tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-60700721159587535782024-03-14T03:57:21.409-07:00Breathe, Smile, Pray... RepeatBecause sometimes that's all you CAN do, and most the time that's all you NEED to do!Shaunahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15714114531767991507noreply@blogger.comBlogger34125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6070072115958753578.post-67174607264370381082012-04-09T18:14:00.003-07:002012-04-09T18:25:59.815-07:00Mourning With Tess<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCdHU3GuQ01HNValN3UK0K-Z3riGC3wlyq4WXzR4PIvQETiA1QPbxDThNxjKS9tpmqS5B4aTZzZhUm7E3EHSXOXe6a4GsfiFH_ClV6b5g5cRRg1cadiZ9quIBfNhA4kEa2Phc5ewn9dOVI/s1600/tess+grief.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCdHU3GuQ01HNValN3UK0K-Z3riGC3wlyq4WXzR4PIvQETiA1QPbxDThNxjKS9tpmqS5B4aTZzZhUm7E3EHSXOXe6a4GsfiFH_ClV6b5g5cRRg1cadiZ9quIBfNhA4kEa2Phc5ewn9dOVI/s320/tess+grief.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5729575495259123858" border="0" /></a><br /><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> 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priority="32" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" qformat="true" name="Intense Reference"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="33" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" qformat="true" name="Book Title"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="37" name="Bibliography"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="39" qformat="true" name="TOC Heading"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 10]> <style> /* Style Definitions */ table.MsoNormalTable {mso-style-name:"Table Normal"; mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-priority:99; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; mso-para-margin-top:0in; mso-para-margin-right:0in; mso-para-margin-bottom:10.0pt; mso-para-margin-left:0in; line-height:115%; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:11.0pt; font-family:"Calibri","sans-serif"; mso-ascii-font-family:Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi;} </style> <![endif]--> <p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal">I’ve experienced something almost profound over the last two weeks. My husband and I had to make the decision to put our dog of 14 years, Indiana, to sleep. He was hurting and had horrible dementia, didn’t know who we were, was blind and almost deaf, hard a hard time moving and was seriously going insane. As a pet owner I know that we did right by our dog, but as Indiana’s “mom” well, my heart is still breaking. It’s not just my heart though, we are all going through a mourning process, well everyone except my two year old, who continuously announces to that world with joy that “Indi died!”</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Of course along with the stress of a huge change in our household everything seems to go to hell. Dave leaves to go on a trip he had planned for months, the girls and I get sick, there are projects to be done, homework to be completed…a book to be written…minor details! And through all of this my other dog, Tess, has been an absolute nightmare! All of the sudden this dog is getting into everything! The garbage in the bathroom- which was never of interest to her in the past- is now her new favorite plaything. The cabinet that the garbage is in, in the kitchen has interesting new scratches on it. I came home to find the remnants of five LARGE heart shaped boxes of chocolates that we had gotten for the girls’ teachers totally devoured! Not just the chocolate, but the plastic, the cardboard, the foam…everything, just eaten. I cleaned the mess, furiously, and prayed that it somehow magically get digested and come out in my yard rather than on my carpet. On my next outing I came home to find a box of blow pops that we had gotten to tape to the girls’ valentines eaten, the plastic, the sticks, the gum, all gone. The only evidence of the atrocity is a claw scratch on the middle of my dining room table, and a glittery sheen of sticky sucker shards smashed into my carpet- yeah that’ll be a blast to clean!</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Seriously though, a claw scratch on my table! Our once docile pooch has become a freaking ninja when not in our presence! I can only imagine the scene when we leave, her nose going bonkers as she decides which loot she will make disappear next, then the climb or jump or whatever Circ de-Solie gymnastics this dog is doing to acquire such goods. I’m so frustrated and irritated, of all the times to be doing this to ME, she has to do this now?!</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Last night I was awoken by a horrible sound, any pet owner knows what I’m talking about. It’s the heaving their beloved fur ball does before the nightmare of a mess appears on the carpet. I somehow jump out of bed to make it to her in time, drag her butt out to the deck and then retreat inside, because well, it’s cold here. I praise God that I was so quick, take a step and realize, I have a wet sucker stick stuck between my toes and other things that can only be described as pure evil on my foot…oh no…no I wasn’t fast enough.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>There is only one thing worse than cleaning up dog vomit, and that my friends is cleaning up the vomit of a dog who has consumed five boxes of chocolates, a box of blow pops- sticks and all, a cardboard toilet paper roll (I know right?), oh ALSO insulation…where she got that from I have no idea, but needless to say I’m looking for holes in my walls now. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">I was furious with this dog this morning, I found more piles of vomit around the house, I found more damaged goods, like my new mango scented body butter, the genius actually twisted the lid off and licked it clean! I’m thinking perhaps before her stint at the humane society she was potentially in the circus or… OR… considering the level of her skill, more likely running government special ops.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">She has never been this way before, and I have never used her “scientific name” for a female dog so many times in a 24 hour period. (I know, I know and I feel horrible about it now, but seriously you clean up that much vomit and try not muttering something under your breath.)</p> <p class="MsoNormal">As I’m dealing with all of this drama, I realize that Tess is sniffing Indiana’s bed, which I still haven’t had the nerve to put away yet. I watch as she lays down next to it, licks it a few times and then rests her head on her paws, waiting for her friend to come home. I see the hurt on her face, the confusion, the stress…a small piece of bright red blow pop stuck to her ear…but that’s not the point… she is mourning.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">For the first time since we have had Tess I let her climb on my bed with me, she doesn’t know what to do, will she get in trouble? Her eyes question. This is new territory for her. I pat my tummy and she lays her head on my chest. This animal who has given me so much unconditional love was just trying to tell me she needed some back. As humans I don’t think we’re programmed that way, we take- take- take…at least I do. As a parent I think I’m so overwhelmed with diapers and dishes and SO MUCH reading HOMEWORK for a kindergartener (seriously!) that I forgot that Tess would notice that her other half was missing. And sadly I’m so caught up in my own story, my own hurt, that I foolishly decided that she is trying to make my life worse rather than seeing that she was just asking for love and help.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Now I know this is a parenting blog, but I can’t help but think this transcends to our children. Not only in their behavior and how they communicate with us, but also in our need to pull our heads out of our own drama (you thought I was gonna say a bad word… ;-) ) long enough to see that even when they aren’t saying anything we need to pay attention. Even when they aren’t climbing on our laps we need to try to hug them. Even when they aren’t saying ‘I love you’ first, we need to say it. Even when they aren’t wiping their dirty faces and hands on our jeans, we need to give them something they can make a mess with, ‘cause really messes are fun! No really they are, when you’re a kid that is, and seriously what is life without the mess? What is the point? Aren’t the messes the best stories? Aren’t the messes what keep us grounded, humbled…aren’t the messes kinda what we’re here for?</p> <p class="MsoNormal">I’ll continue to “listen” to Tess, I’ll continue to allow her to grieve, I’ll most likely continue to clean up vomit for another week… and I’ll continue to pray for her forgiveness of my “human self-centeredness.” One day I hope I’m half the person she thinks I am. If I can be that person, then my human kids will have it made.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"> </p>Shaunahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15714114531767991507noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6070072115958753578.post-28481045745185764332011-04-07T14:27:00.000-07:002011-04-07T15:16:40.188-07:00Waypoint Book Trailer<div style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: center;"><br /><br /><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9h3AJBt5Pe8">Check out the "<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Waypoint</span>: Oregon" Book Trailer!</a><br /><br /><br />You can now find "<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">Waypoint</span>" at amazon.com for $9.99 and at Barnes and Noble for $8.99!<br />"<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">Waypoint</span>: Oregon" is also available on Kindle and Nook Book for $5.99!<br /><br />The second book in the series is coming soon...<br />Follow Ben, Megan and Aunt Lacey as they explore Alaska! Find out what happens when a group of dangerous treasure hunters believe Ben holds the key to a shipwreck's two million dollar lost treasure.<br />The chase is on, and this time, someone isn't coming home.<br /></div><br /><br /></div>Shaunahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15714114531767991507noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6070072115958753578.post-56607983727808762142011-01-29T19:45:00.000-08:002011-01-29T19:47:04.552-08:00I am the Most Beautiful Woman in the World.I am the most beautiful woman in the world.<br />Don’t believe me? Ask my kids, they’ll tell you. <br />To them, their mommy is gorgeous. They don’t see my flaws, they don’t see my wrinkles or pimples (so not fair by the way) they just see the woman whom they adore.<br />I like to think that our children see us the way God does, I mean really He wouldn’t waste his time creating someone or something He didn’t see as beautiful, right? So why do I constantly question and criticize God’s work? Who am I to tell the man upstairs that his artwork needs a little help?<br />There is a story that I think about often, not sure what brilliant mind came up with it, but it goes something like this;<br />A little boy loses his mom at a shopping mall, he knows if he is ever lost to find a police officer to help him. He sees an officer and runs over to him,<br /> “Help, I’ve lost my mom!” he wails.<br /> “It’s okay, little buddy, we’ll find her” the officer scoops up the young boy and takes him to the security office. “Okay son, I’m gonna need you to tell me what your mom looks like” he requests.<br /> “Oh that’s easy” says the boy. “She is the most beautifullest lady in the world.” <br /> The boy then continues to tell the officer about how amazingly beautiful his mother is.<br /> After hearing this description the officer imagines this gorgeous woman and radios all the other officers at the mall her description, of course they all believe she is some sort of cross between Angelina Jolie and Jennifer Aniston, and so this is the type of woman they look for, pretty much ignoring every other woman who cross their paths.<br /> After a few minutes a woman approaches the security office. She is wearing jeans and a t-shirt, tennis shoes and has a baseball cap covering her frizzy hair, which is pulled back into a “mommy tail.”<br /> “I can’t find my son!” she wails to the security officer at the front desk.<br /> The officer who is still thinking about Angelina Jolie doesn’t even connect the dots that this woman, exhausted and sweaty, could possibly be the mother of the boy in the next room. And so he takes her information and has her wait. It isn’t until the door to the side room is opened that the boy screams with delight and runs over to the frazzled woman.<br /> All of the officers are dumbfounded- this woman is not beautiful, sure with some makeup and the proper attire she’s okay, but in no way close to the most beautiful woman in the world.<br /> But to her son, she is…<br /> So when do are kids stop thinking we are beautiful? When we tell them to, that’s when.<br /> Every time we look in the mirror and sigh with disappointment, we tell them just how ugly we are. Every time we complain about our wrinkles, or our weight we tell them. It happens over and over again until one day we just aren’t that pretty to them. For some kids this is highly confusing, here is a woman they find to be the most beautifullest in the whole wide world and then we tell them they are wrong over and over again. Pretty soon they start to believe us.<br /> I remember this with my mom, she would look in the mirror and complain about how fat she was, and she weighed 120 pounds. I instantly decided I was fat, and have battled that instinct for decades now. I heard her tell me over and over how ugly she is, only to cringe now when people tell me how much I look like her. She never said I was ugly, she never said I was fat, but she said it about herself, and because she is my mom, I believed her. <br /> As a grown up though, I now know how beautiful my mother is, and I tell her often. I still have to call her on it though, when she says mean things about my daughter’s grandmother. Which is why now I don’t allow two words in my house, the “U” word (ugly) and the “F” word, and by that I mean FAT, (the other F word isn’t allowed either, although I would be far more forgiving if one of my kids said that word than calling themselves fat).<br /> So today and every day I vow to myself to not confuse my kids. I refuse to continue this trend of self hating woman in my family. It’s almost an addiction and I’m done with it. Think that it’s just moms with girls that need to worry? Think again! If you have boys you are raising the next generation of husbands who will judge their wives based on what YOU tell them. So proceed with caution.<br /> I don’t look like I did when I was 18, I shouldn’t! I’ve had two kids and gone through some stress. I’m proud of my laugh lines, and I know I have seriously earned every single one of these gray hairs. I don’t have to like them, but I guess I’m to a point of appreciation, yes I appreciate the fact that gray hairs are some of my biggest concerns right now, and I appreciate that I live in a time when covering those gray hairs takes only 25 minutes!<br /> So next time you look in the mirror and see something you don’t like, remember there are little people watching. They are taking notes on how to do life, so keep your judgments about how horrible you look to yourself; nobody wants to hear them anyways. If you feel better beating yourself up, write those hateful thoughts in a journal, one day when you’re 80 you’ll look at that journal and sigh about all the time you wasted hating yourself.<br /> I’m not gonna be that 80 year old. I’m gonna be the great grandma, with my cellulite and chin hairs lounging on a beach with my great grand kids building sand castles. That’s how I am choosing to do life.<br /> One other thing, my girls are constantly being told how much they look like their momma, and guess what…my girls are GORGEOUS!Shaunahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15714114531767991507noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6070072115958753578.post-22679652507582980122010-11-15T10:59:00.000-08:002010-11-15T11:14:17.194-08:00Forever in SharpieI was the guest contributor on Earth Monkey Moms last week. This is a blog set up to inspire, encourage and amuse other moms. The following is my post on their site, how exciting to be a part of this!<br /><br />ENJOY!<br /><br />I love scrap booking. I have boxes and boxes (ok baby wipe containers) filled with pictures to be one day glamorized on some beautiful paper for the entire world (and by that I mean myself and my reluctant husband) to ogle over. <br /> <br />I realized recently that no one really wants to look at other people’s scrap books, except of course to steal ideas for their own scrap booking enterprises. But for us moms, it feels good doesn’t it? As we look over all those pictures and our perfect little quotes and captions we feel an order to our chaos. Like somehow all the blood, sweat and tears (okay poop could really be added to this list) were worth it. When it’s all summed up on pretty paper it feels a little more manageable.<br /><br />My scrap books don’t look like everyone else’s though. First of all I really use the word “scrap” literally, I don’t mean to be messy, or uneven, but really I don’t get breaks to go and put together my memories. So I break out the pictures, the glue (which isn’t even acid free…OH THE HORROR) and a Sharpie. Yep I said it, I write my captions with a Sharpie, and I don’t even use a pretty font. <br /><br />I’m almost embarrassed to show other people my pages, but I suppose these pages are a representation of me, my life, and how I do life. It’s not that I’m lazy, it’s not that I don’t care, it’s that my life is simple, it’s Sharpie simple.<br /><br />I not only don’t like to share my pages because of my lack of elegantness or cuteness, but also because I record silly things. Sure my scrapbooks have the normal documentation: “Madi took 3 steps” and “Lilly said Mama” but I love to add the real stuff.<br /><br />For example, when Madi first learned about binoculars, she called them “knockers” that’s in the book, as are; “Madison actually kicked me while I was holding her on the potty seat, as soon as I let her get up she peed all over me.” “Lilly put dog poop in her mouth today, I got it out before she swallowed any, but the look on her face was priceless.” Well you get the point, I’m not a bad mom, I’m just embracing the craziness.<br /><br />I don’t have time to do pages all the time and I certainly don’t have the brain power to remember all the funny/annoying/cute things my kids and dogs have done, so I keep post it notes everywhere. When one of the kids does something “scrapbook worthy” (and you can tell my standards aren’t ridiculously high) I write it on a note, put the date and stick it to my journal. By the time I actually get to the scrap booking part I have close to 50 notes waiting to be memorialized forever in Sharpie.<br /><br />I guess the point is this: life isn’t pretty…don’t NOT scrapbook your life because you don’t have the time to make it perfect on paper. <br /><br />And imagine this… you’re dead and gone (sorry, reality) and your great, great grand kids are in the attic of the beach house you purchased and could never sell. Anyhow, they are playing dress up and find an old box full of scrapbooks. Imagine the look on their faces as they open it and see how life really was for you and your kids. Seeing your handwriting, forever in Sharpie marker. (I’m really trying to make myself feel better about this).<br /><br />Everyone has those beautiful family pictures; I want the future to see their true roots, the mud on the face, uncombed hair, and saggy diaper reality. This is my everyday and that’s what I scrap. Sure the pretty pictures are nice, we aren’t cavemen after all, but the true representation of our lives is what I’m after.<br /><br />So get some sticky notes and start documenting all the things that make you laugh and cry (most likely in 20 years they will ALL make you laugh). Get some Sharpie’s, some glue, and when you have time (ahahahaaaa) throw some pages together. Who cares what they look like, if you’re that worried about how they look tell yourself you’ll redo them when you’re retired (liar, just sayin'). <br /><br /> Just get it done, your kids, grand kids and great grand kids will thank you, let me be clear, you’ll NEVER hear a “thank you” you’ll just know it’s there when your grand kids can tease their mom about putting dog poop in her mouth.<br /><br /><br />PS...anyone want to buy a house in the lovely beach town of Lincoln City? No? Darn.Shaunahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15714114531767991507noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6070072115958753578.post-46550555025998286812010-10-19T10:11:00.000-07:002010-10-19T10:21:02.497-07:00Waypoint has been released!!I'm proud to announce that Waypoint: Cache Quest Oregon has been released on Amazon.com! Whoo hoooo, I'm so excited. This could be little or it could be huge, either way I'm gonna keep on writing, that's what I do, so onward to Alaska...and beyond!!<br /><br />Watch the trailer and share it with your friends, family, co-workers and ememies, maybe it'll change 'em, you never now! :)<br /><br />Buy it on Amazon.com, get one for yourself, your kids, or a local school or library. Let's get our kids active and excited about reading and being outside! Just make sure they aren't reading while walking, cuz ya know that could be dangerous and frankly at $9.99 per book I can't afford a lawsuit!<br /><br />click below for...<br /><br /><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9h3AJBt5Pe8">Waypoint: Cache Quest Oregon book trailer!</a><br /><br /><br />Buy a copy..or 2 or 3, or 20 (hey I can dream) click below to be directed to Amazon.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Waypoint-Cache-Quest-Oregon-1/dp/1453721665/ref=sr_1_28?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1287507835&sr=1-28">Waypoint: Cache Quest Oregon</a>Shaunahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15714114531767991507noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6070072115958753578.post-64068594983427857892010-09-16T12:42:00.000-07:002010-09-16T13:31:30.117-07:00Mani/Pedi My Way to HeavenI've just decided that the perfect window into my soul, or my insanity, is my nail polish, or lack there of. Actually lack there of would be good, right now, my nails are a tattered mess of peeling <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">lacquer</span>. I seriously look as if my nails have been bleeding, the red nail polish is peeling and shredded, and <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">remnants</span> of my decals look like squished bugs permanently fossilized in a blood red mess.<br /><br />They were pretty a week ago.<br /><br />I'm doing this new thing with <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">Madi</span>, every week we're doing our nails together. Yup, I wanna be "<span style="font-style: italic;">that mom</span>". I want her to feel pretty, I want her to know how to sit still while they dry and I want people to comment on how cute her little nails are, which they do regularly. *pat self on back*.<br /><br />On the first day we do our nails, we feel beautiful, David looks at our nails and comments on how great they look, we dress better, we do our hair, we feel and look pretty. But as the days go on, and the dishes need to be washed, diapers need to be changed, and well for <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">Madi</span>, lizards need to be caught and mud pies need to be made, our polish starts wearing off, our beautifully filed nails start to snag, and pretty soon they just look, well horrible. I really should just take the polish off, but I suppose in a way I leave it there for a day or two to learn something about myself?<br /><br />Okay maybe I'm just lazy.<br /><br />I guess this is the point; it's nice to have our nails all pretty and done up, it feels great and elegant, but well, that's just not us. We do our nails knowing perfectly well that in a day they will be scraped, or bitten off, they will be scrubbed after a diaper explosion. We could never make it without doing these things, we would go insane. We need the activities that ruin our polish, for survival, for fun. And maybe that's why I leave the scraped nasty polish on for a few days too long. It's a record, a history. When I feel lazy, or I feel as though I haven't gotten anything accomplished being a stay at home mom- I can look at my nails and think "wow I've done a lot of stuff to mess up my nails!" and <span style="font-style: italic;">that</span> feels good. You have to be working (or playing) pretty hard to accomplish our level of nail ugliness, and that is something for me to be proud of. I never want <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">Madi</span> to be one of "<span style="font-style: italic;">those girls</span>"... "<span style="font-style: italic;">I can't do that! I'll mess up my manicure!</span>" I want her to look at her torn up hands and think, "I've been busy!"<br /><br />At the beginning of the post I wrote that my nails could be a representation of my soul, and well that's just it: when my soul feels like crap, worn out, scraped up, nasty, with <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">fossilized</span> bugs on it, I can count on God to let me feel it for as long as I need to, in order to grow, then He'll wipe it clean and put on a fresh coat...which I'll eventually screw up again, and He'll <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">eventually</span> fix up again. I know it sounds silly, elementary, and probably a little apathetic, but seriously God is that parent. The one who wants us to learn, to mess up, to have reality discipline. He's there watching, allowing us free will even though He knows we'll get hurt, and learn (hopefully), and every time we do it brings us closer to His understanding.<br /><br />I know, "nail polish and God" how did she get there??? Sometimes the voices in my head get confused, what can I say?!<br /><br />But seriously, I pray that I'll be more inclined to show people my tattered nails, be it, my actual manicure, my tired soul or my failures, please Lord help me to never allow my appearance to get in the way of your work.Shaunahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15714114531767991507noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6070072115958753578.post-70754487907844389272010-08-11T15:29:00.000-07:002010-08-11T15:35:33.374-07:00It's all happening!Wow, this has been a crazy, busy hectic month!<br /><br />Many exciting and scary things are happening, first we're moving to Klamath Falls. It's a bitter sweet move for sure, I'm sad to be leaving my friends here on the coast, but so excited to be closer to family and friends down in Southern Oregon. And also I'm just solar powered I need the sunshine to keep my spirits up, and on the coast we just don't get enough of the good stuff!<br /><br />The second very exciting thing is that I'm publishing my novel, Waypoint - Cache Quest: Oregon through Amazon. It will be available on Amazon in September, and shortly after in book stores and libraries.<br /><br />I finished the website, sans the official book cover and more character info, and am working on the book trailer for advertising online. It's very exciting and very scary, it could end up being huge, it could end up being nothing, but I'm focusing on the positive and the "what if..."<br /><br />So when you get a chance check out the web site, let me know what you think! If all goes well with the first book's sales then I will be writing one for every state in the U.S.<br /><br />I always love to have feedback, good and bad... how else will I know to change things, right?<br /><br />www.waypointbookseries.comShaunahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15714114531767991507noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6070072115958753578.post-70031218286645302002010-07-14T19:07:00.000-07:002010-07-16T16:08:11.622-07:00WAYPOINT- An excerpt from my novel.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHqKZkBM87fWOD-9end2hRJBNAiFntWtIGOmKZgaSlMc6vNuiAXT_q8AnMfK6FdX3GKP_dNjkuLje-VuLjgG0FjLCh6oZ5z4o7Xr_dPtt2uqTPK6MEwcACNGEjCVfBDH5uiIWsDr80fwiS/s1600/geocaching+040.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHqKZkBM87fWOD-9end2hRJBNAiFntWtIGOmKZgaSlMc6vNuiAXT_q8AnMfK6FdX3GKP_dNjkuLje-VuLjgG0FjLCh6oZ5z4o7Xr_dPtt2uqTPK6MEwcACNGEjCVfBDH5uiIWsDr80fwiS/s200/geocaching+040.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5494291824647729346" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:times new roman;" >Lately a lot of people have been asking what's going on with my writing and my trying to get published. Well, getting published I have found is a long and tricky, anxiety ridden road, but I've been keeping busy with revisions and of course writing this blog. </span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:times new roman;" > So today I thought I would kill two birds with one stone and post a small excerpt of my novel, WAYPOINT. This is middle-grade fiction, written for readers between the ages of 8 and 15, however I have noticed a lot of adults seem to be enjoying it as well.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:times new roman;" >So here ya go, a little taste of WAYPOINT...</span></span><br /><br /> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; line-height: 200%;" align="center"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">Chapter 3<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; line-height: 200%;" align="center"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style=""> </span>Lacey screamed again, “Ben!” but didn’t hear any response. Fear overcame her, what if he was dead? The thought made her throat tighten; whatever had happened inside wasn’t good. She stepped back from the old red door then using as much force as she could she kicked it in. The door flew open, smacking the interior wall with a loud thud. She glanced inside before entering, she couldn’t see Ben anywhere. She looked up the spiral staircase, then around the floor one more time, just in case she had missed him in one of the shadows. He wasn’t there. Panic constricted her chest; she grabbed her cell phone, but didn’t have the nerve to call her sister. She would find him, she had to.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; line-height: 200%;" align="center"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">***<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style=""> </span>Ben closed his eyes and opened them again to make sure he was seeing correctly. It was as if his brain wouldn’t process the image above him. The structure of the lighthouse went deep into the ground, circling the walls was an ancient staircase winding slowly all the way up. It had to be over one hundred feet high. Ben didn’t think he had fallen that far, but it had all happened so fast. He squinted his eyes, and there like a tiny dot he saw the hole he had fallen through, it would take him ages to climb to the top. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style=""> </span>He pulled himself to his feet, groaning with pain. He almost screamed as he stood, not because of the pain, but because there were thousands of human skulls staring back at him. They circled the walls all the way to the top, running parallel to the staircase. Each skull was set into the walls of the lighthouse, as if someone had carved shelves specifically for displaying them. But who had put them there? The question ran through Ben’s mind and then suddenly common sense took over and he started running up the stairs. Whoever had put them there probably wouldn’t mind displaying one more.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; line-height: 200%;" align="center"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">***<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style=""> </span>Lacey stepped into the lighthouse and noticed the hole in the floor just below the window. She looked down into the hole and was amazed to see such a huge deep cavern. Stairs circling the walls seemed to go on forever. She heard something; it was a pounding sound, coming from the staircase under her. She stuck her head into the hole, “Ben!” she yelled, her voice echoed loudly below her. She waited, praying that she would hear some sort of response.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style=""> </span>“Help! I’m coming up as fast as I can!” Ben yelled back. Just as he felt a little relief he suddenly fell and smacked his face into the stairs, but they weren’t stairs anymore. The entire staircase had become a huge slide. He was sliding down so fast he couldn’t stop. What on earth was going on? One minute he is climbing stairs then suddenly they changed into a slide? The stairs must have folded in, but why? <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style=""> </span>As he reached the bottom he realized the answer. He flew off the slide and was thrown into the back of a figure standing in an old cape of some sort. The figure turned and looked down at Ben. It was an old man, with a long tangled beard. His deep eye sockets were almost black. He didn’t even look real, or maybe it was that he didn’t look <i style="">alive</i>.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style=""> </span>Ben started to crawl backwards, as he turned over to stand the old man took the long staff he was holding and slammed it into Ben’s back. Ben smacked into the cold dirt floor. “Help!” Ben screamed. “Aunt Lacey, help!”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style=""> </span>Lacey could barely hear what Ben was yelling, but it sounded like he was screaming for help. Something was going horribly wrong. She sat on the edge of the broken floor and slid onto the steep slide below her. “Well this will be fun.” She said to herself as she pushed off.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style=""> </span>The ancient man towered over Ben, he was extremely frail and yet it looked as if he was ten feet tall. He reached down and grabbed Ben’s shirt with a twisted, knobby hand and pulled Ben to his feet. “Have you come to harm the light?” He asked, his voice whistling as it escaped his lips.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style=""> </span>“What?” Ben’s voice shook as he tried to speak.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style=""> </span>“The light, have you come to harm it? Why are you trespassing on this place?” The man was growing angry.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style=""> </span>“I just came for the prize.” Ben pleaded. “The window was open, and I saw the prize, so I came in, but then I fell.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style=""> </span>“I saw you come through the window, most come through to harm the light.” The old man knelt next to Ben. “What is your name?” his warm smelly breath was burning Ben’s eyes.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style=""> </span>“Ben.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style=""> </span>“Benjamin, do you know who I am?” His face came even closer to Ben’s. Now Ben could see that deep in those black sockets were small blue eyes. They were the bluest eyes Ben had ever seen, and strangely as Ben looked into them a calming sensation came over his body.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style=""> </span>“No, I don’t… but did you kill all these people?” Ben responded.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style=""> </span>“No, they were killed by those that have harmed the light.” His voice seemed to struggle as it escaped his old withered lips. “I have protected the light for two hundred years, when someone harms the light those in the sea parish. These skulls belong to them, all of those that have been lost at sea, because I failed to keep the light shining.” A tear dropped from his wrinkled cheek. “I keep the skulls to remind myself everyday why I must protect its brightness, for if it goes out, I fail once again.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style=""> </span>“But who harms the light?” Ben asked innocently.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style=""> </span>“Some who come are simply here to destroy, Benjamin. They don’t understand the consequences of darkness, for when darkness wins the sea swallows up those who travel its waters.” He pointed to the skulls that spiraled up the walls, with a long curling finger, “The bodies come to me, as a punishment for allowing the light to go dark. Can I trust you Benjamin, to not harm the light?” His eyes pierced into Ben’s soul.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style=""> </span>“Yes, I promise.” Ben replied. The old man closed his eyes and breathed deeply.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style=""> </span>As Lacey rounded the last corner of the slide she saw the tall cloaked figure standing in front of Ben. Fear and anger came together within her chest; she had to protect her nephew. “Hey!” she yelled. The figure turned, spread his arms, and anger replaced his calm expression. Her speed was growing on the slide and as she hit the end she flew off and was headed right for the tall man who stood before her. As soon as her feet connected with his cloak his body exploded into millions of tiny pieces of glitter, they floated for a second, and then began to spiral around like a tornado, they became bigger and at the top of the tornado they began to separate and fly away. Ben and Lacey just stared as they saw each piece fly into each individual skull, lighting it like a jack-o-lantern. The entire cavern became bright, as if someone had just plugged in a string of white Christmas lights. Suddenly the floor shook, Lacey grabbed Ben’s arm. As the floor churned slats of wood on the slide lifted and once again became stairs.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style=""> </span>“You can explain at the top!” Lacey said as she shoved Ben toward the stairs. They both began to run as fast as they could, the skulls of thousands of men lighting their way.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <br /><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">So, let me know what you think, I really don't know if its any good or not, I've gotten positive feedback from publishers and agents, but haven't gotten an offer so kinda makes me think that it might just suck! So leave me a comment, find me on facebook, or shoot me an email! Seriously, if it sucks I need to know so I can stop wasting my time on it.</span><br /><span style="line-height: 200%;font-size:12;" ><o:p></o:p></span></p>Shaunahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15714114531767991507noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6070072115958753578.post-51846090495212574882010-07-07T12:18:00.001-07:002010-07-07T12:23:57.902-07:00Friendship is like peeing your pants...<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrc-yOlFB53dSOVq0X_LIJp8_-KiRayRY_QYrNJ9cXOxeDVoIY90msrHMlrIX_ONtEG989E-B9ridFjICjBpf2UPChpe5rlLCp3lIZ17xGmD2Uw5Ymk8yYWXrd_zTp3x9OVWHdQZ-tXsx0/s1600/hubbatrip.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrc-yOlFB53dSOVq0X_LIJp8_-KiRayRY_QYrNJ9cXOxeDVoIY90msrHMlrIX_ONtEG989E-B9ridFjICjBpf2UPChpe5rlLCp3lIZ17xGmD2Uw5Ymk8yYWXrd_zTp3x9OVWHdQZ-tXsx0/s200/hubbatrip.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5491247142951010370" border="0" /></a><br /> <p class="MsoNormal">Well, we’re moving again. This will be move number 26 in my life, I’m of course overwhelmed, excited and sad, it’s hard making friends <span style=""> </span>knowing that ultimately you’ll be moving in the future, but here in Lincoln City I have made some wonderful friends, I feel so blessed. And I know that these people are why God brought me to this place.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Without these amazing friends I would have never gotten through the weather here, they were my rays of sunlight on the dreariest of rainy days. They supported me, made me laugh and loved me, they welcomed me, shared their lives, danced and drank, they came to the hospital when I had my second child, they hugged me and wiped my tears when my crazy post-partum depression made me unbearable to even those closest to me. These friends are priceless and I am so blessed. One friend in particular has seen me at worst and continued to love me.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">So to Tamera, thank you for going on a blind date with me to the beach when I was brand new here, I know you are a blessing straight from God. Thank you for getting me out of the house, for continuing to call even when I was too depressed to pick up the phone. Thank you for my wonderful baby shower, the booty cake, the poopy diaper game, for Mama Mia, for Hubba overnighter’s, scrapbooking, tea parties, Twilight…so much to list, you are amazing, I love your family, your children, and you. I do, I love you. This world is so blessed to have you and I’m so thankful that God brought me here and blessed me with your presence, what a gift!</p> <p class="MsoNormal">I know this sounds silly to those of you who have never experienced, deep true friendship, but I truly believe that friends are the family you get to choose. My life map has had many different paths, different street address, but in most locations there has been at least one person who has planted seeds in my heart. So when I feel sad about moving I have to remember that each move has more potential and having friends all over the world is an amazing gift. So it’s worth the stress, the questions, it’s worth watering those seeds and allowing them to grow, it’s worth not losing touch even though it’ll be a little harder to communicate.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Because as some wise and funny (by the way) person once said, “Friendship is like peeing your pants, everyone can see it, but only you can feel its true warmth.”</p>Shaunahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15714114531767991507noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6070072115958753578.post-40982964683411646372010-06-22T10:55:00.001-07:002010-06-22T10:56:58.437-07:00R.E.S.P.E.C.T…Speaking a man’s language.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkxqPzu-WXEmK6qUp9uUiJxqMvesW6Fhm4Ezy8t90fprQYJfbrl7vgnNPDzd6TCJ6o6ZXhBVfepZLKRv2V6Hsz3gPGQW932WQxDPmMFVU5g60OTF9JcEGd0PFh-P4IYskAf6yTlrcLcaX6/s1600/steph+033.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkxqPzu-WXEmK6qUp9uUiJxqMvesW6Fhm4Ezy8t90fprQYJfbrl7vgnNPDzd6TCJ6o6ZXhBVfepZLKRv2V6Hsz3gPGQW932WQxDPmMFVU5g60OTF9JcEGd0PFh-P4IYskAf6yTlrcLcaX6/s200/steph+033.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5485658471287386162" border="0" /></a><br /> <p class="MsoNormal">R.E.S.P.E.C.T…Speaking a man’s language.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">I’m kind of tired of all the TV shows that show these irresponsible, idiot men. They tease them, show them making stupid mistakes and of course the wonderful wife is the heroin, who solves all the problems. Don’t get me wrong, I think women do a wonderful job in our society, but I think men are getting a bad rap.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Once upon a time I thought all men were stupid, I thought I knew more, was more articulate and got a job done better, but with the eye opening help from my sister, Steph, I can see that I had a blindfold on. There are men out there who are morons, sure, but the majority of them are hard working, smart, loving and deserve our respect.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">As soon as I started respecting my husband and showing/telling him how much I respected him, my blindfold came off and I saw what a wonderful man he has always been, it was a change in my thinking and my vision of him that made the biggest difference. He has always been an amazing man, but once I realized it he became even more wonderful in my eyes.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">David and I married young, I was 19, and he was 20. We did a lot of growing and learning together, and looking back now, sure we made our share of mistakes. But seriously once I learned his language, and was able to articulate how important he was to me our marriage truly blossomed. I don’t want to minimize a man’s needs or illustrate them to be simple creatures, but once I figured out how to effectively communicate to him life has been amazing. Think of it as having a wonderful friend who speaks a foreign language. When you tell them that you love them, they might not fully understand what that means to you, however when you become bi-lingual and start using words that they really value, then your relationship becomes that much fuller.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Respect has different meanings for men and women, for women we think this might mean having our bosses admire us, trust us and of course pay us what we feel we deserve, and for men it is similar, but I’ve found that it also means telling them regularly that we respect them. That we understand the sacrifices they’re making and that we trust them. When David and I were first married all decisions had to go through me, now when he brings something to my attention, I usually say, “ya know honey, I trust your judgment, you decide.” Since I have done this our finances, our home, his work, everything has turned around for the better. I had to get out of his way, he knew how to do things and make things wonderful the entire time but I was blocking him. I guess a lot of people, especially women will think I’m giving away my power, but really I’m allowing him to do what he does best, and I’m telling myself that I might not know best and so I made that change. <span style=""> </span>Early on I realized that in marriage if one person is right, the other person is wrong, and nobody enjoys being wrong, and frankly when one person has to be right, both people lose!</p> <p class="MsoNormal">I guess I’ve learned that the fastest way to be treated as an equal, to be treasured and to be trusted with any man, your father, father-in-law, grandfather, husband, brother, boss…whoever, is to tell them how much you respect them! For some women this might be hard, certainly there are men out there that don’t deserve our respect, but the ones that do need to be told how you feel. If not they may feel that they are being taken for granted. It’s not that you feel that way, but that we don’t know how to effectively communicate what they need to hear.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">So ladies, give your men what they need, tell them how much you respect them, and show them how much they mean to you. Let’s face it there are plenty of losers out there, if you have a good, decent man, keep him by speaking his language. Also keep it interesting, mix things up, surprise them, you might just surprise yourself in the process.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>Shaunahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15714114531767991507noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6070072115958753578.post-35427835648607252412010-05-31T13:03:00.000-07:002010-05-31T13:06:11.015-07:00We all need fertilizer.<p class="MsoNormal">I love spring time, the new growth on the plants, and the promise of warmer days ahead. Sometimes, and I say this tongue in cheek, even the rain feels good and cleansing. As I was weeding my flower bed though I realized that my poor plants have been neglected, they certainly have enough water, living on the coast, but they needed a good pick me up and so I fertilized them. I love all natural fertilizers; you know the ones made almost purely of rotten debris and well…poo.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">As I was explaining to my four year old daughter how poo helps plants grow it occurred to me, we all need a bit of poo in our lives, or more appropriately, we all need some <span style="font-style: italic;">crap!</span> I mean the kind of crap that drives us crazy, that keeps us frustrated and on our toes. The kind of crap that keeps us up at night, the kind of crap that makes us not want to pick up the phone when it rings. We like plants, need to be fertilized! Without the crap, or garbage in our lives, we wouldn’t make any changes, we wouldn’t grow.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Now while we and plants need good fertilizer, we have to make sure we aren’t over fertilizing our selves, just like a plant will wither with too much, there is only so much we can handle also, so we have to be good judges of our stress levels and we must determine which crap is good for us (in the long run) and which cannot be used for growth.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">I also realized that we all have weeds in our life, which stunt our growth and steal our precious fertilizer, you know when you go through something really frustrating and powerful that could just be enough for you to make a positive change in your life, but you do something and neglect to make the change? Like perhaps you turn to an addiction, rather than dealing with the crap and growing from it. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">Well I’m sick of it, I’m sick of going through the hard stuff, only to have the fertilizer that could benefit me be stolen by an enabling weed. I’m slowly going to pull out the weeds in my life, if I pull them out to quickly roots will be left behind and they’ll keep popping up, so slow and steady I want to remove them. I also want to fertilize with caution, by saying no more and not overloading myself, but being open to the kind of crap that really does have a purpose, even if I don’t understand it right now.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">So be careful what you curse in your life, it could be the best mixture of fertilizer for you. It could be exactly what you need to make your next big beautiful growth spurt. Embrace the poo and rotten debris, grow from it, pull out weeds that steal your growth potential and hard earned fertilizer, and don’t forget to share, you never know when your experience, or crap, can help someone else get through their own.</p> <p style="font-style: italic;" class="MsoNormal">I apologize about the crude nature of this post, if it offends you…well put on the big girl panties and deal with it, sometimes life is offensive!</p>Shaunahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15714114531767991507noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6070072115958753578.post-51721729673123266752010-05-19T10:01:00.000-07:002010-05-19T10:27:54.241-07:00Do you love me enough?<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhh1ulJAatd-0WDZjzCQ23gnx3g4WfzTv34O5g9xF-ls6xLuC9sRs7l_2vkaJvBCe-sQytpurvSmEHH9WB5sq72efzFxCh9DqeMTQuRCviQX3RbkZ0IssMtKfN4SY6i78j0Z2MzrCXQbfEr/s1600/new+1915.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhh1ulJAatd-0WDZjzCQ23gnx3g4WfzTv34O5g9xF-ls6xLuC9sRs7l_2vkaJvBCe-sQytpurvSmEHH9WB5sq72efzFxCh9DqeMTQuRCviQX3RbkZ0IssMtKfN4SY6i78j0Z2MzrCXQbfEr/s400/new+1915.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5473033977320064994" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><p dragover="true" class="MsoNormal">This past weekend I felt like I did at least of year’s worth of growing up. It was exhausting, humbling and an emotional roller coaster ride.</p> <p dragover="true" class="MsoNormal">My Grandfather died, while I was in the room, talking to him. Right in front of my eyes he let go, I felt his soul leave; goose bumps covered my flesh, tears, panic and somewhere deep inside relief came over me.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">I don’t do death, I haven’t for over 12 years, and sure death has come and been a part of my life, like everyone’s I suppose. But I have avoided it at all costs, due to my fear and an overwhelming need to protect myself.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">On Thursday I got the call, Grandpa was sick, I told my mother that no, I wouldn’t be going to say goodbye. But sometime later that night I could hear my Grandfather’s voice asking, “Do you love me enough to be uncomfortable? Do you love me enough to let me go?” I course do, and so I drove, to what would be the most emotionally scary place in my life, to see my hero take his last breath, to tell my hero what he has meant to me, at first I didn’t think I was doing this for me, I told myself I was doing it for him, but now I understand that he was doing this for me. Him letting go in front of me was his last lesson for me: I was strong enough to get through it.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">I’m still struggling with the visions of things I can’t un-see. I still have questions, but now I have a sense of peace, I know where my Grandpa is, and I know that death, while terrifying- is part of life, it is another birth into perhaps the greatest part of life.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">I am honored that my Grandfather let go of his last grasp in this world while I was present, he was always so in control, a real patriarch. He would never want anyone to be uncomfortable in his presence, unless it was of course for their own good. And so I am humbled.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">This is more of a diary entry than a blog, I suppose, somehow just writing these jumbled thoughts and emotions feels better than keeping them in my exhausted brain.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">At this point I could be asking God why, but after that distinct moment I have my why. I know what myself and every other person in the room confirmed to me, he wasn’t gone; there was a very real presence of his soul, his being, with us. I guess a lot of people may think I’m crazy, or just trying to make myself feel better, but my faith has only grown stronger since this has happened. If I’m wrong and there is no God, then nothing will happen when I leave this earth, if I’m right then I know I will be in his presence and my grandfather’s, that’s an insurance policy I can’t refuse.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Grandpa, I’m so thankful for all of the lessons you taught me, most of all I’m so thankful for every single breath we shared. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">“Life should not be measured by the number of breaths we take, but by the moments that take our breath away.”</p><br /><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p>Shaunahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15714114531767991507noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6070072115958753578.post-22285225589984455242010-05-10T21:09:00.000-07:002010-05-10T21:21:56.793-07:00Treasure Hunting<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_D1pwhPW77stxWhgB4fxmhcLOWdfVCqLXUcrgz_dUbSpztapIgydeDRcUBq7iEkjBMx3jBGQZxt1kItX-U7g1rmAzHXBhKXxnj4gt3MTiNQyYNgwYp7OJqO4ArMzqi5b2Q7yFdoXrTe6c/s1600/geocaching+002.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_D1pwhPW77stxWhgB4fxmhcLOWdfVCqLXUcrgz_dUbSpztapIgydeDRcUBq7iEkjBMx3jBGQZxt1kItX-U7g1rmAzHXBhKXxnj4gt3MTiNQyYNgwYp7OJqO4ArMzqi5b2Q7yFdoXrTe6c/s320/geocaching+002.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5469862003761665954" border="0" /></a><br /><p class="MsoNormal">When it’s a sunny day on the coast or anywhere for that matter one of my favorite things to do is Geocache. For those who haven’t explored geocaching on their own, think treasure hunting with a GPS unit. Once you go to geocaching.com enter in your zip code and find a list of geocaches, you simply enter the longitude/latitude coordinates or waypoint into a GPS unit and you’re on your way.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Not only does geocaching get me out and into nature but it takes me places I haven’t been, or to places I have been but never truly appreciated in the past. Once you find your way, using your GPS unit, you look for the cache, which is usually some sort of metal ammo container or plastic weather proof tub, inside will be a log book to document your find and some nick naks of some sort, the rule of the game is to take something and leave something for someone else to take. It’s not only an awesome way to get out into nature, but a great way to get rid of unwanted small toys that you find yourself stepping on in the middle of the night, I have a basket on my junk drawer for such toys, that once the silent screaming and cursing is done I toss the offending toy into. I say silent because no pain is great enough to wake the kids and have to start the bedtime process over again.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Since I love geocaching so much I decided to start a geocaching journal, I feel very much like “Indiana Jones” when I write in my journal, it’s leather bound and has a cool design on the front, it’s something I picture the girls finding in the attic when I die, and of course since they would love geocaching too I would hope that they would go to all the places documented in the journal, heck maybe by then they could teleport there, but frankly I think that would diminish the value of a good treasure hunt, indeed the real treasure is the journey. I started this journal ages ago and have logged many caches over the years, so I thought I would share one of those entries with you.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">From the journal:</p> <p class="MsoNormal">July 17, 2008. <span style=""> </span>CACHE NAME: Sied Creek. <span style=""> </span>WAYPOINT: N44’57.700/ W124’00.293.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">CLUES: West of sign.</p> <p style="font-style: italic;" class="MsoNormal">We are new to Lincoln City; figured breaking out the GPS unit would be the easiest way to find some cool locations in this windy city. We quickly realize that driving and trying to read a hand held GPS unit is not wise and also can cause many arguments. Shauna takes over on navigation, David drives, and Madi is cheerfully holding her prize that she will leave behind for someone else after we find this cache. We know the general location of the cache, somewhere around Devil’s Lake. We quickly realize as we drive that Devil’s Lake is much bigger than we realized. We enter a park and follow the GPS unit, we unload Madi and get her bundled up, even in July it’s cold and chilly here. David is asking me questions; I am stumbling over rocks and actually walk into a garbage can as I’m too focused on the GPS unit in my hand. We wind our way up a path and come to a breath taking view of the lake, tall trees surround us, and the smell of camp fire is in the air. It’s really quite something. We search and search, we find one sign, and look to the west, nothing. After an hour we are all frustrated, and David takes over on the GPS unit, he quickly realizes that I’m way off and that while on the screen of the unit we are only an inch away we are really a mile away. MY BAD.</p> <p style="font-style: italic;" class="MsoNormal">So we eat lunch at the small park we found, and take a lovely break before loading up and having David navigate and drive us. Within 5 minutes we are at a large sign that reads “Sied Creek” Damn he’s good! Once there we searched for about 20 minutes, there was a small trail, we followed it for some time, then decided the cache couldn’t be that far back into the brush, we went back to the sign and searched under some big trees, under the largest of trees was a pile of rocks, I decided to dig. It paid off quickly I found a small green lock box, the cache had been placed by Lincoln City Parks and Recreation. The rule in geocaching is to take something and leave something; we let Madi choose her treasure. She chose a small novelty bottle of bubbles from someone’s wedding; “Mark & Jenny” were printed on the outside. I thought this to be very sweet and hope that Mark and Jenny are still together. We left a map of Cedar Breaks National Park, Utah it was still in the truck from our last hiking trip there, we had all our favorite sites marked on it, I hoped that someone would find it useful and maybe even go to some of our spots.</p> <p style="font-style: italic;" class="MsoNormal">We had a wonderful time today, the area was beautiful, I learned a lot about our new GPS unit, and Madi had fun, which is all that matters. We do want to go back to this area sometime soon to see if Parks and Rec will continue to clear the trails that lead through this awesome area.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Kind of cheesy I know, but we did have fun, and like I said the real treasure is in the journey, looking back on this now I remember feeling so frustrated at my GPS skills, or lack thereof, but David swooped in and got us back on track, I think that’s good for both of us. I also think it’s great that Madi gets to explore with us, to places none of us have been, but will hopefully continue to go to in the future. These are my real treasures, the memories of the breeze on my face, watching Madi dig through bushes, even running into that garbage can. The best is always unearthing the treasure, even though there are only trinkets inside it is very fulfilling…like I said very <span style="font-style: italic;">Indiana Jones</span>.</p>Shaunahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15714114531767991507noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6070072115958753578.post-59093396068716589142010-04-13T14:11:00.000-07:002010-04-13T14:12:04.926-07:00The Upside Down Shelf<p class="MsoNormal">When we first moved in to our house on the coast our then 2 year old daughter Madison sneakily figured out how to work the child proof door knob protectors, ironically I was still mastering them, but for her they were a cinch. It was after I found her in my bathroom covered in fingernail polish, Q-tips, mascara and lotion that I decided we needed to start locking our bedroom door. One of the problems with our house is that the top of the door frame is surrounded by 6 inch molding, very beautiful, yet unreachable for a shorty like me. And so I found a cute little shelf and asked David to hang it outside our bedroom door so I could keep the key to the door on it.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">After a long day at work and a longer day dealing with a 2 year old and a wife who was in the early stages of morning sickness, David hung the shelf. It wasn’t until the next day that I realized it was upside down, an easy mistake; it does look similar on both sides and is indeed functional either way. I immediately called him to tell him it needed to be turned around. To which he replied, “Uh, oh sorry, okay, I’ll do it when I get a chance.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Weeks went by and the shelf remained the same, every time I walked by the shelf I would become irritated, I mean how long would it take him to fix this, what like five minutes? (At the time it didn’t occur to me that I TOO COULD FIX IT! But for some reason I kept putting it on him). Many friends would come over and comment on the shelf, I just kept saying, </p> <p class="MsoNormal">“Yeah Dave’s gonna fix it one of these days.” And then it hit me, why should he fix it? Why should he have hung it in the first place? I was the one who couldn’t reach the key when it was on the door frame, he reached it just fine. There was no reason for him to hang the shelf for himself, it was all for me.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">So today over 2 years later the shelf is still upside down and it will be until the day we move. He’s offered to fix it many times but I love it that way. Every time I go in and out of our bedroom I see the shelf and it is a reminder to me. Not of how I was once so irritated by it, but a reminder of how much my husband does for me, just to make me happy. It’s something that tells me over and over again that even though he’s exhausted, drained, and would probably rather be watching some random sporting event on TV, he will still take the time to do something just for me.<span style=""> </span>It may not be perfect, but who’s to say what is perfect and what’s not? I’m certainly not an expert on what’s right and wrong, although I do tend to criticize more than I should.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">So to David, thank you so much for being so amazing to me, thanks for putting up with all my annoying moods and directions, thank you for picking out the beautiful purple tomato cages instead of the regular metal ones at Bi-Mart (just because you knew I’d like them), thank you for peeling and cutting up the cucumber for lunch without even being asked. You amaze me. Oh and I’m sorry about the fireplace, YOU’RE RIGHT, I WAS WRONG, your way will work fine, my way was just some random attempt for control. You do an amazing job, I have so much respect for you, I promise to work harder to show that to you, and I’ll also work harder at keeping my mouth shut, when my hands aren’t willing to participate in getting the work done.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">I hope that everyone that is reading this has some sort of upside down shelf in their life, may its imperfection bless you and remind you that your loved one’s aren’t people you hire who you can boss around. They are the most important people in your lives and should be treated as special treasures.</p>Shaunahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15714114531767991507noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6070072115958753578.post-10022816121221666412010-02-23T14:33:00.000-08:002010-02-23T14:47:24.367-08:00Two Hour Tuesdays<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuGNDrJCBORga-PpbkVGhIDjR-NZUeS9r8xkfgZAxT67sz3bFGW52pNNqbPxGqgyGt6aqbkMmekCg8XNDqcu9qFGefqWLtE2H7VVivjTlXvrNs4QtyXRcrt58wD0Yblgli1tiU5503x7Xb/s1600-h/xmas20099.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuGNDrJCBORga-PpbkVGhIDjR-NZUeS9r8xkfgZAxT67sz3bFGW52pNNqbPxGqgyGt6aqbkMmekCg8XNDqcu9qFGefqWLtE2H7VVivjTlXvrNs4QtyXRcrt58wD0Yblgli1tiU5503x7Xb/s320/xmas20099.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5441574232202659506" border="0" /></a><br /> <p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal">It doesn’t seem like that long, unless of course you’re listening to a newborn baby cry and there’s absolutely nothing you can do about it. But today I got something new, I got two whole hours to myself!</p> <p class="MsoNormal">That’s right, no crying baby, no four year old asking “Mommy can I have milk? Mommy I’m hungry. Mommy color with me. <span style=""> </span>Mommy help me wipe!” </p> <p class="MsoNormal">Two whole hours, and it was amazing! I woke up with a smile on my face; I’ve been waiting for this day for so long. I fed the kids, got them dressed and got to school early. Dropped Madi off at preschool and took Lilly across the hallway to the baby room. As I exited the baby room I had a huge smile, a spring in my step and I practically ran out of the school! This sounds horrible, but all you moms out there know exactly what I’m talking about- I was free. This doesn’t mean that I don’t love my girls; it means that I’m a better mom if I get to spend even a fraction of time by myself, with no obligations. No one peeking in the shower while I’m shaving my legs, no one opening the door while I’m going to the bathroom…</p> <p class="MsoNormal">As soon as I got into my car I called the tanning salon, the woman on the other end was not in the mood for my chipperness, which usually I would take offense to, but today, there was no stopping me. I found the salon, bounced in and was met with the annoyed face from the other end of the phone. As I filled out my form, almost crying at the fact that I didn’t have anyone grabbing my pen, my leg, or my boob, the tanned woman asked, </p> <p class="MsoNormal">“Oh lord, are you always this chipper in the morning?”</p> <p class="MsoNormal">I laughed and beamed, “NO!!!! I’m usually miserable!!!! But this is the first two hours I’ve had to myself in ages!”</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Suddenly she understood, and her mood shifted, she too has children, she too has experienced going to the bathroom with an audience. It was as if I’d just given her a super secret handshake for entrance into an underground society- it was all clear to her now, and I could see she felt joy for me. She gladly took me to my tanning room and said “you enjoy <i style="">your </i>time,” As she closed the door behind her.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">I undressed, looked at myself in the mirror, and for the first time in a long time thought, <i style="">hmm not that bad!</i> I lay in the tanning bed and soaked up every single ounce of warmth for a wonderful eight minutes, when the timer went off I felt a new energy. I exited my room, the tanned woman welcomed me back in the lobby and said “we’ll get you started slowly; this will be so much fun!” Again, a tear came to my eye.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">After tanning I called my Kinsy, and had an uninterrupted conversation for about forty minutes…this new uncharted territory felt foreign and odd, but wow - so awesome. I could focus, I could reply, I didn’t have an anxiety attack! I say “my Kinsy,” because she’s such a dear, dear friend, she understands, she’s in the same boat I am and I could feel her excitement for me. For those forty minutes, she was <i style="">all mine</i>.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">This week has been a tough one for Dave and I, we lost his grandmother last week, and I realized today as I was driving to pick the girls up that I hadn’t had a chance to mourn. I have had to be strong for my girls, so on the way to pick them up I turned on a sad song, and sang and cried at the top of my lungs. It felt so good. I didn’t have to explain to anyone, or justify my behavior; I didn’t have to worry that my healing would scare them. I haven’t had that in so long; I haven’t had a private moment to take care of me.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">But today I did and it was wonderful, it’s amazing to me how two hours can heal months of exhaustion, and brings a new enthusiasm to my soul. I can make it another week; I can be strong for my girls, take care of the house, the kids… my husband. <span style=""> </span>I can do it joyfully now, because now I have “Two hour Tuesdays,” that’s 120 minutes of pure Shauna time, and I’m not wasting one of them!</p>Shaunahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15714114531767991507noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6070072115958753578.post-43596482122551028282010-01-26T11:14:00.000-08:002010-01-26T11:31:52.929-08:00How 'bout some sugar.....<p class="MsoNormal">Have you ever just needed something so bad that you can’t get it off your mind? A craving where you will go crazy until you get what you need, a feeling of rage in your chest as you search for what you desire most?</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Hopefully you have on some level experienced this (or you’ll think I’m totally insane and somehow feel as though you’re better than me, hey if that’s what you need to get through your day, then great! Yep you’re better than me, oh it doesn’t feel as good when <span style="font-style: italic;">I acknowledge</span> it does it?), whether it be a drink, a smoke, a crush, or in my case sweet treats made from what I’m sure is pure poison. Yes I’m an addict, My name is Shauna and I’m a what…sugar holic? Well anyway I want sugar, I crave sugar, I know sugar is bad for me and well right now it feels OH SO GOOD! Isn’t that how all addictions work though, the things that are <span style="font-style: italic;">soooooo baaaadd</span> feel <span style="font-style: italic;">sooooooo good!</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal">I’ve struggled with this all my life, during my childhood food and sweets were on what my mom called a “get while the getting’s good” basis, which meant, you filled your plate when we had food and you gorged yourself, because there wasn’t a guarantee that we’d have it again anytime soon. So my sisters and I all gorged. We chowed down stuff that I hate to say now I wouldn’t even consider edible and wouldn’t let my daughters even touch let alone eat…yeah they remember sitting in the barn, eating expired Ho Ho’s, wow that sentence sounds so terribly wrong! Oh well it is what it is...the making’s of Shauna.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">So we gorged, but to make it a full circle horrible situation we had other influences in our lives that told us that woman were only attractive if they were bone skinny. Sure my mom didn’t mean to make us feel like fatties, but imagine being a little girl, looking at your mother in the mirror, all 120 lbs of her and hearing her tell you how incredibly fat she is. Talk about confusion!</p> <p class="MsoNormal">So we not only got the “Get while the Getting’s good” but “after you get you’re a fat cow who is good for nothing!” (My mom didn’t say that to us, just to herself….message received).</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Enter eating disorders, anxiety, and horrible self esteem oh and just in time, puberty...yes thanks for that!</p> <p class="MsoNormal">So yeah, yucky childhood when it comes to self restraint, you don’t need to read more about how screwed up I am, but what I am interested in is this: Why when sugar makes me feel so bad do I continue to indulge in it? I had a great run, quite a few months of absolutely no sugar, and felt just lovely; Positive, fit, emotionally stable, then Christmas comes and all those darn treats, just eyeballing me, calling my name, jumping into my hands, opening the lids…wow this is a horrible addiction.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">I understand the physiological side, and the psychological side, yep I get all the “psy” words, and have a degree to prove that I understand, but that just makes it worse, I mean I do understand! I know my body gets a chemical rush from sugar, I understand that I crash and feel like crap, and yet still I WANT it, and that is driving me crazy!</p> <p class="MsoNormal">So maybe it isn’t really about the sugar. I mean I do get it, I do understand, maybe for me and probably for most addicts it’s about something entirely different…</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Control.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">I’ve noticed that when I really go crazy with sugar my life seems out of control. My kids won’t sleep, I don’t have time to shower, I suddenly start having dreams that I’m in high school and can’t remember the combination to my locker, right as I’m going to be late for class, but oh my gosh I’m not wearing a bra!!! And the bra is in the locker and that boy is walking up to me and I forgot to put on deodorant...ok, you get the picture. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">So I guess I just need to let some things go, to understand that I really don’t have control over anything, and to allow myself to have a little sugar every now and then, maybe I won’t binge if I loosen up, then again that’s like telling an alcoholic that there’s a one drink maximum. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">Or maybe I just let it go. Who cares if I have this addiction, admitting it is half the battle. Is it really so bad that I binge on this stuff? If I keep myself at a healthy weight and in the jeans my husband likes does it matter?</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Probably not, but the fact that I’ve spent 802 words so far going over this in my head tells me it does, and the fact that my daughter just told me she’s had too much sugar today tells me that I’m a little too vocal about my control issues. She’s 4, I’m glad she understands her bodies signals that she’s had enough, but I’m sad that I’ve brought this into her circle of understanding.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">So yes I have a problem, I want to be perfect, I want my BMI to be a solid 22, I want my sugar intake under 20 grams per day, I want to be confident in a bikini again, I want to be confident walking around naked in front of my husband again, I want to sleep, I want to know if I’m moving in the next year, I want my boobs to be perky again (sans surgery), I want my cupboards organized, my car cleaned, the settling cracks in my house to go away, I want to know that there’s nothing wrong with my daughter even though her head is strangely shaped, I want it to stop raining, I want control damn it!</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Well now that were clear on <span style="font-style: italic;">that</span>…thanks for listening, I bet you wish you had a degree in psychology so you would have just made $150.00 listening to me rant.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>Shaunahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15714114531767991507noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6070072115958753578.post-4585097011478274892010-01-12T10:52:00.000-08:002010-01-12T10:53:20.625-08:00Finding Forrester<p class="MsoNormal">No, this posting isn’t about the movie; it’s about my day in Portland on a trip to IKEA.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">My friend Desi and I took the kids on a shopping trip to IKEA; I know what were we thinking huh? Crazy, but I had a hankering to get a laptop charging station that has been on my wish list for over a year and so Desi embarked on this journey with me. I followed her through traffic, a nightmare really, oh I hate freeways, I can’t stand aggressive motorists who merge without blinking (their eyes or their turn signals) I guess I’m just not confident enough for city life, indeed that’s why in the 9 months I lived in Salt Lake City I barely made it to the mall across the street from our apartment complex, let alone onto the one of what felt like millions of freeways there.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">But this was different I was following Desi and I suppose that in my quest for freedom from the unending rain on the coast I needed to get out and do some retail therapy.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">However on the way there I was almost sideswiped, I luckily slammed on my brakes and allowed the car to merge into the lane ahead of me, just in time to see her car rear-end Desi’s vehicle. I assumed after Desi got out and talked to the woman that we were going to pull off the road and discuss the event, exchange info and have a merry old time at IKEA, where indeed we would be sideswiped and rear-ended with fancy I kea shopping carts. I was wrong though, the woman in the Blue Subaru Forrester yelled at Desi and then drove off, calling out “so sue me!” as she drove off.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">I was dumbfounded, as was Desi. The damage to Desi’s car wasn’t severe, however there was a concern that her backup sensor might not work properly and after all it’s the law to stop and at least exchange info, even if you don’t plan on the courtesy of an apology. And so Desi called her husband, an insurance agent, who told her to file a police report. We talked with the police, gave them her license plate number and a description including the ironic fact that her license plate stated “Share the road” on it.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">So here’s the interesting part of this story, and hopefully we can all learn a little lesson from this. This woman in the Forrester will most likely be charged with a Hit and Run, and since she yelled at Desi who was not at fault and refused to give information she could also get Road Rage charges, all for a simple rear end accident that quite frankly Desi probably wouldn’t have been all that concerned about after making sure her sensor was intact. But since this woman was so rude and refused to cooperate we had to call the police and now the ball is rolling on something that seriously wasn’t that big of a deal.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">So the moral, always be quick to apologize, always follow the rules of the road and give the other driver in an accident your information, indeed the lapse of judgment the Forrester had will prove to be a nightmare for her unforeseeable future. The other moral, is never, never yell “So sue me!” because frankly you never know who’ll take you up on that offer, especially if you just rear ended the car that is carrying their most valuable possessions in the world…mama bear will always get her revenge!</p> <p class="MsoNormal">So Forrester, you may think you got away free and clear, indeed you had no way of knowing that I was part of Desi’s caravan and I had a clear view of not only the accident but of your license plate, so in the future, practice what you preach and “Share the Road.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal">On a lighter note, we were only sideswiped once in IKEA, and I was rear ended only twice by someone’s shopping cart, but I was quick to forgive because each time I received a very apologetic “I’m so sorry” from the perpetrator. Oh I also got out of IKEA and only spent $165.00, got a ton of cool stuff, and am proud to say that my house is beginning to get more organized, one brilliant IKEA system at a time.</p>Shaunahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15714114531767991507noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6070072115958753578.post-87899986336333723542010-01-06T10:26:00.000-08:002010-01-06T10:28:19.701-08:00Adorable Terrorsits<p class="MsoNormal">I’m exhausted. Plain and simple, exhausted. I’m so tired I feel as though I could sleep for a week and still wake up feeling totally burnt out, cranky and on the verge of tears. The sad part is that I have no huge claim to this exhaustion; I haven’t just run a marathon, I haven’t just traveled the globe, I’m just a mom and a housewife. My days are spent doing everything for everyone else, even showering feels like work right now.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">I know this sounds horrible, I know I sound totally pessimistic and well, like a whiny little bitch. I know that I need to just put on my big girl panties, deal with it and keep on trucking, but I wonder…do all new moms feel this way? Am I so totally chemically imbalanced? Is my post <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">partum</span> depression so bad that this <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">isn</span>’t normal? Or is it normal? Does every mom feel this way at one time or another?</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Does anyone else not want to fall asleep because they know that within a few short hours they will be awoken by a crying child? Does anyone else get angry when they are awoken by a crying baby? I’m seriously asking… because I feel like the worst mom in the world.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">I try to fill my daughters’ days with learning, reading, playing; I want to create an environment where exploration is celebrated. But as my 7 month old crawls around and forces me to get up once again to pull her away from trouble I get so very frustrated.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Yes motherhood is a lot of work, most days I wish I did have a job to go to, just to get a break, just to miss them, to escape the dishes, the laundry, the diapers for a few hours. I know a lot of my readers are probably thinking…<i style="">HA! You think you have it bad!</i> Or <i style="">Stop complaining, at least you have a family and children. </i>Don’t get me wrong I do feel blessed for my family, I do love them, I’m just spent. I just want to sleep, to take a bath by myself, to actually have time to shave my legs in the shower, to lie in my bed without one of three different people requiring something from me. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">I guess I’m just selfish, somewhere between laundry and bedtime stories, I’<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">ve</span> lost myself.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">I remember a time when I could look in the mirror and had time to pluck a stray eyebrow. I remember a time when the thought of going shopping <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">wasn</span>’t something that sent anxiety through my entire being. I remember a time when the phone rang I actually felt excited about answering it and having a wonderful uninterrupted conversation with a friend, but times have changed. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">Now I don’t even look in the mirror, and when I do it’s followed by a feeling of loss as I evaluate my stretch marks and scars. I look at my tattoo that once represented my freedom and now can only be described as a bug that has been smeared on a windshield. (For anyone out there who <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">hasn</span>’t yet had children, even if your DR tells you that you can’t have kids, NEVER get a tattoo on your stomach!) </p> <p class="MsoNormal">Most of all I remember a time when I smiled regularly, when I woke up excited about my day and the activities that I had planned, I remember going on vacation and not worrying about the one’s I left behind for the week. Now I wish I could go on vacation, but the thought of all the work that would have to be done in order to arrange childcare, dog care, house care, etc etc…well it’s not even worth it.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">So what do I do, besides whine to my computer screen, praying someone will validate these feelings…begging “does ANYONE understand?”</p> <p class="MsoNormal">I guess I do what I always do…I breathe, I force a smile, I pray….and I repeat, over and over and over, because sometimes that’s all I can do.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Now I would love to finish this but my baby has filled her diaper once again, I’m laughing at myself now because I’m actually excited about this, only a mom who has experienced a constipated baby will understand my joy at this moment in time.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>Shaunahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15714114531767991507noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6070072115958753578.post-91305275116075242272009-12-03T10:15:00.000-08:002009-12-03T10:19:57.103-08:00DUCKS VS BEAVERS<p class="MsoNormal">Ducks vs. Beavers</p> <p class="MsoNormal">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.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">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, <span style=""></span>I was surrounded by cars with flags, stickers, even license plates showing allegiance to one team or another and it got me thinking…</p> <p class="MsoNormal">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.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">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.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">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.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">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.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">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?</p> <p class="MsoNormal">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?</p> <p class="MsoNormal">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.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">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.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">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?”</p> <p class="MsoNormal">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.</p>Shaunahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15714114531767991507noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6070072115958753578.post-26491304933459538182009-11-20T14:51:00.000-08:002009-11-20T14:54:18.658-08:00What Happened To Yogi?<p class="MsoNormal">After posting my last blog about our dog Indiana, I received quite a few questions as to the whereabouts of our dog Yogi.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">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.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">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.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">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. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">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.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">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.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">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!)</p> <p class="MsoNormal">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.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">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.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">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.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">We thought this was the worst part of the experience, we were wrong.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">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.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">A half hour later I received another call from the vets office, this time the girl asks me “where is Yogi?”</p> <p class="MsoNormal">“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.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">“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.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal">“WHAT?!” I growl. A string of curse words flew out of my mouth so quickly I couldn’t catch them between the tears.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">“Let me check with the vet.” She hangs up on me.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Five minutes later she calls me back again. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">“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.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal">“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,</p> <p class="MsoNormal">“That’s strange the mortuary just called me and wants their $100.00 for cremating him.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal">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.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">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.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">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.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">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.<br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>Shaunahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15714114531767991507noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6070072115958753578.post-33145180948745287162009-11-09T15:16:00.001-08:002009-11-09T15:33:01.293-08:00Indiana Bones Schober<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOLxpQ7uXk6i06JMURqS0huWAEaVz_7mqNvcYVFk0xt-ziLQf5jfTxwjUrfN_fheehvvqF29CwTld8TgKCz6KuULaOcG1OLN3CYWISGR8hgQ_lea0aS5Cww9Z-hR3xptXYKZ3j4LTFsnEy/s1600-h/augsept+339.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOLxpQ7uXk6i06JMURqS0huWAEaVz_7mqNvcYVFk0xt-ziLQf5jfTxwjUrfN_fheehvvqF29CwTld8TgKCz6KuULaOcG1OLN3CYWISGR8hgQ_lea0aS5Cww9Z-hR3xptXYKZ3j4LTFsnEy/s320/augsept+339.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5402248249314565650" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><p class="MsoNormal">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.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">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!”</p> <p class="MsoNormal">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.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">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.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">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.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">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.</p> <p dragover="true" class="MsoNormal"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqtzyX9QOB-3TLM3SEoZ0AcK65D9CJQO93ebFlhpTwA23QtJAZWQGOMa8eY5rMrwDzZEGCymZM5_4sEt-XMbZHnZmY8Efxo7KAE1BCyy3AD3nV-P4EqLzJ06NrV14YwmhFcrrGh-MBHQqN/s1600-h/drmadi.JPG"><img dragover="true" style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqtzyX9QOB-3TLM3SEoZ0AcK65D9CJQO93ebFlhpTwA23QtJAZWQGOMa8eY5rMrwDzZEGCymZM5_4sEt-XMbZHnZmY8Efxo7KAE1BCyy3AD3nV-P4EqLzJ06NrV14YwmhFcrrGh-MBHQqN/s320/drmadi.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5402248244511020034" border="0" /></a>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.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">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….</p> <p style="text-align: center;" class="MsoNormal">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 <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8T-CVHXX8BVJQeANVWE7O7ee_Wuj8i8qS3KJFYN7fg_FKjpGJtiQkI17kGLosYkfMI1WiewTKYsWXIVmRVsrEigARLflhIKNZ6SuI6CByR25ZIr7bFHH944vfLyDR7D2D7qJuQz3_i54s/s1600-h/newbies+078.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8T-CVHXX8BVJQeANVWE7O7ee_Wuj8i8qS3KJFYN7fg_FKjpGJtiQkI17kGLosYkfMI1WiewTKYsWXIVmRVsrEigARLflhIKNZ6SuI6CByR25ZIr7bFHH944vfLyDR7D2D7qJuQz3_i54s/s320/newbies+078.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5402248236891557714" border="0" /></a>decade. Amen.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>Shaunahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15714114531767991507noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6070072115958753578.post-91608675662335749652009-10-16T12:05:00.001-07:002009-10-16T12:05:51.679-07:00Ten Years<p class="MsoNormal">10 Years…</p> <p class="MsoNormal">My husband and I have actually been together for over 12 years, but married “only” 10 years.<span style=""> </span>I’m actually not amazed, just grateful that I found my soul mate at such a young age.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">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.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">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. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">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.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">It’s stressful and wonderful, it’s exhausting and exciting, it’s everything and nothing like I thought it would be.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">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.) </p> <p class="MsoNormal">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.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">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.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">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.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">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.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">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.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">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.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">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…</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Yes, this is my life, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.</p>Shaunahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15714114531767991507noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6070072115958753578.post-72311763789049010502009-09-11T11:10:00.000-07:002009-09-11T11:15:47.294-07:00Our Bucket List<p class="MsoNormal">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….</p> <p class="MsoNormal">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?</p> <p class="MsoNormal">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.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">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.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">So here goes:</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Explore the Mayan Ruins<br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Explore Australia</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Read the Entire Bible</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Dog Sled in Alaska</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Go to the Indi 500</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Swim with Dolphins</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Watch Grizzly Bears feed in Alaska</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Salmon fishing in Alaska</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Release endangered baby sea turtles at the Plananitos Sea Turtle Camp in Mexico</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Visit Mt. Rushmore</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Geocache in every state in the U.S.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">See the Egyptian Pyramids</p> <p class="MsoNormal">See the Coliseum in Greece</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Go sport fishing on Islamorada in the Florida Keys</p> <p class="MsoNormal">See Brett Farv play in the NFL</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Hike the Grand Canyon</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Do a guided Elk hunt in Arizona</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Raft the Colorado River</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Rent a house boat and explore Lake Mead </p> <p class="MsoNormal">Hike the Garden of the Gods in Southern Utah</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Do a 2 week backpacking trip in the Sky Lakes Wilderness</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Hunt for diamonds at the Diamond National Park in Arkansas</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Explore Glacier National Park</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Explore Scotland</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Drive the Alaskan Hwy, and then buy a bumper sticker bragging about it.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Build an orphanage in Haiti</p> <p class="MsoNormal">See the world’s largest ball of yarn</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Take a cross country road trip</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Do an African Safari</p> <p class="MsoNormal">See the Great Wall of China</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Watch a Civil War reenactment, visit Gettysburg</p> <p class="MsoNormal">See Niagara Falls</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Throw a dart once a year at a huge wall map of the earth and travel to wherever the dart lands</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Visit Normandy</p> <p class="MsoNormal">See Tunisia in Africa (where Grandpa Schober was during the war)</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Renew our vows on a beach somewhere</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Drink beer from real steins in Germany</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Visit every State Park along HWY 101</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Kayak the San Juan Islands</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Ski Vale, Colorado</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Visit Loveland, Colorado (Dave’s birthplace)</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Zip line in Sequoia National Park</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Sky dive</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Catch fire flies in a jar</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Visit Pearl Harbor</p> <p class="MsoNormal">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.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal">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.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">May your list take your breath away…before your breath is taken away.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>Shaunahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15714114531767991507noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6070072115958753578.post-31477628280048182582009-09-04T21:55:00.000-07:002009-09-04T21:56:14.687-07:00Friends.<p class="MsoNormal">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?</p> <p class="MsoNormal">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 <i style="">National Geographic</i>, 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!</p> <p class="MsoNormal">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.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">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.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">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.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">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. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">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<span style=""> </span>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.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">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. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">And so on today, her 31<sup>st</sup> 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.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">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.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>Shaunahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15714114531767991507noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6070072115958753578.post-72565385911591616452009-09-01T21:44:00.000-07:002009-09-01T21:45:38.422-07:00Fall Down Nine Times.<p class="MsoNormal">“Shake it off.” I say as I grip Madi’s arm.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">“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.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">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”).</p> <p class="MsoNormal">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.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">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.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal">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?</p> <p class="MsoNormal">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.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">See it’s not being ungrateful for the luxuries in life, it about being grateful for EVERYTHING! The good and the bad. <span style=""> </span>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.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal">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.</p>Shaunahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15714114531767991507noreply@blogger.com4