only leave it if it’s for one reason: he needs to go potty. I leave my bedroom to ask him what is going on and no sooner do I say the word ‘potty’ he pees on himself. That familiar frustration sweeps through me and I can’t help but be annoyed. I really don’t want to be annoyed. The fact that he didn’t go straight to the bathroom is the primary source of my annoyance.

“You know better!” are the words that come out of my mouth. I know better too not to get too upset but then I do. Of course there were tears on his end and guilt mixed in with a little frustration on my end. My frustration aimed partly at myself for getting so upset at my child - especially this child who is the most happy-go-lucky child 95% of the time. I don’t want to do anything to ruin that joyful disposition of his.

He’s back in his room now - most likely sleeping. All is quiet on that side of the house as my 10 month old sleeps in his room (thank goodness!). My 5 year old is asleep in my bed across from me. All is quiet on this side of the house as well. A rarity. Thank you, God for these unexpected quiet moments. I’m tempted to unhook the phone. These quiet moments are too special to ruin.

-----

Chelsea "George" Bates

Chelsea "George" Bates is an almost 15 pound gray striped Calico cat who's length (when stretched out) is longer than my 10 month old and who's width about rivals that of the same 10 month old. And though my 10 month old is in the 25th percentile for babies in his age group, he is not by any means small. Nor is said cat. She is 'George' because our oldest son recently felt like she needed a middle name.













We've had Chelsea for almost 9 years. She was our first "baby" acquired a year after hubby and I got married. I convinced him over IM Chat to have us take her. One of our good friends - her 'mother" needed to give her away because she was moving in with a roommate who was deathly afraid of cats. It was a moment of weakness for him. Not only did I blindside him over IM while he was at work, I threw in the "she would get rid of our mouse problem in our apartment" reason. A pause - he relented- and I quickly disconnected from Chat so that even if he had second thoughts, he couldn't respond.


So we took in our first baby. The baby who was skittish of men and very temperamental. "The 'I love you, I hate you' type of temperamental. It took her a month to even walk up to the hubby and we had to show our friends who came in to care for her while we were away on our first anniversary trip a lot of love, because she had been a major pill to them while we were gone -- hissing, scratching, swiping at their legs. And so this personality of hers continued throughout the years.


Affectionately nicknamed "Psycho Kitty" due to her previous rep, she settled in with us and became ours. And even when we moved from our NYC apartment to New Jersey, and had the opportunity to give away the psycho, overeating, oversensitive, needy feline, we ended up bringing her with us. She sat in between our two friends in the U-Haul truck hissing and yowling all the way from Manhattan to Central New Jersey. She continued to be with us as we welcomed into the world our first son, as we moved to Pennsylvania a year later, as we had our second son a couple of years later and then moved out to Boulder, CO, four weeks after second son's birth. She rode with us in the packed car -- in her carrier in the front seat surrounded by our "stuff" as we drove through 100 degree heat across country. And after three more years of her intense attitude and neediness, she is still with us.



You know, what would we change about our cat that is constantly in the dog house because of some pee or poop incident? Though she drives us totally insane and we really feel like we want to give her away just about every other day, I realize that there isn't really anything I would change about our constant (now-neglected due to three little boys) companion - our first baby - our gorgeous household accessory.


Except...maybe her appetite. I mean really, I literally have four constant hungry mouths to feed. It's never ending...



* This post was in response to a prompt from Mama Kat’s Writer’s Workshop: if you could change anything about your pet, what would it be?

So What's the News?

“So what’s the news?” he asked.

“The news?” I asked.

“Now don’t tell me you didn’t see the news last night? Or the night before last? It was all over the weekend edition.”

“You know, I hadn’t. Don’t watch it. But yeah, the Rev. Dr. Bridges."

“They thought it was a heart attack. But it came back to be murder."

“Now who would want to do a thing like that?”

“Huh, ho, the real question is ‘who wouldn’t want to do a thing like that?’”


“Really?”


“Yes, indeed. He had built up a bunch of little nay-sayers around here. Though eloquent in his preaching, he was militant in his actions.”


“Wow."


“Lauren’s been questioned.”


“Yeah, so have I.”


“Oh yeah? That’s right! You were here Friday night. I thought you leave at 6?”


“I do, but I was working on a report that night that kept me later.”


“Yeah. Well, you know Ed Lorton is a suspect.”


“Coach Lorton? Why?”


“Why not? After his scandal.”


“Well, after his scandal, you figure he’d want to lay low. I mean, like he needs more attention,”


“Yeah, but a desperate man will do a desperate thing. His entire 14 year career here as basketball coach of one of the most well known teams in New York City snuffed away in a matter of days.”


“Well, he did that to himself.”


“Well, not entirely. The Rev. Dr. Bridges hammered the nails into Lorch’s coffin to make it secure. Coach Lorton will never work with this team or in this city again, even after the investigation is over. Bridges made sure of that.”



This post is in response to a writing prompt over at Red Writing Hood.

On This Day of My Birth...

...I can't believe...


...that I'm one year more than 40. When I was 12, I couldn't see beyond 30


...that I'm a mother of 3 ( I got my 12 year old wish)


...that I'm living in one of the most beautiful places on Earth ( so far from my urban roots)


...that I'm driving now ( a total 180 for me - born and raised on public transportation).


...that I get to do what I love. Write. And pursue a career in it (thanks to a supportive and loving husband)


...that I have a group of family and friends who genuinely care for me


...that I am married to a wonderfully sweet guy who is my best friend and loves me despite of who I am

AND

...that I have a spiritual center that I can turn to at all times and that helps keep me from totally losing it. Totally. Three letters: G-O-D, and he's technically a "who".


On this day of my birth I can sit back (as I'm doing now in my SUV as my infant thankfully sleeps soundly in his car seat. Aaah... 15 quiet minutes to myself!) and count my blessings.


Nice.

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