DUCKS VS BEAVERS

Ducks vs. Beavers

On a day like today I thought it only appropriate to write about the pending civil war game between the University of Oregon Ducks and the Oregon State Beavers.

It is amazing to me how as fans we are so excited and so proud of our teams, on the way to dropping my daughter off at preschool, I was surrounded by cars with flags, stickers, even license plates showing allegiance to one team or another and it got me thinking…

There is nothing in this world that people brag or support as much as sports teams. They indeed unite us but they also divide us. I suppose this is a wonderful thing, bringing people together, supporting our economy and giving people plenty to talk about and of course argue about.

As I saw the multitudes of black and orange and yellow and green I also thought…how sad. How sad that this is what we choose to honor, this is what we vote with our dollars as the most important aspect of our day, week, month, year and for some people - their lives.

Imagine if the people in this nation supported other causes the way we support our sports teams. Imagine if we all decided to support feeding the hungry, sheltering the homeless or even our elementary school children and their education and future success the way we support our sports teams. What an amazing culture we would live in. I just wonder what it would be like to see 15,000 cars on the road with stickers that shouted out “Stop hunger.” Or “support our troops”, even if we are totally against the real war going on in this world. All of the dollars going to supporting causes that really matter, that change lives, that give life… it’s almost unfathomable to think of the change that could occur.

I of course am not saying we should give up our allegiances, I’m saying, let’s put it into perspective. I’m saying maybe just maybe we should support something that will matter 50-100-1,000 years down the road.

So do we have backward morals? Are we so obsessed that we seriously spend millions a year on watching a simple game? What would happen if we as Americans and fans decided to support something more important? Would we lose out on the bonding and camaraderie that sports give us? Would we gain something so much more valuable, that could affect so many more lives in a positive way?

I know, I know, why am I worried and actually spending time writing this? It’s just a game, it’s important to support our teams… I’m probably over thinking it… why can’t I just have fun and let loose and root for my team?

I guess it’s because to me, it is just a game. I know that the money spent per ticket to this event could feed a family for at least a week. I know that a soldier overseas could use a gift from home; I know that hundreds of thousands of people in this nation don’t have homes, let alone TVs to watch this simple game on. I know that if we used all the money from ticket sales, advertising, stadiums, even beer purchases we could build literally thousands of orphanages around the world.

Sounds a bit dramatic to some, I’m sure, and maybe the benign nature of sports is something good to keep us enthusiastic about life, but maybe if we were using our resources to support causes that make a difference we wouldn’t need sports to fill that void.

It’s just a thought; don’t let it offend you if you are a die-hard fan. Just maybe when you’re watching the game tonight think about all those people in the stands and all the people around the state who are united by a simple game… and ask yourself, “why can’t we get this excited about supporting causes that create change? Why are we choosing to ignore all the horrible things that we could change in just one day if we were dedicated to doing so?”

I know it’s easier to drink our beer, wave our foam fingers and paint our faces, I know it’s fulfilling to watch our team make it to the end zone…and I also know that something has to be missing, deep down, that allows us to choose supporting our sports teams more than we support other human beings around the world.

What Happened To Yogi?

After posting my last blog about our dog Indiana, I received quite a few questions as to the whereabouts of our dog Yogi.

I should start at the beginning so I make more sense, this is quite an emotional topic for me, filled with both laughter and so many tears, but ultimately it is a story worth sharing.

We adopted Yogi when I was 19; I had just had the majority of my right ovary removed, due to a large cyst. Due to all the scar tissue my doctor wasn’t confident in my ability to have children. Hearing this news was devastating for me, I had always dreamed of having children, and thus went into a deep depression. Part of my healing was adopting a pet, to fill the void left from the potential of not being able to have my own children.

Yogi was a German Sheppard- Chow Mix; he looked just like a dingo. In his kennel at the shelter he was the only dog who wasn’t barking, he was huddled in the back of the kennel, leaning against the cement wall, and looked as though he had lost all hope. He had tufts of hair missing, from a bad case of mange. His paws were blistered and hairless, due to being left in his own feces for far too long, indeed any amount of time in one’s faces is too long! His nose was scabbed over, and scars dotted his golden face. This dog had been through the wringer; even with his thick coat we could see his ribs. I instantly fell in love with this abused and beaten being.

We took him home, and quickly realized that he had major issues. For one he was terrified of all men, brooms, fishing poles, anything long and slender seemed to instantly create panic in him, clearly his past was filled with torture from some sort of stick or rod. When our first visitor came to meet him, we realized that he was a submissive wetter; as soon as someone would reach down to pet him he would wet everywhere. He couldn’t tell the difference between a loving hand and a hand being used to hurt. He was a biter, never an attacker but when he was afraid he would snap, when he did this you could tell he felt bad, but his fears were obviously overbearing and controlling his actions.

With all of these negatives one might think that we would hate him. It was a lot of work keeping him inline, and a lot of times he got out of line, but for David and me every time one of his flaws would shine through we would instead place that hatred to the owner who had abused him. Yogi deserved nothing but our love, his previous owner was the one we would curse beneath our breath.

Yogi eventually became part of the family, soon Indiana joined us and they were best friends, constantly wrestling and playing, we took them everywhere, they were our children. They were the perfect team also, I recall several occasions where one would stand watch and distract David and I while the other ate something off the counter. Yogi was a chewer too, everything from my friends mouth guard to my underwear (still don’t know what was up with that!)

Six years and a lot of surgeries later I became pregnant. We were both shocked, what a wonderful miracle. I know most people think, “Oh once kids arrive the dogs don’t matter.” That wasn’t true for us, we included the dogs in everything still and it was wonderful, until Madi started crawling. Yogi had nipped at her once and so I began separating them whenever she was on the floor, this worked well for a long time, until one day when she had first learned to walk, she chased him with the remote, in a panic he turned on her and grabbed a hold of her cheek, leaving a huge gash. Yogi immediately cowered, knowing he had messed up, just not realizing how badly.

At the doctor’s office we were informed that since he bit her on the face we would need to get rid of him. However this task was made more challenging by the fact that he was now “un-adoptable.” We quarantined him for the required two weeks and made arrangements to have him put to sleep. He was twelve years old, had a few health issues and the thought of him biting someone else’s child, or worse freaked us out. The entire time I still felt as though it was his abuser that deserved this death sentence. Due to him being a “fear biter” we were told by many trainers that we couldn’t train it out of him, nothing would stop him when he was terrified.

I made arrangements for him to be cremated; I couldn’t stand the thought of seeing his lifeless body. David took him and held his paw as the injection was done, he watched him drift off. I can’t even fathom the pain he still feels over that moment. My only reassurance was that he was in a better place now. A place where he couldn’t hurt anyone, a place where no one could hurt him.

We thought this was the worst part of the experience, we were wrong.

A few days after David took Yogi to the vet the vet’s office called me and asked when I was going to pick up Yogi’s body. I was confused and frustrated, because the mortuary was supposed to pick up his body to cremate him. The vet’s office had no record of this (even though the same person who was calling me was the person I had made the arrangements with several days earlier). She said she would call the mortuary and get it taken care of.

A half hour later I received another call from the vets office, this time the girl asks me “where is Yogi?”

“What? What do you mean? You have him; you just called me and told me that I hadn’t picked his body up!” I yelled and cried into the phone.

“Oh, well my check list says he hasn’t been picked up, but I went into the cooler and I can’t find his body.”

“WHAT?!” I growl. A string of curse words flew out of my mouth so quickly I couldn’t catch them between the tears.

“Let me check with the vet.” She hangs up on me.

Five minutes later she calls me back again.

“Shauna we figured out what happened, the vet thought Yogi was abandoned and decided since no one had picked him up that he would give him a proper burial. He has a small graveyard on his property and buried him there.”

“WHAT?! Why would the vet think he was abandoned if you have a checklist saying he was to be cremated? Why wouldn’t the vet call us, as you did this morning to tell us to come pick him up?” By this time I was so angry, so upset and emotionally exhausted from the loss of my dear friend and now the loss of his physical body that I was giving up. She calmed me down and finally I just accepted that he was buried in a wonderful small graveyard, somewhere on the vet’s property. I was feeling better, I called David and told him what had happened, to which he replied,

“That’s strange the mortuary just called me and wants their $100.00 for cremating him.”

David contacted the vet and told him to get his shovel; we wanted our dog’s body back! After some quick side stepping on their part he called the mortuary, after a royal lashing to both (and after the vet spoke with the mortuary) he was told that Yogi’s name tag must have fallen off his body in the cooler, that the mortuary did pick him up, he was cremated, and this was all just a confusing mix up. Whatever.

Trying to appease me, David came home with what we are told are Yogi’s ashes. It is strange that a 40 pound dog’s ashes would be triple the weight of my grandmother’s, but whatever, we were just wanting closure. I still have the box, haven’t had the heart to bury it yet, I’m half tempted to open it and see if it’s just burnt up newspapers, not that I could really tell.

I do know this though, as much as I feel guilty for not being able to keep Yogi, I’m confident in this: He had a lot of good years with us, never once was he beaten or whipped. He didn’t go hungry, his skin and scars were physically healed. We couldn’t heal him from his emotional scars, as much as we wanted to, that wasn’t our purpose, our purpose was to show him that humans could be loving, gentle and trusted. I know his rational side trusted us; it was his terrified side that felt the need to lash out.

I continue to pray to this day that he is in Heaven and that Jesus is healing those emotional scars, perhaps Yogi has forgiven us and his previous owners, I still don’t know which was worse, putting him through misery as they did or taking him out of it? This question will haunt me forever, but perhaps it's that haunting that provides my answer.

Indiana Bones Schober

Indiana is a German shorthaired pointer, a hunting dog. We’ve had the pleasure of his presence for ten years now. Our journey with Indi started when Dave and I bought our first house in Eugene. We couldn’t afford the breed so we put in a request at the local humane society, “If a GSP comes in, please hold him for us.” We weren’t hopeful at first, they are very expensive dogs, but one spring when we came back from a trip to Mexico there was a message on the answering machine telling us that our second “adopted son” was waiting for us at the humane society. We quickly loaded our dog Yogi into the car and headed to meet his new brother.

Indiana is a strange dog, and as I continue to get to know him I find more and more strange things about him. For starters he’s a talker, not a barker but a moaner, a growler and a whimperer. He cries the moment he is left alone, scratch the sweet spot on his neck and he growls with frightening delight. The first night at our house he jumped on the couch and cuddled to my feet, when I began petting him he growled so ferociously that Dave threw him off the couch, afraid he was going to attack me. It wasn’t until we saw this “talking” more and more that we realized that was his way of saying, “Oh I like that, give me more!”

The name Indiana was given to him by his previous owner, but his middle name Bones was given to him by our then 2 year old nephew, Ben. We took Indiana to introduce him to the family and Ben and Indi chased each other for hours, Ben calling out “Indiana Bones” as he ran behind him, we quickly fell in love with the name, especially since Ben had thought of it, and have eagerly embraced it since that day.

Indiana is a crazy dog, he’s old and cranky, but the moment he sees the reflection of a light or the shimmer of glitter he is suddenly 2 years old again. He can jump over 10 feet in the air when encouraged with a flashlight chase along the wall, and he can curl up into the tiniest, ball when snuggled against my feet, under the covers at night. He’s one of those personalities that you never get used to, that are always surprising you and making you laugh.

For example, since we moved Lilly into Madi’s room every night when Dave and I go to bed we walk in and check on the girls, Indi has taken it upon himself to do the same, he sniffs each one of them before coming in and climbing under our covers. The smallest noise from either of them and he is up in a jiff to check things out, and heaven forbid someone he doesn’t trust come between him and his girls; he will protect them to the death.

Last night we had a huge thunderstorm here, I always dread them and fireworks because of the panic it puts in Indi, but last night he was under the covers at our feet and a huge flash of lightning with thunder booming behind it, woke us all up. Indi freaks out, jumps up (still under the covers) and jumps off the bed, looking like a short fat ghost as he tried to figure out which way was which, covered and now tangled in our comforter. He knew he wanted to get to the girls, but couldn’t figure out how to. He wrestled and barked in that comforter for what seemed like ages as we tried to calm him (and shut him up so that the girls would go back to sleep). After finally freeing him he ran into the girls’ room, sniffed them both and planted himself in-between Madi’s bed and the crib. He was clearly terrified, but his natural instinct was to protect them. It amazed me. With every boom of thunder he shook and whined, but his rear end stayed planted in their room, ready to strike if he needed to.

This dog that sounds so ferocious lets Madi play doctor on him, standing still as she listens to his heart, and wraps the blood pressure cuff around his ankle. She dresses him in dress up clothes and forces him to sit at her small table and have tea parties. He is an amazing creature, so patient, calm and interested in her. Indiana is her best friend, it’s a wonderful thought, warms my heart, but as the new year approaches and I realize he will be turning 12 years old, my heart aches for the fear that soon his time with our family may be coming to an end. He’s getting old, his joints hurt, he sleeps most of the time now, he’s developing fatty growths all over which have to be removed annually now, and his face is quickly being consumed by grey hair.

I’m learning to embrace every day with Indiana, it is so apparent to me that his time is limited. It also makes me appreciate the fact that none of us are guaranteed anything, we don’t really know if we have another 24 hours on this earth. When I think of this I wonder why God only allows dogs to live 12-16 years. They are simply the best animal on the face of the planet, and maybe I guess that could be the reason, they have so much to teach us humans, and dealing with our ridiculousness must get exhausting as they see us do the same things, make the same mistakes over and over, only to forgive us over and over. They are so wonderful, and so as a tribute to Indiana, whom I pray has at least 5 more years with us….

Dear Lord, please help me be the person Indiana thinks I am, surely with enough practice I will deserve even a fraction of the love he has unconditionally given over the last decade. Amen.

Ten Years

10 Years…

My husband and I have actually been together for over 12 years, but married “only” 10 years. I’m actually not amazed, just grateful that I found my soul mate at such a young age.

I feel so blessed that we beat the odds, most couples who marry so young don’t make it ten years. There is good reason for this, it isn’t easy becoming an adult while you’re tied to another person who’s becoming an adult also, there are a lot of changes that take place in between high school, college, first careers, pregnancy, and parenthood, but hopefully the changes while feeling scary and uncertain can strengthen a relationship if they are handled with care.

What is really surprising to me is what love means to me now as an adult. See when I was in grade school “love” was the cutest boy in class, who hopefully wasn’t too mean. In junior high it was the cute boy who let me wear his jacket, and whose name was most likely scrawled all over my binder. In high school I mistakenly thought it was the guy who brought me a beer at a party. I did meet Dave at a party, but I soon found out that he wasn’t like any of the other guys.

I could go on and on about my husband and how wonderful he is, I could tell you the story of how we met, but instead I want to share with you a glimpse of how life after 10 years of marriage is for Dave and me.

It’s stressful and wonderful, it’s exhausting and exciting, it’s everything and nothing like I thought it would be.

This morning I woke up to the sound of a crying baby and a four year old tapping me on the shoulder as she danced her “I have to go potty” dance. I grudgingly roll out of bed, accidently kicking my dog in the face, the mean “morning” Shauna groans, “That’ll teach him for sleeping under the covers on my feet all night!” I take Madi potty, while shushing Indiana who is now growling at me, (our dog is 10 and very cranky in his old age.)

Needless to say, by the time I actually get to go to the bathroom, brush my teeth or even look in the mirror it’s close to 8:00 am. Between feeding the crying baby, hot chocolate for Madi, taking Indi out and of course figuring out a method of getting caffeine into my body, well it’s just a little crazy around here.

By lunch I’m awake and happy, Dave is on his way home, I haven’t made anything yet, but he doesn’t seem to care as he walks into the crazy messy house and begins his usual conversation with Madi on how her morning was.

By the time Madi and I are done with school work, crafts, playing, and housework I’m beat, but it’s time for dinner, on a lot of nights Dave will cook, he is by far a better chef than I, and he loves it, so I gladly relinquish that duty.

After putting the kids to bed, Dave and I both collapse on the couch, exhausted from our busy day. We talk and laugh and plan what we’ll do the next few hours of freedom we have. Most nights (when it’s not raining) we’ll go out on the deck and watch the sun set. I’ll notice he’s drinking my water and ask for it back, he’ll inform me it’s HIS water(I left mine inside)…but then hand it to me anyway.

This probably sounds insanely boring to most people, in fact a lot of nights Dave and I reminisce about the college days when our biggest dilemma was a term paper or exam we hadn’t studied for. But to me, this routine, this daily progression of life is wonderful. It’s consistent, it’s routine, it’s peaceful, and I love it.

So at night when Dave and I finally make our way up stairs, we look in on the girls and suddenly all the stress of the day melts away, although we are both silently whispering “don’t wake up, don’t wake up.” And as we close our eyes for the night and lift the covers trying to coax Indiana to come on the bed to warm our feet I think of the irony and how confused my dog must be. In the morning I’m kicking him (on accident) growling at him, in the evening I’m begging for him to warm my feet, he doesn’t seem to mind though, because that’s how it is when you love unconditionally, you forgive without even knowing you did, and you do whatever makes the other person happy ultimately knowing that when they are happy you’ll be happy too. So Indiana jumps under the covers and curls up on top our feet.

Tonight is different though, Lilly starts crying and wakes Madi up, somehow they both end up in our bed, and Dave and I are squished to the sides, hanging on as to not roll off. Indiana is now comatose and WON’T move a muscle, he’s sprawled across the bottom half of the bed on his back with his feet standing straight in the air. Dave and I take note of the situation; the dog, the kids (who for reason sleep diagonally, brilliantly dominating their territory in our bed) and us, each hanging on to our side, uncomfortably grasping the top of the mattress so we won’t fall and wake everyone up and have to start all over again. We silently giggle at one another; he blows me a kiss as he shakes his head at the ridiculousness of our situation. And I sigh (quietly of course) because I know even with the bruises I’ll have tomorrow from Madi kicking me, my chronic back ache, and the knowledge that now I have to pee but am too scared to get up and wake everyone…

Yes, this is my life, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Our Bucket List

I don’t know if it’s because I’m turning 30 this year, or if it’s just that now that I’m done having my babies maybe I want to know that there is something more out there, besides laundry and diapers. It’s not that I don’t enjoy my kids, or that I’m not grateful for them, it’s just that I still want to know that there is an adventure waiting for me, that my identity isn’t totally illustrated by the word mother. Wow, I so don’t want to sound like I am ungrateful for my kids, I know how blessed I am, so let me get to the point….

Dave and I have made a bucket list over the last twelve years. It isn’t in any particular order, just a list of things we would like to do before we kick the bucket. I know it seems silly to have made a list at our young age, but really we aren’t guaranteed 24 hours, knowing me I could close my computer, stand up, trip on the laptop cord and impale myself on one of my kids’ toys. Death is always waiting, just right around the corner, the question is what corner and when will I turn it?

I understand that I probably sound a little morbid here, or at the very minimum extremely crazy, but really there is so much I haven’t done, and haven’t seen. So Dave and I figured, why wait until we’re old, let’s get started now when we can still physically enjoy what this world has to offer.

So here’s our list, some are silly, some are hugely important and others just are- well they are what they are, just things to do because for some reason or another they provide us with a sense of fulfillment in who we are.

So here goes:

Explore the Mayan Ruins

Explore Australia

Read the Entire Bible

Dog Sled in Alaska

Go to the Indi 500

Swim with Dolphins

Watch Grizzly Bears feed in Alaska

Salmon fishing in Alaska

Release endangered baby sea turtles at the Plananitos Sea Turtle Camp in Mexico

Visit Mt. Rushmore

Geocache in every state in the U.S.

See the Egyptian Pyramids

See the Coliseum in Greece

Go sport fishing on Islamorada in the Florida Keys

See Brett Farv play in the NFL

Hike the Grand Canyon

Do a guided Elk hunt in Arizona

Raft the Colorado River

Rent a house boat and explore Lake Mead

Hike the Garden of the Gods in Southern Utah

Do a 2 week backpacking trip in the Sky Lakes Wilderness

Hunt for diamonds at the Diamond National Park in Arkansas

Explore Glacier National Park

Explore Scotland

Drive the Alaskan Hwy, and then buy a bumper sticker bragging about it.

Build an orphanage in Haiti

See the world’s largest ball of yarn

Take a cross country road trip

Do an African Safari

See the Great Wall of China

Watch a Civil War reenactment, visit Gettysburg

See Niagara Falls

Throw a dart once a year at a huge wall map of the earth and travel to wherever the dart lands

Visit Normandy

See Tunisia in Africa (where Grandpa Schober was during the war)

Renew our vows on a beach somewhere

Drink beer from real steins in Germany

Visit every State Park along HWY 101

Kayak the San Juan Islands

Ski Vale, Colorado

Visit Loveland, Colorado (Dave’s birthplace)

Zip line in Sequoia National Park

Sky dive

Catch fire flies in a jar

Visit Pearl Harbor

So this is just a start, and well, it’s plenty to keep us busy for the rest of our lives. It isn’t just about crossing things off this list, it’s about living everyday like it’s our last, it’s about showing up 100%, not taking anything for granted, and realizing that the feeling I get when spending a sick day with my girls, cuddled on the couch together, is just as important as the feeling I’ll get when I zip line through the canopy of the Sequoias…these are the fibers that we weave together to form our lives, our legacy. I want my girls to know that I valued every moment, because in the end the moments are all we have. They may be woven into 100 years, or 30 years. They may be messy and ragged, they may not make sense, and they don’t have to. Most of our lives don’t make sense until that final moment when our eyes are truly opened. As a very wise person once said, “Life should not be measured by the number of breaths we take, but by the moments that take our breath away.”

I hope that we will hit everything on our list; I hope that our journey is filled with everything we hope for, and a lot that we don’t…just to keep us on our toes. After all I bet the list God has written for us is much better than our own, He always plans so much BIGGER than we can ever dream.

May your list take your breath away…before your breath is taken away.

Friends.

Isn’t it funny how sometimes someone will come into your life, under strange, random circumstances, and at first you don’t really know why God has brought them to you, until you don’t have them around anymore?

A few years ago I had just graduated from the University of Oregon, I had my degree under my belt and I was gonna change the world. I was going to be a social worker, with an emphasis on working with foster children, everything from placement, to drug and alcohol counseling. It was my duty, and it may sound silly, but it was my “attainable dream.” My real dream was to write for National Geographic, but I soon found that I relied way too much on spell check to pass the introductory grammar class for the journalism major. I can’t spell to save my life, oh how grateful I am to live in the day of spell and grammar check!

Anyhow once I realized that social workers didn’t make enough money to pay the mortgage, I decided maybe I would put my dream off and get a job as a customer service rep at a landscaping company. I do love landscaping, after all. And so I started working and met one of the most wonderful, amazing people in my life.

I only worked there for 5 months, hardly enough time to learn computer systems, regional maps, or even how to transfer calls appropriately, but I did learn about love and true friendship. Catherine was from Australia, she’s funky, crazy and oh so wonderful, even in her procrastination at work I admired her so. But unfortunately I moved back to my hometown to start a new life, and then she moved back to her hometown in Melbourne, Victoria in Australia.

What is so strange about our relationship is that we have hardly spent time together, I mean physically, we’ve always had a distance between us, but it is only physical, in our hearts we are as close as close can be. True soul mates, if you will. Not in a sexual way, of course, but in a sisterly way. She’s the type of person who could come in and go to the bathroom while I was brushing my teeth. She’s the type that I would never feel uncomfortable changing my clothes in front of, or talking about my biggest, deepest, even darkest secrets of my life.

And so I wonder, why on earth are we on opposite sides of the earth? Well, life has just taken us in different directions, it’s not an easily answered question, I ponder it most days, well okay, I ponder it every day.

We may not be positive about the future, or even the present, but I know that we will always be best friends. I know that I can call on her any time of day (which is wonderful because for the life I me I still can’t seem to get the time difference) and I know that if I needed to see her immediately she would do anything in her power to get to me. I hope she knows that I would do the same for her.

Our country codes are different, and there is a 15 hour plane ride that separates us, but what is 15 hours and thousands of miles amongst best friends…not enough to keep them apart. And so as I write this I know the answer to my original question, God brought us together because I had a Catherine shaped hole in my heart, only she can fill it.

And so on today, her 31^st birthday I want to first thank her mother Liz for bringing her into this world, second, thank God for bringing her into my world, and third thank her for staying there.

Happy Birthday my dear, sweet Catherine, I pray we will get the opportunity to share the next 31 years of our lives together, and hopefully one day we can celebrate special days together, in the same country, state, city, town, home, room, and on the same couch…watching “The Village” even though I can’t really stand that movie, but well, that’s just how much I love you.

Fall Down Nine Times.

“Shake it off.” I say as I grip Madi’s arm.

“You’re doing great!” Lacey calls out behind her, she knows that once again Madison, my three year old, has fallen. And so, because we haven’t made a big deal of her repeated falling, Madison stands up, and once again starts hiking behind Lacey, happily continuing her monologue, knowing that with Lacey she has an eager audience who is truly interested in everything she has to say.

We might sound totally insane, indeed the response we got from other hikers along the 7.5 mile Paulina Lake Loop trail, was a mixture of awe and concern for the filthy three year old. (She wasn’t filthy when we started, but seriously…she’s three and we were camping…ok, Shauna’s version of camping, we rented a cabin, but it was “rustic”).

Madi did awesome though, we didn’t have to carry her once, she fell nine times, but got up ten, and to Lacey and I, that was all that mattered. That is one of the things I love about hiking, for a brief, (or long) period of time all one has to think about is putting one foot in front of the other. No phones ringing, no traffic, just the dust under your feet, the good ache in your thighs and knees and the occasional curious creature running across the path ahead of you.

I sometimes wonder if the life we’ve created is easier, or less taxing on our bodies. I think as Americans we have this view that all of the third world countries have no idea what “real life” is about. We have all of our luxuries, our cabins for camping, our computers for networking, and our cell phones that we never speak on since texting has become so popular. I think of this often when I’m paying bills. Recently Dave and I have decided to see exactly how many hours of work are required to purchase everything, for example we found out that Dave has to work 63 hours to pay our mortgage payment, about an hour to pay our power bill, and sadly wayyyyy too many hours to cover expenses like Wal-Mart and Costco. As I write the checks to pay the bills I think, “Wow Dave has to work a lot of hours to keep this family running.” I look around at the flat screen TV, the laptops that rest on our beautiful dining table, the granite countertops and I think… “Wow if we didn’t have all this, he might be able to be with us right now.” But instead he’s at work, happily footing the bill for our “life.”

It is a wonderful life, don’t get me wrong, I’m so grateful for all he does…please don’t send me comments saying I don’t know how lucky I am…believe I know how blessed I am! What I am saying is that when I’m hiking, when I’m watching my daughter and enjoying nature, I often imagine how life would be different if we didn’t have all the luxuries that actually create more stress, or work in our lives. How would life be if our only concern was catching our dinner, sitting around a camp fire, looking at stars, and having conversations that can exceed 160 characters?

I think we all crave this, or at least the people who I like to surround myself with do. We’re all outdoorsy, we understand the value of dirty feet, fish scales on our jeans and oh the joy of a hot shower after a long hike. Maybe that’s the part that is the best, the appreciation I feel for all of my blessings when I’m camping. Maybe it is the breaking down of the elements of daily life into simple tasks that allows me to shut down my mind enough to value the smell of my shampoo and the hot water that pours down my back. Maybe as much as I love my luxurious life I really long for more simplicity. More time to put my hands in the soil as I plant a hydrangea, the joy of plucking fresh basil off one of Dave’s basil plants in the window when I cook, the burn of being so out of breath after climbing a steep hiking trail… only to gasp in delight as I see the view of the lake from the peak beneath my feet.

See it’s not being ungrateful for the luxuries in life, it about being grateful for EVERYTHING! The good and the bad. It’s about being able to honestly tell my daughter that it doesn’t matter how many times you fall, as long as you get back up. It is all those falls, all those scratched knees and bruised egos that make us who we are, no matter the history or your excuse of the day for why you do things a certain way, we have to enjoy what IS. Because ultimately the WHY doesn’t matter. Ultimately it doesn’t matter how our childhoods were, or what our boss said to us the other day, we choose if we will allow those negative ingredients into our life lasagna. Or, as Morgan Freeman said in Bruce Almighty…”Sometimes it takes DARK COLORS to paint a masterpiece.”

So I’ll say it again to Madi, and I’ll say it to Lilly also; fall down nine times, get up ten. One foot in front of the other, and try to do it with a smile on your face...when you scrunch your eyes with a huge smile, you see the world differently.

HOME

I have always been passionate about adoption, always dreamt that one day I would be able to provide a home to a child that someone else for whatever reason didn’t feel they could raise themselves. I imagined picking that child up in my arms and giving them all of my love, giving them a sense of security, a sense of freedom. A freedom from the fears that plagued their little hearts, minds and souls. I wanted to give them a sense of place, oh how important that feeling is, to know, absolutely 100% that they belong.

I guess this dream formed when I was a child. My parents loved me very much, I was blessed with parents that stayed together, parents that tried their hardest to provide for us, even though it didn’t always work out the way they thought it would or should. But one thing that brought fear into my life was being in an uncertain world, one that sometimes seemed scary and unorganized. I don’t blame this on my parents, although in the past I’m sure I punished them for it.

See as a child I had an unrealistic expectation of HOME. To my inexperienced mind it was a beautiful house, decorated, and spotless. It was a place where the mom met you at the door with freshly baked cookies and a big glass of milk. It was a place that was filled with laughter, good food, and no anxiety. I always wanted that in my own life and vowed to provide that place for someone who didn’t have it, even if they were just a weekend guest.

But as life molds us, I’ve realized that HOME isn’t an address. I’ve had a lot of different addresses throughout my life, 23 as of today and probably soon 24. Oh I hope the number 24 will be my lucky number and I’ll finally, after 29 years, be able to put down roots. But what about all those millions of children all over the world that just wait… will they ever be able to put down roots? Will they ever feel as though they are HOME?

I guess that’s why adoption always meant so much to me. These children deserve to be in wonderful homes, they deserve to feel secure, and I always thought that I might be able to provide that for at least one of them.

But after our second daughter was born I realized that with the current adoption laws I wouldn’t be able to adopt in the near future, mainly because of a certain medicine I take to ease my anxiety. Ironically since I got help for my anxiety I am now deemed unsuitable to love children who are sitting, just waiting for someone, anyone, to love them. How ironic the system we’ve created is.

But for now I’m considering that a sign, that maybe I can create a sense of home for these children, even if it isn’t in my home. Maybe by supporting them in other ways I can create a HOME in their heart, and potentially ease their fears, comfort them and show them that they do in fact belong. That somewhere, someone thinks enough of them to provide them with shelter, food, security and hopefully love, even if it is from another continent.

And so I’ve decided that I want to build an orphanage, I know it seems like a huge task, but I’m feeling up to it. A nonprofit group called “The Global Orphan Project” helps people build orphanages all over the world. The initial cost is $5,000.00 to build an orphanage in Haiti that can house 10 children, amazing how far the dollar goes and how many lives can be altered by our giving. My goal now is to earn enough money off this blog to build that orphanage by 2012. I know that seems like a long time to raise $5,000.00 but I want it to all come from my writing and right now this blog is how I make money from writing. It’s not a lot but it’s a start.

I just pray that since I can’t physically take any of these children into my home, that I will be able to create a HOME for them, after all home is where the heart is, and from my life so far I know that my heart can be in multiple places at once.

Please check out “The global Orphan Project” at http://theglobalorphanproject.org

Twilight Anyone??

I’m a reader, I love books, and I love the places various tales take me. I usually stick with political thrillers or drama with just enough action to keep it a page turner. Authors like Vince Flynn and John Grisham are always safe bets for me. I do have an addiction though, when I start a good book it is hard for me to put it down, even to sleep. There are a lot of people out there like me, we’re readers. Then there are people who aren’t like me, they don’t enjoy being engrossed in a book, my husband is one of those. He always says, “Why read about something, when you can do it?” to which I reply,

“I doubt I’ll be a Navy Seal anytime soon, so I’ll let Mitch Rapp handle it.”

But lately a phenomenon has occurred, not only amongst teens but in adults and tweens, the “non readers” are reading, and they are finding that they LOVE the Twilight series. So after so many of my friends told me I HAD to read them, I started and wow was I amazed. I usually hate romance; ugh...gag me with a spoon! I don’t want to hear about other people’s sex lives or how true and deep they’re love is, and all the girly drama, no thanks. I’m a tom boy at heart.

But Twilight is different, and I can’t really explain it. Maybe it’s the fact that the main character is so plain, or believes that she is, maybe it’s that you begin to question everything about yourself and what you might do in her situation, or maybe it’s that the author seems to have a time portal and can take the reader back to their high school days.

I didn’t enjoy high school very much, and so in a lot of ways can relate to Bella, it helps that she is a total klutz, is extremely pale, hates the rain, doesn’t know a thing about fashion and would rather be in torn up sweat pants than a prom dress. That is just so me. But the more I talk with my friends about these books the more I see that we all can relate to Bella, and that’s nice because she is the girl you HAVE to love.

Another wonderful aspect of these books is what I like to call “the butterfly effect.” No, not the movie, but the fact that after 10 years of marriage, kids, diapers, lack of sleep, pure exhaustion, and well falling into the “comfort zone” of life, it takes a lot to give me butterflies in my tummy. You know how it is, you don’t have the questions and the excitement that you did in high school with your first kiss, “is he gonna hold my hand,” “should I ask this person to the dance?” all of those high school anxieties that at the time were so obnoxious are now just memories. Twilight brought me back though and gave me butterflies, and it was wonderful. It helps too that while I relate to Bella my husband is the perfect Edward, athletic, hot and well my soul mate.

So thank you Stephanie Meyer, for writing the first romance series that I love, for giving me butterflies, and for showing me that the comfort zone doesn’t have to be boring or a bad thing, especially if “your Edward” is willing to play along.

Messes Clean-Up, Memories Don't

There was a time in my life that I wanted everything perfect in my house. From no water drops on the facet in the bathroom, to the perfect tri-folded hand towel hanging off my oven, my vacuum tracks had to be parallel, my pantry in alphabetical order. To enter our home our company had to remove their shoes, and heaven forbid someone forget to use a coaster, I mean of all the atrocities!

Then I had kids…

I tried for a while to maintain my level of organization and cleanliness. But somewhere between colic, and brightly colored plastic toys strewn all over the living room I realized it didn’t matter. No matter how much I cleaned, the house would still look like a toddler lived in it, there was no hiding that, and I’ve actually come to embrace it.

Before I had kids there was no excuse to have a messy home, but now, while I still have the urge to have things spotless I understand that it just isn’t gonna happen, and with a 3 year old and 6 week old even if by the grace of God I did have the energy to get it done, well it would be destroyed in minutes, if not seconds. And so I’ve decided to not worry about it, well that’s a lie, I still worry about it, but I guess I don’t allow it to consume me as much I used to.

It isn’t just a surrender though, I haven’t given up a perfect home just because I’m exhausted, I’m also doing it for my kids. I know that sounds funny, but seriously I don’t ever want my kid’s only memories of me to be cleaning or yelling about someone making a mess. Recently when I asked a very good friend of mine how she got so much fun stuff done; along with all the work she said something to the effect of… “I view life like a great big pie fight, a big mess but so worth the clean-up.” And that is how she lives, involved in everything, exhausted not just from the work but from the fun. I want to be like that. And I want my girls to see me that way.

I want my girls to know that if they accidentally splatter cake batter on the ceiling because they raised the beaters before turning the mixer off, that it’s okay! I’m thankful they were making a cake! I want them to remember that nothing is more fun than getting covered in sand at the beach, even if that sand stays on my kitchen floor for a week. I want them to remember the perfect recipe for making a piñata, and that recipe includes getting the batter EVERYWHERE, it also includes adding a week to whatever drying time you had planned on.

Most importantly I want them to remember that they are so much more important than how our house looks. Their lives, their goals, their experiences will always trump a spotless counter top. Sure I’ll keep the house clean, it will be tidy, but will I say “no” to my daughter wanting to finger paint her next masterpiece? Absolutely not, because long after I’ve mopped up the paint and used stain stick on her clothes, I’ll have the image of her smiling face in my head as she sheepishly brings me her masterpiece and says,

“I made it for you, mom.”

Slave Labor

About a month ago David and I decided that Madi needed to start doing chores. Not like extensive chores, but daily things that help us out and keep her accountable. Some people think I’m pushing it, I mean she is only three, but I really feel like she needs to make contributions to the family and household. Maybe I should clarify so I don’t sound like a slave driver.

Madi’s daily chores are as follows:

Clean up toys downstairs and in bedroom

Feed Indiana

Brush teeth

Clear and wipe table after dinner

Clean bath toys after bath

So if Madi completes each task she gets a star on her star chart and if she gets all her stars then she gets a penny. I know cheap skate! But to her a penny is a “piggy” because it goes in the Piggy bank, she doesn’t understand the monetary value of it yet, so while we can we are trying to make the chores a habit without giving a three year old ridiculous amounts of money. I should add that at the end of every week if she has earned all her stars then she does get an additional dollar. Anyhow…

My point in sharing this is that the other day the most amazing thing happened, it was funny too which makes it that much more fun to tell you all about.

While I get breakfast ready Madi’s jobs are to let Indiana out, feed him and get his treat. Our dog usually only eats 2 cups of food per day, so when I continued to hear the sound of food being dumped into his bowl I had to ask what on earth she was doing.

“Madi, why are you putting more than one cup of food in his bowl?” I ask.

Her little head slyly pops up on the other side of the breakfast bar, and she responds, “If I fill his bowl ALL the way to the top then I won’t have to feed him again tonight.” She said it in a way that was sneaky but also like “I’ve just thought of the most ingenious way to save myself time!”

I was so proud of her. I should state that our dog isn’t the type to just gorge himself, he will eat what he wants then leave the rest for later, so I didn’t have to worry about him overeating. But I was really just beaming with joy…wow the chores are paying off! This was part of our point in having her take some responsibility, by sort of forcing her to do things she has to think of better and easier ways to get those things done.

I’ve decided that now when she does her chores and they aren’t quite to my standards, I’m going to focus on the outcome and not the method, I’m going to let her figure things out and use her noggin, because earning the “piggy” isn’t the real goal, it is training her to be a thinking and valuable member of our society.

So until my dog has gained an extra ten pounds I’m going to look the other way as she over fills his bowl, because I want to nurture the fact that she thought through the process and came up with a great idea to be more efficient.

Now if only our government thought like a three year old! (If I don’t have this baby this week maybe my next rant will be on that!)

Curious George: The Untold Story.

While reading this please keep in mind that I am 9 ½ months pregnant, translation “I need an attitude adjustment” but that attitude adjustment won’t come until this child comes out of me, so until then I reserve the right to be, well, a major pain in the rear!

I hate Curious George.

Wow that felt good to say. I hate him, that damn little monkey, oh he drives me insane! My 3 year old daughter on the other hand loves him, and I love that she loves him; I just can’t stand watching him and reading about him constantly. See I like the idea of him, I like the morals from all the stories, I think it’s great that they aren’t based on materialism, violence or any of that junk, but I am driven crazy by all the trouble he gets into. I know, I know, isn’t him getting into trouble the point? Yes it is. But I’m tired of it. He reminds me of a toddler that needs a time out and a good talking to. He is the unruly kid in the grocery store, pulling things off of shelves, damaging the produce, and spilling pasta all over the floor. He is the brat in the restaurant that continues to jump on the booth seat behind you, blowing milk out his straw and spilling food all over the floor. Oh man that monkey just ticks me off!

My daughter loves him though and so I can do silly things, like well write this posting, I give in and allow her to watch a few episodes, all along hoping she doesn’t get any crazy ideas like flushing huge toys down the toilet and flooding our entire house. While she watches my blood pressure rises, and every time I hear the damn Man with the Yellow Hat say “Be a good little monkey” I roll my eyes with a combination of anger and anxiety.

Okay, I’m crazy, I know. And now I’m sure you’re thinking that I probably need to be on some sort of anger plan or at least medication, I couldn’t agree more. But the truth is that the Man with the Yellow Hat is a horrible parent! George should have been taken away a long time ago! It is only because he is a monkey that the Man hasn’t been charged with numerous endangerment and neglect charges. I mean let’s think about this, the monkey obviously has the mental capabilities of a toddler, I’ll admit that his physical dexterity is more advanced, being a monkey and all, but he shouldn’t be left alone! And he certainly shouldn’t be sent to the store by himself only to end up at a construction site operating heavy equipment!

So I probably have a little more George experience than most people, my daughter is obsessed. We have all the George DVD’s, we have all the George books, she has stuffed George, she has bath tub George, she has George clothes, and I have George overload! Daily I see the recurring theme of the story and it goes like this:

• a) An event takes place.

• b) The Man with the Yellow Hat foolishly allows George to be by himself, warning “be a good little monkey.” GRRRRR…….

• c) George causes a huge mess, trouble, accident of some sort.

• d) George miraculously doesn’t kill anyone, including himself, although the property damage alone that this monkey causes over time must be greater than that of Hurricane Katrina.

• e) Someone else fixes the problem and George gets the credit.

• f) George is the hero! He has messed things up so badly that any ceasing in damage is enough to praise him.

• g) The Man with the Yellow Hat is never told he is a horrible parent and shouldn’t let the monkey out of his sight.

• h) And all in all it’s a pretty good day. (When George goes home.)

Maybe I’m jaded, maybe I need to put George away for a while, tell my daughter he is on vacation for a few months. I mean I’m not stupid I know George encourages kids to use their imaginations, to explore, to be well, curious. I just wish there was a little more accountability. I wish someone would pull the Man with the Yellow Hat aside and say “ya know if you would watch him he wouldn’t cause so much trouble.”

But isn’t that what we all want? In the store when we see that kid throwing a tantrum don’t we want to grab the parent and say “control your child!” In the restaurant as your being taken on the ride of your life, trying not to spill your clam chowder down your shirt as the kid on the other side of the booth bounces as if he’s on one of those inflatable castles, don’t you ever want to stand up and grab the kid and yell “KNOCK IT OFF!” Oh and the worst, those damn “Heelys wheel shoes,” had I ever rolled around people so rudely in a store or sidewalk my parents would have knocked me on my butt, telling me I was being rude.

So maybe it’s not just George, maybe it’s a whole generation of kids that tick me off, and maybe it’s a whole group of parents that need a good talking too. I know we’re all tired, I know we all have it rough, but seriously what will this next generation of kids look like as adults? As parents I kinda feel like we are dropping the ball, allowing our kids to be disrespectful little brats, and we just blindly carry on our adult lives thinking what the Man with the Yellow Hat must think, “Oh well he’s just a monkey, everyone will understand that I’m under a ton of pressure so I shouldn’t have to watch him that carefully. I mean no one will hold a monkey accountable.” Well guess what, Man with the Yellow Hat and all the parents out there that allow your kids to get away with ridiculous crap constantly, we’re all under stress! We are all tired! We all have seemingly more important things to do! So get over yourselves, grow up and take some responsibility. Tell your kids to knock it off! You can do it in a way that won’t hinder their growth, imagination, or hurt their self esteem. Let’s be parents, let’s tell our kids when they’re screwing up, if we don’t how will they ever learn to be contributing citizens?

Okay so my rant is complete. I should throw in that I am not exempt from this, I have a very strong willed child, so I know that sometimes no matter how hard you try as a parent, sometimes kids have a mind of their own and will do just about anything to make you look bad! And just so you know I’m sure the laws of Karma will come calling me soon, so my next post will probably be how my daughter somehow managed to burn down our neighbor’s house while roasting a marshmallow or something. I know I’ll pay for writing this! But if that does happen, I will be more than happy to take full responsibility for her actions and my own which led her to be in a situation where she could use a marshmallow as a weapon of mass destruction.

See I believe that the way to nurture and raise our kids effectively is to give them a good sense of accountability, and well that only happens through trial and error. So George I’m glad you’re curious, I’m happy that you seem to solve problems that you create in the course of a half an hour. I can only hope that when you make your little monkey noise at the end of every episode what you’re really saying is “wow, I’m so sorry, let me pay for the damages.”

Sometimes You Feel Like a Nut

I did something really stupid. I signed up for a daily notification from the FDA regarding all current food recalls, why is this dumb you may wonder… it’s dumb because almost every day I have between 5 and 15 emails from the FDA now telling me how incredibly horrible our nation’s food supply is! Okay not all the food is bad, but seriously I’m so frustrated, my anxiety has gone through the roof, every time I buy anything now I wonder, “will I get an email tomorrow telling me I’ve just poisoned myself by eating this?”

I am amazed at how many things get recalled, not only the peanut scandal, which still just pisses me right off, but then pistachios! This one really upset me. Since peanuts had been recalled, at our semiannual Costco shopping trip my husband and I splurged and bought “the biggen” which to non- David and Shauna people is our way of saying the mother load of all bags of pistachios! We love pistachios, and what is even better- our daughter loves pistachios. So being the brilliant folks we are we splurge and buy “the biggen” and put them in storage containers…it was all very Martha Stewart, err maybe closer to Rachel Ray, anyhow we were proud of ourselves. Not only are we being wise with our money, we are being healthy by eating nuts, and we are finally using the awesome food storage containers we bought a year ago that hadn’t been used yet...okay how many birds did I just kill?!

So we buy the nuts, we eat the nuts, we love the nuts, and then it happens, I get an email recall notice from the FDA, damn. So I being paranoid write Costco an email:

“We bought Pistachios at your Salem store, I don’t know the brand name, because I threw out the bag and put them into a storage container (had to throw that in, I wonder why on earth I am so proud of that?) Now I don’t know if these pistachios are part of the recall or not, and frankly I’m pregnant and craving pistachios, so if you could let me know it would be greatly appreciated.”(Yes I seriously wrote the part about being pregnant.)

I get a response the next day,

“The pistachios you bought are not part of the recall and have been cleared by the FDA.”

Thank you Costco. So we continue to eat the nuts, we continue to love the nuts, the nuts are almost gone… and in the mail comes a lovely notice from Costco.

“A product you bought on this date has been recalled; please return any unused portion to the Costco where you purchased the item.” WHAT????!!!!!!!

So first of all I was a little ticked off, after going to the lengths of emailing Costco and all, but I understood that the pistachio recall was in its early evolutionary process, if you will. Then I thought about how wonderful Costco was to send me a notice, I don’t think any other retailer would have done that, how thoughtful! But then I start to worry, see we loved the nuts so much that seriously out of a 6 lb bag there were like 2 cups left. What if they won’t let us return them? What if there is nothing wrong, I mean we ate almost the whole bag and nothing happened, surely we could polish these off also? But of course since I am pregnant and have a daughter we decide we will return them and since we couldn’t finish them we will be happy with getting our money back.

So I pour them into a bag, I bring the notice (we didn’t even have the receipt) and on our next trip to Salem I return the pistachios. I was embarrassed thinking that they would either say I couldn’t return them since there were hardly any left, or that there was no proof that these indeed were the supposed infected pistachios since I had disposed of the original bag. But good old Costco, God bless them, the girl behind the counter took my zip lock bag, took my recall notice and handed me a full refund! Wow! Costco has just scored major points with me, I couldn’t believe that they accepted literally less than probably 1/5 of the original purchase and still gave me a full refund.

Although I had a wonderful experience with Costco and the recall process I am still a bit perturbed about our food industry and the fact that it seems like every day I’m being bombarded with recall notices, I mean is no one paying attention to what is going on in the food processing plants? Do I need to start my own garden and raise my own livestock to guarantee that my family won’t get sick? Must I plant my own green olive trees so that the pimentos will not contain bits of broken glass? True story! Ouch!

Maybe, and a lot of people would argue that it would be a great idea to be totally self sufficient and take care of all of my food needs, I have thought about this plenty, and actually have grand plans of one day not being pregnant and being able to plant a garden once again… ahh dreams.

But I guess instead of being so freaked out by all the food recalls, I should be excited! I should be grateful that our government has a system to check the quality of our food, I should be excited that our government no longer (fingers are crossed) allows the dumping of potentially dangerous chemicals which will pollute the ground water and crops and various other elements of our ecology. I am thankful for that, but I am still concerned.

I’m concerned that our government is spending so much money and time on silly programs that they are ignoring a huge segment of important safety protocols like making sure that companies are producing safe foods BEFORE there has to be a recall, I mean wouldn’t that make more sense? I know there are so many companies and just simply not enough FDA employees to keep up, but maybe instead of throwing millions of stimulus dollars toward Hollywood, or millions toward investigating the pig odor in Iowa, maybe we should actually put money toward the FDA and keeping our food supply safe. I mean this isn’t rocket science… hmm with our government maybe that is part of the problem?

All I know is that I hope something will happen soon, maybe even something as foreign and crazy as more accountability from the food industry, because damn it I’m pregnant, and sometimes I feel like a nut and sometimes I don’t, but if they start recalling almonds I will seriously go postal, I mean is nothing sacred?!

Mirror, Mirror...

My husband and I were watching the news last night after we put our daughter to bed. We are horrible citizens and DVR our news so that we can fast forward through anything that doesn’t interest us, including the Portland traffic, because frankly, we live on the coast and well, we don’t care. I do want to say that I am so sorry for anyone living in Portland, when I do fast forward and see the lines and lines of cars on my TV screen I thank my lucky stars that I’m not sitting in it!

Anyhow… one of the stories we did watch was how Hollywood men are getting “chunkier” and that they are still “leading men.” Our initial reaction was “whoopty fricken doo, are they seriously paying someone to report this crap?” But after a few eye rolls we did talk about this phenomenon and how women are constantly under the cruel attack of anyone who thinks they know anything about fashion.

I think about the Jessica Simpson pictures that plagued the checkout line at my local Safeway. Here she is one of the hottest women in the world, and she gained a few pounds and now she is the biggest “cow” in the universe. How horrible! Most women may secretly love to see pictures like this, they may be secretly thinking. “Ha-ha Miss Jessica, you fatty!” Not me, to me when I look at the picture of her on the cover of those “magazines” I’m thinking, “holy crap she looks 50 times hotter than me and they are calling her FAT?!” What is also amazing to me is my husband’s reaction to these pictures,

“She’s still hot.”

Ah-hah! See that is one of the lovely and wonderful things about men, when they see a hot woman they don’t usually care about what anyone else thinks or what the stupid “magazine” cover is telling them to think, they see someone hot, well damn it- THEY’RE HOT!

So who is deciding that Jessica Simpson was a cow in those pictures? And who is deciding that men can be chunky leading men but women actresses must be a size zero? I can guarantee you that it isn’t the majority of straight American men; nope I think it is the women. I think that as women we are so self conscious and so damn competitive that we will take any chance to cut one another down. It’s the good old “if I can convince everyone to look at how horrible she looks then they won’t be looking at how horrible I look,” which of course is just a horrible way to do life.

If women banded together and chose to stop cutting each other down, if we agreed to dress modestly, if we agreed to be healthy rather than skinny, well we would change the definition of sexy. Men will always think women are attractive, if all the sudden all the women on film and in magazines were a size 6 or 8 or 10 then men would find them just as attractive as the size 0 that they were being told was attractive a year ago. As women we have the power to control this, and yet instead of changing things we diet, we whine, we develop eating disorders to please men, but really men don’t care! In fact they find it more annoying because as women we are constantly complaining about having to do all those things, when sadly we don’t have to do them at all.

Unfortunately I don’t think that I have the power to change the current situation, yes maybe a few women will read this blog, maybe a few will leave comments, but really what can I do?

I can teach my daughters to be different. That’s it! Maybe I can’t affect all the brain washed women and teenagers that are already out in the world ruining things for other women, but I can teach my daughters what true beauty is all about. It is about confidence, grace, and health. It is about modesty and gratitude. It is about loving life and actually living it. I’m only one woman, but maybe I can influence 2 little girls and maybe those 2 little girls will influence everyone in their circles someday.

I can also support companies like Dove Cosmetics, they have focused on health and true beauty for years now and to me this is inspiring. In our society any company that is willing to market their true morals and not just what is a money maker, well that is a company that I like to give money to! I can only hope that more companies will arise that support true health and beauty for our future generations.

Women: Let’s break the cycle of low self esteem and depression, let’s build each other up rather than tearing one another down, no one suffers but us and our little girls… and frankly when you’re dead who is gonna care how big your butt was, what they will care about is how much of your life you wasted while you worried about it.

Red Skittles

We all have our favorites, mine are red, red candies, usually indicating cherry or strawberry, I love them and will avoid all other colors unless absolutely desperate for a sugar fix. Purple are always a safe bet, but there is just something about the reds.

My friend Lacey knows this about me and for 12 years she has been giving me the reds. Red “Mike & Ikes,” Red “Skittles,” red everything. She sorts through the package during poker night and slides them my way with a huge smile on her face. She knows I love the reds, I assumed she didn’t like the reds; why else would someone sort through and get rid of them?

This has gone on for 12 years; it started at Ray’s Food Place. We were both in high school and I recall sitting at the break room table, talking about everything and nothing, and getting handed “reds.” She would even leave them on a post-it note at the video counter with my name on it. We lived together for a short time in Eugene, Oregon, after graduation, and once again I remember that even though I was a horrible roommate she would always hand over the reds. After a four year “break up” of our friendship we reunited, and once again I was being handed reds at every gathering. It wasn’t just that she would give me the reds it was also that she would always have the candy of my choice when I came for a visit, or when she came for a visit.

In my self-centered life I never thought anything of this for over 12 years. Wow… what did I do to deserve this?

I especially wonder this now, what did I do to deserve this? See for 12 years I assumed that Lacey didn’t like the reds. I found out just a few weeks ago that she indeed does, she actually loves the reds too, although her favorite are green, reds are a quick second. So what would make a person give up one of their favorite types of candies? I don’t do that, I’m too selfish; in fact I will dig through the candy jar at my house and pick out the reds before anyone else can get to them! My own husband and daughter… yes that’s right I will take candy away from a little girl… if it’s red! I think I have even told my daughter that the reds are yucky? Wow, I might just be a terribly horrible person!

Not Lacey though. She has selflessly given me the reds for over a decade, and when I asked her why, her response was simply, “because I want you to have the best.” Wow… yeah make a pregnant lady cry why don’t you!

To me this is incredible; this small, but HUGE gesture is just an amazing act of love. Could someone really think enough of me to do something like this? I know my husband loves me, my mom, my sisters, my friends, I know they love me, but to have someone say “because I want you to have the best,” well that’s just amazing. More importantly, to have them silently prove it for over 12 years, receiving no gratitude, or even acknowledgement…priceless.

I can only pray that my daughter will one day be blessed with a friend who will make her want to be a better person. But even if that never happens, I can guarantee that I will aim to teach her how to be that friend to someone else.

Thank you Lacey for being that friend, and for showing me how to be one in return, I don’t deserve you and I certainly don’t deserve the reds.

3 Year Old in Space

I’ve always tried to be pretty open minded, and the one thing I want to pass on to my daughter is the ability to dream and carry out those dreams. In my anxiety ridden life I get the first part right but the follow through on the second part seems to disappear when things get challenging. It’s not that I’m a quitter on all fronts, just big ones where rejection looms.

For example: my family was transferred to Salt Lake for a nine month training program for my husband and his work, I agreed to it, even though we had just completed building a wonderful home and were finally getting to see some of our work pay off. But I agreed so that I could become a stay at home mom, which in all reality the trade was a good one. While in Salt Lake though I found that not working was difficult so I decided to write a manuscript.

The plan was simple: 1) write manuscript 2) edit manuscript 3) send to publisher 4) get published 5) make tons of money 6) become filthy rich and famous 7) write series 8) go see my book at the movies.

It made sense to me. This is how the industry worked…right? Ha ha…no.

So I do write the manuscript, I do have it edited, I do send it to publishers, and I DO GET REJECTED. Wait what? That wasn’t part of the plan. The hardest part of the experience was the hope involved, my work kept getting “held” places, I would get an email saying “We are really interested in your work, it is now being read by so and so- who has all the power!” Ok so I may have added that last part. But really they were hopeful emails; I was on cloud nine, “send to publisher, check! Get published, almost check!!” But then finally 8 months later I would get the lovely form letter, “It’s just not right for us.” Wait REALLY 'cause you’ve held on to it for 8 months, I mean if you kept it for 8 months and it passed all the people who “didn’t have the power but thought it was good enough for the person with the power to see…” well WTF? I mean can I change something? Let me change something, please!!! But no, that is not how the publishing industry works, not even close.

So after three of those rejections I gave up for a bit, I’m not saying I quit, because I think maybe one day my confidence will be back and I might just send out another query letter and maybe I won’t break down and cry at my mail box when I get another rejection. Maybe.

My daughter is different though. She is a dreamer, she is three, and I think that helps. I wish I had an ounce of what she has, energy, love, compassion, hope...she amazes me. One morning as I am angrily making coffee, because the morning has once again come too quickly she runs into the kitchen and asks,

“Mom, when can I go to space?” Just matter of factly, like everyone gets to go, when is it my turn?

I had two options that morning; I could have said:

“Oh honey, normal people don’t go to space, only astronauts go into space.”

Instead somehow cranky, sooooo not a morning person, Shauna replied,

“When you’re a grown up.” And I am so proud of myself for that. After all I am only her mother, who am I to tell her that she isn’t going to space! As long as she has that dream then there is potential. I would much rather her youth be filled with hope and planning than with transposed “reality.” By which I mean, in my reality I will never go to space, I know that isn’t gonna happen, I also know that odds are she won’t either, but she doesn’t need to know that, she doesn’t need to know that NOT going to space is even an option, she’s three and to her anything is possible.

What happened to the three year old in me? Where did this fear come from? When did I start choosing to quit on my dreams and why? And is there any way to get that back?

I think there is and God has blessed me with the perfect example, a wonderful three year old who KNOWS she will go to space when she is a grown up, not just because she believes it, but because her mommy said so.